Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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many plants, one beautiful green

Right now the back field contains at least four distinct shades of green. If you walk slowly and pay attention, you will see the blue-grey version of green in sage and cedar, the lime green of this glossy litlle ground cover I have not yet identified, the more serious olive green in prairie grass, and of course the deep and reliable green of cacti and pine. I love every single color plus all the blends and variations between them. I also love all the many textures that this wild vegetation offers.

I spend time regularly, just staring at the details up close. Analyzing and memorizing the differences. Normally I am entranced by separating and categorizing the details and differences around me, especially in nature. It’s fascinating! The Universe runs on variety and specialization, after all.

But lately my heart has been drawn to commonality. What really catches my attention is that from a distance, maybe standing next to the horse trough or at the upstairs hallway window, the back field blurs into a gorgeous, smooth July green. It looks like one color, one plant. A single vast carpet of photosynthesis.

I still walk the back field every day and take stock of the distinctions between plants and zones and habitats; but something inside my ribs swells to walk back uphill and see it all in a blur. From that small distance, one field. It’s a physical relief to me. A homecoming to togetherness.

I believe deep down that we humans have more in common with each other than we realize. I believe that, for all our beautiful distinctions and uniqueness between cultures and families and individuals, we share a great many features and qualities that bind us. This is as much a comfort to me as the blurred green field is.

Are you feeling the pressure building in polarization? I sure am. It hurts, and sometimes it’s deeply worrisome. But instead of feeding that energy, instead of keeping track of who I agree with on this topic or that newest conflict, instead of resting in labels and narrow definitions, I am choosing to focus on the things that I have in common with people who see a few things differently. I am doing my best to fortify connections instead of surrender to disagreement and hopefully remember that not only might I be flat wrong in my views but that we both could be fully right, at the same time.

I love to see and celebrate differences when it feels healthy and loving. But right now, with so much instability and widespread uprootedness, I feel drawn to hunting the common ground and calling it by name. I feel the urge to declare love for people, groups, even schools of thought, that are far apart and clearly different when you get really close and alanlyze them but that, when you pull back and see us all as a group, as a community, are part of the same thick, velvety green blanket.

Yes. Differences are real and nuance matters. Nature relies on it. But patterns and fundamental processes are also real. Nature relies on these just as much.

I hope to see this beautiful green back field thrive more and more, a vast collection of different plants that are all doing their best. All workign to have their needs met. All contributing in their own inique way to the ecosystem.

I love you, friends! Keep choosing Joy.
XOXOXO

full pond, full hearts

Our recent rainfall in Oklahoma has been pretty stunning. We always hope for rain and sometimes pray for it, and every few years it seems like God answers all at once, ha! Such is the case now. Handsome and I have been enjoying the changing view of the farm for weeks. Everything is lush and emerald green. Grass and clover are growing where usually we find only sand burrs. Tree bark everywhere is almost black from moisture, and mushrooms and moss are quietly overtaking the north side of the property. When a thin silver rivulet appeared in the middle field and connected to the pond below, we celebrated! It’s usually a sure sign of a satisfied water supply. Everything is so beautiful.

Yesterday morning after feeding everyone, Klaus and I walked around the back field and up to my favorite spot on the edge of our pond to see how different things looked from there. Over the years I have taken a series of photos that show the pond mostly in various stages of drought. It’s still beautiful in those times, for different reasons. It’s still reflective of our extraordinary sky, if narrowly; and it is still a habitat for wildlife. But yesterday, the sight took my breath away. Its collar of pink sand was completely submerged, water having risen all the way up to the high bank and beyond, that place where Jocelyn once rescued several dozen fish and where Daphne and Chunk-hi used to swim. The big rocks we call Turtle Island were nowhere to be found, and an old telephone pole we were using to slow some erosion had floated into the middle of the glassy, dragonfly covered water. Water even extended up past the new fence we recently built for the enlarged cow pen. If they choose to, Rhett and Scarlett could be in the privacy of their own space and still go for a little swim, a new hobby of theirs.

((full pond, June 5, 2024))

I stood there just gazing at the pond, at its fullness, at its stillness and perfect mirror-like surface. Rain has been falling steadily for weeks and weeks. Sometimes it fell softly, just a mist, and often it was torrential. But overall it has been so consistent that we feel confident the pond is “sealed” now and will hang onto this fresh supply for a while. I don’t really know if that is good science; I just know that sometimes a single random downpour is not enough to satisfy parched earth. It’s like we are so profoundly dry that we need several doses of rewetting before we feel safe enough to hang onto it and let it refill us.

Do you ever feel like that, in your life, in your heart? I sure do. The needs are great and numerous and often painful. A spiritual drought. But sometimes, like right now, I also feel overwhelmed by how God pours Himself out so generously and so consistently that, like the pond right now, our lives are overflowing with goodness. Our dry, bare edges are gently submerged, and we are once again amply supplied. New pools appear, new resources. We are able to reflect the gorgeous sky even more widely than before. And we can relax, knowing we are safe and well nourished.

Yesterday I stood there absorbing all the beauty while Klaus meandered and sniffed the mud, visibly perplexed by the new scenery. He smiled. I started laughing. Life is full again. A few precious answers we still crave are on their way. I know they are. Other answers have already arrived and are blowing my mind. We are drenched with purpose, safety, romance, community, health, peace, and much more. We have enough to share. And we know who sent it all.

If you are in any kind of a drought, I hope the best rain finds its way to you soon. I hope you see the clouds gathering and get excited. I hope you smell it. I hope it gradually causes your heart to overflow and then helps you blossom the most gorgeous details all throughout your life.

“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears,
for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth,
overlying our hard hearts.
I was better after I had cried, than before-
More sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude,
more gentle.”
~Charles Dickens
XOXOXO

friday 5 at the farm: missed photos

First, here are two snapshots of Scarletta Jones providing composting services as I cleaned out a space for planting green beans:

((scarletta jones very interested in the fresh weeds I was pulling
from the vegetable garden May 2024))
((she mooed gently and followed me around the perimeter))

And here are at least five photos I missed recently because I didn’t have my phone in my pocket:

ONE: Rhett, standing to Scarlett’s immediate left, their shoulders touching, was licking her face over and over again like she was a popsicle. His eyes were wide open, and hers were closed, a contented expression. Their tails swished almost in unison, dismissing flies. I take lots of snapshots of them most days, but this is one I really regret not capturing.

TWO: Chanta driving all his weight onto his front legs in order to kick Dusty, vertical bucking bronco style, because he felt my ten minute tardiness in feeding them breakfast was for sure Dusty’s fault. Chanta’s coat is almost shiny now, very little winter fur remianing, and his belly is filled in luxuriantly. His leg muscles rippled when he moved to kick. His beachy mane flew wildly. I celebrate every day he shows such youthful vitality and always wish I had taken a photo of moments like this.

THREE: One of the Ex-Pat roosters from our sweet neighbors’ house next door has taken up residence with one of our bantam hens, who almost daily escapes the coop to be with him. There are at least three free range Ex-Pats, but this particular one is in love with this hen, and she clearly returns his affection. One morning recently she had gotten herself enclosed in a live trap (the kind you put out for raccoons, etc.), but I hadn’t noticed yet. I was working in the Circle Garden, and he traipsed up to me and tilted his head, clucked so politiely, with a quesiton mark inflection at the end. “Excuse me, Ma’am?” I talked to him for a minute then followed when he scurried across the yard and around an oak tree to the metal cage where his betrothed was waiting. I released her, reprimanded her gently, then watched them proceed to eat breakfast together. The food was nearby; he could have eaten without her but didn’t. I would love to have captured the look on his face when he approached me for help. And I would love to have a photo of them scratching up their shared meal, crisis averted.

FOUR: The early mornings have been foggy and rainy and moody, with smeared navy and grey skies and dramatic cloud patterns. I have taken zero photos of all the beautiful gloom, but I wish I had taken hundreds. Twice this week I did breakfast chores beneath a canopy of shimmering hidden lightning, and it was gorgeous. There will soon be a day when we are parched dry to the bones and crave this heaviness and thick moisture. I love it all but wish I had taken photos of the sky this week.

FIVE: I had a waking dream of Jocelyn again, and while that is not something you can take a physical photo of, I still wish I had it to see with my eyes over and over again. She will be twenty nine at the end of this summer, and despite the circumstances I feel intensely close to her. I feel her in my heart and against my skin, and in this waking dream I heard her voice. It is lower now, more womanly. Her girlish limbs are different. Stronger, more graceful. Her eyes have more maturity and experiece behind them, but they still sparkle, are still deep brown and glossy with ideas and grief and depth. I wonder if she has visions or waking dreams of me, too. If she has a sense for what has changed in her absence. If she knows how much she is missed but also how much she is trusted and loved and upheld in thought and prayer and conversaton. She felt preternaturally close to me during this vision, and I am so thanful for that gift.

“Keep joy in the front seat.”
~Courtney Dauwalter
XOXOXO

friday 5 at the farm: inspiration lately

ONE: The way Dusty, Chanta, Scarlett and Rhett wander and graze calmly inspires me to slow down and savor things more. They still get the zoomies occasionally and do move with a bit of urgency at actual meal times; but most of the day, these four legged babies are placid and measured. Watching them drops my heart rate and causes me to breathe deeply, which creates space for fresh ideas.

((Dusty with sunglasses. Our girl likes to dress her horse fashionably. He loves it. xoxo))

TWO: A week ago, some extraordinary writing crossed my path, and it left me rethinking careers, vocations, and how we apply and employ talent. I had always regarded professional business writing as a completely separate skill set than creative writing. I had always understood one to produce clearly expressed facts and opinions to the end of good decision making or informing and the other to use language to express ideas and explore nuance and beauty, imagery and imagination. What a revelation to me that the two might intersect. I am so inspired by this writer who uses his talent in flexible ways. The piece I read left me craving more, as if it were a novel; and it reminded me of the power of creative writing, how truths can often be more powerfully conveyed through allegory and metaphor. Thrilling, really.

THREE: I am inspired by so many of my friends’ gardens. The focus people have and the many varied themes and ideas they bring to life are amazing to me. We all are drawing from a similar pool of suitable plant life for this growing zone, but somehow every single garden looks completely different. And that is wildly inspiring. How wonderful to pause and shuffle the mouthwatering images in my memory and imagination and settle on something I want to create here. How exciting to think that God gave us these brightly colored flowers and vegetables as little finger-paints to do a craft for Him to put on His fridge.

((foudn on a sidewalk in a small town near a cute antique shop))

FOUR: I love to see women out in the wild wearing anything that obviously makes them feel great. Bonus points if it also looks comfortable, ha! I love seeing women walking alone, wearing unusual jewelry or flowy skirts, accessories that don’t seem to “match” but look incredible. I like tattoos that are only partially colored in. I like imagining the stories behind them, the lives being lived by the owners of those bodies and how things might evolve over time. These glimpses inspire me to escape the confines of my jeans-and-black-tank-top farm uniform and wear my beautiful dresses and necklaces more often. Will I get a silhouette tattoo and only partially color it in? That seems like a very Freshly Fifty thing to do. But no. Probably I will just opt for even more turquoise pendants.

FIVE: I am deeply inspired by my husband every time he musters the mental energy to spend a few hours in his car shop. It is part of his DNA, being a car guy, and it fulfills him when it goes well. Caring for classic cars is a multifaceted labor of love. It requires artistic vision, ever increasing technical knowledge, patience, physical stamina, and a little money. It can require lots of open ended time, collaboration with others, and complex decision matrices, too, which are tall orders in a life already saturated with heavy responsibility, emergencies, and long days being tied to others’ schedules and needs. So when BW changes out of his suit and into grease stained jeans and a worn out t-shirt, I am so happy. I am inspired by his conscious choice to invest in something that has historically brought him lots of joy. I am inspired by his ability to problem solve and pour his creativity into such needy beasts. Lately the needy beast has been his 1968 Camaro, the one car of his fleet he has owned the longest. Last weekend after several hours of labor, he said calmly, “She lives.” And it might have done more than just inspire me. ; )

What is inspiring you lately?
Let’s allow the hundreds of
ingrediemnts of life to make us better.
XOXOXO

introducing… Rhett McTavish

Exciting announcemet! A few weeks ago, we added a new member to the Lazy W Farmily. Rhett McTavish is a ten month old Highland with long auburn red hair, abbreviated horns, and deep set, sparkling brown eyes topped with the most ubelievable long, straight lashes. His expression can be described as permanently contended. His disposition is truly sweet with a dab of onery. And he has an overall sense of curiosity about the world. We are all smitten over here, as I know you will be once you meet him.

((rhett mctavish, march 2024))

Why do we keep doing this, you ask? Why do we keep bringing home animals when we know that one day, either terrifyingly soon or many years down the road, their death will break our hearts? Because we are gluttons for punishment, ha.

No. We are not. In fact, this was a hard choice and one not made lightly, with so much grief from wintertime still fresh.

Really, we found Rhett because Miss Scarlett Rose needs a proper companion. While she and Klaus did bond fast and true over the winter months, as she approached her first birthday in February she began showing signs of sexual maturity. Or, if not maturity, then at least exuberance. Enthusism. Our happy go lucky little man was bewildered, unprepared, and basically unsafe playing chasing games like soccer, hide and seek, chase, etc. I had started carrying a “NO MA’AM” stick with us on back pasture walks, and really that is no way for any of us to live peacefully.

As for the horses being potential herdmates, they eventually did relax about her presence in the middle field. She had started sharing hay with them a little, and they all three even napped in the same general vicinity of each other, with no incidents. But Dusty is fifteen, Chanta is twenty five, and neither of them seems interested in soccer or high strung little cows.

Scarlett is a herd animal and just seemed lost. Back in October, we had intended for her to be with Shelby and Shelby’s baby, after all. So. We decided to get a cow for our cow. And the exhaustive search led us to a ranch just north of Stillwater. A woman there had acquired a pregnant cow with no record of the calf’s paternity, so he had no market value as a pure Highland. But he has perfect value to us.

He is as beautiful and endearing as you can imagine, and we care zero for his paternity. We only care that he could travel (which he did, like a champ!) and was young enough to be safe to handle and maybe train a bit (check) and potentially a good match for our girl (time will tell, of course, but so far so good). We just want him to have a long happy life here, grazing and napping and being brushed, you know, just doing lots of cow stuff! And helping Scarlett feel less alone in the world, as she can do for him in return.

If you are wondering whether we intend to breed Rhett and Scarlett, the answer is no. Despite their Gone With the Wind monikers, we intend for them to be companions and hopefully platonic roomies and BFFs for the next very many years or so. He will eventually outgrow her, though for now she has the advantage on not only age but also size.

Edit: Since writing that last sentence a week ago, I should tell you that we have noticed that he has noticed that he has horns. So.

((rhett feasting on hay in late march 2024))

To my point about not breeding Rhett and Scarlett: Before we loaded him into our trailer that day, he was directed into a squeeze shoot and endured the mild indignity of banding, a quick process by which he became a steer, no longer a bull. At nine months old, we thought that surely he was several months away from being ready to mate; but still we felt good about taking this precaution right away.

The last few weeks have been pretty wonderful.

Scarlett spent the first few days bossing him around, making sure he knew it was her pen and her cow cabin and her hay and her mama. But he was undeterred. He just followed her everywhere. They quickly began to move almost as one animal, and he picked up on our farm day routines like magic. It has been fun to watch them interact, bump into each other for treats, and nap within a few feet of each other. He learned immediately that the garden cottage is where we keep their proten feed, so anytime I work in there I can feel someone wacthing me.

((rhett sending me telepathy about needing a little treat))

For one day and one day only, we did observe some romantic behavior between them, but the geometry didn’t quite line up, so we are not worried about an unplanned pregnancy. Also, his banding should soon have taken full effect.

I could tell you cow stories all day. They are both so funny, just full of innocence and insistent about their needs, like toddlers. They terrorize the horses, but gently, and they get the zoomies when loose in the middle field. We love them. Klaus loves them. I think Klaus is also relieved to have someone bigger and sturdier to absorb Scarlett’s considerable energy, ha.

The learning curve has been solid. My husband has a bank of childhood memories from his grandfather’s ranch, and we are surrounded now by cattle ranching friends who help us naviagte the ocean of internet answers when we have questions. We also love our vet. I am fully enjoying it all. I hope that Rhett will soon accept grooming like Scarlett does, but I am in no hurry. He comes straight to us when we walk outside, accepts treats and fly spray, and has shown zero agression. This is a very good beginning. And Scarlett Rose is no longer a lonely cow.

“Friends are the siblings God never gave us.”
~Menicus
XOXO