Friday, September 5, 2008

A Glimpse Of Heaven

I leaned against the door of the barn and looked out across the green cornfields at a clear blue sky dotted with cotton-wool clouds. It may have been the hazy day or my tired eyes, but all I
could see were tiny, shimmering circles of light cascading down from the heavens.
I watched in amazement, hoping whatever visual oddity this was, it wouldn't vanish too soon.Then I noticed while most of the light circles were coming down, some floated up into the sky. It's like watching prayers, I thought.
What if those shimmering circles are the answers to prayers being sent to God? Our prayers float up to God, and His love cascades down upon us even when we can't see it. We live in a world full of invisible, technological wonders. I accept the presence of satellite signals shooting down from the sky to a metal dish on the side of my house and don't give a moment's thought to the process while I watch my favorite television shows. I talk to my family, thousands of miles away over the ocean, on a cell-phone, and I don't need to see those conversations flowing through the sky to know they are real.
Of all generations, why does ours still need to see to believe? I'm quite thankful for my earthly sight, when it comes to dust mites, bacteria and viruses. If we could literally see everything in the air as we walked around, we might all live in glass bubbles! I think there is a good reason why God gave us limited vision.
Here on earth we see through a glass, darkly, the Bible tells us. We cannot imagine the true wonders of heaven or see the world the way God does. Sometimes we are given a glimpse of the glory of God when someone taking their last breath, opens their eyes wide and says, "Oh, it's so beautiful." I heard one of those stories last night on the radio, and it gave me goosebumps. I could almost see those angels carrying her home in their gentle embrace.
When I think of those beautiful circles of light, I am reminded of God's love for us and His presence. He is with us every moment of every day. He loves us that much. He loves you that much and He does hear your prayer, the cry from your broken heart. Be still and know. . . Emmanuel - God is with us.

Author Notes1 Corinthians 13:12 - For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.
Please forgive the formatting problems on this post. For some reason it is not posting properly!

Goats For Hire

The other day on the radio, the commentator explained the difference between poor and broke. "Poor is a state of mind that will keep you there forever," he said. "Broke is a temporary situation, able to be changed if you try hard enough. It's all in your mind-set."

Okay, I'm broke. Rising fuel and livestock costs have brought us to the brink of disaster in the goat milk production business. Our does eat one large square bale of hay a day. The same bale we bought last year for $45 now costs $70 to $100. They eat four pounds of grain a day. I won't bore you with the details. Grain has tripled in price. Those of you familiar with the Rainbow Gate Farm goats know how much they care about me. The rest of you are about to find out.

Yesterday, I went to the barn. The girls were gone! Imagine my shock when I found this note nestled in the hay: Dear Jani,We know times are hard. They must be. You have cut back the amount of grain you feed us! Normally we would simply kidnap you again, or stop milking altogether. But we heard you talking to your two-legged mate about having to sell the farm. We know really bad things happen to goats who leave their farm, and besides - we've grown fond of you.

Please look outside and you will discover our new second job! That's right! We are now officially the "Roofing & Construction Does of Rainbow Gate Farm!" No job too steep. No need to take out expensive insurance. We never fall! We never fail! Love from Cinderella, Egg-Yolk, Red, and 247 other does who wish to remain anonymous.

So all my problems are solved. I plan to put up fliers everywhere, then sit back and wait for the calls to come rolling in. Of course, with their sharp hooves and tendency to nibble anything they can fit in their mouths, I might be better off renting them out as demolition workers.

Just look at those girls on top of the barn roof! It's such a relief. For a while there, I thought I might have to get a real job!

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Bye, Bye, Barbie

We watched the buckskin foal, Blondie, frolicking in the summer breeze across the pasture, far from the safety of her mother's side. "I've never seen such a young foal stray so far from its mother," I commented to my husband.

Paul nodded. "It's the weirdest thing," he agreed.

We stood watching Blondie a little longer before heading to the barn to milk our goats. This petite filly was Barbie's third baby in the five years we'd owned her. Her first two foals, both boys, were sold when they were weaned.

We bought Barbie at a local horse sale in 2003 for our daughter to ride. Her previous owner sang her praises, but anyone familiar with horse sales knows it is "buyer beware". In this case, the seller was truthful. It wasn't long before we discovered what a dream pony Barbie really was. My daughter learned to ride on this patient equine babysitter.

Every year in the fall, children visiting the local tractor and antiques show would line up for a free ride on the "chocolate pony with the pink saddle." Barbie let children sit on her back for hours on end, and she never misbehaved. She also attended multiple birthday parties, giving town children an opportunity to ride a pony, often for the first time ever.

At a recent sale, I caught up with her original owner, and was able to tell her how much we adored the sweet pony she'd sold us. We breed and sell horses for a living and many times, people asked us to 'name our price' for Barbie.

Ponies like her are hard to find. I would smile and say, "You can't afford her. She's priceless." We displayed her photo on our Rainbow Gate Farm website, with the caption, "Barbie will never be for sale."

On Rainbow Gate Farm, foals are not handled much until after they are weaned from their mothers. We like to let them learn "horse manners" from their mother and the other horses in the herd. Mares ' breed back' (become pregnant again) sometime in the first few months after their foal is born. At six to eight months of age, we "wean" them gradually.

This transition time is usually a tough time for the foal. We bring their dams back to the foal each night for a week, and then every second day for a little longer. Then it's time for the dam to concentrate her energy on the growing foal inside her belly, and for her weaned foal to learn about people.During those first six months with their dams, it is unusual for the foal to stray far from her side. Mama is their security from predators, and their only source of affection and nutrition.

Blondie's behavior was odd for her age. The only time Blondie stayed by her mother's side was to nurse. Once satisfied, she would take off exploring once more. None of us could have imagined at the time, this unusual trait would save her life.

For the past several months, severe thunderstorms have been rolling in across the green corn fields of our county. These storms are often brief, but very intense with continuous lightning and hail. No sooner does one storm end, than another is building up on the horizon. Three months ago, we moved Barbie and her two-month-old baby girl, Blondie, to our neighbor's pasture with several other horses we own. There are several barns where the horses can seek shelter from severe weather. Barbie didn't like being outside in storms, and was usually the first one in the barn when the raindrops began to fall.

One afternoon, our neighbor called us to say a horse was dead in the pasture. We rushed up the road to discover our dear Barbie collapsed in knee-deep grass, with Blondie circling around her. Blondie touched her nose to her mother's side over and over again, unable to understand why her mother didn't get up. A quick examination revealed a large burn mark on Barbie's right cheek. Her eyes were dislocated. Lightning had struck the ground next to where she grazed, and the wet grass became the conductor for the electricity to enter her body. The way her legs were buckled underneath her told us she'd died instantly.

Blondie wouldn't let us near her. With five people helping, we were able to run her up into the barn and lasso her. Once she was caught we put a halter on her head and trailered her back to our home farm. We put her into a large stall, with hay, grain and fresh water, and she nibbled the food, giving us hope she will make the transition to solid food successfully. Two months is far too young for a foal to lose its mother's milk, but they can survive if given enough high quality substitutes. We may offer her goat's milk to help boost her calcium levels and protect those growing bones.

Within a half hour of being home, the distraught foal decided Amber and I might make pretty decent surrogate mothers after all. She started following us around and nuzzling us. We brought her out into the sunshine and let her nibble grass on the lawn. She looked around and whinnied for her mother, but of course, there was no answer.

Every time I look at Blondie, I think back to the day we stood and wondered why she didn't stay next to her mother, like normal foals. How thankful I am for her "oddness." A normal foal standing right next to her mother in the wet grass would have been killed by the lightning bolt that took her dam's life. Even in a storm, Blondie was far enough away to be saved.

Our eight-year-old daughter is naturally very upset about her pony's death. But our Barbie lives on through her sweet daughter, Blondie, who will one day take her place at the fair, giving pony rides to children who love horses as much as we do.

Oh, and by the way, don't ask, because Blondie will never be for sale.

Frazzled!

Having spent twenty minutes showing our guests around the farm, we paused by the goats' pasture, where all two-hundred-and-forty of our milking does grazed in the warm sunshine.

"So," the woman standing beside me said. "You don't have a job, then. You just stay here on the farm."Excuse me? my brain interjected, while my lips threatened to break out in hysterical laughter.

"No, I don't," I stammered. "I milk the goats."I milk the goats? What kind of a lame answer is that? my brain roared.

Shrugging her shoulders, our visitor climbed into her car. "Must be nice," she added.

Watching them drive away, I glanced at my grinning husband."She didn't mean it that way," he said, standing at a safe distance."Yes she did!" Yes she did! my brain and I shouted.

You had to hear the words spoken. The tone of voice, the inferring smirk. Perhaps she is right. All I do each day is crawl out of bed at six in the morning and head to the barn to set up for morning milking. I'm in the door again by, oh, about eleven to grab some breakfast, now that kidding season is over.

During kidding season, I ate my meals in the barn, where I belonged. A mere five hours of being outside enjoying life on the farm, while I milk all two-hundred-and-forty milking goats, and then feed, water and care for the one-hundred-and-fifty baby goats, twenty horses and one-hundred chickens, ducks and turkeys, give or take a rooster or two, that also live on our farm.

My husband is a self-employed electrician and contractor. I'm his secretary, book-keeper and general go-fer. In other words I 'go-fer' this and I 'go-fer' that. The sales people at Menards, Lowes and FarmTek know me by name. This task usually involves driving long distances and subsequently delivering electrical or plumbing parts to whatever job site he is working at on a given day.

But not every day. So that isn't work. Work is something you do every day. I should be ashamed of myself, really, not having a job. Five people live in this house and only three of those are children or teenagers. This week, one of those children is in swimming lessons, and one is in driver's education, both of which mean a trip to town. That is the least I can do, seeing as I don't have a job.

By mid afternoon, after squeezing in a few hours as a housewife doing laundry and dishes, I find myself back outside enjoying that country air. Waterers need filling, animals need checking, and the possibility always exists that the sneaky fence-defying pony is out in the corn field again. Gosh, look at the clock! It's almost six in the evening and time to start the evening chores.

Chores? Did I say chores? Excuse me, I meant the evening leisure time, where I get to go out and spend three to four hours milking the goats again, feeding and watering everyone and gazing at the moon as I trudge back to the house around nine or ten.I almost forgot. I'm looking after our neighbor's ninety-year-old grandma this week and have to dash down there and help her get ready for bed. It's only a five-minute drive each way. She is a wonderful lady. I hope I'm as agile as she is, if I live to be ninety. Visiting with her is the highlight of my day -- no kidding!

When I get back, I will don rubber boots once more, so I can go outside and play farmer some more.It's ridiculous. This nine to ten hours a day of lazing around the farm has to stop! I'm going to start searching the classifieds for gainful employment.

Tomorrow.

In all my spare time, yawn. . . . Zzzz.

Stupid World

Two old goats glared at each other across twelve inches of feeding space. I sat in my milking parlor the other night watching as each one in turn tried to eat a mouthful of grain from the manger. The other doe would bite her ear.

Back and forth they went, neither of them accomplishing anything more than stopping the other one from eating. A young doe, half their size, stood between the two fighters. While the old ones nipped and fought, that young doe proceeded to polish off every last piece of grain in front of them.

First she leaned one way, then the other, stretching her neck to reach, until it was all gone. The other two were so busy fighting, they didn't even notice she was devouring their prize. I couldn't help but think of our world and the mess we are in.

Our governments and countries are too busy fighting and squabbling with each other to realize the very prize they fight for, our world, is vanishing before their eyes. Heaven help us.

We are a bunch of stubborn old goats.