our new foal

(You might want to click the video until it takes you to Youtube's main page to watch it. I don't know why it's only showing the partial picture.)

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Two Sundays ago, Dad looked out the window to the gully at the bottom of the hill. "We've got a little speckled one on the ground!" We all ran down with cameras, babies (well, a baby), and wide grins. Some friends were over, and soon the neighbors were too. All to celebrate this little filly! Isn't she grand?

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We'd been watching Dutchess (a.k.a. Dusty) carefully as her due date approached and were sad to miss the actual birth. But it was so cool to be around within a couple hours of it. My Pops has been breeding and raising Tennessee Walking horses for some years, but this was the first birth I was home for. Sunday is her name so far, unless someone has a better idea. David points out that she had to be born SOME day of the week, so naming her for that is a bit un-creative. But she seems like a Sunday.

It was quite an idyllic scene, with the grass so green and the sky so bright...all but for the fact that Dutchess wouldn't let Sunday nurse. She kept kicking her away. It could've been due to the onlooking crowd, but Dad says some first time mamas do this. We eventually led them up to the corral and reassuringly held Dutchess still until Sunday could get a good latch on. Sunday's getting all the nutrition she needs nowadays, evidently, because she is a romper and a runner! Dutchess has to chase her all around the meadow. Sometime I'll try to get a good video of that.

* * * looking back 6 months ago * * *

A very memorable part of my early labor was going for a walk around the meadow with the fam to get my contractions to intensify (because my waters had started trickling, and for a home birth with a midwife who follows the rules, you've got 24 hours to be in obvious solid labor after your waters break or else you're supposed to go to the hospital). Ditching higher reasoning to birth instictually and peacefully, like the animals, was a theme in my birthing books, so it was really special to have this moment with Dutchess, who was at that point in middle-pregnancy.

(Listen. You don't give a rip about fashion when you're in labor.)

* * * fast forward to now * * *

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This is us four on Thursday, Zoralee's 6 month birthday.

I’ve heard tell that of all the primitive weaponry……

(This was written by Jason, at my insistence, after he came in tonight and told me this story.)
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As I write this guest entry on my wife’s blog, a storm is coming with rather hefty gusts in the forecast. Naturally, being the protective father/farmer that I am, I tried to round up the hens for the night. They usually do this on their own but tonight there was a straggler. With proverb like determination I approached the maverick hen. If the Good Shepherd would leave the 99 for the one who went astray, I should surely do the same.
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Now, my “girls” know me well. When I walk across the yard toward them they meet me half-way; they will actually run for me with an endearing wobble-almost-fly shuffle. I’ve raised them since they were 3 days old. We have a mutual affection, save one bird….Flight Risk.
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In the days before free-ranging I would carry them individually, one by one, from their permanent home to a range pen. During this period there was always one bird who did not like being caught. Being Barred Rocks, all of the hens are practically identical. I decided to tag this one with duct tape loosely around the hock so I could see if it was the same bird. It was. Night after night it was little duct-taped Flight Risk playing “catch me if you can.” I removed the tape eventually and she slipped into anonymity. I believe I found her again tonight.
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First she ran under the chicken house. I poked at her with a stick, and Glacier, the Malamute we are boarding, slipped under the house and crawled toward her. She wouldn’t be budged and I went around to the other side. At that point she bolted for the horse corral. Flight Risk is a smart bird I guess. How do you get rid of someone chasing you who is 60 times your size? Oh, just slip under a series of gated fences. The chase ensued for roughly 10 minutes before I reverted to my pre-civilized self and picked up three rocks to add to my 3 foot stick.
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She ran under a trailer where I used my three rocks. Anger, adrenaline and the whole scenario of a large man hunting a small bird must make you a pretty accurate shot. The three rocks brought her out into the open, she ran again, and just as she was about to round the corner of the barn, some Maori instinct kicked in and I let loose the throwing stick.
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I’ve heard tell that of all the primitive weaponry available for hunting small game, the throwing stick brought the most success by far. The spinning stick increases your affective strike zone in diameter by the length of the stick, hence I had a three foot strike zone. I was not explicitly thinking this before the stick left my hand. Actually what I was explicitly thinking was, “I brought you into this world and darn sure can take you out of it”.
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The stick whirled through the air. Flight risk was all, “OH @#&$!” I was all, “I’m a human, you are a bird, and I will not be chasing you much longer.” The impact was enough to shock her and she bolted into a pallet to make her stand. I simply reached in, pulled her out and tucked her under my arm. At this point she just nestled in to my side and relaxed. This is just what she did the myriad other times I’d catch her in the old days. Anyhow, I put her in the chicken house and she went about her business. I doubt she learned anything except to run faster next time.

on baby time

When you have a baby (and maybe any size kid - I don't know yet), it's not so much that you don't have time for other things. You do have tidbits of time, but they are interspersed among baby-focused activities to where often tasks are left half completed. This is already a problem for me in general life - not finishing things - and it's exaggerated now.

Also, a person has to be really flexible with when they do what. For example, if you've got 5 things to accomplish on your list today, first off you better change it to 2. If one item is "cleaning up the last three days' worth of dirty kitchen," don't plan on a straight stretch of time to work on it. You'll do a sink full of dishes, stop to change a diaper, notice that there's spit up all over the baby's outfit and she needs changed, realize you're running low on laundry and had better start a load, etc. etc. You'll come back to the kitchen an hour later and get the nagging impression that you've been working on this one thing all day long. Another aspect of the flexibility is space. You may be cleaning up the bedroom, but if the baby needs a nap, boom. That project is now officially OVER. Or, on hold, rather. So you've got to be okay with changing courses.

A helpful reminder to me as of late, from the book, "God Among the Shakers" is to take joy in my work, whatever it is. Those people were/are INTO work. My lands. Back in the 1700's when the Shaker thing was first shakin,' thanks to a quirky lady named Ann Lee who decided to start up a whole new religion based on communal living and no sex (more on this later), they allotted only 6 hours a night for sleep! Otherwise, it was work, worship, be together, eat, and some reading. I wouldn't last long there on 6 hours of sleep. And they have since changed that particular rule. The point is that they viewed work as a sort of communion with God, to be done peacefully and purposefully, not frantically. Hello! And they still do, the 8 of them that are left.

A passerby might see someone mowing the lawn or folding laundry or fixing a meal. Straight forward enough observation. But nobody knows the spirit underneath what that person is doing, and if there's joy and thankfulness in it, it can be worshipful. And isn't that what we're after? At the end of the day, is it really that vital how much we got done, or is it more important what the day added to our soul, how well we felt, how we connected with God, with life, with those around us?

we was away, part 2: the other stuff

(Zoralee in the wagon)

As I look through the pictures, I realize the main thing we did besides attend the conference was arrange ourselves around Zoralee to play with her and take pictures. That, and Mom and Heather got haircuts, and we did a little shopping. On Mom's birthday, we sat poolside in the sun, eating bits of fancy chocolates Rachel brought from Portland.

There's a little dive called "Dick's" underneath the freeway across from the Quality Inn where we stayed. They have burgers for 80 cents and homemade milkshakes in a variety of flavors for like $1.60. People with mullets go there, lean over the counter, and say, "Gimme 8 Super Wammies, 2 cheeseburgers, 2 chicken strips, and a Coke." We went there the first evening, before Rachel's plane came in. I thought for sure we would be there every day, on account of the budget pricing. But, we branched out.

The report on Zoralee is that she was a trooper. Naptimes were all kiddiwomped, as we were in a crowd of thousands of people all day. I had my Ergo Baby Carrier sling, which I adore, and Zoralee slept in that three or four times a day as needed. It was nice to lay on the lawn to nurse, smelling the fresh grass. Once though, I threw the same spider away from Zoralee's head three times, but it kept making its way back to her. Mom, Rachel, and Heather each took a spell or two with her outside, so that she didn't have to put up with blaring speakers too much.
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Zoralee was amazing with EC (Elimination Communication) on this trip. It is now officially a pattern - we do best with EC away from home. I think it's because I give her pottytunities more often, or in this case, on a regular schedule that lined up with the conference breaks. She went in the motel potty and the arena potty multiple times a day. In fact, I never changed a poopy diaper all weekend. But speaking of poo...

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Toward the very end of the conference, everybody had gone back inside after a break, and I was on the lawn with Z. There was no one else in sight, so I discreetly took off her diaper to let her tinkle a bit. To my surprise, I heard a noise that indicated Z was doing more than peeing, and to my double surprise, downhill from us about 20 yards appeared a crew of men on their motorized cart, stopping directly in front of us to pick up flecks of garbage. I do say flecks, because this crowd left almost no garbage on the facility lawns. Anyway, they were looking up at us, but I played it cool, holding Z low and tight, with my legs covering her as best I could. Don't mind me, people. I'm just letting my child poop on your lawn. Go about your business. Fortunately, they must not have known, because they continued on their fruitless search for garbage flecks. And once I'd gone, they would've simply thought a mustard packet exploded there. It was just a little bit. Plus, the timed sprinklers were due to come on sometime soon, I'm sure.

we was away, part 1: the conference

My mom's birthday was yesterday, and her one request was that we girls spend the weekend together in Spokane attending the Women of Faith conference there. She and Dad even paid our expenses. Not bad, huh? It was a really precious time together - my mom, Heather, Rachel, Zoralee, and myself. My family is going through some tough things right now, so the combination get-away of fun and hearing encouraging speakers was right on cue.
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As for the conference itself, I didn't know what to expect, and I was surprised in both good and bad ways. I have been pretty out of touch with the whole pop-christian-marketing-and-paraphernalia subculture for a decade or so. I do love the music and writings of some believers, but only when they're about life as those people honestly see it, with subjects ranging from brown rice to Jesus to pot holders to worship to waterfalls to light to darkness to hang nails. Not necessarily in that order.
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When we first arrived and saw boatloads of women entering the arena with perfectly coiffed hair and khaki Capri's, I scanned the crowds for anybody who appeared to be a free thinker, a question asker, an individual. Isn't that silly? I know full well that outward appearance is practically meaningless. Yet it's sometimes an indicator of a person's allegiance to a particular group. I was glad when I saw one girl with dreadlocks, EVEN THOUGH she might be more blindly tied to the grunge hippy subculture than the other 14,999 women I assumed were tied to the church lady subculture. Later I was glad to meet a couple gals with homemade slings for their babies. All of this, despite the fact that I am the most generic looking person ever. Yes, I was putting a whole crowd into one box. I know that. Rude. But....perhaps a little true.

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Standing in the parking lot at the beginning there, Rachel thought she was going to have a panic attack like she did once when we attended a craft day at a relative's house and she'd had to go outside and concentrate on breathing normally. Something about a roomful of domesticity makes her crazy. And this was a whole arena full. (I asked her permission to say this - maybe she'll elaborate.) Anyway, she handled it just fine.

The layout for the conference was that everybody met in the big arena the whole time; we never broke into smaller groups. There were lectures and concerts for about three hours, then a break, when most of us would pour out into the sunshine and lay in the grass. Then, inside for another session.

a rather loud concert*

Several of the speakers conducted an informal forum the first day, answering questions from conference goers about real life issues like abusive husbands and the church's response to the gay community. That was good! I dug the talks by Henry Cloud, author of several books, including Boundaries, which I've heard good things about and now wish to read. He was one of only two male speakers the whole time, and my family agreed it was nice to get some testosterone in there. I also liked the strong focus on world poverty, a subject I would love to see become one of the church's primary concerns (to give me/us ideas of what to do about it!), since Women of Faith has a partnership with WorldVision. It's just one of those topics that, you know, Jesus seems to have cared about. Loving your neighbor, hanging out with the poor and downtrodden and neglected. All that stuff.

A highlight moment for me was actually during a psalm that Sandy Patti sang. All along, an interpreter signed the lectures and songs for the deaf participants. Well, this one song of Sandy's built to a crazy-ass crescendo, naturally, since we're dealing with Sandy Patti. All of the sudden, in the heat of that last chorus, she started signing the words herself while she sang. At that point, the interpreter stopped, because the Real Deal, the originator of the words, was speaking directly to the audience, both the hearing and the deaf. So there was Sandy hitting these high notes with such strength and intensity, but also delicately signing with her hands and arms, "Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah." And the interpreter stood still.

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That touched me on lots of levels, but specifically I thought of motherhood. I know I'll be trying my darndest to communicate truth to my kid as she grows. I'm the interpreter. I'll be signing the truth I see in the world, the ways of God. Hope. Goodness. But sometimes, when God speaks for Himself, through a sunset or an act of kindness, I'll stop signing and let the event speak for itself, because it'll be coming from the Real Deal.

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A couple tidbits on what I didn't like. Sadly, there was a lot of marketing thrown into the conference, which cheapened it. They would advertise various books and cds at every break and sometimes mid-lecture. Stylistically, I tend toward anti-pop-culture ideals in worship (like silence, non-flashiness, traditional hymns, or meaningful other music, which I know is totally arbitrary), so the bubblegum flavored worship was difficult for me to participate in. I can totally appreciate the fact that this meets a lot of people where they are (though perhaps the industry brings people to this point and then happily meets them there?...). Often the speakers would lead us in an a capella hymn, for which I was thankful.

catch up monologue

I have 40 million things to blog about, as I've been thinking so much about so many things so much of the time. We got back last night from a weekend in Spokane - my mama, Zor, my sis-in-law, Heather, and my sister, Rachel. It was so great, and I have much to say about it. And I have been thinking about Memorial Day (over a week ago now), and my experiences at the parade. And the book I'm reading called "God Among the Shakers," and how it contrasts with the aforementioned experiences. And how much Zoralee is growing.

But I also have a roast that has been sitting in the fridge for days that will go to ruin if I don't get to cooking it this instant, a pile of crud to put away from the weekend, a photo cd to view from my mom-in-law that will have a few pics from those files we lost, a garden to plant, socks to put away that have stayed on the line for a week, oh, and a growing baby to care for. I'll betcha my sister will beat me to posting pics and tales from our weekend in Spokane, so if you're not a regular to her blog otherwise, there you go.

Coming soon.....the story of Zoralee pooping on the Spokane Arena lawn in front of the garbage-picker-upper guys, some interesting tidbits on the Shakers, including their philosophy of celibacy, and photos of flag-waiving children.

Much love until then.