7 Quick Takes - Spring So Far

{Alternatively titled "Hillbillies R Us".   Thank you to Kelly at This Ain't the Lyceum for hosting!}

--1--

I can't believe that the last time I wrote one of these Quick Takes, I was talking about eight inches of snow and getting ready to serve up some proverbial groundhog for dinner. Or maybe in your parts, it's called supper? Either way, proverbial because the actual groundhog is a bit too greasy for consumption, or so I've heard. I've never actually eaten one considering I've never actually ever been that hungry. However, my parents did cook one up in their pressure cooker last year after eradicating it from their garden, and they said it wasn't half bad, which to me, probably means it wasn't half good either. No point in letting good meat go to waste, they claimed, unless it is 'possum of course.  Possum just ain't fit to eat. Nasty critters from what I understand. There's a reason they've outlived every mammal species on earth. Greasy as all get out and mean too, if you ever grab one by the tail. And yes, I have. Trust me, you don't want to go there.

--2--

Anyhow, this post is supposed to be about spring and not semi-edible varmints. The beauty of spring has arrived in full force in the Appalachians and it is as surreal and lovely as you might imagine.  Our hills are filled with the songs of the returning wood warblers and this past month, God carpeted the forest floor with an endless bouquet of wildflowers. I missed most of the wildflowers last spring since I was spending all my spare time last April unpacking boxes, so it was a joy to be able to get out and re-acquaint myself with old friends from my past such as showy orchis, red trilliums, lady's slippers and mayapples. Someday, I hope to be able to photograph them in a way that does them justice, but even a photograph just can't seem to capture the beauty of a hillside covered in dappled sunlight and a profusion of petals.

Red Trillium

Yellow Trilliums

Showy Orchis

Pink Lady's Slippers

Mayapple

--3--

And, as any good mountaineer knows, when the mayapples appear, so do the morels, better known as "dryland fish" in these parts. We did our duty and spent more than one Sunday afternoon walking as a family along rivers and woods roads in search of these elusive mushrooms.  Few secrets are held tighter than the known location of a good mushroom spot. I had kept in mind a few such spots from when I'd found them here a decade ago, but alas, time has a way of changing landscapes and morels are in those spots no more. Or if they are, other hunters have found my secret spots and beat me to them, or maybe the wild turkeys have eaten them all. I must say that one thing I do truly miss about the Missouri Ozarks is the abundance and size of their morel mushroom patches. I seldom got skunked when looking for morels in the Ozarks, but the foothills of the Appalachians are a different story.  I suppose we'll just have to survive on fiddleheads instead.

Mushroom Hunter

Finding morels in the Ozarks -  April 2011

--4--

Of course, with spring comes planting time, too. Thanks to the generosity of my father, who agreed to share part of his garden space with us this year, we are trying our hand at a new garden location, this time one with much more sun. We've moved our raised beds and started over with strawberries, broccoli, and a few herbs. Green onions and lettuce are ready to eat and broccoli will be picked next week. Peas aren't too far behind. The potatoes were planted two weeks ago, in accordance with the "signs", and beans should be sprouting any day now. Corn is not yet in the ground, although the "corn bird" (aka wood thrush) arrived three weeks ago, and the oak leaves are much bigger now than a squirrel's ear, so obviously, we are behind on getting our corn seed in the ground.  Maybe next week.  Tomatoes and peppers are still sitting in their starter pots, getting leggier than our son John, and begging to be put in the ground. Meanwhile, the deer are waiting on the sidelines, licking their chops.

--5--

Our boys have gone from restless to feral with the nice weather, and I find myself now standing on the front porch saying such things as "get in here and put your shoes/shirt/pants (sometimes all of the above) on!" or "don't you dare go down to that creek!" or "I told you to stay out of that ivy!"  John and I took a trip to a friend's house a couple of weeks ago where he had a big adventure terrorizing their chickens and retrieving the eggs.  After the plethora of plastic Easter eggs we were bombarded with last month, I thought it important that he see where the non-chocolate filled eggs come from. Joah stayed home with his daddy because flightless birds, fragile eggs and Joah do not a good combination make.  Getting our own flock of chickens is on our family's bucket list, somewhere above "get a goat" and below "get honeybees". Honey trumps eggs any day in my book.  Getting a goat is still up for debate.

Preparing to make "coffee".

Pouring the "coffee".
Who needs shoes come spring?

John's coup after Battle of the Free-Range Chickens
(photo courtesy of E. Jones)

--6--

Of course, winter around here does not die easily.  We have thus far passed through "Sarvus Winter", "Redbud Winter", "Dogwood Winter" but have yet to succumb to "Blackberry Winter".  It has to be close, though, considering our blackberry blossoms are about to burst.  I found it somewhat disconcerting that we were building yet another fire in the wood stove on May 1st this year!  That should be it for the season, but frankly, at this rate, if we are still hauling firewood to the front porch on Memorial Day, I wouldn't be entirely surprised. We did take advantage of the cold snap during Dogwood Winter to cut one last load of firewood but only time will tell if we have enough for the Winter of 2015-2016.  I am not feeling optimistic.  Dang global warming.

--7--

So, that's about it for our spring thus far.  As you can probably tell, my blogging has taken not only a backseat, but rather, is precariously perched on the tailgate, held on by not much more than some bailing wire and duck tape.  I have no excuses other than sometimes the spirit moves me to write and sometimes it doesn't.  But I am still here, and if blogging doesn't fall completely off the tailgate as I splash through the knee-deep mud holes of my life, I will be here again.  It's a bumpy ride but I wouldn't feel at home on any other path.

Have a great weekend!

Our Little Trooper

Our little Joah had minor surgery last week, although if you know Joah, you know that nothing is ever minor, especially if it has anything to do with doctors, nurses, or hospitals.  One look at a human wearing a stethoscope, and the kid will usually go off like a Roman candle.  Nothing would send him into a run-into-the-corner-hide-behind-the-chairs panic faster than walking into the waiting room of a doctor's office.  Last year, when he had to have his annual physical, I literally had to peel him off the chairs when the nurse called his name in the waiting room, and it took three of us to hold him while the doctor did a quick exam.  I'm not sure who was more shell-shocked..them or us.

Not that he has always been this way.  He used to have no fear of any medical professional or facility.  However, that was the pre-tonsillectomy Joah.  After experiencing the trauma of a very painful surgery last year (you can read about that drama here), he has shown extreme anxiety around any doctor visit. To this day, he still refuses to be administered anything that we refer to as "medicine" because he still remembers the pain associated with the pain medicine that he was forced to swallow during the days after his tonsillectomy.  It was awful for him and us.

So, a couple of months ago, when we found out he would need minor surgery to repair a small birth defect, our hearts dropped.  How in the world would we be able to prepare him for that?  He had screamed and kicked during the completely pain-free examine. We could only imagine how he would respond to another hospital setting again. We scheduled the surgery for three months out and began doing our best to emotionally prepare him and ourselves for the inevitable. 

Fast-forward to last week. After weeks and weeks of talking and explaining and encouraging him about the upcoming surgery, the day was here. As we loaded Joah into his car seat, it was obvious that he was apprehensive. When we dropped his brother off at the grandparents' house, Joah gave him a big hug and said to him "I really, really love you, John," which surprised us, considering we had assured him he would see John again soon.  He said very little on the two-hour drive to the hospital, but did seem to find some small consolation in reminding us several times that after his surgery was all done, he wanted a blueberry bagel from the "bagel store". We promised him all the bagels he could eat when it was all over.

It's easy to overlook the little milestones in our children's lives that show that they are growing up not only on the outside, but also on the inside.  The pants that are too short or the hair that is too long make the outward changes difficult to ignore. But sometimes, the milestones that reflect perhaps more important changes in their personalities and maturity are not so obvious.  

Since his birth, Joah has been our high-needs child.  He was the newborn who had to be held constantly, the infant that would not sleep without me beside him, the toddler who demanded constant control, and the three-year old whose meltdowns could clear a room. We've known no other remedy for his somewhat extreme behavior than to meet it head on with reassurance and patience. It has been one of our biggest challenges as parents, and after four years, we started to wonder if any of it would ever pay off.

This past week, we got an answer. The Joah we thought we knew and the Joah we expected to see was not the little boy we took to the hospital this past week. Instead, we had a little boy who put on a brave face.  Who, when he got frightened, would pout but not cry.  A little boy who tried to look at the positive side of things ("when this is all done, can I get a bagel?") instead of the negative. From somewhere deep inside of that anxious, insecure, temperamental, emotionally-charged little boy we had once known, a new child was emerging.  

After an hour of patiently waiting with us in pre-op, we watched as Joah was wheeled into the operating room.  As they took him away, he turned around to look at us and bravely waved goodbye. Shortly after, we were summoned to the recovery room where we found him sitting up on a gurney, rubbing his eyes. No crying, no screaming; just a groggy little boy trying to get his bearings.  He saw us approaching and gave us his biggest smile. "I had a green balloon," he said, referring to the gas mask they'd placed on him for his anesthesia. 

Not long after, we were ready to go home. As he hopped into the wheelchair, he smiled from ear-to-ear. Nobody was more ready to go home than he was! He talked all the way to the car about bagels and cheese crackers and the green balloon. He couldn't wait to get home and share his adventures with his brother John, whom he kept referring to as his "best-est buddy" and whom I'm not sure he thought he'd ever see again.

Tom and I smiled. We knew that we had experienced yet another milestone in parenting but more than that, we felt like maybe we had turned a corner.  A corner that we'd been waiting to turn for four years.  And as pleased as we were to be heading not only home, but perhaps in a new direction, nobody was more pleased than Joah. At barely four years of age, he had conquered a demon, and that is a milestone worth remembering.

Pre-op.
Trying to smile but a pout was all he could muster.

Helping the nurse by getting
the wagon for his ride to the OR.

Post-op.
If bagels aren't immediately available,
 cheese crackers will do.

Heading home.
Mission accomplished.

My Most Popular Post - The Rest Of The Story

To me, one of the most enjoyable parts of blogging is hitting the publish button and waiting to see how well a particular post is received (or in many cases, not received).  I've been surprised many times by how little interest a post that I spent hours writing receives versus one that I merely pounded out in a few minutes. Such was the case with this post, which from the time I published it a year ago, remains my most popular post.  And rightly so, as their story is truly a testament to faith, patience, and hope.

But there is a little more to this story that I did not share in that original post.   And now that it has been one year since their little girl entered our world and blessed their lives, I felt like maybe it was time I tell the rest.

A year ago, just before Lent started, Tom and I were facing the pending relocation of our family from Missouri to Kentucky.  And although I was excited about the prospect of moving back to my home state and simplifying our lives in a small town, I had a heavy heart.  Not only did the end of Lent last year mean that we would be living in a new place with a new life, it also meant that our adoption home study would be expiring after one year of waiting to adopt again. We had postponed our relocation during that one year, for the sole purpose of hoping to be matched in an adoption, but when it didn't happen, we knew that we had to move on with our life and, if necessary, start trying to adopt all over again in our new state.

The thought of starting over with the home study process and waiting even longer made me feel very depressed. I had been so certain that God wanted us to add another child to our family after we lost our baby Karol in February 2012. Then, in March 2013, we were only a few days past losing our most recent baby, Isaac Anne, when we signed the paperwork finalizing our adoption home study. I took the loss of these two pregnancies as a sign that God wanted us to become parents again through adoption, and we felt more than ready to add another child to our family.  So, you can imagine how I felt when March of 2014 came around, and we still had not been chosen for an adoption.  Add to that the prospect of starting all over with a new agency and home study in another state, and I felt not only depressed, but also desperate.

And so it was, out of this desperation, that I asked Tom if he would start a 54-day rosary novena with me, and he agreed. I planned it to start on a Sunday, February 2nd, and we would continue it through most of Lent, ending on March 27, just a week before we moved to Kentucky, and more importantly, just a few days before our home study expired at the end of that month.  The timing seemed perfect, and I was convinced that Jesus, through his Blessed Mother, would hear me this time around. Having read so many testimonies from others about miraculous events connected to this powerful novena, I just knew with certainty in my heart that a miracle would be the result of our devoted efforts. "We really need this to happen before the end of March," was my plea to Him, and I spent the first 27 days of the novena begging Him to bless us with another child through adoption.

After the first half of the novena was completed, however, according to the custom, I turned my prayer from petition to thanksgiving.  This was much more difficult and seemed to go against my whole purpose of saying the novena at all. Obviously, my intent all along had been to receive, not give. But each night, as Tom and I held hands and took turns saying a decade, I tried to reflect on how much I'd already been given. And in doing so, I began to feel like maybe I was asking for too much. My thoughts began to turn towards those who would give anything to have but a fraction of what I had already received. I thought of all the women who longed to have just one child; I had been one of them for so long, and now here I was, asking for a third.  It began to feel selfish and audacious to be making such a request.

So, I began to pray for couples who had been waiting longer than us, and my thoughts kept coming back to this couple, with whom we had been friends for years. They had been waiting much longer than us for just one child. I frankly wasn't sure how I could face them if my prayer for another successful adoption were answered in the time that they were still waiting for their one. And so, with each day that passed during those final three weeks of the novena, my prayers were ended with "and if not us, then maybe them."

The novena ended. After 54 consecutive days of prayer, nothing had changed. Our home study expired. We would be leaving Missouri without a new baby. We loaded the truck, and moved our lives 500 miles east.  A new life awaited us and in the chaos of the unpacking and settling over the next few weeks, my thoughts of the novena quickly faded away.  It had been worth a try, but once again, my certainty in God's answer had been proven unfounded.  I really felt very foolish for believing that simply saying a series of rosaries would change anything.

During this past month, I thought a lot about that novena from a year ago. Another Lent, another March, has gone by with still no answer to that petition from a year ago.  I thought about how I try to control God, how I try to make things happen with just a little more prayer, a little more sacrifice, a little more desperation.  I thought about how anxious I become when time feels like my enemy, and God just isn't moving fast enough. I thought about how I want to see signs from God, and so I make things into signs, like the cross in the clouds that my four-year old pointed out to me on Holy Thursday, or the double rainbow that I saw on the day we buried Isaac Anne.  I thought about how my faith requires more than trust and yet, trust is the only thing God asks of me. Why do I need so much more than to just be able to trust Him?

But God knows me well.  And because He knows my faith is so weak, He lets me find Him in those little things like rainbows and clouds.  He lets me find hope in a novena that is attributed to miracles.  He sends us messages through His mother in rocky grottos and open pastures.  He even occasionally gives us miracles that we do not deserve.  He does all of this simply to remind us that He is real. Because even though trust is all He asks, He knows that reassurance is what we often need.

A few days ago, I went to a birthday party that reminded me of all of this.  It was for this little girl who was born one year ago.

She is the reflection of years of prayer and trust on behalf of her parents.  And, I like to think, she is the reflection of a 54-day novena that did not give me the answer that I wanted, but instead, gave me the answer I needed.  For it was three days after my novena ended last year that she was born, and life for her and her parents began anew. And every time I see them all together, I am reminded that sometimes God hears our prayers for others better than He hears our prayers for ourselves, which is maybe the way it should be.