Cotton Harvest, or What Happened to October and November

Whew!  Weber Farms has made it through another year! 

Harvest season was incredibly busy this year.  I'm not sure why it felt busier than usual, but this is the first one with us raising four children.  (Blame it on the baby!)  Picking cotton, digging and combining peanuts, cutting soybeans, shredding cotton stalks and planting winter wheat, all in fields near and far.  It was a whole lot of work, even with a hired hand.  Fortunately, I don't have the skill set required to operate heavy farm machinery, so I was free to run the household.  It's OK.  We all agree that I make a better cook, and Jason makes a better farmer. 

I took these pictures during one beautiful afternoon at the field by Uncle Calvin's house.  Because the operation was so close, I brought the kids and a cookie break on the golf cart. 

Jack lived in this muscle shirt this summer.  He would still be wearing it now, in December, had I not removed it from circulation.

We hung out with Jason as he finished packing a cotton module. 

This is our future farmer.  Jack's heart is full of tractors.  Seriously.  I just took him on our first ever mama/son date (he wanted Hardee's), and he talked about farm equipment while he ate French fries.  Yep, tractors and what it might take to convert his buddy Kaden into an Auburn fan.

 Henry loved the noise and action of the module builder.

This module was almost finished.  It takes about 4-5 dumps from the cotton picker's basket to fill it from the ground up, but each dump has to be stomped down by that hydraulic presser thingie to make room.  It's kind of like putting your t-shirts into your messy dresser drawer.

Jason unrolled the heavy tarp on top of the module, then Uncle Calvin drove the tractor and module builder away to reposition for the next module. 

Jason hitched a ride while he pulled the side of the tarp.  He makes this rough job look easy.

See, nuthin to it. 

Almost finished--just have to cinch the tarp strap and mark the module for Weber Farms!

Ahh..my favorite part!  Cotton graffiti. 

Owen had been getting a ride in the picker while his grandpa was operating it.  He has started building modules, under the tutelage of his daddy, and is pretty good at it!

We stayed long enough to watch the first dump into the next module. 

 And then it was time to go make supper and change a diaper.

Rain

Wow. This is embarrassing! This poor blog has certainly not been a priority lately. I'm still thinking of posts, finding I have a lot to say, but nothing to say. I want to write things perfectly, but can't figure out the right words. Some of my thoughts are worthwhile, but most of them are forgettable.

I did write something lately, requested by Jason's uncle Lloyd, to be read at our Kauffman reunion at Bethel Camp in Kentucky. Other than having to publicly read something I wrote, I had a great time catching up with uncles, aunts and cousins, meeting their kids and eating fabulous food from the camp kitchen. Here it is:

Wednesday I was outside, huge Tupperware bowl at my feet, picking blueberries as fast as I could. Suddenly storm clouds covered the sun, thunder sounded in the distance and a cold wind whipped through the trees. The blueberries danced out of reach. I grabbed onto leaves, fiercely determined to steady the waving branches, angry at the timing of the weather and angry at the thought of losing blueberries to yet another rainless storm.

It had been so dry for so long. When our regional summer weather pattern of localized pop-up afternoon thunderstorms had begun, it was our fields, our property, that got missed. Hope would arrive in the shape of cumulonimbus clouds, but it was others around who reported their relieved joy, measured quantifiably in tenths of inches. After a time, I felt my heart hardening each time the sky darkened. Certainly we had been praying for rain. Certainly it seemed our request fell on uncaring ears. "God, have you forgotten us?!" I had to ask, knowing the truth, but feeling something different. I wanted to leave when the storms blew up. I wanted to drive somewhere, anywhere, so I wouldn't have to be home when the clouds left our property rainless.

We want to protect ourselves against physical disaster, and to some extent we can. We wear seatbelts. We eat our vegetables. We own insurance policies, for crying out loud. But if only there were some kind of emotional insurance, to protect our hearts from being damaged or shattered. We live to please God. We make choices to honor Him. We expect His blessings, but we don't expect His blessings to come in a package of pain. Ironically, James says, "Consider it pure joy...whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything."

The evening of the blueberry picking did end in rain. I was thankful, but in a begrudging sort of way. I felt like the spoiled child who had pitched a fit, manipulated parents, gotten what she wanted and then not enjoyed the undeserved result.

I felt guilty because I had been refusing the trial of drought. Instead of embracing God through my fear and receiving joy in His truths, I was choosing bitterness and hardheartedness.

The truth is, that even if the farm dries up and all is lost, God will still be in control. He will still be available. His presence is far more important than our present circumstances, though He cares about the details of our lives. The far greater tragedy would be success on the farm and loss of access to Him.

_____

We traveled to northern Indiana, my home area, after our reunion. While we were there, it rained buckets back home, so much so that Jason and all his farmer friends joked that we should have left a long time ago.

When I wrote this, there was more than weather on my mind. We are expecting another baby, due January 6th! While we are incredibly excited about the pregnancy, we are also scared out of our minds that it will once again end with no baby in our arms. I wish there were some way to protect our hearts from being smashed to bits. But as one of Jason's cousins articulated, "It's the risk you take by choosing to love."

One thing of which I am particularly fearful is that people might think we have moved on from our loss, and this is our replacement for Quinn, and that everything is neat and tidy in our emotional lives by now. Just the thought of that makes me so angry, and it's one reason I've delayed announcing my pregnancy. So please pray for us as we choose to love this baby, no matter what the outcome may be. We are choosing to trust God, our perfect Father, who has perfect knowledge and perfect love for us.

Six Years Old!

Our kids are always happy when there is a birthday to celebrate. They are abundantly happy when there is a birthday amongst our own household! Owen turned the Big 6 on October 19.
The younger two and I took cupcakes into his class on his special day. Helen quickly figured out which classmates were which, as she has been salivating over every word of Owen's school descriptions since Day 1.

The birthday supper took place in the back of my truck, complete with the birthday banner and presents.Tailgate suppers are what happens when Daddy is playing in the dirt.Peanut harvest has most everyone wishing that their houses weren't downwind.
We celebrated with more family members later in the week, when I made Owen's cake. I had some cake batter testers in my kitchen to ensure all ingredients were properly measured.
The cakes had multiple tunnels in them. Can I blame my kids' involvement? That would be nice. Unfortunately, I don't need help to screw up a cake mix. Or Jell-O. All the same, I chose to decorate the cake after everyone under four feet tall was tucked into bed. The next morning brought a jealous admirer and an enthusiastic birthday boy.
We waited to place the dirt bike until we arrived at the party.

Happy Birthday, Owen! We love you.

An Afternoon on the Farm

Two weeks ago, on a gorgeous southern Sunday afternoon, our family had the chance to visit our county extension agent at his home in Fruitdale, in Washington County. We enjoyed the trip there, traveling south and then north again to get around the Mobile River delta. The extremely rural South is most definitely beautiful.

Mr. Richard welcomed us with some bags of bread and crackers to feed the poultry. The guinea were amusing to me. I had never seen any before. Their bodies are shaped like tanks, but they have skinny little necks. They were friendly and noisy. We asked about the eggs they lay, and found out that the shells are so hard, they can fall out of a tree and not break.

Tom the turkey was quite impressive. He and his mistress, Ruby, strutted around the property. He would gobble back when we gobbled at him.

We moved along to see the goats next, but stopped to pet the horses and mules on the way there.Along the way, we fed the mama horse with her brand new baby colt. He was still skittish, since he hadn't been around people very much yet. Helen's hand was so little, she had to have help to hold out corn.The pasture was planted in clover. It was just beautiful.We waited while Mr. Richard called the goats. Their charge was like an epic battle scene. We stood our ground. Owen had really warmed up to the animals by now, and held out lots of corn on his own.Helen loved it too.And so did Jack.We tramped onward to see the baby goats.Otis the Billy Goat was a constant, close companion.As was this pretty nanny. Isn't she a looker?! We held some babies. Their squeals at being caught weren't like what I had imagined the polite bleating of a goat to be. I think I will need to adjust my animal sounds when reading to the children.

I never knew goats were so cute!
Jack was in wonderment.So was another kid."High on a hill stood a lonely goatherd..."
This proud rooster strolled by us. After we checked the chickens and gathered the eggs, we went inside to the incubator to welcome some new little chicks to the world.
The kids were amazed and a little confused. Since we don't have a rooster amongst our chickens at home, all the eggs are infertile. One of the kids' theories was that roosters lay the eggs with the baby chicks in them.

I cringed repeatedly and apologized to the baby chicks for all the rough handling, but we learned that for the first 24 hours of their lives, they are extremely resilient. After the first day, they become fragile. At least I had that knowledge to keep me from panicking...too much. The baby chicks held our attention for a great long while.Mr. Richard brought Rudy, the miniature horse, for some quick rides.
We stayed for a very nice supper, then went on our way home with 4 new chickens and a goose egg.

We had such a great time, and hope to go back again to see our new animal friends (and Mr. Richard.)