Okay, here's the scoop. Bobby and I had a good talk the other day about moving. I could just keep quiet and let you know when something actually happens, but isn't it more fun to be along for the entire ride?

There's a place we're considering. We haven't talked about moving/the off-grid-dream for awhile but I risked it and brought it up. He says, "You know, I was just talking to Blue about that very thing." 4.5yr olds are great to bounce ideas off of. He was thinking about the same place I was thinking about.

This place is different from the places we've been looking at. It's a good bit more expensive and would mean a mortgage for a few years. But, it already has a house, a barn, chicken coop, big garden area, some fruit trees, a creek. It's incredible, really. The house could use a little work, especially to make it off-grid, but it suits us. We spent some time looking at the property and talking about the potential to sustain ourselves off of it. It could work. And it's in an area we like and the neighbors are good people. Could be a little further out, but you can't have everything.

The major bonus is that we already live here.

We want to be out of debt, but sometimes getting out of it is a slower process than getting into it.  Sometimes there's no quick fix.  Here's what we talked about:  If we were to sell this place and buy a piece of land with the equity, Bobby would still have to work outside the home for a few years AND come home and build us a house, barn, coop, fencing and little things like that in his free time. And at the end of a few years we still wouldn't have what we have here right now (IF we could start with a piece with good soil, part woods/part clear, with a creek) and we'd be miserable from overworking ourselves. If we stay and Bobby can drum up some business and keep working, we could feasibly pay off our house in less than 10 years. Hopefully like 6 or 7, depending on how crazy we go on homestead things like a root cellar and running plumbing from the creek to our garden and barn (gravity fed, since the falls are higher than those areas) and more fencing. We can easily maintain a comfortable (doesn't take much to make me comfortable) lifestyle here if we do nothing but pay down the mortgage.

Things didn't work out with Bobby's construction job (long story) and he's decided to break out on his own. He might still work for others, but now it's his goal to build a name for himself in this area as a carpenter/handyman. This is big... scary for me, a little (when I lean on my own understanding), but big for Bobby and I have peace about it. I'm actually kind of excited for him. I made some flyers and business cards and he's been all over the place passing them out this last week.

It's not a definite thing, says Bobby, but it has that feel to it regardless (maybe I'm too hopeful). He says we'll see how work goes this winter. I am soaring inside! I so want to stay. I've lived only four other homes in my entire life (not including the travel trailer parked on my parents property that we lived in for 7 months, that Farra was born in, before we bought our first house) and like a lot of women am just not into moving! Plant me somewhere and let me grow. Honestly one thing we liked about this place when we first saw it is that it was big enough to raise our family in but small enough to maintain in our old age. It's home.

Sometimes I have to just ride along supportively while he explores all options. Sometimes we end up a the beginning again with a renewed vision.

November 7, 2009

My dear and greatly honored mother,

It is with much regret and sorrow that I address this letter to you, the conveying of which has fallen to me, and of which I have forborne to do until now. I hope and pray that these shocking tidings which you, heretofore, have been unaware of would not be too much for your delicate constitution, my dear mother.

I have been diagnosed with having algebratitis. It was because of the unexpected suddenness of this news that my whole being cringed from informing you, and therefore I delayed it as long as I dared. But now I feel you must know of it, and also the seriousness of the matter.

The symptoms to which I am now subjected from the disease are many and various, a few of which include: ennue, induced somnolence and mild attacks of distemper and depression. Though these symptoms at first thought are not of an alarming nature, I would have you know, my dear mother, that as the condition progresses they get much more severe and can include hallucination, amnesia, and other fearful mental aberrations.

The authorities on the case say that this rare, chronic disease that I am afflicted with comes from an excessive immersement of the plague algebra. Although algebratitis is curable if treated with promptness and care, it can produce irrevocable effects if no attention is paid towards it. They advise one to be quarantined from anyone who has come in contact with the dreaded algebra, and that with care and pleasurable convivial pursuits there is a good chance of recovery. In my case they say that since I have been exposed to it for only three years there is a great likelihood of total recovery if radical steps are taken to prevent the advance of the ravaging disease.

It is in hopes that this letter gets to you ere this devastating malady has taken its toll that I have written you. And now I look forward to your quick reply filled with motherly counsel and comfort of which I amin desparate want.

Until then I remain,

Your dutiful daughter, Kirsten

*         *          *              *           *

To which Kelly replied:

I did it! I baked some good sourdough bread. It only took a gazillion tries. Many unhappy faces and bread-colored, burn-your-mouth-sour bricks later, I have figured out a few of the nuances of baking simple, tasty sourdough bread. I owe much to my friend Shanna Fournier-soon-to-be-Thompson, baker and cook extraordinaire.

So here’s what I did right. I started with 1/2 cup fresh ground rye flour mixed (in a glass bowl with wooden spoon - no metal!) with 1/2 cup of water, covered with a thin cloth. It took a couple days to catch yeast this last time (you can tell by the bubbly appearance and sour smell, or lack thereof), but setting it by an open window seemed to help. It was warmish out and you could just imagine the wild yeast dancing on the breeze. Afterward I moved it back to a quiet shelf in the kitchen (doesn’t have to be a quiet shelf, my starter, Ted, just prefers it that way). Each day for the first week I added 1/2 cup rye flour and 1/2 cup water, stirred it and poured it into a clean dish.

This was the amount I chose for our family because it gives me 3 loaves a week, which was all we could stand of the sourdough bricks and also it’s all I can bake in my small oven at once. If we’re going through it faster, or plan to, I increase the amount I feed my starter. The general rule (I’ve read) is to not add more than the amount of starter already in your bowl. I’m not sure if that looks like 1 cup starter - add 1/2 cup flour and 1/2 cup water or 1 cup starter - add 1 cup flour and 1 cup water, but I do the latter and it seems to be okay. You can also feed it twice a day this way, morning and night. So I’ve read. Not played around too much with it.

After the first week I pour off, into a big mixing bowl, all but about 1/2 cup of starter. I add two teaspoons salt, two cups of water and then begin mixing in freshly ground wheat flour (hard spring red, in my case - high in gluten and protein and not too expensive. I‘ve read many places online that use all-purpose flour, even in their starter.)

To the starter I mix in 1/2 cup water and 1/2 cup wheat flour, pour it into a clean bowl and back on the shelf it goes. From here on out I only feed it wheat (unless I particularly want rye bread). Shanna suggested this change-over. Also, I only change it’s bowl when I make bread.

Now, back to the mixing bowl. Add flour. And more flour. And more. I’ve never measured. Knead like normal bread. It shouldn’t be so wet as to stick to your hands or kneading surface, but be careful not to add too much flour. It seems to take longer to knead than regular yeast bread.

I collected a few tips the last couple years for knowing if you’ve kneaded enough. My tendency is to under-knead. The idea is to work the gluten. The dough should be smooth and elastic. If you poke it, it should spring back when you lift your finger. When you tear a piece off it should stretch a good deal before actually tearing. The latest trick I read is called the windowpane test. Take small piece of dough and stretch and flatten it with your fingers (like you would for pizza). You want it very thin. If you’ve kneaded enough, you should be able to hold it up to a light and see the light through it. If you don’t, knead more. If it wants to tear more than stretch, knead more.

Now, if you started earlier in the morning (which I never do) you could put your dough back in the bowl (oiled) and let it rise once before shaping the loaves, like you would regular bread. Or you could start in the evening, let it rise overnight and begin again early in the morning. It takes a long time to rise, but that’s what makes it so good for you!

I do want to try letting it rise an extra time, but the other day (my first and only good sourdough experience to date ) I got started late. I let the dough rest a few minutes while I buttered my three regular size loaf pans. I split the dough in three pieces ), rolled them into rectangles about an inch thick, rolled them up tightly and plopped them in the pans, covering them with a damp cloth. I use a dry cloth on regular bread, but found that the tops of the SD dry out and don’t rise as well. I check periodically and when the cloth dries out I wet it, wring it and replace it. This works wonderfully! I let mine rise in the oven because the pilot light keeps it a nice temperature, but any warmish place away from drafts will do.

Another trick from the Fourniers (I also came across this online) is keeping a dish of water in your oven when rising/baking SD bread. It keeps the humidity up and gives a real nice crust.

When the bread has risen I slice the tops a couple times with a sharp or serrated knife. This allows it to rise a little more with ease and looks downright pretty. I don’t preheat the oven, but remove my covering cloth and turn the oven on to 350° and bake for an hour.

I think that does it. Everyone was so pleased with the last loaves. They had just the right amount of sour taste and they were well risen and had a nice crumb. I kept telling them I’d get it right eventually! (I was close the week before, but let the loaves rise too long and they had begun to fall when I turned the oven on - should have punched them down and let them rise again, but then I‘d have been baking at, like, 2 o‘clock in the morning!)

Hopefully I can keep this up and learn to use naturally leavened dough for other goodies like pizza and sweet rolls, like the Fourniers do. I don’t think I would have stuck with this if it weren’t for them. Enjoying a variety of bread at their house and watching them work the dough really convinced me I could do it.

It’s so much better for you than regular yeast bread and significantly less expensive. The big savings is by not using oil. I might experiment with honey, molasses, eggs, milk, and potatoes, which I recently learned make a very nice addition to bread - even just the water from boiling potatoes.

So many great things are happening all at once!

First, I'll tell you about our friend Lachlann:

Bobby worked with Lachlann over the summer and we've visited on several occasions and we've really enjoyed getting to know him. He genuinely loves Yahweh and wants to serve him at all costs. He's a hard worker and desires to live off the land in a simple fashion. The great news is that he has now found himself a super young lady to share his hopes and dreams with! He'll be getting married in the spring. We are so excited for him. It's fantastic to see mature young men (I can call him young, right? - he's 6 months my senior!), who are enjoying life and serving their Father, begin families of their own.

Second, and happening at the same time, my sweet sister-in-Yah, Shanna Fournier, is getting married! I couldn't be more excited! She is 10 times the woman of Elohim that I am (though I have a few years on her) and I love her and admire her so. I am sooo blessed to be a part of her life and rejoice with her in this happy season. The blessed fellow is, of course, Lachlann, so I needn't say more!

Thirdly, also at the same time (what a coincidence! All these blessings at once!), I am overjoyed to stand by my dear friends Kelly and Steve while their oldest daughter marries! To look on as only a parent can (though mine have some years to go) and share the extreme joy (and hint of sorrow) when your daughter leaves home and embraces wifehood. The fun details of planning the ceremonies (two in this case - a betrothal in a couple weeks and wedding in a few months), helping her and her betrothed get a good start on their home, the addition to their family in the form of an in-law, and the hope of grandchildren (it's never premature to hope!)... everything done in a decent and orderly fashion, with joy and love.

Fourth... well, fourth through fourteenth, actually... I have ten other wonderful friends whose sister is getting married in the spring! From Jessica down to Hannah, I share each one's joy as they share their sister's joy, and embrace their new brother Lachlann and share his joy, too.

Here's the Fournier family.  Shanna is on the far right.

Okay, I know this is mushy gushy stuff.... I’ve never been so excited over a marriage before (yes, including my own!). And I had to list it the way I did because I do feel each one’s joy differently.

Bobby and I both are so thankful to watch other parents and young folks go before us and set an example of a righteous way to marry and give in marriage. Up until recently all we knew was we didn’t want to do it the way our parents did or the way we did. That leaves a lot of doors open! We really like the way the Fourniers and Lachlann have approached this. Having him live with them and work beside them for the summer was huge blessing and a downright good idea. But none of that could have happened had they not raised their children in righteousness, guarding their hearts diligently. If you do not have your children’s hearts - do not attempt this!

Well, I just wanted to share this.  Some of you know the Fourniers, some of you have heard me talk about them.  I’ll keep you posted!

Most mornings I spend a little time online connecting to folks "out there." Checking my email and catching up on other folk's blogs, seeing who's up to what on Facebook. It occurs to me that maybe I should spend some of that time posting to my own blog but I tend to spend way too much time writing and for some reason the interesting-to-write-about things don't come to me until I've been awake for hours.

Incidentally, I don't do coffee or anything... just hit the ground running!

I searched around the groggy corners of my brain and found one little tidbit worth posting. I am in awe of my Father and the healing power of the herbs he created.

On the first day of this week my almost-8-yr-old helped herself to a pretty significant and unusual injury. Blew my toothpick story right out of the water! I'm not a run-to-the-doctor person but I wavered for a moment when I saw the damage done to her little arm. Turns out I'm pretty cool when it comes to the wounds of someone not related to me, but I kinda lose it when my own are hurting! From somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain came the reminder that even if her arm was broken (as long as I didn't see any bones sticking out, which I didn't) there wasn't anything a doctor could do for her that I couldn't. I checked her out and surmised that nothing was broken. We were just dealing with an awful lot of bruising (it was crushed, finger tips almost to elbow). She was really pale so I gave her some ice water and a bit of chocolate to try to keep her alert and distracted. I iced her arm, elevated it, gave her Tylenol for the pain. Then I called my friend Kelly and kind of begged, "I can't think clearly! What should I do now? How would you treat this?" She was a wonderful help!

We talked about some herbs and I happened to have two of the most useful for this purpose, St John's wort and arnica, in dry form. She would bring some Comfrey with her from TN, along with her tinctures and oils, but wouldn't be over until the following morning (she was returning to MO for other reasons). After I talked with her I realized I had a lot that would help Atira, everything but the comfrey. There was one part of her arm that the flesh had been rubbed raw, like a burn. I had to treat it differently than the rest, especially keeping the arnica off of it. I made an infusion of St. John's wort and some heal-all (a dried herb of the mint family that another friend had given me the night before for my foot). To this I added honey, witch hazel and aloe. I dipped a small, clean rag in it, wrung it out and laid it on her burn. I made up another infusion of St John's wort and arnica, added witch hazel to it and did the same with a larger rag for the rest of her arm. Then we put the ice over that (about the time Kelly called back with the advice of a chiropractor friend, who recommended we pack it in ice).

Atira said it hurt more when I wasn't right by her (aww) so I put in a movie and gave the others strict orders not to crowd her while I mixed up the herbs. The Tylenol (and movie) kicked in and she coped much better from then on. Things were hectic for me and I was really leaning on those everlasting arms for strength, wisdom and patience. The baby fell asleep in Farra's arms while I was making special take-your-mind-off-the-pain chocolate-chip muffins for lunch. I managed to get back to what we were working on when she'd gotten hurt. Things got really crazy when Bobby got home in the evening with the toothache he's had for weeks and stomach pains that had him doubled over in tears. As horrifying as it is to see your little ones hurt, there's something frightening in seeing your strong husband brought to his knees by pain! I was almost convinced it was appendicitis. I was trying to help him, research his pain, help Atira, get dinner, the baby (teething) was screaming inconsolably... Only with Yahweh's help did I hold it together!

Somewhere in there (before Bobby got home) I revceived a call from my friend Sheri, whom we met at the Feast.  She was so sympathetic and had actually hurt herself in the same fashion as a child.  She read me like a book and assured me it wasn't my fault.  It was good to hear someone say that.  Her call was definitely Yah's timing.

The baby had dinner and went to bed. We laid hands on Bobby and prayed and soon the pain let up and he began passing gas (who knew?). Atira was quite a trooper and very patient, not at all demanding. Everyone went to bed at a reasonable hour with no complaints and I tell you, I was exhausted! But totally, truly in awe of the supernatural strength and comfort of my Father.

Back to Atira. I made up a sling out of an old T-shirt and for the most part she's been using it, except when her elbow feels stiff and she wants to stretch it a little. It seems the bruising was stopped right away by the herbs (and prayer!!). It was still swollen and hot and we kept it elevated, kept ice on it as much as she could stand and alternated the herb wraps and salves and things Kelly had brought. The swelling let up yesterday and she was even drawing and coloring a little with that hand by lunchtime. It is incredible how quickly she has healed! Even the rubbed/burned area is down to a third of the original size. Oh, if you had just seen how awful her arm looked at first, all blue and red.... and the pain in those big brown eyes! Praise Yahweh!

Wrote this earlier but couldn't get connected to post it.  It's late and we've had a wonderful time visiting with friends today...  Praise Yahweh for the people he has brought into our lives!

_________________________________________

You have to be pretty gifted to injure yourself the way I do. It's not just anyone that can impale themselves upon a toothpick. Between their toes.

Ouch.

My husband is a toothpick person. Myself, I keep them around for testing cakes and for science experiments. And those little puzzles where you move or remove a certain number and it has to look just so. But Bobby actually uses them on his teeth. Round, wooden ones. Anyway, I was busying about my bedroom yesterday, cleaning up my own private disaster area when my socked foot snagged a toothpick and the force of my step, with the carpet holding the pick firmly in place, drove it between two of my toes about half an inch. I thought it had merely poked me and lifted my foot to remove it from my sock, but it wouldn't come out. Then the pain registered. Gingerly I removed the sock and evaluated the sit'chiation. I was able to remove the toothpick with a firm tug and was disappointed that no blood came. Not because I'm fond of blood, but it does a certain amount of cleansing as it gushes from a wound. It didn't hurt as much as it itched, for some reason. I'm treating it with tiny St. John's Wort poultices (my friend Kelly said she'd bring me some St. JW oil tomorrow). It's pretty sore today.

And yet I managed to change the tire on the van afterward, with Seth's help. He also helped me carry in firewood, stocking up for the weekend. He's a pretty handy lil' dude. With Bobby working this week I have to do all the "men's" work. Hmm, it's awful handy having a strong, capable, willing spouseman around. I should tell you, I've had my share of flat tires but until yesterday hadn't ever changed one because there was always someone around to do it for me. Tackling a 1-ton van with only the help of a six year old was something!

* * * * *

We had 2+ days of heavy rain that finally let up yesterday (leaving me just enough time to change that tire before sunset!). I hobbled up to the falls to nab a couple photos of the swollen creek, just for you. It had already receded some....

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The latest regarding Bobby's factory job.... The temp service lady still insists she told him about the mandatory overtime, the boss say's there's no getting around it (but seems pretty nice about it), and Bobby still hasn't told them the reason he won't work Saturdays ("no one's asked" he says. I wish he would, don't understand why he doesn't, but can't push it). If he quits, the temp service won't ever hire him again. If he stays on, not working on Saturdays, the boss said he'll be fired after a month for no-call-no-shows. If he's fired, the temp service won't ever hire him again. Interesting!

The good news is that he found a construction contractor on craigslist.com who was looking to hire some laborers. They interviewed him yesterday. Well, he said it was less like "why should we hire you?" and more like "why you should consider working for us." It went well and he starts Monday, after one last day at the factory. The pay is low the first week until they see what he's capable of, then they'll settle on something on Preparation day. They sound like decent folk with a good business going and Bobby's looking forward to working for them (after a week of doing nothing but stuffing boxes in a machine, I shouldn't wonder!). They do every area of construction and Bobby has experience in just about every area, being particularly good at finish carpentry. I think they'll be pleased. They asked him if he could read a tape measure. "After 11 years in construction, I should hope so," he replied. The fella said, "Well, I don't like it when someone says, "an inch and three of those big lines."" Yeah, they'll like Bobby.

And so, another chapter in our lives begins. We follow this path until Yahweh leads us somewhere else. The downside is that the company is an hour away and the work will be in that area, maybe farther. His little truck is on it's last leg and it'll cost more than it's worth to replace or rebuild the transmission. But, I'm not worried. Genuinely not worried. My Father always comes through!

A mite chilly today. Not really cold, but wet, and I'm rather slow-moving due to some lower back pain, so it feels even colder. So we started a fire in the woodstove. Why does wood heat feel so much cozier than any other kind? Surely it's not simply that underlying knowledge of all the hard work your family put into cutting and splitting and stacking the firewood. 72° with wood heat is so much warmer than 72° with our gas furnace.

Bobby and I celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary this last Sabbath. Well, I use the word "celebrated" loosely, since it was no different than any other Sabbath except for a "happy anniversary" from Bobby when he woke up. We didn't key it down because of Sabbath, but just because we're lazy, I suspect. I love my spouse, but he doesn't have a romantic bone in his body. Not even romantic cartilage! I think he has a romantic nose hair that acts up once in a while, causing him to pick me wildflowers once or twice a year and maybe buy me a random candy bar when he's out.  My every attempt at romanticizing him fails. I have learned to accept all this and don't get too worked up when significant dates pass by unrecognized by him. And I daresay I'm not too foolish to miss the fact that we spend copious amounts of time together on a regular basis and so what is one or two romantic nights a year to the closeness we enjoy, the laughter and tears we share day in and day out all year long? "Oh, we ain't got a barrel of money. Baby, we're ragged and funny, but we'll travel along, singing a song, side by side."

We were blessed with one of those rich, sunny fall days for our anniversary. We read together, played games with the children, enjoyed our Sabbath popcorn (well except for Bobby, whose teeth it torments), walked up the hill and played at the falls with the little Willies. Here's a taste...

The kids are hooked on bubbles right now so Daddy was blowing some for his Blue...

The dog's pretty crazy about bubles, too.  Look at those goofy ears!  Just enough German Shepherd in her to make them want to stand, but too much Great Dane floppiness.She's 7 months old and growing.  Funny that our Great Pyr mix is our "small" dog now!  Torah has been a great puppy.  No messes in the house, she doesn't chew on much that she's not suppose to.  She's affectionate, responsive, and very silly.  Lately she enjoys playing hide and seek in the evenings.  I hide, she (and the kids) count to ten and then she runs all over the house until she finds me.  Very funny!  She's getting good at it.  The kids get a kick out of it.  The downside is that she's still overly interested in my chickens and she has taken to running off.  This latter is just stupid because we're always home and she gets a lot of attention.  She and Murphy go together, though he was never one to run off before.  We now have to tie her up when she goes out.  I'm at a loss.  We'll stick it out with this pup, though.  She's a bit of everything I love in a dog, just like Murphy.  He was quite a pain at this age, too, and now we wouldn't know what to do without him.

And here is Farra, our eldest.  She'll be 10 next month. 

For those of you not very good at math (or not paying attention), we were 8 months pregnant with Farra when we got married.  We started off on the wrong foot and things went downhill from there.  But Yahweh doesn't leave his loved ones in the dark longer than necessary.  It's a long, Yahweh-glorifying story that I hope to post here another time.  Watching Farra last Sabbath, and all the other children too, reminds me why I had to fight so hard to make it through all that garbage back then.  And why I still have to fight each day, for a pure marriage, a pure family, only  now Bobby fights with me instead of against me.  Praise Yah!  It is so worth it.

Mind if I post a couple more?  I love the way these all came out.  Is it just me, or does she look waaaay older than non-quite-ten?  She is an incredible young lady.  So beautiful, talented, smart, witty and just downright interesting.  I am so pleased to know her!  And wow, to be her momma even!

Royal wasn't feeling very well (it's so obvious with him!  I knew he was sick when he sat quietly next to me for a few minutes.  Even Farra said, "Mom, Royal's not feeling well is he?  He's so quiet.") so we made him a nest out of leaves and the older kids blew bubbles for him.  Then he and Little Brook took naps and the older kids and I walked the minute and a half up to our falls.  The water was up a bit from the recent rain, but it'd been long enough so the mud had settled.  I love fall and spring when the water is high and we can hear the falls from the house.

Seth, age six

Little Brook, up from her nap - 9 mos 

 We are so thrilled with our little piece of earth here in Fredericktown.  Look again at those photos and imagine us selling this place and moving away!  Bobby still says we must.  I see wisdom in it, but oddly don't "feel" one way or another about it.  Bobby says this is good, we shouldn't be doing anything based on feeling anyway.  He's right.  But it's unusual for me.  I mean, I would miss this place, but don't have a feeling of should or shouldn't or whatever.  The part we're stuck at is the "where," like I said before.  And the "how."  When Bobby says, "let's put the house on the market," I say, "Okay, and if someone wants to buy it tomorrow, then what?  Where do we go and how do we get there?"  He scowls.  I comment (maybe I shouldn't) that there's a difference between faith and stupidity.  I assure him that I'm not unwilling to make a big, drastic step, but honestl, some details must be considered.  He says we can live in an RV in a campground until we find a place.  I say, what RV?  We don't have the money now, so do we save up and get one first or buy one after the house sells.  If after the house sells, then where do we stay while we find an RV?  What about the animals?  With no land to grow our food and keep animals, can we afford to eat?  He scowls again.  One of those, I know you're right but why do you have to complicate things? kind of scowls.  Why do I have to be the analytical one, I wonder?

We did look at properties in TN.  I love the area the Fourniers are in and if they could help us find a place down there I would be happy as a tack.  We have so much to learn that it would be great to be near people doing what we want to do.  As a bonus, they are a wonderfully sweet family with whom we have good fellowship.  And they  make us laugh.  And Kelly and the girls can assist at births.  And they make great mayonaise.  But, when I put Bobby on the spot I says he thinks we need to stay in this corner of the state.  It's not family (mine is here), it's not Missouri's great homeschool laws, it's not staying in a familiar area... He's not sure.  Except he does mention this other family from time to time, that live south of us.  They're Torah-keepers, too, and live off grid, but we've only visited with them a few times.  I like them a lot, but we don't know them well.   He says we should find a place near them.  I can't figure him.  (Oh, Kim, we did scope out SE Nebraska and found nothing for sale there in our range!  How DID you get your place???)

So, we talked seriously about what we need to do to be ready.  There are some things we want to learn and some things we need to save up to buy (wood cookstove, a laundry rig with wringer and whatnots,  things like that.  Maybe an RV or an Army tent to live in) so we're kinda snuggling down for the winter and heading for those goals.  In the  meantime, I have to plan as though we're going to be here as far as the garden and stuff goes.  And Bobby has to find work.

Well, he went about that on preparation day and came home with a job.  Unreal!  In this depressed area with a gazillion people out of work everywhere!  And at a factory no less (indoors in the winter! yay!), which rarely hires first shift workers.  See, since we keep Sabbath he can't work a Mon-Fri night shift.  So he was hired and after orientation yesterday, started work today.  It pays minimum wage, but as a friend of ours says, or rather, sings, "I'd rather make minimum wage than nothing."  It'll get us buy.  It's actually a temp-to-hire job, and after 90 days, if he's hired, the pay goes up a little.  He'll work it until Yahweh sends him another direction.  But he came home a little while ago saying the lady at the temp agency was very upset with him.  She says she told him, though he wouldn't have taken the job if she had, that they're asking for overtime on Saturdays.  He went right over there after work to talk to her about it when he heard (another couple employees were confused about whether they were or weren't working Saturdays), but she insists she told him.  We'll see what tomorrow brings, eh?  Legally, they can't fire (or even not hire) him because of his religious convictions, but we would never mention that or make an issue of it.  If they need him Saturdays and can't make do with him on any of the six other days, he'll just go elsewhere, peaceably.

Too much time on the computer today!

I want to share with you my method of butchering goats. This method is not for everyone, but any ol' fool can do it. It's especially suited to us women folk. It is really very easy, hardly any fuss at all. We did it this way today with our first goat (first to be butchered, not first owned) and I would do it this way, or close to it, again in a heartbeat.

First you call up someone who knows how to butcher a goat. This is the most important step, not to be skipped. When they arrive you busy yourself with preparing the kitchen while the guys kill the goat, gut it, skin it, and take care of the unusable parts. Make sure you provide warm soapy water and some old towels so they can wash up when needed.

When the goat no longer looks like a pet (ask the children) feel free to step out and admire your friends and your spouse's handiwork, telling them what a great job they're doing. Bring out a large tray to transfer the various pieces to the kitchen counter. Once the carcass is inside, do try to pay attention while the experienced ones cut it into even smaller pieces. I know, the loin, flanks, neck and whatnot all kind of look alike and are hard to tell apart, but this is easier once they're wrapped and labeled (be helpful! Have some pieces of tape ready). Remember, you do want to do this yourself some day (well, not all by yourself) and it might be handy to know a country style rib from a spare rib, or a rib from an esophagus.

All that's left is to stick the packages in the freezer (the children can do this), throw the extra bones in a pot for stock (might have to get your hands dirty, here), clean up the kitchen and serve lunch, which we all know how to do - ah, back in familiar territory!

See? Any fool can butcher a goat my way!

The hardest part is comforting your nine year old who thought she could handle watching the execution, and might have, but it did not go smoothly (so I hear). She was pretty upset, but joined in the processing later like nothing had happened. She won't hesitate to eat the meat, either, if I know her. We're all very much looking forward to it. Tonight we're roasting rooster, however, and chevon will have to wait.

We butchered two extra roosters yesterday. I taught Bobby. Me, the experienced one, having butchered one entire half a chicken before calling the neighbor boys to help. (Well, there was that road killed guinea several weeks ago...) We skinned one, as I had done before, and scalded and plucked the other, which was new. And time consuming. Farra was right in there helping. She even held them on the chopping block for Bobby. Got a good team going here. The children were a little grossed out, but mostly fascinated by the part of the bird one only gets to see when one cuts it open, especially seeing inside the crop and gizzard, where the rooster’s last meal was being worked on.

Gotta go baste this guy. Homegrowns aren’t injected with all that mystery juice and I don’t want him to dry out.

Here’s to DIY food!

The baby's asleep, Royal and Blue are playing blocks, the older kids are drawing and fixing lunch, Bobby's running errands in town. It's rainy and coldish outside, the fire in the woodstove has the living room a cozy warm temperature and I'm kicking back on the couch with a cup of my homemade elderberry drink which not only is helping me get over this head cold I've got but is absolutely delicious.

Now, I want to tell you about our time in Tennessee, keeping the Feast of Tabernacles (FOT) with friends old and new. But where to start? There's so much to tell!

The Planning

No small amount of planning went into this trip. I haven't spent a single night away from this place since we moved in three years ago, except for one night the kids and I got caught in an ice storm and stayed at a friend's house in town. Bobby's done a little camping with the kids, but someone has to stick around and tend the animals. The last couple FOTs we camped in our yard, all on our lonesome, so we were very excited to spend this time with the Fourniers and the many families they had told us about. The excitement helped to counterbalance the overwhelming nature of preparing to camp for over a week in a tent with six young children and a puppy.

I'm a list person, of course (you guessed that about me, didn't you?), so I had lists for everything. Even lists of the things I needed to make lists of. It went well, actually. The week before we left I prepared and froze as much food as I could. I planned the meals meticulously and it paid off in ease of preparation at the camp. I threw in a few extra things and we didn't end up touching those things, it was planned so well. We only had one meal go awry and that was the day we'd gone to look at the Fournier's place and didn't get back until late. The family camping next to us cooked extra and donated it to our hungry family when we rolled in after dark (the beginning of the Last Great Day, a sabbath). I admit I'm pretty pleased with how well the food went.

The water at the camp was worse than we expected - more chlorine than water - but the Fourniers took our water cooler to their farm every morning when they did chores and filled it with spring water. Wonderful! We used that for cooking and drinking. They also hooked us up with fresh milk when what I had brought ran out.

Our neighbors here agreed to tend our animals for us. I'm still milking twice a day and was unwilling to dry up our doe for the trip, though I would have considered dropping down to once a day. But they were willing to come twice a day and I felt much better about that. It worked out well, because they would be gone the week after our return and would need someone to milk their goats - not for as many days, and only once a day. So we feel very rich now with their milk on top of ours. I look forward to next year when we'll be milking two, Yahweh willing.

We could have left our gigantic puppy with my parents, but Bobby insisted that as she is part of the family, we take her. I thought if we were to bring any four legged member of the family it should be the dairy goat which would fit in the puppy's pen, be useful, and behave herself. I was overruled.

However, I was pleased to discover I'm not the only one who thinks along these lines. A family from Florida did bring their milk goat. They talked to the park rangers four times before coming, making sure pets were allowed and were assured each time that as long as they were on a leash, they were welcome. But when the ranger saw the goat he said she had to go. No farm pets, he said. Later we picked up that he thought our group was planning to sacrifice the goat! A friend told him, when he asked what the family was going to do with the goat, "It's a dairy goat. They drink the milk." He wasn't sure what to say and came up with, "I don't like goat milk." Our friend looked at him funny and said, "Well, they do." Too funny! The family relocated the goat an hour away to the Fournier's farm. I think they even brought the park ranger a quart of milk later on.

Other things in the planning area... Somehow I didn't pack quite enough warm clothes for Blue, but we managed. Other than that, we did pretty well. The first night she went to put on her pajamas (blanket sleeper, footies, whatever you want to call it) only to discover she had grown too much to fit them. A couple nights later a friend told us she had done the same thing (without having heard our story) and asked if Blue could make use of the jammies her daughter had outgrown. They were a perfect fit. I love little things like that.

Next time, I'm thinking we could use a bit bigger of a tent for sleeping, an air mattress that doesn't leak (or better yet - a cot), a couple of decent lanterns and a table to prepare food on. I also don't think we were well prepared for all the rain we got. We could have used some way to keep firewood dry and some extra jackets and coats for when ours got wet, maybe some way to keep the bottom of our tent dry. And although our old Coleman stove worked alright (the whole time we only had one good fire in the fire ring), we were wishing we'd brought a small rocket stove and set it up for cooking. So much more efficient than anything else.

The Feast

It wasn't raining when we left the house at quarter after seven in the morning, but when we got to the campground there was a steady light rain and that was no fun at all to set up in. Nowhere dry to set the baby, who was more than ready to be out of her carseat while we tried to put up tents, etc. In Feasts past we've focused on our time as a shadow of the millennial reign of Messiah that is to come, but it didn't take long to see our spiritual lesson this year would be more along the lines of learning not to grumble in our tents like our brothers the Israelites did in the wilderness after they left Egypt. "Were there not enough graves in Missouri that you brought me to Tennessee to die?" 

Still pretty cold and wet in the morning over breakfast. Really regretting bringing the dog. We soon discovered that the bathhouse nearest to "our people" was closed for painting - it remained so most of the time we were there, but at least we could use the outside sink for washing dishes. I was really grumbling. I got over it. Not sure how, but I did. I realized the whole thing was about the Father and not about me. Things gradually got better that morning.

In order to allow free time for families to interact there were very few things actually scheduled for the week. Meetings each day at 9:30am to read and discuss scripture (we would be reading through the book of Deuteronomy, 4-5 chapters a day), a "pot bless" on both high days and two family sharing nights for singing, sharing testimonies, that sort of thing. Oh, and a young lady had set aside time for a few of the afternoons to do a lesson with the children.

So, the first morning we all met in the nearest pavilion and sang some songs. Then there was some discussion about grumbling in our tents... very encouraging! One brother shared about how excited his little daughters were, how they didn't seem to notice the cold and rain like us adults. They were just happy as could be to visit with their friends. Hmm. As the day progressed I noticed that being cold and wet was so much more tolerable once we got to meeting other families and visiting.

I started to journal and did alright the first three or four days, intending to post it here, but it was even more boring than what I've written so far! I think the most interesting thing I had written was a quote from Royal as he was taking off his shoes and climbing into the tent. "Mom, I got a playground in my shoe." I think he was referring to a wood chip from the playground.

On day three of four I came down with the head cold that was going around. It's now settled in my lungs but is getting better. A couple of my kids have a touch of it. Usually we are able to get the rest needed to recover quickly (or avoid it altogether) but the FOT is only once a year! So we didn't give up our late nights visiting and dancing and laughing. Figured we'd have plenty of time to rest and recover at home. That seemed to be the philosophy of the others who had gotten sick as well. I don't think the same can be said for the young (um, 23?) friend of ours who broke his leg playing football on 1st Day. Poor guy missed out on the Last Great Day and we all felt very sorry for him. Well, except for Bobby who thinks so little of sports he insists Jonathan got what he deserved. (Such a compassionate man I'm married to!)

There were about 20 families present, though some of those were there only for a day or two. Just over a dozen families were there for the whole time, some of those had even been set up for a few days when we got there. Most families had several children, though our family was the youngest (save one couple with a 3, 2 and 1yr old that were there only a couple nights and didn't spend much time in fellowship with anyone). It's odd being the generation right between the parents and the older children of half of the families there.

There were people from TN, KY, FL, CO, ID, NC, PA, MO, MN, TX... um, I think that covers it. Every one to keep the feast, every one seeking to follow Yahweh's Torah. If you have never camped for a week with a bunch of other believers, you have really missed out. The music, the discussions, the kids playing, the way everyone pitches in and helps each other out. The late nights around campfires (or sitting around a heater in a Bedouin type canvas tent until after midnight) sharing about where you've been and where Yahweh has brought you and your vision for the future.

It was incredibly interesting to see that Yahweh is leading nearly all of these families back to the land. The Fourniers could have made a fortune if they'd charged for tours of their Amish-type farm. But they didn't. They were gracious enough to take the afternoon and show us around the place while we snapped photos like people who had never seen a farm before. Living off-grid isn't necessarily the dream of all of us present, but it seems everyone is leaning toward living off the land, trusting Yahweh to bring forth bread from the earth (and meat, if we can swing it!).

We were at the Fourniers on 1st Day when they received a call from mutual friends of ours in Missouri, the Berkemeyers. Turns out the Berkies had camped at the same campground all weekend (a different part of it) with a handful of other families (also mutual friends) and noticed our group as they were leaving. When they recognized the Fournier girls and found out their new farm was so close, they decided to swing by there and see it and those of us there. We didn't get to visit long, but it was a special treat. They don't keep the Torah, but are a very neat family with ten children. They only live about 15 minutes away from us and have recently stopped attending the fellowship meetings here, for some of the same reasons we did months ago (although the teaching against Yahweh's law was the main reason we backed off, it wasn't the only). Interesting.

Returning Home and Reflections

It was hard to leave the campground. Once we were packed up, goodbyes took another hour... excited to get home, but loathe to leave. (Part of that time three of us had our laptops out and were swapping photos. Thanks JP! You're quite the shutterbug.) Do we really have to wait a whole year to get together with these wonderful people again? I hope not!

After a couple hours on the road the week's exertions caught up with me and I dozed. I didn't realize that Bobby was counting on me to navigate us home! He had just continued on I-40 and we were a couple hours farther south than we should have been. Glad I didn't sleep longer! It was a tense few minutes while we got turned around and found the best route home from there... the kids and I were soooo worn out and ready to be home. Bobby was able to overcome and put on a cheerful attitude, which eventually paid off in cheerful attitudes all around. I'm so thankful to him for that. The extra few hours on the road were actually a blessing, as we spent time in the word and in worship and prayer for the future.

My parents (who did chores for us and our neighbors as our respective trips overlapped by a day and a half) had dinner in a crock pot for us and had also started a fire in the woodstove before they left which was incredibly wonderful to come home to (even if it was too late for dinner when we walked in - we enjoyed it last night and it freed me up to unpack and settle in). I didn't realize my home was so cozy until that night! It felt like a cozy cottage mansion... so roomy and luxurious compared to the tents, but so snug and comfortable! But we kept wandering around wondering, "What's so different? Why does it feel so different?" Finally, Bobby proposed, "It's us. We're different." He surprises me sometimes, that spouse of mine.

We do feel different. We're very refreshed and renewed from our fellowship over the last ten days. Things have been so awkward and tense with the people we used to fellowship with in this area. There's a reason Paul tells us not to grow weary in doing good - because that's the natural tendency. We love our Father and his son and seek to obey him with our whole hearts. He says that if you love him, you will keep his commands. Romans 7:12 says the law is holy, the commandment righteous and good. We don't believe any of it is a burden but that every jot and tittle is for our benefit. We've faced a lot of people lately who say the law is a burden and has been done away. I know we're here for a purpose and I pray for wisdom and strength, but it is refreshing to be with people who agree that all his ways are good and who seek to walk in those ways. We talk about it some, but for the most part it frees you up to talk about other things. I guess "worldview" is the word for what I'm trying to describe. When your worldview is the same, it's less complicated (or frustrating) to discuss whatever is in view, whether education, gardening, politics or cooking. We're finding that believing Yahshua came to destroy the law really forms a different worldview than believing Yahshua came to show us how to keep the law perfectly. And because our faith in Yahweh is so precious to all who call on him, that kind of difference is no small thing.

At any rate, we return refreshed, feeling ready to face whatever Father has for us next.

We are especially thankful for and would like to give honorary mention to the Singh family, who noticed our family is a little off the beaten path and actually, amazingly, seem to enjoy that about us, having us over to their cozy tent not for one crazy late night, but two! We think you're pretty special also, and are introducing you to our blog readers whether you like it or not. (It is so unfair that you live so far away.)

This is Sheri and Sanjay, twins Isabella and Lilly, and Emma

Check back later for more pictures!

There have been quite a number of passionate debates over scripture with people in our lives during the last few weeks... few months... few years? It seems to settle down then gets stirred back up. You can't get excited about something in scripture without offending someone, apparently. A couple weeks ago I was sure the thing I disliked most about these goings-on is being judged upon misunderstandings without a chance at a fair hearing. Tonight I've settled on something I dislike even more: my own ugly heart.

I was thinking the other day about pride and humility. Have you ever noticed that nothing brings your own pride to the surface like someone else's pride? We have lots of opportunity to see that when trying to walk in unity, don't we? But spend that rare moment with someone who's truly humble and suddenly you are humbled, seeing yourself clearly for the unworthy person you are and are able to look up and smile at others, instead of frowning down your nose at them.

Somewhere in here someone made a decision. Someone humbled themselves. I want to be one of those taking a stand, making the choice, spreading that infectious humility. I have a long, long way to go.

I realized that as much as I dislike these debates, Yahweh is using them for good, even if nothing comes of it but to show me how ugly and prideful I am. After meditating on this last night I found myself able to genuinely thank him for these trials and for continuing the work he started in me, replacing my heart of stone with one of flesh.   Hallelujah.