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Hi Everyone,

            When life gives you lemons you are supposed to make lemonade—and when God allows you to struggle with breathing issues you take the hint and spend more time resting and try not to let anything stress you out. I am still dealing with asthma—the after effects of a recent head cold. Most days I only have enough energy to milk the cows (and some days barely enough)—but three days last week God had mercy on me and gave me the strength (and the help) to accomplish a little more than just milking.

            Fall is here—I know so because of the sycamores turning brown, the abundance of crows, the arrival of caterpillars, the slow disappearance of summer décor, and the slow appearance of fall décor in our house. The arrival of fall means that it is time to get the fall garden going. It isn’t happening as fast as I would like—but little by little seeds are being planted, seedlings are being potted up, and spent summer flowers are being pulled up to make room for new crops. Since I have a ton of sprouting potatoes I was hoping to plant some potatoes last week—but it would have required more time and energy than I had. As I was scanning over garden calendars from years past I realized that one year I planted potatoes the end of September and harvested them January 1st. That gives me three more weeks to get over this asthma—and the idea allowed me to not push myself beyond my limits last week. Besides, I was trying my best to not overdue the first half of the week so that I would have enough energy for the last half. I did manage to spend an hour and a half in the garden on Tuesday in order to plant a twenty foot long bed with carrots, turnips, multiplying onions and rutabagas. For those of us that live in the south, greens can become a very important part of our winter diet—but it doesn’t mean that everyone likes them. Greens (turnip, collard, kale) were not amongst the list of vegetables that we really enjoyed eating. We grew them in the garden because they were vegetables that will grow here—and Mama was determined that we (including her) should learn to eat whatever would grow in our garden.  One year we planted turnips and rutabagas in our garden—but I do not believe that we marked what was what. Once the greens were big enough to harvest we picked a mess of them and cooked them up for dinner. We sautéed some onion and bacon in some butter and then we added the greens and cooked them down. They were delicious—they were not bitter, nor were they prickly (which is normal for turnip greens). We were excited! We actually had a green (beside collards) that we liked. A few days later we were back in the garden and noticed the bulbous roots at the bottom of the greens we liked to eat—and they were not turnips—they were rutabagas! We decided right then and there that we would gladly eat rutabaga greens—but turnip greens must be fed to the chickens and we would eat the roots!

            I was dreading Thursday and Friday—for they were chicken graduation days. We had 84 chickens that needed to be processed—and they couldn’t wait until I felt better. With the two workers we have now it has been taking us until 5:30 and 6:00 in the evening to finish (starting at noon). It is a hard day when you feel great—a very, very hard day when you do not feel great. Thursday morning started out with Mama ready to change the dining room table décor from summer to fall. We decorate the table with tablecloths in the colors of the season and then we have three pieces of glass that go on top and cover the whole table so that we can wash all the crumbs off the table without having to disturb the décor. A few months back I was washing off the table and the glass moved to the side a little and when it was pushed back into place it hit the other piece just right that it broke a chunk out of the corner. We bought a new piece of glass to replace the broken one, but we had to dispose of the old piece before we could put on the new piece. The new piece had been placed on one of the beds until we were ready to swap them out and since we were changing the décor around it was the perfect timing. The broken glass was too big to fit into a feed sack—so I just needed to break it down a little more. I placed a potholder under the middle of the glass and laid a large tea towel over the top (to keep any glass from going flying). Then I grabbed a hammer and gave it a good whack—but nothing happened. I hit it a few times—but it never cracked! Mama said that it was God’s way of saying what I was doing was not very safe. So I headed outside and grabbed a giant garbage bag and we slid the glass into the bag and carried it outside and set it on top of our big plastic barrel garbage can. Then I grabbed the 3 pound hammer and hit the glass in the middle—but nothing happened. I hit it again, and still nothing. Once again Mama said that it was God’s way of saying what I was doing was not very safe. So we picked up the glass that was still in the garbage bag and headed outside of the garage and set it down on the concrete carport and I hit it with the three pound hammer—and it didn’t break. I hit it again—and it finally broke into manageable pieces. I made a new rule after all that banging on glass—“No one should ever get in trouble for breaking glass—for it really doesn’t break very easily.” We carefully packed the broken glass into empty feed sacks and we could finally start our day. The tablecloths needed to be washed, so we couldn’t set the table yet. I headed out to start milking the cows and Mama followed soon after. When the milking was done I got a little bit of paperwork done and then I took a nap—a much needed one if I was to make it through the rest of the day. We started processing chickens at 12:30—and to my delight we had three extra helpers. My sister, Nichole, had come to help and she brought her son (Brandon) and daughter (Makenna) with her. We were all done by 4:30!

            While Thursday went as smoothly as it could—it was still pretty exhausting on my weak body and I was feeling the effects on Friday. Any little bit of stress makes my breathing even harder. Our new front door was rubbing against the door jamb and the repairman showed up just as Mama was heading out to join me in the milking parlor. That put her about 40 minutes late milking—which caused me to have to wait around before I could finish milking my cows because I need one of Mama’s milk tanks to milk my last cow. Then customers started showing up, and workers needed to be given instructions and I was getting weaker and weaker. It was 11:30 when I finally got inside and did a little bit of paperwork before I sunk down into the recliner to take a nap. At noon another string of customers began to arrive and I took care of them while Mama and Papa got ready to process more chickens. It was going on 1:00 before I was able to help—and the first two round of chickens were already waiting for me (I do the eviscerating). We also had two extra helpers arrive around 1:30. My niece and nephew came back over to help (they live next door). My sister couldn’t make it because she had to work. We had customers show up off and on throughout the rest of the afternoon—so we had our fair share of interruptions. We still managed to get done between 4:30 and 5:00. The Lord had supplied the strength and the help needed to get the job done. Since then I have done nothing but milk the cows and rest—but that is okay because sometimes in order to get well you have to sit still.

Serving you with Gladness,

Tiare