A Stroke of Very Sad Luck

James and Helen are gone. GONE. 

And as if that isn't bad enough, their baby goose (who was now every bit as large the parents) is gone as well! 

We can make no sense of it. They are, in short, enormous. We've seen them terrify dogs. They've lived for over a year on the farm without ever falling prey to raccoon, marmot or any other critter that our lesser chickens have occasionally been lost to.

So all three gone? At once?

It's boggling. 

We might have even suspected them to be stolen ... only we did find one rather large pile of feathers (surely suggestive of an attack). But dogs, well, when dogs kill ... they do not make tidy work of the remains. There would have been far more goosely evidence than feathers. 

As we wandered around the farm Friday evening looking for any sign of them, I looked across a field and saw Jesse, Summer and Hans kneeling in a little circle praying. It was so touching to me. But also so sad. I knew, in this instance, the prayer would most likely not be answered as they were hoping. 

Our best guess was coyotes (?) or a dog getting in and going on a rampage ... and the dog's owner nervously cleaning up afterwards (and not telling us) (?) 

But it's still a mystery.

And it's true James could be quite the stinker. But he was our honking, hissing stinker. And there was some character lent to the farm by the presence of those three intrepid rulers. (Also, side note: Large Dewlap Touloose geese can cost over $200! So ... had we wanted to get rid of them, it would have been on our terms, and with a little money in our pockets!)

Alas. 

(I don't even have any good pictures of them.)

With the dismal business of lost geese still fresh in our hearts, it seemed extra sad luck (what's the opposite of fortuitous? is unfortuitous a word?) for Summer and Mette to discover, later that very same night, that Skittles the hamster had passed away. 

They were, at first, inconsolable. And their inconsolableness spread to Hans. (Only Starling seemed to quietly take it in. Petting his small furry back and saying, "I'm sad Skittles died.") It took some time before we could shift the weeping and "why"s to happy memories of Skittles.

Eventually some peace prevailed. The next day Mike helped Summer pick out a little box to serve as a casket. She set to painting it. They placed Skittles and a good deal of fluff in the box. Mike nailed the lid on. And we had a little funeral at the farm. (A favorite Skittles memory from each of us, a prayer, and then a shovel of dirt from everyone. 

Starling Home From School

"Mom," Starling said--as she leaned over the cardboard box she was fashioning into a house:

 "Everybody at school loved my dress."

"Oh good," I responded. "That makes me so happy!"

"It makes me so happy too," she said.

We bought her that little cheetah dress for $5 at Wal-Mart yesterday--mostly because I saw it and knew she would wear it. And that girl has very few things she will willingly wear. She has tried to be a little more open-minded about various outfits with the start of the kindergarten, but she was nearly reduced to tears when I pulled out several absolutely darling articles of clothing from an old box of Summer and Mette's the other day and suggested she choose one for school. (It's bad enough that she's had to allow for her hair actually being done most days now.) So, I'm thrilled everyone loved her cheetah-print dress. (Actually, I think only one person told her they liked her dress. Bless that single soul. She knew it must mean everyone did. [Of course they did. Look at her.])

There are over 60 kids in kindergarten at Starling's school this year, and she is one of only about six kindergartner's who opted out of the full day option. I was a little surprised by that. But I'm truly grateful that I am lucky enough to be able to stay at home so that I get to go pick her up at noon each day and bring her back home with me. If she were a more demanding child perhaps I'd feel differently :), but she's truly just an absolutely pleasant and delightful little soul to have about.

Today after school she showed me a little booklet she made at school about her family (she'd drawn all ten kids); then she sat next to me (while I ate watermelon and bacon) and ate the little lunch she insists on packing in the morning and bringing to school (even though she just has to bring it back home); she created a little house out of cardboard and paper (you saw the beginnings above, but by the end it even had "Christmas lights"); painted her nails (as she is quite fond of doing and does shockingly well); jumped on the trampoline; came and practiced counting, writing and sounding out a few simple words with me; and talked Anders (who gets home earlier than the elementary kids) into making her hot cocoa.

This will be a happy little year for the two of us I think.

The Farm is Not For the Faint of Heart. And Other Things.

Mike has been talking for some time about how we need to take the fence down along the front of the farm. (We do have to. The county is requiring us to build a shoulder the entire length of the property. They are also taking ten feet of our property along the entire stretch of frontage. So, the fence needs moved.)

In any case, when Mike would mention the fence, I would always blithely agree. "Oh yes, you are certainly right. That is one of the things we definitely need to get done. The fence must come down."

I don't know what I thought taking down more than a city-block's worth of barbed wire fencing would entail. In truth I guess I didn't think at all. So when we actually began working on it this weekend (in the 90-degree heat I might add) I was rather shocked to realize what a job "taking down the fence" was going to prove to be.

My job was primarily taking off the metal that held the barbed wire onto each post:

It is not a metal that readily bends. And you are trying to twist it off with barbed wire trying to cut you at every turn. I would use pliers to try and get a grip and untwist each side, and it took me probably twenty minutes to get my first one off. TWENTY MINUTES. There were I don't know how many posts like this. And each post had five strands of barbed wire. Meaning five of those metal bits on each of the posts. It felt hopeless. Give me some angry geese to feed in the freezing cold winter. Some bails of straw needing stacked. A pile of branches to be gathered and burned. But a barbed wire fence to take down? How innocently I had been existing.

(I even look older in that picture. I think a day on that fence might have taken a decade from my life? Ha.)

But, with that said, I did actually improve. Drastically. I went from getting one piece of metal off in twenty minutes to one about every minute or two! Jesse and Anders (and for a spell Penny) would help some with the metal and also follow behind pulling the posts out. And Mike wound up the miserable rolls of barbed wire and did all the other things I was oblivious to in my metal-twisting focus. And we got maybe a third of it done? (There are still gates needing taken down and the bigger wooden posts and railroad-tie posts removed.) It felt like the old "by small means are great things brought to pass" as it felt so tedious and the gains so miniscule that a third of the fence actually down seemed impossible to have gotten to. (And two-thirds more ... impossible to complete.) 

But maybe if we get some cooler weather? 

And coax our college kids home? (I won't tell them why of course. Hopefully they don't read this and stay away forever.)

But. It's probably good for all of us--the work that living on the farm (and readying to live on the farm) has and will necessitate. When you've taken down a barbed wire fence you feel ... well ... like someone who knows what it means to take down a barbed wire fence. And that ain't nothin'. (Even if Jesse and Anders moaned a great deal about how literally we were taking the "labor" component of "Labor Day" yesterday.)

I've always been a hard worker. There's no way to survive a home with ten children and their needs without being one. But this is a new kind of work for me. And it was interesting to me that I could be there working alongside Mike. For so many years it seemed that Mike would go do this sort of thing with whatever kids were old enough and my job was to take care of the babies. But now? The "babies" can all just come along. (Even if there is a fair amount of moping, and crying over a lost toy in the canal, and asking to go home.) 

(This part was actually pounding in some posts and making a smaller fence with some panels so the cows our neighbor is still running on the farm wouldn't escape with the fence down.)

Pulling posts.

More pulling. ...

They really were good workers. Penny even said she likes doing work on the farm!

I find Mike in his element (his element=manual labor/fixing/building/animals etc.) very attractive. 

The house will be back through these trees. Last picture of the farm before the fence came down.

IN OTHER NEWS.

News? 

I don't know. This post just seemed as good as any for tacking on a few random photos:

Abe after (just before?) receiving his jiu-jitsu blue belt.

Trampolining. I never tire of our new views. However we really don't have any big trees anywhere close to our rental. Which seems saddish for fall!

Mike out on the trampoline chatting with Mette after some angry blow up on her part lead her stomping away outside ready to forsake her family for good.

"Time". The kids get to do 30 minutes of some sort of electronics most days. They call it their "time". "Can I do time now?" "Have you finished your time yet, Mette?" Etc.

Look at them all staring at their devices. Charming. I blame Mike (who bought not only the Wii years ago, but both of these switches they are playing!). I guess he thought they'd think they were fun. And oh. They do. "Stop playing time. Is your time done? All right, you've lost your time tomorrow." And so forth.

A strange spot for a tired Starling to have put herself to sleep.

Hansie boy with Ellie.

Abe was home for about ten days between having to leave his Provo summer apartment and not yet being able to check in to his fall apartment. (They call it homeless week. And I don't know what all the students do who don't have family nearby!) In any case, he took Jesse and Anders fishing one of those days and climbing another day.

This sign as you enter our little town (yes it's the actual town name) has always had the white part at the top mostly rubbed off. I had no idea what it was supposed to have been until recently when Mette went around the backside (where the same image was more intact) and took this picture. While it is a true representation of where we live, I was quite disappointed. No lovely mountains or grains of wheat. Oh no. Zoom in if you dare.

Penny got asked to the Homecoming dance by her good friend Dan. He asked her with a princess/prince sort of theme, so she took that and made it a bit more Star Warsy in her reply. (Yes, that is a Baby Yoda waffle maker.)

And this one photo I have from my niece Maddie's wedding reception a week or two ago. My older sisters Kathy and Amy. Shannon and Megan were there as well. But apparently just the three of us felt to gather for a photo? I don't recall, but I can't think I was too ready for a photo as I had food in my mouth when it was taken. So. 

Back to School. For EVERYONE.

Speaking of repeating cycles (as we were ... in a previous post), I ought to mention that the kids went back to school. 

Goldie, of course, is still missionarying away (and will be for another six months). But Abe is back at BYU for his final year. Daisy is back at BYU for her fifth year (first year as a graduate student!). And all seven of the remaining children are scattered about (quite literally if you look at how far apart their schools are situated) throughout high school, middle school and elementary. (I should have liked, after all the frightening newness of last year, for this going back year to all seem perfectly familiar. However, it was Anders' first go at middle school. And Starling's first go with school at all. So it still felt like lots of daunting newness this year.)

Anyway. The return to school seems worth always mentioning (if for no other reason than to post the first-day-of-school front porch photos), but particularly this year seems worth noting as it is the first time in nearly 24 years (!!!) that I have a block of time in my days with no toddlers or babies at my feet.

Penny and Jesse drive to school--and drop Anders at his school on the way (it's weird that he was heading to school with all the little kids every morning last year and is suddenly heading off with the teens this year), but I made them all take the bus the first two days so that Anders would be familiar with it for days when they need to use it.

I don't really know what to say about this rather landmark moment. A simple "woohoo, my kids are all in school" doesn't feel true to my feelings. There's some sense of loss and of stages of life slipping out of my hands. There is also a feeling that this phase is a gift, and I ought to appreciate and make really worthwhile use of it. There's this constant desire to keep them safely in Eden forever warring with this business of letting them stretch onward and outward--tasting the bitter to better know the sweet.

But I think mostly there's just sort of a feeling of ... awe? shock? wonder? 

It's not as if my kids are raised. We have miles to go before we sleep and all that. But, as I take my kids to school these days, I see many young mothers with a kindergartner and perhaps a 2nd grader. They'll have another toddler in tow as well, and I see that they are just at the beginning of all this mothering business. For most of them this will be a fairly short phase of all of their children going through this stage at roughly the same time. And it just boggles my mind--it seems impossible--that I was them twenty years ago. And yet I have been in that stage continuously ever since. Just ... welcoming new babies, having toddlers underfoot, navigating new phases with our older children (graduations, and missions, and college) all while buckling car seats, and being woken all night, and nursing babies. Parenting very small children has been such an enormous part of my life experience. And, with this new phase of kids in school (mind you Starling is only there for three hours), but with this new stage, I sense a little bit the miracle of how far I've come--just day by tiny day, a step at a time, as we've managed to do this impossible and wonderful and exhausting thing for 24 years. 

I don't know that I'm making any sense. But this is one of those times that is causing me to reflect on all sorts of things that I was, for so long, just so much in the thick of, that I couldn't yet see them from this slightly new perspective. I even feel like I'm viewing my own self over the last 24 years from an outside perspective. 

Anyway. Perhaps more later. Perhaps not. I don't know. We shall see. In the meantime here's little kindergartner home and eating a pear. (She likes to pack a little lunch to take to school in her backpack just like her siblings ... even though she doesn't actually stay at school long enough to eat it.)