A Winning Ticket

It is not in my nature to be a “risk taker”. Every memory I have are ones of anxiety when things were ‘thrown’ at me. I’m a planner. Carefully thinking things through…what are the risks versus the rewards? What could go wrong? Some identify with how my mind works, others roll their eyes at my pessimism. I prefer the term “realism”.

This last weekend my husband and I took a little trip. We decided to go camping for our anniversary. A place we’ve enjoyed in the past stuck out in both of our minds so the decision was unanimous. I had a couple weeks notice (because my husband knows me…) I had plenty of time to plan and pack, only life had gotten out of control the week prior. A few too many commitments misaligned with farm troubles and daily requirements. Alas, on the day of the trip I had nothing packed. At 3:30 in the afternoon I madly threw things into the trailer.  This is not my style. 

My husband got home later than he had planned to. Then the fan belt began to tear on his truck. We left anyway headed for an auto parts store about 45 minutes away. Imagine my brain in knots as I pictured us on the side of the road. Helpless. With a 30+ foot trailer in tow. As I pushed those tumbling thoughts away a random storm kicked up. Seriously. Horizontal rain mixed with hail as wind threatened to tip us right over. Branches flew through the air as I envisioned the movie “Twister”. I could see the sun still shining on the other side. What on earth? I’m beginning to think we were ill fated for this trip. Once through the gauntlet of crazy weather I remembered everything we’d forgotten on the way as well: toothbrush, deodorant, bread, buns. Basic things. This is what being in a rush does to me. 

The rest of the evening went smoothly, as well as the next day thankfully. We needed a break. We needed time away from the regular motion of life.  As we sat around the fire Saturday evening we noticed several sea planes flying to the lake the campground is situated on. So we googled it. Apparently we just happened to be there at the same time as a sea plane fly-in scheduled for the next morning. “It would be cool to fly in one..” my husband stated. Coincidentally there would be a drawing for free rides. We decided to check it out.

My ticket, 142, is in my hand on the bottom. It was the lucky winner.

Fast forward to my freakish uncustomary on a whim decision. As scores of people gathered around a man announcing ‘for-donation raffle tickets’ I told my husband he should sign up. He only would if I did. So two tickets in hand he made me choose mine. I knew, just knew, mine would get drawn. I told him if I won he was going in my place. Not five minutes later the first number was announced. The man in front of me raised his hand happily. The next number: “142, 142” ??? Anyone. I raised my hand in disbelief as I looked at my husband. He threw his head back and laughed out loud. Unbelievable. I took my place on the sidelines along with the other chosen few as my heart raced with possibilities. Maybe I’d love it. Maybe I’d crash and what had started as an ill-fated trip might end up horribly wrong. He must have seen the war raging on my face because as my husband approached he offered to take my place. I handed the ticket over. I walked away and watched as he was led to a waiting plane. A single tear dripped down my cheek as I realized I give half of life’s opportunities away due to my own fear…but he did want to go…and I wasn’t sure I did. In the end I’m glad he went this time, but I will not be so rash if there’s ever a next. At some point I have to give in to living a life that God wants to give me -full of uncertainties, but opportunity.

The Early Hunt

The sun is beginning its decent on this very warm fall evening. I’m in a camo hunting tent in the woods with my husband and eight year old son waiting for a deer to happen across the well traveled ridge in front of us. The undergrowth is still thick making it difficult to see anything moving. We will try our best.

Its peaceful here. Spring was just breaking forth on my last visit. Now instead of peeper frogs I hear only the calls of winter birds, a few tree frogs, and the never-ending noise of squirrels. Wild blossoms have left only their thorny vines to snag us as we tramped through laden with gear. 

The leaves can’t fall fast enough for the guys in this hunting family. Once on the ground there’s actually a good view of the hillside, and anything on it. Plus should they be fortunate to make contact with their target a decent blood trail is easier to see. So tonight may be more of a preseason nature outing.

Killing time with a burger…

Its nice that the state of Michigan gives our youth an early weekend to hone in their skills and possibly get “the big one” before mom or dad gets the chance in a couple weeks. Since dad has to help this young hunter he ultimately gets to choose any shot that is taken…thus probably reserving the big one for himself for a later date. But mom came along tonight. With any luck it will walk through while I’m here to fight for little guys chances at a trophy. In the meantime I’m sitting here reminding the boy to be quiet and sit still. Daddy’s asleep. He took this morning’s early hunting shift without me. I will let him rest. Apparently now I am the only one looking through the screen for movement. Boy is playing in the dirt…he’s young. Let him play for a bit.

As the days get progressively cooler my hunting opportunities become fewer. Even if I can’t take the shot today as an adult I’ll stay on the lookout. Truth is I enjoy it. I would like nothing more than to see their smile of accomplishment should one of my boys bag a deer this weekend. I know they aren’t simply out to harm an animal…both of them have made comments on how nice it would be to put some venison in the freezer. That’s what it’s about. They are working on their God given instincts to provide.

Waiting on Tomatoes

Vacation is most certainly over. School is back in session. Everything ‘summer’ is being stored away; including tomatoes. I didn’t get my plants into the garden as early as I could have so since the last month has been quite cool I’m paying the price. I have at least a bushel of beautiful GREEN tomatoes still on their vines. One picking has ripened and after being given some of my dad’s extra I just finished canning some stewed tomatoes and a batch of pizza sauce today….the first I’ve done this season. While I don’t mind the pause between pickings, part of me just wants to be done now. Plow it all under. The corn, beans, peas, carrots, potatoes, and even the squash and pumpkins have all been harvested. Just waiting on those tomatoes.

A large pan of sauce ready to be sieved

We have a few warmer days coming this weekend (that’s what they’re saying anyway) so I’m crossing my fingers that they’ll all ripen in one fell swoop. It would mean a lot of work all at once but it would also mean I could close the book on the garden for this year. 

Ill still have apples to do…but I like to make applesauce. It makes me happy to place jar after jar down in the basement for future enjoyment. When I make a batch the whole house smells of cinnamon and nutmeg in combination of fallish yumminess. Tomato sauce stinks. In my opinion. On Saturday, when I began cooking them down, the aroma of onions and garlic mixed with basil and oregano was amazing, initially. After about ten hours, not so much. My senses had had enough. I was pretty happy to have every jar sealed to put away today.

Happiness=several jars ready to make their home in the basement

So why do I do this year after year? I’ve asked myself every year. Despite the effort, it’s worth it. I’ve always had home canned jars in the basement: at my grandmas houses when growing up, at my childhood home, and now in our home. From jams and jellies to juices and sauces, veggies, fruits, and meats- there’s always a supply on hand. Sure, it helps with the budget. Since I know every ingredient from start to finish I’m certain my canned goods are healthier for us too. Truth is, the real reason I have a garden and can all that comes out of it is because it’s just in me to do so. We can’t eat everything that’s harvested right away, so I save it. Blame it on my genetics? I’m old school.

Genetics…why else wouldn’t I just go pay $1.50 for the jar of pizza sauce?

When my husband and I moved into grandpa and grandmas rental home on the farm years ago it was actually included in the official agreement that I had to have a garden. That’s how deeply rooted (no pun intended) this way if life is. Its just what you do.

I’m not sure my kids, or their future spouses, will be interested in keeping the old traditions. Until the day I die I plan on keeping them well stocked with canned goods ‘just in case.’ Who knows, maybe someday my aging hands working over the stove will spark the interest of our next generation as another set of hands did mine. Ill pass on about 1000 canning jars along with equipment and recipes….just like my predecessors have to me.

Nothing beats my old All American

Back to the Books

“Come on! Lets go guys!” is how we began our school year yesterday morning. I have visions of neatly stacked books and an official start for each year…but this year was an exception by far. Labor Day (a.k.a. summer’s official end) fell on the heels of an emotional goodbye to our Marine son. He’d been here on leave for an activity filled week and a half. Recovery hasn’t even been an option so lets just say its going to take a few days to get into the swing of things. Its a good thing I’ve got this homeschooling thing down.

I am thankful that in the state of Michigan homeschooling our children has been a viable option for education. Without stating all of the reasons why, 13 years ago we made the decision to pull our two elementary students out of the public system. I was scared about my ability to teach them..would what I knew be enough? Could we produce intelligent young adults able to enter the ever advancing world?

The fact that in our state we have the freedom to choose our own teaching style and curriculums left the options wide open, and daunting. Finding what would work for them, and myself, felt overwhelming. After a summer of research we made our selections, ordered them, and dug in that fall.

I remember feeling excited. New crayons, supplies, and books were all laid out on the table that September morning. Deep down I questioned if they’d miss their classrooms…and time away from me. Could I fill the social void?

Years have passed-those two initial students grew to four. Since the two children I still have in school right now were born after we made this learning transition they’ve never known anything else. We’ve had our first two successful graduations. I’ve asked them if they regretted our decision. Both have answered no. At one point in high school I tried sending them back to a private school setting because I felt I was failing them…it lasted two years. Socially it was okay, academically it was not. Both wanted to come home.

In our home, school is school. We don’t lounge around in pjs. Each day has a start time and breaks throughout. The day goes as long as necessary, until work is finished; which is before noon on some days, but not until later afternoon on others. I love that their education is tailored to them individually. I hate that sometimes I transform from a loving mom into that one mean old teacher every student has had.

Teaching children at home isn’t for the faint of heart. Looking back I can say its been worth it, but it’s not for everyone. Seriously. For all of the rewards there are many sacrifices. To be a successful parent/teacher I don’t have a degree, teachers union, or even a paycheck…but I’ve had a growing level of patience, discipline, dedication, and can now juggle housework with multiple questions simultaneously.

We have our Marine, a college student, a high school junior, and a third grader. Two down, two to go. As I’ve graded their papers I’ve graded myself. I ask God daily for wisdom. For strength. For myself and for them. The lessons they learn inside these walls are more than just graded papers to reach some state standard. They learn life lessons: how to respond under pressure, how to treat others, how to apply the knowledge we’ve tried so hard to convey.  Have we taught them through all these years how to serve the Lord? It’s a heavy task we’re responsible for no matter where our children attend school.

As I sit here enjoying a 15 minute break basking in the fall sun I once again thank God for the opportunity I have been given. Next week, when the newness of the school year has already worn off, I will push through a third grade meltdown and remind myself how blessed I am.