Dan, Davey, and Johnny.

In our house, music is a big part of our life. We turn music on when we go to sleep, when we wake up, when we clean up, and when we want to have fun. So we sleep, wake, clean, eat, and dance just for fun's sake to music. We listen to nearly anything that we consider well done, be it classical, classic country, rap or rock, secular or Christian; we like music for music's sake, it doesn't even have to make good sense, we just like to have fun. One recurrent theme in the music in our home, however, is "redemption". For this reason, we hear a lot of Johnny Cash in our musical lives. If you don't know, Mr. Cash led a roller coaster life of sex, drugs, and rock & roll (and country). He eventually found his Lord and Savior, and loved to tell and sing about it in his music in his later years. On one of his last albums that he produced before he died is a specific song that my wife has commented on that reminds her of me, and apparently has done this in front of my Gracie. Tonight she asked me why Momma said that.


Instead of my usual tactic of avoidance of the subject of my "crazy days" (as J. R. Cash puts it), I decided to open up with her some and tell her that years ago I didn't know the Lord and that I was one crazy dude. Her response? "I BET SO!, WITHOUT A WIFE TO CONTROL YOU!!!" I of course informed her that without the Lord controlling my life first, that all of Mamma's efforts would be in vain anyway, even if they weren't already. She was still curious, so we just had a little impromptu bible study and I turned to Psalm 34 and read to her (don't really know why, except it had been on my mind) the first 8 verses, and explained how the Lord responds to people who cry out to Him, and fall before him. And I told them (all of them by this time, as you cant sit on the floor without being mobbed by all in my house) that I had decided to "taste" (see vs 8) and I decided that the Lord was good, and encouraged them to take refuge in the Lord when struggling with things they were sure that were impossible to do on their own. "Taste" I said, "and see that the Lord is good."


For I have tasted; and if you don't already know, the Lord is good. And let us exalt His name together. If you seek the Lord he will answer you; you will never be ashamed.

And interestingly, I noticed only now in verse 11 it states "Come you children, listen to me; I will teach you the fear of the Lord".


Has my prayer not continually been that I could teach my children right from wrong, that I could guide them to fear of our Lord? I do pray that this psalm, perhaps written to "Davey's" own children originally, would have an impact on my own.

Big Chicken Business

So, today I measured a metal building that is squatting upon well over one million square feet of floor space. This building (already two years into its construction) is to be used for egg and chicken production, and even while still under construction, just got its first batch of baby chicks this week.

Raising chickens must be "Big Business"; but apparently, spelling is NOT. I love construction! It makes me feel so smart! A little bit added sweetness is that it isn't even the right address.

This made me reflect back to my Spanish classes I took from Señor Schmidt, that at times ran a little long when he had to stop teaching Spanish in order to teach basic English to many of the adult students, including obscure and complicated sentence structure topics like: subject, verbs, prepositions, and most complex of all, the adverb. At the risk of poking a "bête noire," I'm just saying that it seems that our public education system could use a little tune up. Then again, I'm glad that there is still a place for us bad spellers to work at! (I put that preposition on the end of that sentence on purpose just for a little pithy irony. Did it work?)

on genetics

My head is still spinning from an earlier conversation with my kids over supper tonight. My 2nd child informed me that I was the oddball of the family because all the kids have blond hair and blue eyes, and I don't. She also informed me that I more closely resemble the family dog "Sam" than any of the kids, because he at least has green eyes and facial hair, unlike any of the kids. Kinda disturbing, huh?

on one's own helplessness and John Milton

I don't normally have weighty matter on my mind, mostly because I have in my mind a long list of stuff to get done, and I am always slower than I think I should be, so my concentration is always upon "The List". Living like this lends itself to a nearly self-absorbed, shallow life, but that's OK, because mostly I'm a self-absorbed, shallow guy, and I don't feel much missing. In other words, before I go too much further with this, I don't want to give anyone the wrong impression that I just sit around and contemplate 17Th century British poets all the time.

However, I recently came down with the nasty, nasty "crud" that the rest of my family got and nearly made me extinct. That's no big deal, I do some of my best work when I feel the worst, I always figured I'd a lot rather be doing something when I felt lousy than sitting around feeling sorry for myself and thinking about nothing but how bad I feel. But add to that a nearly crippling back injury incurred last Monday, and it pretty much wiped my "List" clean. Wednesday, I worked through the pain and cut firewood when I came home, then woke up around midnight new years eve (real party animal, I know) with such excruciating pain that I made my first new years resolution in years; that I would really take it easy Thursday. So with as much self-control as I could muster, I did nothing all day. It isn't as easy as it sounds.

But I had nice time anyway, and read something by John Milton that really struck me. If you didn't know, he was probably most famous for his book "Paradise Lost", which he dictated in iambic pentameter to one daughter or another after he lost all sight. However, this poem is about the loss of that sight and his feelings of helplessness (which I happen to relate to lately). It is called "When I consider How My Light Is Spent"

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait."

If any of you are like me, this will go straight over your head unless you happen to be laid up for a day or two, and don't like watching infomercials. But if you have several minutes, read it again.

High tea, cowboys, and dental hygiene

Here are some pictures just to let everyone know that it isn't all possum killing and blacksmithing at the foster household. the first is of the kids while I personally held a "high tea" (at least as high as it can get at the Foster Farmlet) yesterday while the ladies were shopping.


This is a shot at a good looking cowboy smoking a cigar with colorful sprinkles on the end. Apparently it is all the rage with cowboys nowadays. Below that is a picture of our desperate attempt of getting a handle on our bad dental hygiene.

Part II of Varmit Wars...

After officially declaring war on varmints everywhere after an earlier event where I come up a few hens shy of a full coop, I think that they have either given up and are throwing themselves upon my mercy, or more likely, they have decided upon a suicide attack method. Twice now in recent evenings, with all lights blazing, people talking and kids running around making noise, we have noticed a possum sitting on the back step, actually leaning against the glass of the sliding door. I'm not sure what they are doing, maybe trying to activate the little bomb hidden under their fur, but they didn't pull it off, I assure you.


So last weekend the kids came running in to inform me that there is a chicken that doesn't have a face. Never having seen a chicken without a face, I decided to investigate. Sure enough, just like they said, a live chicken, standing up (with where its nose would have been) in a corner, because without a face it couldn't see where it was going. Darned possums, no mercy at all. A raccoon would at least killed it before eating it.



But anyway, about 1500 hrs, Wifey makes that universally feminine gasp and exclaims with usual exuberance "AHHHHHH, DANIEL LOOOOOK OUTSIDEEEEEE! So I look fully expecting to see Christ himself triumphantly returning or maybe a mushroom cloud billowing over where Wichita used to be, and see: what else but a nasty old possum. The interesting thing is not that he is there, even though it is in broad daylight, but what he is doing, which is eating his 2-week dead, quite frozen fallen comrade. I guess this is the I.C.U.POOP version of "No Man Left Behind", except it would be called "no possum left uneaten". Anyway, Wifey didn't like the gleeful look on my face as I shot him too. She knows me all too well; she could just see it in my face how sweet it would be to be able to have a small mountain of dead possums used as bait for live possums. How perfect would that be? Shoot one, and leave it lay; then another comes to eat it, shoot it, etc, etc, etc. That is what I call the circle of life! Wifey, of course, the quintessential killjoy, informed me that she wasn't thrilled with the concept of a mountain of dead varmints in the back yard that close to the house. Whatever! Where is that Christmas spirit of giving?

winter wonderland

So last tuesday it snowed about 4 inches, a beautiful blanket of perfect work stopping snow. What else can you do but call your brother up and see if he wants to bring his family out to go sledding? The only problem is, neither of us own a sled, but thats no problem for 2 guys that own a plasic 55 gallon barrel, a skil saw, several chunks of #10 rebar, and a welder. The end result was more fun than a barrel of Foster monkies, mostly because the kiddos could hunker down and not worry at all about getting blasted by the snow. Oldest LOVED it and she usually isnt too into "cold and wet fun". Even my dog Sam got into the action...