Morning Hasn't Broken

Do you ever sing a song, change just a few words, and then get the crazy thing stuck in your head? That's what I did with the song Morning Has Broken. My words: "Morning has broken. I hope it can be fixed. Blackbirds aren't singing. They're down in the dumps." I get mad at myself when I start singing these words and can't get them out of my head. Why? Because I LOVE mornings. I would never want morning to be broken.

The last time I posted here (two months ago!), our temps were in the 90s. Here it is, the end of August, and we're heading that way again! But our mornings for the last two weeks have been wonderfully cool. Feeding the kitties every morning ensures that I get outside, so I've been taking my time, strolling around a bit, and just enjoying!

The Bible encourages us with the morning as a picture of new beginnings. The rising of the sun is also a picture of Jesus.

• The Lord's unfailing love and mercy still continue, fresh as the morning, as sure as the sunrise. (Lamentations 3:22 & 23)
• LORD, be gracious to us; we long for you. Be our strength every morning. (Isaiah 33:2)
• Because of God's tender mercy, the morning light from heaven is about to break upon us. (Luke 1:78)
• The Sun of Righteousness will rise with healing in his wings.... (Malachi 4:2)

And this is what's to come: There will be no more night, and they will not need any light from lamps or the sun because the Lord God will shine on them. (Revelation 22:5)

In the morning, whether inside doing my devotions or outside taking in the fresh air, I sometimes throw my hands up in pure jubilation. As the day goes on, my elation often deflates. Sometimes it's discouragement, sometimes it's just the wear and tear of the day. I guess it's almost like the morning does get broken! Hmmm.

Here are the few pics I took the other morning. Everything felt more alive and vibrant than these little photos convey. When the Morning Star appears, everything will be alive and vibrant. What a day that will be!

I was enthralled by the dew and the sunlight touching everything in such a delightful way, but the photos hardly convey it. Oh well. Go take a walk tomorrow morning and see some of God's beauty for yourself. :) Let the Morning Star rise in your heart.

~ Fresh Air ~

Ninety degrees outside and I felt the need for a breath of fresh air. Go figure. I stepped outside, looked around, took a few deep breaths, and went back inside ... to get my phone and a book! Seriously, it was gorgeous out there.

For a while, all I could do was look around me. I watched the hummingbirds sipping their nectar. I saw butterflies flitting across the yard, minding their own business. It was hard to believe, but not a single cat came to harass me. Now for some reading - in the middle of the day! Unheard of!

Then it was time to stretch my legs. I walked over to the uprooted stump of a tree, left over from last year's tornado. I had asked Weldon if it was going to stay there forever and he said, "No. Sooner or later it will rot away." Ha! Very funny! So, I'm attempting to turn it into a focal point - a piece of yard art, more or less. Kinda sorta.

A gardener I'm not, but everyone wants to help me take a few baby steps in that direction. In early June, my friend Tena brought some (more) flowering plants and bushes for me. I chose this spot and she thought it would be perfect. She dug the holes and planted the plants! I moved my little "bird bath" over there. See, I can do some things.

Tena, I don't suppose you can see it, but there's a white butterfly to the left of the stump, just above the purple flower closest to the stump. The purple flowers that you said would attract butterflies. It's true!

Ahhh. What a glorious, refreshing time I had in the 90-degree great-out-of-doors. Thank you, Lord, for books and birds and butterflies and friends and uprooted tree stumps.

Slaving in the Kitchen

Last month's blog post was about slaving in the kitchen, too. Ooops. I really don't do as much baking as I used to, but I can't resist telling you about my amazing discovery today.

I don't know when I last made Rice Krispies Treats, but it's been a l-o-n-g time. Things have changed! I remember melting the butter and marshmallows in a pan on the stove and stirring the sticky mess with a big spoon till it was all melted ... but not scorched. Then I added the Rice Krispies, trying to stir gently so the crispy bits of rice didn't turn into rice flour.

Then came the fun part: trying to get it all out of the hot pan and into the buttered 9" x 13" pan. There was always enough left in the pan and on the spoon to nibble on for a day or two. (Yes, I'm exaggerating a bit.) Next, I buttered my hands and quickly patted the concoction to the edges and into the corners of the pan. "Ouch! That's hot!" Later I learned that using waxed paper instead of my buttered hands was somewhat less painful.

Fast forward to 2018. Pat brought me a big bag of marshmallows that she found on clearance. Weldon used to eat marshmallows like candy, but he gave that up. So, what was I going to do with these marshmallows? The obvious solution: buy some Rice Krispies and make the sticky treats. And today was the day.

Let me tell you, things have changed. I followed the recipe on the marshmallow bag. Melt the butter and the marshmallows in the microwave! Using the "new" silicone spatulas, stirring in the crispy rice and dumping the whole works into the 9" x 13" pan was easy-peasy. I used the spatula to pat the mixture into the pan. Nothing stuck to the bowl, nothing stuck to the spatula, nothing stuck to my hands.

I didn't realize I had blog post material here, or I would have taken pictures while I was actually doing the work. As it is, the photos were taken after sweating and slaving in the kitchen for five to ten minutes.

I'm not the first woman who, because of her deep love for her family, has slaved all day long in the kitchen. Perhaps you'll remember this commercial of just such an amazing woman.

Today's lesson: An old dog can learn new tricks.

Happy St. Urho's Day!

Being half Finnish, about a fourth Irish, and 1/4 chicken noodle soup, I celebrate any and all holidays! Since it's St. Urho's Day (read about it here) I wondered if I had ever made a Finnish cake. I did the usual Google search and found a recipe that sounded good and had some favorable reviews. Another plus: I had all the necessary ingredients.

As I headed to the kitchen, I remembered that I have a couple of Finnish cookbooks. I decided to check them out before I got started.

Lo and behold, the older cookbook had the exact recipe I had just found online. And, surprise surprise, I had made Kermakakku before. Mmm :) The wonderful thing about having a really deficient memory is that everything is always new and exciting! Yay!

Fortunately I still had some cardamom seeds. I don't worry about grinding them in my coffee grinder because cardamom is pretty good in coffee, too.

Cake is pretty:

Tastes good, too:

It just needs a big, green plastic grasshopper on top. Maybe next year.

Welcome Home

“Someday you will read or hear that Billy Graham is dead. Don’t you believe a word of it. I shall be more alive than I am now. I will just have changed my address. I will have gone into the presence of God.” -Billy Graham

That day has come.

In the postscript of my book Crap Happens...Wallowing Is Optional, I noted that Billy Graham had an influence on my life, beginning when I was quite young. I thought you might enjoy reading it.

~*~

I have one final story to tell, as nourishing and satisfying as a good meal.
***

One of my earliest childhood memories is of sitting on the living room floor in front of the boxy black and white television set. My brothers are around me, and Ma and Pa sit behind us on the sagging couch. All eyes are fixed on the screen and our ears are listening to Billy Graham as he speaks to a huge crowd … and to us.

If you’ve ever seen one of his crusades, you know they always ended the same way. George Beverly Shea would sing, “Just As I Am” and Mr. Graham would make his closing remarks, inviting those who wanted to “ask Jesus into your heart” to come forward for prayer. “You who are watching this telecast from the comfort of your home can ask Jesus to come into your heart right where you are, just as you are.”

I did that. Every time. The words always moved me in an inexplicable way.

There’s nothing wrong with the picture of inviting Jesus into your heart, but many years later it became clear to me that Jesus didn’t “just” want to live in my heart - he wanted my whole life. As the old hymn says, “All to Jesus I surrender, All to Him I freely give; I will ever love and trust Him, In His presence daily live.” In 1972, to the best of my ability, I gave my life (all of it) to Jesus. He made me, so I belonged to him; he wasn’t just tucked away in my heart, but I was tucked away in his.

Regardless of the stories and advice I’ve shared in this book describing how I overcame (and continue to overcome) problems on the farm and in my life in general, all my self-help, best intentions, and strength come from my Father God and his son, Jesus.

Your life can be made new with a simple prayer: “Lord, I need you. I come to you. I give my life into your keeping. Live your life through me. Thank you.”

Start reading the Bible. Find a contemporary version that is easy to understand. Talk to God on a daily basis, right in the middle of whatever you’re doing. You’ll see changes in the way you think, respond, and act. The best change is God’s amazing peace that wraps you up and keeps you safe. When crap happens (and it will), look for God and accept his help.

I look forward to seeing you in the “life romantic” on the other side.

~*~ 

Deep and Wide

I got this sweatshirt at a women's retreat I attended when I lived in Charlotte. Over the course of those few days, we must have sung Steven Curtis Chapman's song, Dive (written in 1999), at least a hundred times. We were exploring the turbulent waters that can swirl around our lives and discussing how we can "dive" into God to get the help we need.

After moving to the farm, being in over my head took on a "deeper" significance, and the sweatshirt became part of the "milk duds" that I donned every morning. Being downright chilly today, out of habit, I grabbed it and then wondered if I'd ever taken a picture of it. Tah dah!

You don't have to live on a farm to know that life doesn't always feel like a delightful dip in a cool, refreshing lake. It can get deep and stinky. I'll bet you have a few yucky stories of your own. You could probably write a book!

We each have our own way of finding encouragement and strength when we're slogging through difficult days. Writing my book helped me, but the underlying basis for my book was always The Good Book ... the Bible. The Bible has been my go-to source for peace and wisdom since I became a Christian, lots and lots and lots of years ago.

The frustrations, disappointments, and heartbreak of life can be deep and wide, but God's love and provision are always deeper and wider. I'll leave you with these words from Ephesians 3:16-20. I pray you will be encouraged.

"I'm asking God to give you a gift from the wealth of his glory. I pray that he would give you inner strength and power through his Spirit. Then Christ will live in you through faith. I also pray that love may be the ground into which you sink your roots and on which you have your foundation. This way, with all of God's people you will be able to understand how wide, long, high, and deep his love is. You will know Christ's love, which goes far beyond any knowledge. I am praying this so that you may be completely filled with God. Glory belongs to God, whose power is at work in us. By this power he can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine."

P.S. Weldon is hauling manure today. He doesn't wallow in it; he sees it as a resource. By spreading it on the fields, the ground will be more fertile and grow better corn. And on a dairy farm, corn is a good thing!

Whiter than Snow!

It's snowing in North Carolina. In Minnesota I enjoyed playing in the snow, but on the farm I enjoy watching the snow cover all the broken, discarded, rusting stuff. It's not all junk or broken, but almost all of it is dirty and old.

This morning I thought of how all the yuck on the farm can be compared to the yuck in our lives. We can feel broken, discarded, or rusting. There might be things we're ashamed of and we wish we could just cover up. There is a cure!

God says, "I, the Lord, invite you to come and talk it over.

Your sins are scarlet red, but they will be whiter than snow or wool."

(Isaiah 1:18)

God invites you to sit with him and "talk it over." Think about that! If you've never tried it, go for it! Sit down. Talk to this God you can't see. This God you don't even believe in. You just might get up from that conversation a changed person.

The covering of snow transforms crud into works of art. The Lord does even "better" with our lives: he doesn't just cover our sins — he washes them away. Gone. Whiter than snow. As Christians, we sometimes mull over past sins, but God has forgotten them. Let's get on with living.

And now, for your viewing pleasure: God's Artistry with Broken Stuff.

It's a Matter of Perspective

Last night I lay in bed for a l.o.n.g time, thinking about how I should celebrate the 2nd Bookiversary of Crap Happens...Wallowing Is Optional. I know! I'll give two books away! I finally fell asleep.

I was eager to get started this morning, but I felt like doing a little research first. How many books have I sold in two years? The results were quite disheartening: I've sold approximately 375 books, and, just for the heck of it, I gave away (FREE) 305 ebooks on Amazon on October 2 of last year. Crazy, huh? All of this and only 38 reviews. Lovely reviews, but still ... only 38.

On the plus side, that's selling or giving away a book every day — a book I wrote and published for about $50. Counting all the joy it has brought to me and others, I say WooHoo! AND, I am SO thankful for the local bookstores and businesses that sell my book, some of them not taking even a tiny percentage. Yup, I might do it again.

But, back to my book's 2nd birthday. To celebrate, I've decided to give away two copies of Crap Happens...Wallowing Is Optional. Here's how you can be in the running.

1. "Like" my author page on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/CindyKeigerAuthor/
2. Leave a comment that tells me what puts a smile on your face.

If you've already "Like"d my author page, you only have to do the second item. Duh.

If you're not on Facebook, what are you waiting for? Actually, if you're not on Facebook, you can leave a comment on this post and I'll throw your name in the proverbial hat. Fair enough?

I'll choose two winners at random tomorrow (10/31/17) at approximately 6pm, Eastern time. I'll "private message" the winners so you can give me your address. If you already have a copy of my book, it will make a wonderful Christmas gift for someone on your list.

Tomorrow, in honor of Crap's second birthday, I'll drink more coffee and eat lots of cookies and name TWO WINNERS. Don't forget to enter!

His Eye Is On the Spider

Sparrow! I mean sparrow! But as long as we're on the subject ....

Wednesday evening, after having mowed the front yard earlier that afternoon, I switched out my little yard flag to better showcase the season.

Thursday morning I was hurrying out the door to get to work and, as I walked passed the flag, I had to double back to see why it seemed to be hanging at such an odd angle.

It took me a moment but, do you see it? A spider! What the ?? I shook the flag a couple of times, but the spider hung on. I got a little stick and knocked it down. The flag was still "bent," so I straightened it out and saw this fluffy white thing. Time to call for Weldon.

"Is this thing full of baby spiders?"

"Yup."

"Well, do something with it!"

He took out his pocket knife and began to scrape the lovely bundle off the flag. Eeeuuuuww. With shivers running down my spine, I hurried to the car and headed to work.

I'm not a fan of spiders, but God's eye is on the spider as much as on the sparrow, right? I mean, if he knows the number of hairs on my head, he must know about all the spiders that are hiding in my house and everywhere else. Eeeuuuuww. When I find bugs in the house, I try to capture them and set them free outside, but I don't trust spiders enough to do that. Instead, before mooshing one or sucking it up into the vacuum cleaner, I apologize and say, "I'm sorry." Okay, sometimes it's after the fact, when it's now just an icky spot on the floor. Sorry.

This is getting gross, so let's do a Bob Ross. Ever have spiders in life? Let's make them sparrows. Yeah, they're sparrows now.

Pie In the Sky

I like happy songs, happy stories, happy life. When I wake up in a funk or if the day seems to go from bad to worse, I try to think good, cheerful thoughts. Happy thoughts! Sometimes I imagine a fun surprise. Yes, I might even dream about someone bringing me a piece of pie.

There's nothing wrong with dreaming, right?

Some people think that believing in God is just a dream - a nice, but made-up, story. Heaven is just "pie in the sky" - something that is pleasant to contemplate but is very unlikely to be realized. Even if God and his heaven should all turn out to be a hoax, life is better when it's lived according to the Golden Rule(s) we find in the Bible.

Love your neighbor as yourself. Loving yourself (taking care of YOU) is a good thing! Do you ever treat yourself to a trip to the spa or that new book you've been wanting to read? Maybe, if you're like me, you love yourself with a bag of M&Ms or a pizza pie. You're worth it!

What if you were as lenient with others as you are with yourself? You’d think and say nice things about the people you meet. You’d help them when they need help and encourage them when they’re sad. You’d want them to have the best seat in the house. If they ever disappointed you, you’d know it wasn’t on purpose and you’d forgive them immediately.

Go the extra mile. Your neighbor comes to borrow a cup of sugar and you give her the whole bag. A friend asks if you could pick up his son from school. You not only pick up his son, you stop and buy him a milkshake on the way home. When you go out to eat, you treat the staff with kindness and leave a good tip. Your mother asks if you could come help her get the Christmas tree from the basement, and you stay to help her decorate the whole house.

Don’t kill, cheat, steal, or tell lies. Life would be a whole lot rosier if everyone followed these simple instructions.

Sing songs and make melody in your heart. Don’t commit adultery. Honor and respect your mother and father.

After a lifetime of trying to follow the good advice found in the Bible, you die. There’s no heaven, no hell. But what a life you lived! A good life! No doubt about it: I’ll take the pie in the sky.

If you actually know me, you know that I don't think God is a myth or a dream. He's the "real deal," and I won't be surprised if he serves pie when I get there.

[Another] True Story

I posted this story on my Facebook Author page yesterday. For those of you not on Facebook, I'm posting it here for your reading pleasure.

***

I got out later than usual to feed “my” kitties in the big shed last night (nearing 8:00) and saw that Pat hadn’t been out yet. I moseyed on up to the house to see if everything was okay. Pat and Edith were sitting at the table—Pat, looking a little ragged, sipping on a cup of something, and Edith snapping beans. Pat had overworked herself in the sun all day, mowing and picking beans and who-knows-what all, but said she thought she could get out "pretty soon." I got a knife and helped Edith with the beans and then told Pat I would feed “her” kitties and tell Weldon that he’d have to care for the calves by himself. She needed to stay inside and rest. She acquiesced.

Pat asked me to let Annabelle (mama of the “ring-around-the-Rosie” kitties) out of the cage for a while and then put her back in with the babies before bedtime. On my way to the house, I stopped to tell Weldon he was on his own for the evening, and I set Annabelle free as I passed by the barn. At home, I got a bottle of Gatorade and some yogurt and took it to Pat. Then I went to feed cats and kitties at the milk barn and in the big hay barn.

The ring-around-the-Rosie kitties. I just had to name the white one Rosie!

An hour later, I got a flashlight, turned on some yard lights, and went to find Annabelle. Ahhh, there’s a gray cat. I felt her belly. She didn’t feel much like a mother nursing five babies. What if this isn’t the right cat? I know there’s another gray cat about the same size, but this was the only one in sight. I picked her up and put her near the cage. She sniffed a bit and then looked at me, so I pushed her in. She carefully circled around the babies and settled in. She wouldn’t lie down with them if she wasn’t the mother, right? Right? Weldon was still in the milk parlor, so I asked him. He said he knows what the mother looks like, so he’d check in on them before he came home.

An hour later (yes, it was about 10:00 now), Weldon came in. “Did you check on the mama cat and babies?” No, he forgot. Oh well. It’ll be alright, right? Right?

And now it’s Friday morning. I fed “my” cats and had to go to the milk barn to get some milk. As long as I was passing by the big barn, I thought I'd let Annabelle out. She hopped out, but the five babies were spread across the floor of the cage and little Rosie was lying on her back. (It’s not a very big cage, so they weren’t separated by much, but they weren’t cuddled in a nice little kitty cat pile, either.) There was no movement. Oh, my gosh! They’re dead. I looked again, my heart pounding. Not the slightest bit of movement.

I hurried to the milk parlor. "Weldon, I think the five kittens are dead!" "Dead? All of them?" "Yes. They didn’t move. They’re not snuggled up. I don’t think they’re breathing. I must have got the wrong mama!" He immediately went with me to the barn. None of them were moving. Weldon put his hand in, and gently touched and petted them all. "They’re fine." "Fine? Really?" "Yes, they're fine."

Heart attack averted. Barely.

A few minutes later I confessed the whole story to Pat. She said she has had the same kind of experience, but she learned that the babies just spread out if it gets too stuffy and warm for them. I’m pretty sure she was just trying to make me feel better … and it worked. Kind of.

This is, indeed, Annabelle.

The End. Of one more farm story.

Farm-Assist

Weldon has been farming his whole life. He's a farmer like his father and grandfather before him. I've been here for almost 13 years, but I'm not a farmer. When I helped with the milking chores, I liked to call myself a farm-assist. Sounds pretty important, doesn't it? I still assist when Weldon comes to the house and asks if I can help him for a few minutes. That happened a couple days ago, when he had to go up into the silo to make some adjustments.

This silo is 50 feet tall, not counting the rounded top. Weldon and a friend had cut and chopped the early corn and blown it up there. Well, they didn't blow it up there ... a machine did it. You can see a video of silage being blown into the silo here (scroll down almost to the end): http://farmmuse.blogspot.com/2012/10/chop-that-corn.html.

The cows were super excited to see what was going on.

Now, were was I? Ah, yes. Helping Weldon at the silo. This "crank thing" (below) raises and lowers the auger that's inside the silo. I don't have the strength to turn the crank, so the handle is replaced by a drill that can get the job done. Weldon is in the silo and I run the drill to raise or lower the auger per his directions. That's not a very good description, but if you want to understand it better, come for a visit and I'm sure Weldon will tell and show you all about it.

When I was done and Weldon was safely back on the ground, I decided to stroll toward the back of the barn and the pasture area. A calf had gotten out of the fence and was feeling footloose and fancy free - until he saw me. He scampered as fast as his little legs would carry him right back to his mama's side.

The early corn is in the silo, so I asked Weldon when the "later" corn would be ready. In September, of course. I should have remembered that, because on the morning of our wedding (September 25), Weldon was chopping corn! The late corn won't be late ... it will be right on time. And we're finally getting some rain to make it happy and healthy.

Pickles

Eleven years ago I wrote my first blog post on Farm Muse. It was about pickles. My second post was just a day later (on July 7, 2006) and it was also about pickles. So guess what I was doing today. Yup, making pickles!

It wasn't a great year for cucumbers on the farm, so I hoped maybe I wouldn't have to make any pickles. Silly me. With only two quarts of pickles left in the cupboard from last year, I knew I'd have to do something. Weldon can't live without his sweet pickles. Maybe Mom Edith still has some in her basement from previous years.

My younger daughter had been with us on the farm since late January, making a huge move from New York to France. We were busy. We had stuff to do. Pickles weren't on the to-do list. But, Mom and Pat to the rescue. (And I didn't even know I needed rescuing!) They started two gallon jars for me and passed them into my care on July 17. Truly, I was thankful. They're so thoughtful. And kind. And helpful.

These pickles don't happen overnight. First the cucumbers are picked and washed, then packed into gallon jars and covered with boiling water. Days 2 through 5 you drain off the water and then cover the cucumbers with fresh boiling water again. On Day 6 you pour off the water and this time add alum to the fresh boiled water. On Day 7 you drain the water from the jars and this time cover the cucumbers with vinegar and add a little bag of pickling spices. Now the jars sit for nine days and you don't have to do anything with them. Yay!

Today was Day 16. Pickle-making day. I took pictures. Because a blog is no fun without pictures. Some of you may have quit reading already. Such boring stuff. But, hang on. Pictures are here!

My first year (2006) I did SIX gallons. Impressive.

Today, Day 16. All cucumbers sliced thinly and covered in sugar. Lots of sugar.

The bowls of sugared "pickles" are covered and left to sit until the sugar dissolves.

When the sugar has dissolved (sometimes with the help of a little stirring) the pickles are packed into jars.

The jars are lowered into the hot water bath canner.

After 20 minutes, the jars are removed from the canner.

Tah Dah! 6 quarts of sweet pickles for the sweet farmer.

The way Weldon goes through these pickles, I'm thinking I'll still have to go check out Mom Edith's basement to see if she has some left from previous years. But this is definitely better than nothing.