War Horse

Image by Getty Images via Daylife

 
Fall seven times, stand up eight.  ~Japanese Proverb

There is much wailing and gnashing of teeth in Minnesota this week (and to be truthful, in my own home as well)... a lot of arm-chair quarterbacking and "what-if's?"... after our Minnesota Vikings lost the NFC Championship game to the New Orleans Saints in overtime on Sunday. 

I am not an expert in regard to the game of football.  My experience consists of performing on the field at halftime with the rest of my high school marching band, of watching my future husband play football for his own small-town high school team (waaaay back in the day), and of following the Minnesota Vikings and the NDSU Bison with varied levels of interest and passion over the years.  And of course, we watch the Super Bowl.

My husband and I have watched every Super Bowl game together for the past 22 years.  We've watched from every home we've ever lived in... from college dorms, from restaurants, from an ocean-side tiki bar on Maui.  We've watched while rocking babies and while in the midst of home renovations and... well, you get the point.  And every single year, we've said, "Wouldn't it be great to someday see the Vikings in the Super Bowl?"

This year, we thought just maybe that long-held hope would manifest.  When Brett Favre signed with the Vikings in August we rejoiced, knowing that even if our team didn't get to the big game, it would be a helluva season to watch.

And oh, was it ever!  I watched much more football this season than in recent years, and enjoyed it immensely... it's great to be rooting for a winning team, after all.  When our Vikes scored a touchdown or forced a turnover, we would knuckle-bump, whoop and holler and high-five and dance around, scaring our children and causing the dogs to bark in alarm.

It was... FUN.  Great entertainment.  Something to look forward to every week.  Something to talk about at the dinner table and the in the grocery line.  It was really great while it lasted.

And Sunday's game will stick with me for a long time. Not the loss... while disappointing, it is still a game... but rather the images I took away from it.  Brett Favre, in my opinion, is a hero regardless of the final score.  To watch such a consummate professional at work, so passionate about and skilled in the game, was pure joy all season long.  Particularly so on Sunday, however.  What I will remember about that game, and about Brett Favre, is not the final score nor the mistakes that led to it.  What will stick with me always was the manner in which he just kept fighting.

Forgive the analogy, but that battle-hardened war-horse just kept getting up, no matter how hard he was hit, nor now many times.  He would limp off the field, get patched up, and then head back into battle, tougher and more determined than most players half his age.  The sight of it, as well as the camera shots of his wife sitting in the stands with concern written all over her face, nearly tore my heart out.  But it reminded me of the value of tenacity, of honor, of passion and determination.  I wish I could play a montage of those hits and Favre getting back up again after each and every one, for every school-age kid in America.  I wish I could tell them, "Brett Favre didn't get to be a legend, a hero, a record breaker and a multi-millionaire just because he's got some talent and had a lucky break or two.  He got there because he believed in himself, and picked his butt up off the turf, time and time again.  He got there because he prepared and he practiced... at times throwing the football thousands of times a day. He got there because he worked harder than anyone else, and dreamed bigger than anyone else, and took risks few others were willing to take, sometimes in the face of ridicule.  He got there because of his determination and the content of his character."

It still has not been announced whether or not Favre will play another year with the Vikings, but I truly hope he rests, heals and does make the decision to come back.  In any case, Favre's time spent with Minnesota was a gift to those of us who watched this season, and one I will remember fondly.

Cortisol

Image via Wikipedia

I hate cortisol. 

It serves its purpose, I suppose... as the so-called "stress hormone", it is excreted by the adrenal gland in response to stress and anxiety.  It has also been linked to weight gain, especially of the dreaded, heart-threatening "belly fat".

It has always been my dream to be one of those people who lost their appetite and shriveled up to nothing whilst enduring a stressful situation.  I am not one of them.  No, when the chips are down, they are literally so... as in, down the hatch.  Along with anything else even remotely considered to be edible.

And so, when my daughter was hospitalized with a life-threatening illness a few months back and remained so for three weeks, my adrenal glands and my appetite had a heyday.  The met, got married, and had babies... like, *millions* of babies, in the form of fat cells.  My diet of McDonald's and cafeteria monster cookies and Pepsi and Chinese take-out certainly fostered their romance, as did sleeping (or not) in a not-so comfortable recliner at my daughter's bedside.  And of course, good mother that I am, when the doctors admonished her to eat as many calories as she could in order to regain her strength, I took one for the team in demonstrating to her just how to accomplish that goal.

The worst part of cortisol is that it is sneaky.  You make it through the crisis, thank God for His providence and protection, life starts getting back to normal, and then one day you realize your clothes aren't fitting quite as they should and you step on the scale.  That is the moment you realize not only did the monster cookies and french fries and lack of sleep come back to bite you in the behind, they cemented themselves firmly to it.

Apparently my adrenal glands have convinced the rest of my body that we're in World War III and facing famine, therefore making it necessary to stock the bunker with groceries.  LOTS of groceries. 

They will be in for a surprise when they realize this girl didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday.  Having been around this block before, I have plenty of weapons in my arsenal...  and those misbegotten fat cells are already packing their bags.  It is, in fact, a war...

and they're toast.

The Go-Giver

Yesterday, if it could break, it broke... if it could freeze, it froze... if it could spill or mess or interrupt my work or tick me off, it did just that... and I was on a tear.  Not sure what came first, the chicken or the egg, if my mood was the cause or the result of all the chaos or misfortune... but it sure did not further endear me to my loved ones.  Or myself, for that matter.

Something needed to be done to change my attitude, and quick, before I further spiraled into self-destruction, alienated every one of my family and friends, and consumed an entire box of something chocolate. 

So I took the night off.

Now, I'm not sure about other people, but while I have fanciful ideas about getting all my work done by 5pm, enjoying a peaceful home-cooked meal with my family, and then relaxing by the fire with a good book or an enjoyable project of some sort while watching my children play.... its usually just that.  A fanciful idea.  I seem to always find myself doing laundry, making one last trip to the barn, catching up on cleaning or correspondence or... well, you get the idea.   And to be honest, I'm finding its not a very good idea, not at all.

But last night, I gave myself a gift, without even knowing it.  I took the night off (more out of exasperation and desperation, if truth be told), and picked up a little book recommended by HeatherO called the "The Go-Giver".  Read it cover to cover.  I consumed it, devoured it, immersed myself in it... and was profoundly rewarded by the ideas found inside. 

In short, giving myself that gift of time and the permission to read this book was not only a gift to me, but all those around me.

That is all I will say, other than *GET YOUR HANDS ON A COPY OF THIS BOOK AND READ IT*.

Thank you. :-) 

Whirlwind Tour

Image by stu_hall via Flickr

We made a whirlwind overnight trip to our cabin last night, and oh, it would have been so easy to stay there and hibernate in the snowy silence for awhile...

The purpose of the trip was to get our daughter to her orthodontist appointment.  We started her orthodontic program before we knew we would be moving to our current location, and decided to stay with that doctor after we moved, despite the inconvenience of making a 300-mile round-trip once a month. 

And inconvenient as it may be...  it does give us the excuse to spend some time at our beloved cabin, no matter for how short a stay.

Last night I did the evening chores here at home, and finished up just as my husband got home from work.  The girls and I were all packed and ready to go, and we were on the road soon thereafter.  Its about a 2-1/2 hour drive from our home to the cabin, and last night it was a dark and quiet drive as well, as it was late and we were all tired.  But when we pulled up to our little home-away-from-home at 11pm... oh, what a feeling.

The woods were silent, lit by a waxing gibbous moon, and the snow was deep; but inside the cabin it was bright, warm, full of memories and the scent of knotty pine... as always.  Walking through the door was like walking into a mother's embrace; she beckoned us in, and seemed to say, "Come in, sit down, relax, quiet your mind.  You are home, you are safe." 

As we arrived so late, and had to leave for a morning appointment, the stay was far too short.  We went to bed, got up, had a cup of coffee while admiring the snow-covered landscape, and left.  Reluctantly.

But as we drove away and over a nearby dam, I looked over and saw, of all things, a bald eagle sitting in a tree just below the gates... fishing.  It took my breath away to see such unexpected grandeur at 9am on a winter Wednesday.  It also told me that we needed to return, and soon, to fish... snowshoe... drink hot cocoa... and just be a family without any televisions or videos games or anywhere to be... for just a little while.

The Sacred Hour

It's been a long day... long month... long couple months... Yes, quite some time has passed since my last post. So long, in fact, that when I logged into my Blogger account, it said, "Hi there! It's good to see you again!  Looking for a topic?  Get inspired or just start writing!"

All those exclamation points nearly made me turn around and leave.  I'm not in an exclamation point sort of mood.  Because, as I said, it's been a long couple months.

On October 12th, my daughter Rebekka came home from school with a "scratchy throat" and the news that one third of her class was absent that day due to the flu.  An intuitive wave of foreboding passed through me, and I remember thinking, "Uh-oh, here we go...". And boy, did we ever.

October 12th was the last day Rebekka would attend school for five weeks.  That "scratchy throat" was the onset of the H1N1 flu virus.  The next day, she spiked a fever which would be her constant companion for weeks.  A few days after that, an opportunistic strep infection moved in, bringing with it a neck-to-ankles red rash and pneumonia.  Our previously profoundly healthy daughter was going downhill fast, yet when we made a trip to the emergency room that Friday she was sent home with the advice, "Its just the flu; give her Tylenol and fluids." By Saturday night she was struggling to breathe, and in severe pain... we brought her back and this time they admitted her.

Bekka spent three days in our local hospital, and while she received good care, her condition progressively worsened.  That third day she was rushed by ambulance to Meritcare Childrens Hospital, where she would be able to receive more specialized care. Her condition was very serious by the time she arrived; to be honest, I did not even realized just how close a call it truly was until later when one of the nurses who worked on her upon her admittal, confided in me just how hard she'd been praying for Bekka while hanging her I.V.'s.... I guess at that point I was too busy praying myself, and coaxing my daughter to keep breathing.

I thank God for candid nurses.  Once we got to Meritcare, it was determined that Rebekka had a large volume of fluid on her lungs and would need a chest tube installed to drain it.  I asked how serious a procedure it was, and if they thought I needed to call my husband to come to the hospital (he was at home with our five-year-old at the time).  The doctor downplayed the gravity of the situation, but once he left, the nurse looked me in the eye and said, "Call your husband.  He needs to be here." Wow. 

That night, they drained nearly two litres of fluid from my daughter's chest cavity.  The idea that the same amount of fluid as in a two litre bottle of soda was inside the chest cavity of an eleven-year-old, crushing her heart and lungs... well, the fact she was still able to breathe at all is a testament to her strength and the power of prayer. 

Bekka gradually improved after that; she spent about a week in ICU and another week in the regular pediatric unit. At one point that brave little girl had a nasal cannula, a central line, two I.V. lines and a Foley catheter... and yet, she never complained. 



We were hearing talk of a potential discharge date, when suddenly she became very ill again, and this time it was due to high levels of antibiotics in her system shutting down her kidneys. We got her through that, and finally, on November 4th, we brought her home.  The joy!

And the fatigue!  I have a whole new respect for people who endure a family member's long hospitalization.  Its been over a month since Bekka was discharged and I'm still catching up.  Granted, we've since had the stomach flu go through our family, and now I've got a cold/flu/laryngitis thing going on and have lost my voice, and it certainly would make things easier if we all could just remain disease-free for any length of time past, say, a week. 

But no matter how exhausted I am, every day contains a sacred hour which is all mine.  In the evening after the children are in bed, I still have yet to feed my bottle calves and put my horses in the barn for the night.  Some nights, I truly dread the process of mixing up the milk replacer, struggling into my insulated coveralls, boots and jacket, and trudging out to the barn for that last set of chores.  At that point all I really want is a good book, a chair next to the fire and a hot toddie. But duty calls and I bundle up to tuck all the critters in for the night.

And once I do, I'm so glad that I did.  The calves are dumb and stinky and dumb (yes, I know I used that word twice, and it was for good reason), but they are so grateful for that warm milk.  The horses line up at the gates, anxious to get into the snug barn and out of the -20F windchill.  They know the routine, and yet every night I am amazed with how sensitive they are, how responsive to the slightest body language or flick of the lead rope as we manuever in the darkness, through the various gates and doorways into the barn. 

Once everyone is settled in, I open a couple bales of the beautiful hay that I sweated, lugged, swore and bled to get put up in the barn last summer.  It is, to me, like manna from heaven but for my stock, which somehow seems even more precious.  And in that sacred hour, while I feed calves and put horses to bed and distribute green slices of summer bounty to all who reside in my barn, a profound and overwhelming sense of gratitude overtakes me.

For my family.

For my horses.

For the ability to feed and care for them all, and well.

For a snug barn, and a warm house.

For medical miracles and those who perform them and the insurance that pays for it all.

For friends and family who call and write and share your concern to such a degree that one can never truly thank them enough for their support.

For the burgeoning bellies of the mares, and the promise of a bright future.

For Nyquil.

For lights in the barn.... and a thousand other things. 

Really, I could go on, ad infinitum... but instead I'm going to take some Nyquil and go to bed.  With gratitude.

I Love My Mom

My mother is completely and totally wonderful.

Tonight, she sent a care package home with my husband, which nearly caused me to shed tears of joy:

A book on natural healing, with a sticky note on the cover which read, "Amy, Fever is in Chapter 10".

10 pounds of apples.

Half a dozen home-grown tomatoes.

15 pounds of absolutely beautiful russet potatoes.

Two big winter squash.

A Tupperware container filled with hamburger-macaroni hotdish.

AND....

(be still my heart...)

A freshly baked apple crisp.... STILL WARM.

I love my mom.

Gratitude

My 11-year-old daughter has been bed-ridden with the flu for three full days now, and conscientious mother and citizen that I am, I've not left the farm in that time.  As the "Ask-A-Nurse" advised the other night that this thing will linger for five to seven days, I'm looking at a long stretch of seclusion... partly because I won't leave my daughter and partly because it would be irresponsible to encourage the spread of this nasty bug.

I like being at home.  Really, really like it.  Its where my family lives, where I keep my stuff, and its got lots of nice things like heat and hot water and pretty horses.  But even for me, the consummate home-body, forced seclusion eventually turns into a punishment of sorts. 

Cabin fever in October?  This could be a loooong winter.

It snowed all night last night, adding yet more moisture to our already saturated ground... and so outside its grey, snowy, muddy, cold, puddle-y.  Today while doing chores I looked up at the steely, cold sky and said, "Thank you, Jesus, that I no longer have to pile sugar beets or dig potatoes for a living... that I can do my chores quickly and go back into my nice warm house and not have to go anywhere or work in this freezing mud for twelve hours... and please bless those that do. Amen."


Gratitude.  Yes, its cold and muddy and grey outside and my daughter is sick... but we have a warm house and my daughter has a soft, clean bed with fresh sheets; we've got plenty of gatorade and Children's Motrin and Tylenol, a digital thermometer, and capable doctors a phone call away if needed.  I'm getting cagey, stuck at home... but am so grateful that I *can* stay at home with my daughter, without having to ask for time off from a job or entrust her care to anyone else. 

I am grateful for a five-year-old who is content to play games and cut and paste and draw to keep herself entertained, and a husband who is willing to shop for groceries and livestock feed and pick up a bucket of broasted chicken from the local pub when I have a hankerin' for it. 

I'm grateful for my mother who is sending home some hotdish and fresh Amish produce with him tonight, after he spent the day there repairing a part for the tractor.  Yes, I have a husband who uses his vacation time to lay in the cold mud, repairing farm equipment so he can feed my animals.

There are always two ways to look at a situation... with a cynical heart or a grateful one. 

I choose the latter.

Oh, and the best quote of the day comes from my worldly five-year-old, while she gleefully consumed the last of that heaven-sent broasted bird... 

"The chicken we eat comes from the chickens that are pets, except they're the wilder ones!"

Gotta love a grateful, carnivorous pragmatist.

With a Vengeance

We are now paying dearly for our short, beautiful summer.  Winter bullied Autumn into submission, gave her a swirly and stuffed her in a locker, it seems...

My eldest daughter lies up in her room, fighting the flu... 102F fever, sore throat, headache... for the second day now. On Monday she came home with the news that 1/3 of her class was out sick, and that she had a scratchy throat.  By noon the next day her symptoms were full-blown, and today, some schools in the area are closed due to half the students being absent, fighting the same bug. 

My calls to various "Ask-A-Nurse" hotlines resulted in a total of 45 minutes on hold, listening to elevator music, and the same advice: "Do not bring her in unless she is not drinking and needs IV fluids or is in respiratory distress; we are following CDC guidelines and will not administer Tamiflu unless she had an underlying medical condition.  There are 100's of kids out of school... we've stopped testing for H1N1 as 90+% of the tests came back positive... keep her home, keep her hydrated, give her OTC pain relievers and expect that everyone in the family will catch it and that it will last 5-7 days". 

Allllll-righty-then.

Not that we would be going anywhere, as it is raining/snowing/sleeting outside, the tree on the front lawn is doubled over under the weight of the ice, and I shudder to think of what the roads must be like.  It seems that winter has, indeed, arrived with a vengeance.

And so, what was supposed to be a a few days of playing with the horses, dabbling with various home-improvement projects and enjoying a long, glorious autumn weekend, will instead be one of seclusion, hand-sanitizer and waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Its scary to see my normally bright, sunshiny 11-year-old, so incredibly sick, and scary to know that her younger sister will most likely soon be sick, as well.  We do, however, find one thing about the situation truly endearing... her cat, Star, does not leave her side.  That big, black, one-girl cat lies on the bed, or on the sofa, right next to her 24/7. 

Star will get some cooked chicken and a big thanks from me, tonight.  For tonight, it doesn't matter that she cold-shoulders everyone in the house but "her" girl, or that I could spin wool and knit blankets for an army from the fine, black hair she leaves behind on everything from the commodes to the tv screen, or that she occasionally upchucks a nasty ball of it for me to step on, barefoot, in the middle of the night.  Tonight, she vigilantly watches over my beloved daughter, as do I... and I am grateful for the company on this cold, dark, stormy night.

Autumn

Autumn has arrived at Frostfire Farm. We had the first hard freeze of the season last night, and the first snowflakes this afternoon.

This past week has been, for me, all about nesting, as it's been predominantly cold, dark and raining outside. While for some, nesting means cleaning and organizing... in this house, it is (unfortunately) about cooking and baking. Why the primal need to feed my family to the point of acute carbohydrate overload, I've no idea. But after five dozen buns, a couple pans of brownies, six loaves of bread, a big batch of rice pudding and a pot of knoefla soup... I'd say the comfort food thing needs to slow up a bit or we risk a visit from the food police. In my defense... much of that is still on the freezer, and there was a batch of elk stew in there somewhere, too.  So we've consumed at least some protein and a few vegetables recently... but have otherwise been a dietician's worst nightmare. On the upside, I'm now actually craving salad...

As I've finally come to terms with the fact that I cannot live without the pleasure of creating yummy treats for my family to share and enjoy... in abundance... my only option is to make exercise as much a habit as brushing my teeth. The treadmill and Jillian Michaels are my new best friends.

I snapped the above photo this morning, while enjoying some otherwise elusive sunshine. It was brisk, bright and beautiful out, the colors so gorgeous that no snapshot can do them justice. This afternoon, however, a front came through and brought with it both sleet and snow (its snowing heavily, now), reminding me to batten down the hatches for another long Minnesota winter... and to buy a new pair of running shoes...

The Great Escape

This is our cabin.

Its where we go when we need to just... be.




This is our boat.

Its not big, not fancy.... but it works.


From it, we catch some of these:




And, some of these, too:



Walleye, perch, northern pike, bass.

(The kids, we don't need to catch... they just showed up a few years back and decided to stay.)


We built the cabin about seven years ago, and it was one of the best things we ever did
(besides deciding to let the kids stay).





We had a contractor put up the shell, but did the rest of the work ourselves.

My husband built the bar. We'll hide beneath it if ever there is a tornado.

As you can see, he's a better woodworker than I am a decorator... but its on my to-do list.





The problem is that I'd rather walk the trails around the lake...

fish...

eat s'more s'mores...

look at the flowers...



...and just... be.