Spring Breaking

One of the most sure and fun signs that Spring is right around the corner is brand new baby lambs! The other sure sign is that Herself actually went outside! She's usually in the midst of self-imposed indoor quarantine.  I'm sure glad to see both new lambs and Herself.

House Make-Over (or: "What Herself wants, Herself gets...)

So, on July 23, 2013, our roof, siding, and several windows got totaled from the hail storm.  We received a pretty decent settlement check for the damages, and Herself says "It seems like it would be a lot more fun to watch you roof a really steep house rather than this not steep one; why don't you just make this house a lot steeper? And while you are at it, I always like houses with big overhangs and soffits."  Well, as most of you all know, what Herself wants, Herself pretty much gets.  So we went from a 3/12 pitch to a 7/12 pitch, and from a 12" soffit to a 36" soffit.  Well, it maybe wasn't exactly like that, but she's the idea person; I'm just the laborer.  But as I think you will see, since it needed re-done anyway, we upgraded some of it.  And I hope my jibing my wife is recognized as good natured fun...

This picture was taken in July of 2014

January of 2015; new windows already in.

February of 2015

March 2015

Masonry completed! Yay!

I thought it would be easier to build dormers on the ground, inside than on the roof.  So I decided to build them in the shed, then install them later.

Sided, painted, wrapped, and ready to go!

The hand-off!  Tricky, when your doing by yourself.

...No dormers...

...One dormer...

...Two dormers...

...Two dormers, completed with roof.

Finally, very near completion.  Gable sided, gutters on, (not quite completed) and I'm building the shutters and hinges this weekend.

...and continuing around the corner...

The new back porch!

So for 10 years now, all we have had on our back sliding door is one of those wobbly trailer house step things to get you from house to ground.  It's always been "one of those projects" I've been going to get to that Herself graciously brings up very occasionally as I squander my time doing ridiculous stuff like building barns and messing with livestock.  I am pleased to say that we now have a back porch!  A real, live, back porch.  It's

kinda dangerous right now, because there is a 7 foot drop off the back because there is no railing of any kind, but we have a back porch! Eventually, it will be covered and screened in as well.

Here is the "Before" shot.

This is the "During" shot.

And the "After" shot.  Enjoying an unusually cool August birthday party.

First Hog Farrowing at the Thistle and Lily Farm

So, last month, we had Piglets!  Our first time ever; we wound up with 6 live pigs, not astounding by any means, but hey, that's 6 more than we had.  I was hoping to have enough to sell some, but with only six, I'm a little afraid to sell any in case something happens to any of them.  Being my first time, I did a little research to see what I need to do; there is some iron shots that they are supposed to have, but the biggest chore was cutting the three males.  They aren't very big, but the sure make a big noise!  My oldest boy helped hold them, and it was pretty darn traumatic for all 5 of us, even though 2 of us walked away intact!  Cutting hogs is unlike anything I've ever done.  Cattle, sheep, etc is a simple rubber-band or simple cut; but castrating hogs is more like surgery.  Unpleasant! Tough job, but we got 'er done...  

We say that baby pigs are the cutest ugly things you've ever seen.  These are Hampshire/Duroc crosses.  Everyone kept telling me that I needed a farrowing crate to prevent her from laying upon and killing the piglets, and I really resisted that, because I didn't want to keep her restrained so long where she can't get up and move around.  Seems really unpleasant to me, anyway, even though it is the accepted norm in hog production.  So, instead, I just built an 8' X 8' pen and kept lots of straw in it.  I was pretty worried about her crushing them, but it didn't take me very long to realize that they had a very effective tool for letting Mama know she was laying down on them.  As I mentioned above, baby pigs are LOUD!!!!  She was very careful to lay down really slowly and if she heard that squeal, she popped back up. It was pretty neat watching her.

Big old Mamma hog is a really good mama.

Family Crest

This is an idea that has been rattling around in my head for a while: a family crest, and a name for the Foster Farmlet.  I put the idea together, Herself drew it, then I found a freelance artist to clean it up just a little and really round it out.  Here is a run down on the symbolism:

Ivy: Symbolic of eternal life

Thistle: Symbolic of my Scottish heritage 

Fleur-de-lis: Symbolic of Herself's French heritage  
Ram: front and center, the lamb of God

Herself has recently commented that it seems that we shouldn't really feel that we have to refer to our place as a "farmlet" anymore, now that we've successfully had hundreds of pounds of live-weight newborn animals of nearly every imaginable edible species produced, albeit, in small quantities. So,
I am particularly proud of the new name of our farm, The Thistle and Lily, as I always enjoy a good double meaning.  The Thistle, while being symbolic of my family's ancestry, also seems rather appropriate in describing myself, since I have been described as "a little Prickly".  And while the Fleur-de-lis (which translates as "Flower of the Lily") is emblematic of Herself's ancestry, does "Lily" not do an excellent job of describing her?  Is she not quite the alluring, natural attraction? So you have the name of the farm describing the two families coming together, and yet at the same time describing specifically Herself and I.

It pleases me.  I don't know why; but it pleases me.

You might ask, "How does this change your life on a daily basis? Or does it change your life at all?"

It doesn't, not at all.  But it pleases me...

The Master Blacksmith

James 1:2-3 states: "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance." This is tough to live out, I find.  An analogy that helps me is one that compares ourselves to rusty chunks of scrap iron, pulled from a junk pile, useless to anybody, and the best thing we can hope for is that we will be on the top of the junk pile, instead of the bottom.

Then along comes the Blacksmith, and for whatever reason, sees potential in you and picks you up out of the pile. This is where the inevitable break down of the analogy happens; it's hard to come up with how the Blacksmith dies on behalf of the scrap iron. But anyway, you feel good about this, being chosen, being separated from the junk pile, but often as not, at the same time, He is just lighting the forge-fire, and putting his tools in order.  Then, abruptly, you are thrust into the forge of trials for what feels like an impossible length of time, and next, much to your relief you are pulled out right before your melting point, but instantly after that, you are plopped on the anvil and He commences to pounding you lustily with large hammer, molding you, shaping you into whatever He is wanting.  Mostly, during this process of transmogrification, you feel horribly persecuted, to say the least, more than just bruised or battered, you are literally shedding flaky scales of your crusty, metallic flesh, you are losing your very nature of who you are; he is not merely re-shaping you into a different shaped piece of junk, but has a plan for you, to morph you into a incredibly beautiful, ornate, but ingenious tool of divine purpose, that is designed to bring glory to himself, by which time that happens, you have found that it is only in doing this thing that you were made for that brings the most amount of salve to your scorched soul. And as improbable as it seems, sometimes as you can catch the occasional glimpse of yourself and see what he is working toward, you can tell of what shape you will someday take, you welcome it.

But, sometimes you feel it isn't worth it, the pounding or the trials.  Then you go to Sonic with your children and you sit in your car waiting on your shakes or sundaes to be brought to your car window when you notice the young woman, though it is hard to tell how young; the years have NOT been kind to her, sitting at the table directly in front of you, facing you, yelling for water into the microphone, head lolling around, her eyes rolling back into her head when they are open, and the jerky, involuntary, repetitive hand motions and twitching legs.  She is obviously so spun out of her mind that she has no idea where she is, much less what she is doing.  As painful as this is to watch, and even as your heart breaks and cries out for this sad creation that God himself died for, just the same as he died for you, but because you so easily recognize this, you are, in some small way, glad that you have a real life, panoramic view of this vignette playing out for you to illustrate and warn your kids about the dangers of drugs, yes, but more than that, this was directly caused by the result of living in this world solely for your own pleasure as chronicled so well in the bible. You and your family watch this appallingly dramatic Drive-In Theater, featuring The Tragedy of Self-Destruction Via Unchecked Delectation unfolding 20 feet in front of your car, as you can't help but be witness to her as she spills, spits, and vomits all over.  Finally when the cops, firemen and EMT's swarm up, she is near comatose, head slumped down, just sitting.  They try to get her to speak, but she is reduced to quiet mumbles and still the repetitive hand motions, so they carefully haul her away, and clean up after her.

And after the ice cream is eaten, after the sermon is preached, in the quiet car on the ride home you are flooded, overwhelmed, even devastated by the realization of how grateful you are that you have a Blacksmith that loves you enough to keep pounding you into something better. And it makes you beg for more.

Because:
We love not the forge;
nor the anvil;
But we love He who wields the hammer.

On Independence and Gratitude

I don't think I am boasting or exaggerating if I call myself an Independent Person, by design (on my own efforts), and by nature (without trying). I was purposefully taught to be independent by my parents, but I think the older I get, the more it has been woven into the very fiber and fabric that makes up Daniel Foster.  This isn't just some fantasy on my part, I'm fairly certain if you asked those closest to me, like Herself, she would affirm my bold statement.  I'm going to expound upon this, but it is for a reason, that you may know where I am coming from, so bear with me a little while.

I have trust issues.  I feel I can do nearly anything; and I feel that if I do it, it will be done better.  Take meat or food for example: I don't really trust the food I buy.  True, the meat you buy at the store is probably safe, but if I raise the animal myself, butcher it myself, process it myself, package it myself, and store it myself, I know it is safe.  And why would I pay someone else that doesn't know or care about me to do that?  I can do it myself...

I have "prepper" tendencies.  I hate the idea of having to rely on anyone else for basic necessities.  And, God forbid, be forced to hope that the federal government will come through for us if some natural disaster should happen and we can't make it to Walmart for an entire week.  Or if Walmart's trucks can't make to the store for a whole week.  This is why I buy toilet paper by the case, can (like pressure cook in jars) some extra food when we butcher or have extra produce from the garden, etc.  Nothing extravagant, just stuff you would use anyway.  (I might add: I get poked fun of some and called a prepper, but 100-150 years ago, we weren't called preppers, we were called "survivors" and we emerged from the Depression with our lives intact.)  I also approve of the best meat preservation method of all: having it walking around on the hoof, reproducing.

I can be cheap:  Why would I want to pay someone else to do something that I can do for myself?  I hate paying someone else to do any kind of remodeling on my house. Again, if I do it myself, I know its right, and if its not, I only have myself to blame.  I remember several times as a youth, my Dad saying "Man, I'm glad I messed that up, that way I don't have to be mad at anybody else."  I can totally relate.

I don't want to be "needy." It makes me uncomfortable to have someone else do something for me or give me something.  I am fine helping someone else out, and I like to be generous to others in real need, but it is distasteful to me to take something from someone else when I don't need it.  I feel undeserving, and like I am depriving someone of something valuable that they don't need to give up on my own.  I realize there is some slight neurosis regarding this, and a double standard perhaps, but hey; that's just the way it is. I can do it myself...

I am instinctively aggressive and bull headed.  More than once, I have risked my life and well-being by attempting (or succeeding, I should say; barely) to do something that would be easily accomplished with two people. but it doesn't even occur to me usually or I just think: "I can do this." I've had a few pretty serious close calls doing this, even though I had a very willing helper inside the house. I can do it myself...

But you have you ever really needed help? I mean really needed help? Herself and I watched part of a TV show last Saturday night with a young man somehow getting caught in a huge bin of corn. He was buried in millions of  pounds of corn in a standing position with his arm up reached towards the roof of the bin, literally 100 percent immobile, unable to move any part of his body in any direction. He was wearing a mask of some sort that kept the corn from lodging his mouth and nose shut. When the rescuers began to empty the grain bin and carefully shovel him out, what didn't happen was "No thanks, I don't need any help, I got this one." Or once they were most of the way done taking him out, he didn't say, "you know I've got this from here." It was an hours long process to get him unearthed, or in this particular case, uncorned. 

This is the same position we find ourselves in without Christ. We were trapped by the weight and pressure of our own sins, with the slight distinction that most of us were not trapped reaching upward. But God saves us, and he does it without our help, and he does it right in front of us, while we watch, incredulously.   He unearths (or un-sins) our feeble, trapped corpse from out from under the sin that we have stacked up around and above ourselves with reckless abandon. We come out, not just a salvaged old being, but transformed into an entire new one; we emerge from the corn as the butterfly must, amazed and bewildered.

And God is not reluctant to deal gently with our lack of faith and show us how he saved us.  He doesn't rebuke us, he just takes our hands and says "Put your finger here, see my hands... Reach out your hand and put it into my side..."  What else is there for us to do? There is nothing else to do but say "thank you" and follow. I cannot do it myself...

Or you could just utter my favorite 5 words in the bible; the most eloquent and powerful short sentence ever strung together by awestruck, completely honest human, acknowledging that Jesus was both his Savior and his Creator. "My lord, and my God!"