More Than I wanted to Know

My ancestry on my mother's side of the family is well documented.  My family has been in America for a very long time.  In fact, research shows that a family member came over with the second wave of pilgrims, after the Mayflower.  I know that a multiple great grandmother was a Shawnee Indian, but she was only noted as "a squaw" with no name given.  Many in my line fought in the Revolutionary War, the Civil War and other wars after that.  I am quite proud of my heritage.

On the father's side of the family, we know that there's a good share of German in there as Casper Wilhelm Von Knecht came from that far off land.

But I like those commercials that connect you with all sorts of information and give you names of family members that are out there waiting to meet you.  Unfortunately, I didn't salivate in a tube that gives you leaves of information on the computer.  I went with the one that gave me ridiculously vague information.  It pretty much confirmed things, but gave me a more general connection with the European continent.  I liked that.  It made me feel a bit more refined -- fancy even.

Then I turned to the page that you see above.  It gives my Neanderthal variant.  Who wants to know what there Neanderthal number is and that they are in the 56th percentile.  Not me.  So much for feeling fancy.  Indicators include that of having  straight hair that doesn't curl easily.  Yep, that's me.  The list also included heavy back hair.  Fortunately that genetic trait missed me, but my Daddy didn't.  He was a bear.  So my Neanderthal-ness is well represented. 

I was really embarrassed.  Should I start a support group?   Should I delete said information? How do I balance that information and still feel like a civilized, well educated woman of this century? Do I need to buy a club for a fashion accessory?

Maybe I can't.  I confessed this to my hairdresser, primarily because I'm too primitive to have a therapist.  I thought if I could just admit this major flaw in my genetic code, I could deal with it better.  Admitting the problem is the first step, right?

We laughed about it.  Then she gave me a whole new outlook.  This could be manipulated to explain every weakness and failing, every mistake and failure I've ever had. "Why can't you be better at math, Karen?" My highly plausible response could be, "Well, you know, we Neanderthals are not good with digits. Can't help it."

Then I realized that for my whole lifetime I could have had this information at my disposal! What a valuable statistic I have in my arsenal.  This is working for me now.

There may be numerous mistakes in spelling, grammar and syntax, but I feel a need to remind you that we Neanders just aren't so good at this stuff.  That is just how I roll.

Sweet Goats

These are the three goats I turn to in setting a good example.  That's Hyacinth, the mother in the middle, flanked by her kids Dandelion and Daffodil.  They are low key, slow and steady.  They are friendly but not too friendly.  They are skittish but not too bad. 

Hyacinth is a pretty LaMacha doe with a nice beard and pretty blue eyes.  Sometimes people think she's funny looking and wonder why we cut her ears off.  LaManchas have little elfin or gopher ears and they are bred that way.  I have no idea why someone decided to breed for the lesser ear is better trait, but it's an American concoction. Hyacinth was bred with a Nubian buck. Nubians have long luxurious pendulous ears.  The babies have the length, but they stick out more than they hang.

A year or so ago Hyacinth was very sick and wasn't interested in anything.  We coaxed her back to health and I knew we'd turned the corner and she would certainly get well, the day she played with the Velcro on my winter coat.  She loves to undo Velcro.  She'll do it over and over again like a toddler with a new game. She's tender and doesn't run away, just gently separates the two parts of the Velcro strip.

The other goats might be prettier than Hyacinth and her twins or exude a more rambunctious personality, but I love the fact that I can count on them to be the calm presence in the midst of the barnyard.  Sometimes I think I'm getting old and boring.  Maybe I am to those around me, I'm just not going to ask. But life isn't always about bouncing around and looking pretty or even outdoing others. Sometimes the best times, are when we allow ourselves to become that calm, reliable presence.

Celebrate on a Daily Basis!

"Celebrate every day"

Right next to the little yellow cow creamer that I think is adorable, primarily because it is yellow, the lid off my yogurt reads, "Celebrate every day." Forget fortune cookies! Maybe we should always take the advice from our yogurt containers.

I don't celebrate nearly enough.  The last time I had my good china out was . . . well, I can't remember.  It does take some effort to celebrate, doesn't it?  Maybe I'm doing it wrong.

Come to think of it, when I think of celebrating something, I think of lots of work.  I expect there to be lots of planning, coordinating people, food, decorations and activities. Usually when there's a celebration, I'm too tuckered out to enjoy it.

If I'm going to celebrate every day, I need to change my definition. I like the idea of celebrating as a daily activity.  I need to apply one of the mantras of the time and "simplify."

Just the other night my husband suggested we take two guest who were staying with us to a nearby beach and watch the sunset. With no preparation on my part, I got in the Jeep and we were off.  In a matter of minutes we were lined up on the beach overlooking Lake Huron, watching the sunset.

Lake Huron sunset

No food, no music, no planning, no exhaustion, no activities. Just four lawn chairs + four people + one little dog on my lap = a celebration.  With that kind of equation I can celebrate every day!!  I think I will.  Celebrate every day.

Free Little Library

We had our grand opening of the "Marilyn Y. Knight Memorial Free Little Library" midsummer.  It has been such a rewarding experience to see our small establishment used so much that we've had to restock several times.  The tourist traffic of those enjoying fun in  the sun at the top of Michigan's Thumb, seem to take our road as a convenient thoroughfare.  We've had notes, painted rocks, lots of donated books and good wishes from members of the surrounding community.  I just love the responsibility of having this nook at the end of my driveway.

My mom, loved to do little things and sometimes grand things for people -- some she knew, some she'd never seen before and would never see again.  If she took her car in for any sort of service -- she took donuts and cider.  If she got the hankering, she'd buy dinner for a stranger without them knowing she had paid the bill.  It is so much fun doing things for others. 

The house is far enough off the road, that I never see who has stopped at the library.  I don't know who has been thankful for what we've offered them.  The children's books go very fast, so I am especially happy to know that children are getting their little hands on the written word.

I established the library in Mom's memory because I thought she'd delight in the idea that people were having wonderful adventures with books and enriching life, one page at a time.  Mom and I shared a love of books, and stories.  Of course, she's the one who started me on that journey.  It's one little magical pocket of happiness.

The Best of Times Farm, Because . . .

It didn't take my husband and I very long to come up with the name for our little farm.  We moved out here to fulfill some wonderful dreams and to enjoy making some fabulous memories.  When Dave and I tell people the name of our farm, they always like it, but often ask why or how we came up with it.

The famous Charles Dickens quote from The Tale of Two Cities, begins with the phrase "It was the best of times it was the worst of times."  I have to admit, I haven't read that particular literary classic yet, but I'm assuming he's talking about the existence of opposites in life--the yings and yangs.


But I'm claiming the good stuff.  I've had enough bad for a lifetime.  I know more negative and sad experiences will be part of my life -- it's normal.  But I'm over so many things that just don't matter to me anymore.  I'm out to live out the very best of times.

Some of those intentions are a little ridiculous in their celebratory nature.  I own that.  I love it. 

BonBon graduated from puppy class. 

This wonderful picture of our tiny puppy, is a great example of my life being lived.  It's a little silly. Some folks might think its a little over the top.  But it delights me.  It makes me happy.  In the end, that's really all we've got.

This afternoon, we had cement poured in a small two sided old barn.  It's a wonderful space that has all sorts of potential.  I couldn't just let that cement stand on its own.  So I gathered several cups of glitter -- silver, pink and purple.  My husband, Dave got right into with me and helped to spread it over the floor.  We couldn't get right into some corners, so Dave got the leaf blower out so we could do a better job of spreading out glitter.

I want to always make sure I spread my glitter far and wide even into the dark and forgotten corners! 

Milk and Eggs

My version of "Cowboy Quiche"

"I can't get no-o sat-is-fac-tion . . . " go the lyrics to one of those songs that gets stuck in your head.  Satisfaction is one of those things we all need, strive for, want, hope for -- for a lifetime.

When I made quiche for dinner, using my favorite recipe from The Pioneer Woman (cowboy quiche recipe), I felt a truly significant sense of satisfaction.

The directions call for eight eggs.  We get about two eggs a day from our Buff Orpingtons, Clove and Cinnamon.  It took four days worth of eggs to make our dinner.  It took the girls several days longer to create each of those little bundles of nutrition.

Petunia, my Nubian dairy goat provided the rich and wholesome milk.  She's milked every evening providing us with an abundance of dairy for our daily needs. It took several years to fulfill my dream of having a goat to milk and to use that milk.

It is incredible satisfying to have a hand in gathering the ingredients for our dinner.  I know where it came from. I know how well the animals are treated and even spoiled. I'm proud of my determination to live in this manner.

Being fully cognizant of the long term process of obtaining my milk and eggs, I have a greater appreciation for my food.  The quiche was delicious and it's easy to hurriedly eat without really tasting, and in my case, eat too much food as if I'm on autopilot.  But with the goods that come from Petunia, Clove and Cinnamon -- I'm a bit more protective.  I don't want to waste those resources.  Generations before us always did that.  They didn't eat just to eat because there wouldn't be enough.  They were aware of how much work went into their food --both on the part of the animal, the plants and the people -- mostly because they had worked right along in the process of bringing the food to the table.

There is a wonderful sense of satisfaction in participating in my own nutrition.

Everyday Miracles

                        Just because you can explain something, doesn't mean it's not a miracle.

Beauty Everywhere

Large round bales of hay as far as I could see.  There is a simple basic beauty in farmlands. I love to witness these pastoral settings during each season of the year.  It's a living quilt that causes me to feel a palpable warmth of the spirit.