It’s been a quiet summer.
If by quiet I mean every day I get up at 6:00 a.m. and sit in a rocking chair on my front porch clutching my coffee mug for dear life before venturing out back to feed and water the ducks and chickens, and I tell them: “Tomorrow, I am going to kill you with a knife. I am going to, so help me. Tomorrow is definitely going to be the day of your death. Get right with God, Eleanor–you fat thing. Spur me one last time, Felicia, I dare you. I will feed you to my family.”
And then I also take care of the children and the dogs and the husband and the house and just basically go on with my bad farming self.
We’ve put in half a pole barn, and I’ve survived the hellish nightmare that is running fence. Sheep are looming in the near future; I can only hope they will be a way more likeable animal group than the chickens have been.
My parents will be coming up for a visit in a mere four days and our lawnmower is broken. Our property looks like it was used for “The Grapes of Wrath”; our driveway looks like a junkyard, and our garage looks like it was featured on an episode of Hoarders. We have not gotten a handle on all aspects of home-ownership + farm life + raising children + marriage. It is exhausting, y’all.
I am training for a half-marathon with my bff (the same one who talked me into that treacherous cross-fit workout for charity that gave me a weeklong fever and PTSD.) I run three times a week so I guess I’ll just be obnoxious from now on and have hour-long, one-sided discussions about what kind of protein shakes I drink. (none, unless you count coffee with milk.)
In the time it’s been between now and my last blog, so much has happened in the world. I read somewhere that silence on the subject of racism indicates racism itself. And that is something I’ve been mulling over ever since. To be honest I will never understand enough about someone who isn’t living my life, no matter their race or sexual orientation. Perhaps my problem is not racism but selfishness. Most days it is all I can do take a deep breath and manage my own tiny problems. I am quick to anger and slow to listen. Forgiveness of any perceived offense requires an act of God Himself. Maybe this is the problem our country faces as a whole: we are selfish and prideful. We take care of our own first and foremost at the expense of others, no matter who they are. We can’t handle criticism. We can’t handle waiting. We have over-developed pointer fingers. And none of us know how to shut up ever.
I’ve been quiet. I’ve been thinking. I’ve been praying. I’ve been focusing on righting wrongs within me. And when I speak, I want what I say to be something that honors not me, but God.
Unless I’m talking to my chickens, of course.