My New Career.....Midwife

If you have ever taken the time to look at the blogs I link on the right hand sidebar, you will notice that most of them are written by Christian agrarians. Believers who are making their living off their own land, using their own hands. When I first started writing in this little corner of blogdom, I hadn't stumbled upon these blogs just yet. But I have been, for a long time, a suburban gal who wished she lived in the country or a little town.

I don't even remember how I first found these blogs, but one led to another which led to another. I now regularly peruse Scott's blog in upstate New York, I find others through his links, I read Northern Farmer whose writing reminds me so much of our cattle rancher friend here in Colorado, I read what the faithful saints are doing in Missouri, others in central Texas, a family in Canada, a family in Idaho, and a mama in Tennessee with her three boys.

It was the family in Tennessee who asked for ideas for a new name for their farm. I submitted an idea, and with some tweaking, they used it! Me, who has never given birth, has now helped birth a new name for an entire farm! Now, how cool is that?! My grandfather would have been proud!

(I stole this picture from the Tennessee Farmgirl blog. It's of her three boys after a hard day's work.)

The Men in My Life

On this Father's Day, I have been thinking of the men in my life.

One great grandfather taught me left from right.

Another great grandfather bought his bride-to-be a beautiful watch for Christmas in 1901, which I now have and cherish.

My maternal grandfather opened up the world of flowers to me.

My paternal grandfather taught me that bigger is not always better when it comes to gifts.

My dad taught me to appreciate music, art, history, conversation, and the Western sky.

My husband made me his bride twenty-eight years ago, and now travels the road of parenting with me.

Our son daily shows me true examples of patience and forgiveness.

My heavenly Father perfectly loves imperfect me, and patiently guides my stumblings and gropings.

I would not be me without the men in my life. Happy Father's Day to you all!

(note: The old men in the photo are not related to me in any way and are not to be confused with the men mentioned in my post!)

Thanks, Grandpa!

My maternal grandfather dutifully followed in the footsteps of his male ancestors and became a pastor, but his passion was agriculture. He was able to transfer this love of growing things to me through three special visits.

When I was about seven years old, Grandpa and Grandma DeChant took a trip from Ohio to visit us in Colorado one summer. Grandpa took me for a walk and when we were almost home, he stooped and drew my attention to some vividly colored zinnias growing alongside the sidewalk in our neighbors' yard. The colors were striking, but it was a long-spent bloom, turned withered and brown that he held in his fingers to show me. As he retrieved the seeds from their little case, he opened up a new world to me. The miracle of all those seeds, being produced by a single bloom was revealed to me by the man who secretly longed to be a farmer.

Seven years later it was my pleasure to take a trip to visit my grandparents in Ohio. I was proud to attend church on Sunday and hear him preach, but it was our forays out into his garden that I cherished. I remember most his roses, day lilies, and pansies. While checking on his rose garden I was very impressed that he was not the least bit reticent to squish aphids between his fingers. I wondered, "Will I ever love gardening so much that I won't think twice about squishing aphids by hand?"

Several years later, Grandpa was gone, and my mother and I took a trip to her childhood home in Virginia. The church where her father preached had turned into an Italian restaurant after the new church was built, and the parsonage where she lived was long gone. We sat in the former sanctuary ordering from the menu, and she regaled me with stories from her childhood. She remembered that Grandpa had grown pansies in the shady area between the church and the parsonage. We looked at old photos of the church while our dinners were being prepared. Then, when our meals arrived, we were blessed to be presented with sumptuous food garnished with...pansies! Only God can orchestrate such memories.

I now joyfully garden, I always grow pansies, and I unabashedly squish aphids by hand. I also look forward to eventually being reunited with my grandfather where we can enjoy God's heavenly gardens.