We started seeds and boy does it feel good! The boys loved helping spread the dirt into the cells. Little Danny helped plant a few seeds and I finished the rest, while Benjy played with the spay bottle for an hour. We held hands, sang Kumbaya, they listened perfectly, and no one got dirty. (Ha!) Let me tell you, planting seeds indoors with two little boys is exactly the disaster you'd expect. Dirt and mud were everywhere, they were shaking seed packets like they were maracas in a mariachi band, a stuffed animal got in the mix, way more things were sprayed than necessary, there were squabbles and snotty noses, tractors plowing, and dirty footprints left on my white floors. It would have been way easier, cleaner, and quieter doing it alone in a quaint greenhouse and probably a higher success of things actually growing. I knew all this from the start as they were helping roll up the rug. As I set everything out, I took a deep breath and silently reminded myself, "it will be a disaster, but its ok. Vacuums work miracles. If they don't see me frustrated then they will think its the best time ever." This year I want them included in as much as they would like. Our plan is to expand the garden and try to grow a lot of our own produce. This means starting seeds, canning, storing, preserving, pickling, rotating crops, and lots more that is all new to us. Will we fail? Yes... Will there be mistakes, changes we would've made in hindsight? Definitely... ...but were still doing it. You know the whole, "First if you don't succeed, try, try, again." Well, it wasn't until I started (and failed) my first vegetable garden that I realized I definitely lived by, "First if you don't succeed... ...Then QUIT!" To be more specific: Quit hard and sweep the failure under the rug, complain about how its a dumb idea, and try to hide the fact you ever tried. I saw failure as the end all, something to be embarrassed over, and just add it to the list of "its just not my thing." My first garden, I grew puddles. The grass was so nice where we wanted the garden that we decided to move it and sod in the dirt patch behind the patio. Well, this lowered the ground level and we had a muddy puddle sludge all year with one cherry tomato plant that we couldn't get to because of the mud. Weeds grew in and it was a mess. I was so embarrassed, and then I was embarrassed that I was embarrassed, but couldn't ask my husband to fill in the dirt hole he had so kindly created for me. Also, being the encouraging person he is, he of course didn't advise quitting, but suggested raised beds, and trying again next year. So, year two we had raised beds. They were overrun with weeds, my carrots were not what I hoped for, but I did get a harvest of tomatoes, carrots, cucumbers, beets, and peppers, even if it was only enough for some dinners. As I discouragingly brought in my measly little carrot harvest, Danny reminded me that this was a huge improvement from last year. And from then on that's been my goal, just a little better than the year before. That comment from him helped me realize my problem with failure. I don't push through failure. I jump off that path and pick another. For the first time, I took failure, acknowledged it, and tried again. From then on, that's been my goal: just a little better than the year before. Now I'm reminding myself its about the learning, the fun, the getting my hands dirty. You know what? My garden has weeds. I don't care. I'm a weedy gardener. I know it can choke out the other stuff and the weeds will reseed and be annoying. I don't care. So, to add to the possible new ares of failure, we're starting seeds, and yes, they could all die. I agree, I haven't mastered managing the gardens I have. I'm yet to get a good harvest. I have two children that think my gardens are their tractor's playgrounds, but I'm enjoying it. It is a learning process. I'd never tell my child they can't read a book on their own because they don't know all their letters now. They both "read" all the time, sometimes very badly, sometimes seemingly perfect because they memorized it all, the point is they want to learn. It is a process and the same goes for my gardening ability. The biggest thing I realized with my problem with failure, was I can't tell my children to not give up when life is tough, if I never model it. So this year there are two goals for the garden: 1: Forget the negative comments My gardens are MY gardens. It doesn't matter what anyone else is doing. If I want to let my flowers go wild, so be it. If I want to try growing flowering vines, Yes! try it! I've failed before, what's another failure. Who knows, maybe I'll pleasantly surprise myself. 2: Include the boys. I did great at this when Danny was little, but last year I actually had a semi-decent garden and got persnickety. "Don't let those kids in or they'll ruin it." was the advice I lived by. Then came fall and I saw what I missed. My gardens produced, but I lost the thing I wanted the most, to teach them and include them in what I was doing. I vowed this year to be different. Our garden is a family garden. I want everyone to treasure it, which means teaching the boys how to do it right and giving them the same grace my husband gave me when I failed. So we plan to expand the veggie garden. The raised beds are just a pollinator garden this year due to poor crop rotation planning. The boys get their own plot to do whatever they want. No rules other than being nice to one another. Then, I want to try a sunflower fort, basically growing a horseshoe shape garden of sunflowers for them to hide in. They may stomp it down before it blooms, but as long as it brings joy that is all that matters. It's a big year of shutting out the voices of negativity, finding joy in the process, and cherishing our time together, no matter how many stomped on seedlings or harvested white strawberries we have. Praise the Lord I have a grocery store to make up for all the food we manage to kill. If all we get are mud pies, eating all the strawberries warm and fresh with dirt, and chasing butterflies, that's ok. I had to come to realize I'm not just growing veggie and flower gardens, but also gardens in the hearts of my children. I don't want to grow a garden of frustration and exasperation; harvest a year of keep outs, and don't touch its. I don't want weeds of perfectionism and resentment to choke out their blooming creativity and wonder.
Someday my gardens will be empty of children, and while they may be prolific and beautiful, I have a feeling these gardening years of crushed flowers and little footprints between the tomatoes will be the ones that we will wish to go back to.
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We have our first ever lambs on the farm! Meadow gave birth to healthy brown twins the first week in February. Little Danny named them Maple and Alfalfa (I was pushing for Maple and Pecan but he was set on his choice.) Thankfully they came without any hiccup, and we walked into the barn to a very calm mama with a squirming baby already trying to stand. The other three ewes we’re curiously observing from a distance, anxiously looking from us back to Meadow and wondering what on earth was happening. Oh how I wish I snapped a picture of their faces. What was supposed to be a quick barn check turned into a good hour with bundled boys playing in the barn, while we made sure the lambs got nursing. Of course Meaadow picked a day when my husband had a big bid going out and could not come home from work, so it was up to me to be the sheep doula. I had left the boys watching Mighty Machines with their castor oil packs tied on (a weird thing we’re trying for belly issues) and ran across the street. Benjy had napped late so I was late on my regular checks, which we were doing every 3 hours because we never found a barn camera that worked. Of course, that’s when she decided to have babies, when it’s frigid, my kids aren’t clothed, and my husband can’t come home. I rushed home and told the boys to bundle quick. Much to my chagrin, I discovered my phone on 5% battery and was barely able to make a call to Danny for advice. By the time we drove over to the barn the second lamb had arrived, and Benjy was crying for snacks. After a bit in the barn, worrying a little about one lamb acting cold, and realizing Benjy was stressing the sheep out with his screaming, we got back in the car and drove across the street so I could get a charger, snacks, and toys. We sat in the car a bit trying to get my phone to turn on and finally plugged it into the extension cord in the barn. It seemed like forever for my phone to get a charge enough to turn on, but I was finally able to FaceTime Danny for some advice and it began to go a little more smoothly. Benjy got some snacks, little Danny was ready to help, Meadow was calm, and I found the booster syringe I was looking for. Little Danny was so helpful, bringing fresh hay, drying lambs, collecting dirty towels. I couldn’t have herded the lambs into the lambing jug without his help. I was worried that the boys would be really freaked out by the whole birthing process but they didn’t even blink an eye. They know nothing else, so to them this was normal, and it didn’t even cross their mind that mom might be a little freaked out by it all. They thought it was great fun, although little Danny was a bit miffed Meadow didn’t eat her “polenta” (aka placenta), but he got quite the kick out of the cats doing the job. Farm life is always a combo of cute and gross. There is never just cute all on its own. It must walk hand in hand with filth. I’ll spare the details, but I thought life in the country introduced me to a whole new level of dirt. Now experiencing two little kids helping with lambing pushed us to a whole new level of germ exposure. Let’s just say my book I read last winer called, “Let Them Eat Dirt,” was preparing me way more for this day than I knew. We can’t believe how fast the little lambs grow! Maple has a little white spot on her tail and leg and Alfalfa has a little white spot on his head. They are so cute hopping around and enjoy venturing outside. Benjy has been concerned about “cydeeodees” (coyotes) but they’re locked up every night in the barn safe and sound. Unfortunately, we’re pretty confident all the other ewes aren’t bred. Why? We have no idea, but we’re thankful for two happy healthy lambs with no intervention necessary. We’re all itching for the grass to green up so they can be out on pasture, but thankfully the signs of spring are here and the ewes are already beginning to shed their winter coats. (This breed sheds so no shearing needed.) Nothing beats happy little frolicking lambs. Hopefully this is the beginning to some wonderful lambing seasons to come.
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