Mary Virginia Lynn

The barn smells of sweet thick hay these days.  Mixed with the distinctive smell of horses, it reminds me of my Grandma Virginia.  Since her passing earlier this month, it seems my senses have been turned on high and I can't touch a horse without thinking of her.  "Oh I love the smell of horses," she'd say.  "I had a pony; did I ever tell you that?"  "Yes Grandma, a few times.  Didn't you ride her to school?"  And she would tell the story I grew to love so much of her big brothers lifting her up on her pony every morning for her ride to the country school.  At the end of the day, they would lift her up on her pony again, and because she was quite young, little Virginia would often fall asleep on the way home.  "But that pony knew her way home!" she would say with a proud smile.  She loved her pony, who was appropriately named Beauty.  Once, she let Beauty run the whole way home and the poor little horse nearly expired.  When she got home, her father met her and calmly said, "Now Virginia, you need to walk your pony until she cools down before either of you can have a drink."  It was clear that Grandma loved horses, loved animals, and loved people who loved animals.

Before I was married, Grandma called my boyfriend, Matt, my "special friend."  They bonded through their love of discussing investments and she always asked about my special friend, even after we stopped dating.  She reminded me how much she liked him and it was she who unknowingly convinced me to marry that special friend of mine.  We were married in her yard, next to all of the birds, squirrels, and stray cats that came to eat their fill at Virginia's house.  "Look, that squirrel is hungry," she'd say while pointing to the fattest squirrel you'd ever seen.  "I better go put out more corn."  Grandma measured a person's goodness by how nice they were to animals.  After Matt and I were married and adopted a dog, she would say "Oh I like him, he is good to animals."        




A visit to Grandma's house had one guarantee; you would not leave hungry.  Whether it was tenderloins, chocolate mint bars, cookies that always contained walnuts, Diet Rite soda, or the most amazing sour cream raisin or lemon meringue pie, you were going to eat it, and you were going to eat a lot of it.  Even the sandwiches made with mayonnaise and butter.


While looking in my own cupboard the other day, I saw only three jars of elderberry jelly and I burst into tears.  Usually, it's full, but now all that's left is the last of the elderberry jelly that Grandma and I made together.  I am thankful she took the time to teach me, because until then, I didn't truly know what a rolling boil was.  Without her instruction, my jelly would have been just juice.

When I received news of Grandma's passing, I had a vision of her with Grandpa Lowell; they were young and beautiful, she had bouffant hair, he had hair, and they were dancing.  I imagine that's what they looked like when they were married, in secret before he left for the war.  She was in nursing school and being married was not allowed.  Grandma didn't care for rules like that, and she held tight to her convictions.  During her nursing career, she once baptized a baby in secret because the baby was not going to live very long.  The parents did not plan for it to be baptized, but Grandma had other plans.  I am proud to have come from a woman who came from this woman.







I am proud to be a granddaughter of Mary Virginia, or Ginny as Grandpa called her.  A woman who loved animals, loved people, and loved to feed them all.




 

Dreaming of a metaphorical dream house

If your dream house is a double-wide trailer sittin' back in the holler on a country road, then baby that's where we'll go.

-Jake Owen

At least once a day for the last few weeks, I've spontaneously burst into singing this country song, usually directed towards Matt, sometimes just singing to myself.  It makes me laugh and smile, but mostly it reminds me of life's possibilities.  Not so much possibilities regarding a double-wide trailer (it's doubtful we'll move any time soon, which is fine by me!) but exciting possibilities regarding life and work and play.  My life dreams have always been pretty foggy, so as not to be too disappointed with any outcome, but they have recently become clearer than ever.  

It went something like this: 

Masters degree completed = (accomplishment +10, desire to teach -10)

Met with childbirth educator to answer questions about doula certification (hopeful +30)

A job interview is gifted to me, followed by some shadowing for work that would probably have been great with the exception of the hours. (uncertain -50)

Worry about money and future work. (worried -40)

Received email that solves money and future work problem temporarily. (hopeful +15)

Turned down job offer above. (fearful -10, hopeful +15)

Decide to fully pursue my own business being doula (clarity, hopefulness, joy +100, fear -3)

And that's where we're are today...+97 of good feelings.  It's a scary road and I don't know what will happen.  A few mornings ago after chores, I was shoveling old hay into the trailer behind the 4-wheeler to use for mulch in the garden.  It was quiet and breezy except for a bird's song coming from somewhere down the barbwire fence.  I stopped for a moment to realize that although my dreams have never specifically involved morning chores or digging up old hay piles, right there was precisely where I wanted to be.  I had let go of trying to hang on to foggy ideals and pressures from nowhere important; I was finally content in my situation.

And then the 4-wheeler wouldn't start, so the feeling didn't last too long.  But this time there were no tears of failure or choice words thrown out to the universe in frustration.  I just laughed and said, "Fail!" and walked back to the house for some breakfast.

I have never imagined an actual Dream House, but my metaphorical Dream House for LIFE now has blueprints, and that is something to be thankful for, +75.

Mia KNOWS she is living her dreams, everyday.

      

Things to Do Before 9am

I have never been been a bright-eyed morning person.  (All roommates and family members say, "Amen.")  It matters not what time I went to bed, the amount of coffee poured down my throat, or threat of getting fired from a job, it has always been difficult to wake up in the morning.  Until lately.

There are 3 things that get me out of bed these days; one is a furry little ball that whines at my bedside with the crack of dawn.  The other two have feathers.  Just knowing they are pecking at their coop window anxiously waiting for the door to magically flip open, coupled with the knowledge that Tugs will in fact, poo on the floor, is enough to roll me off the bed.  My eyes are still closed of course. (this morning I walked straight into a plant container by the door.  Darn near tripped and fell on my face.)  I wiggle into my boots, grab the kitchen scraps, and head outside.

But then this weird thing happens.  I approach the coop and hear the chickens tapping on the glass while the dogs weave an invisible web around the yard, sniffing the morning ground, and let the chickens out.  The stillness of the day, the sunlight peeking over the hill, and the cool air all work to gently coax my eyes open.  By the time I kick off my boots and go inside, I am awake.  Any attempt to crawl back into bed until Matt's alarm goes off, is an exercise in futility.

I get out of bed again, make a smoothie, and make sure Matt has food for the day (I know how he gets when left unfed.  I do this for his co-workers.)  The rest of the morning looks something like this: feed the dogs, feed the horses, walk up the big hill, chase down Tugs and pull out the horse poo from his mouth, keep Mia from seeing the deer in the field, clean Ellie and Elle's stalls, unload dishwasher, load it up with dirty dishes, check email, realize it's only 8:30!  High-five self for being awake and productive.

This particular morning was extra special. Janna and Dan had a guest for the night and he brought miniature ponies!!!  They are adorable!  Anyone who plans to visit after this guy will have to think of something amazing to bring because PONIES are pretty much the best.  Except they are the worst; if you're over 100lbs, you can't ride them.  All you can do is stare at their cuteness.  The rest of the morning I was a quiet observer of conversations between former farmers and a current rancher about the complexities of planting oats, alfalfa, timothy, wheat, and clover in Canada, Wisconsin, and South Dakota.  It was an agriculture lesson of sorts.  Best morning class I've had in awhile!

Pony 2

Pony 1

These two are not staying here, but they sure made for a pretty exciting morning, despite it only being 8am.  I'll get on with the rest of the day with fresh air in my lungs and look forward to tomorrow's wake up crew.

Where everybody knows your name, except the opposite.

Yes, I love small towns.  Yes, I like living in the country.  And no, I haven't daily put myself out in the community.  But shoot!  The process of making friends and creating community has failed to be a fast moving train.  Everyone knows those big trains take a lot of energy to get started.  It's called Inertia and if you were one of my students, you'd know Newton's 1st Law of Motion describes this property of matter.  Basically, if you're stopped/stalled/not moving, it's going to take some force to get you moving.  The bigger you are, the more force it will take.

In light of the world news, of Boston, Texas, and other places where peoples' problems are way bigger than mine, I feel like complete idiot for even feeling sorry for myself.  I had an especially large self-pity party yesterday.  Boohoo, I don't really fit in anywhere. Boohoo, the Meetup group I was so nervous to join cancelled their event.  Boohoo, I don't have any friends, I don't have a job, and they won't let me get a library card because I live in the wrong county!  (I don't know where the bookstores are either.  Salt.in.wound.  Boo freaking hoo.)

And then something sweet happened.  I checked the mailbox.  In it was a postcard from a friend in Boston (BOSTON, of all places this week!)  It was a reminder that yes, I DO have friends.  I DO fit in.  I am loved.  I mean, duh.  And that's what the end of a pity party feels like - "DUUUUH.  You're fine."

So today I'm grateful for Adam who gave me a big push forward.  I'm grateful for my dogs who know when their sloppy dog kisses are needed, for phone calls with mom, and for Murphy the mule who made it clear that all he wanted in life was to be near me during chores.  And for my husband and his family who keep me laughing every day about stuff that really matters, like even though blowing your nose into a hankie is super gross we should probably use them anyway and how the heck are we going to cut the top off that horse trailer?  Ya know, good stuff.

The good news is that we're all loved, all the time.  God is pretty incredible like that.  (note-to-self for next pity party)

The other good news is, once you're moving, (according to Newton) it takes less energy to KEEP moving.  And you're even harder to stop.  It's all physics.  Nothing special, nothing to get all emotional about, just physics.

For the Love of Small Towns

You know you're in a small town when you can't go to the post office at noon because she's out for lunch. You see, although Rapid City is a bustling and growing city (70,000 people, 100,000 in the "metropolitan" area), we don't live there.  We live in the suburbs, sort of.  We live in Black Hawk, population 2,500.  Actually, I think we live in the suburbs of Black Hawk.  I don't even know.  There's not a comparison I can make like, Maple Grove is to Minneapolis as Black Hawk is to Rapid City - the boundaries are less defined and certainly less important around here.  It seems like everyone is just happy to be from the hills, whether or not you're even FROM here.  If you're here, you're one of us.  If you're not, you should be, and we like you anyway.

I always wanted to live in a small town, but in the country, but with a bigger city that has community and good Asian food.  This combination didn't seem likely, but as it turns out, I got just what I wanted.

Small towns consistently make great storytellers.  While not a great storyteller, I'm able to identify one from a mile away.  Janna's fiancé, Dan, is from a small town in Wisconsin (life is easier with another Sconnie in the house).  His storytelling has excellent delivery, great attention to detail, and amazing Sconnie dialect to boot.  Here is one of his stories, paraphrased and reproduced without permission.

Well, my grampa had diabetes and when he was 80, the doctor wanted to take off one of his legs.  He said, "The hell yer taking my leg!  Goddamn doctor..." and he wouldn't let the doctor take his leg.  So some years later I took grampa out huntin'.  I think he was 94 or something.  I pulled him in on a toboggan to his spot, ya see because the snow was up to here.  We got him all set up and then I went to my deer stand a ways away.  Awhile later, I hear 'boom, boom, boom,' and thought, "Geez grampa's, losin' his touch."  Ya see, Grampa never had to shoot more than once to get a deer.  So I waited a bit, got down and headed over to his spot, but when I got there, he was gone.  But I could follow his steps in the snow, ya see, and it led me to Grampa kneeling down, guttin' a deer.  I said, "Grampa, I heard you shoot THREE times.  Finally got it, eh?"  "Yup, " he said, "and there are two more over there so get busy."    

This is how I've always imagined my life; good stories, comfy nap spots for all, and a warm fire.  All taking place in a small town, sort of.

Things to do at Rockin' J Ranch

Instead of telling people I live with my in-laws, I'm going to tell them I live on the Rockin' J Ranch.  It's true, and it sounds super cool.

This week will feature what there is to do at the Ranch.  Here are your guides:

Tugs (novice ranch hand)

Katie (master chicken killer)

Mia (deer chaser, extraordinaire)

Hank, who is still pouting over the arrival of other dogs, is currently keeping his distance from the camera.

Play hide and seek with new friends to keep your senses sharp.  

Chase as much stuff as you can.  The deer are aplenty but Tugs will do for practice.  

Check on the horses.  Don't chase the horses.  

Although it must be tasty, eating too much horse poop will get you in trouble.

 Run whenever you feel like running.  Take care when running through fences.  

Enjoy the sunshine.  Be joyful, always. 

Depressing post with a hopeful ending

When I signed up to move to a new state, I was hoping for an adventure but was skeptical.  When moving into your mother-in-law's basement, how crazy can it really get?  I should have known better.

Adventure:  noun.  An unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity  

Hazardous?  Until last week, "adventure" just meant something fun.  Probably should have Googled it earlier.  Here is how this particular adventure went.

Friday - day before moving
- find out Rosa is sick, nothing we can do until we get to South Dakota
- on the phone with Matt:
"Matt, so I went to check our UHaul reservation before I picked up the truck today and guess what?  YOU SCHEDULED IT FOR TOMORROW!'"  (crying ensues)
"Oh, whoops.  Sorry honey."
"I can't do this alone anymore!  I need you here!" (more crying)
"Ok, I'll call them.  It will be ok."
"ARE YOU SURE?!" (more crying)
"Yes."
(it was ok)

Saturday - moving day
- lots of rain, pack a chicken coop into a UHaul & chickens into the car, leave our first home.  (no crying)
- more rain
- detour
- snow/blizzard
- headache/runny nose
- 8 hours of driving = half way (total distance should = 9 hours)
- take 2 dogs, 1 cat, 3 chickens to friend's house to spend the night

Sunday - 2nd moving day
- blowing snow
- fishtail and spin off road ('whippin shitties' as we call it Up North) into ditch against the guard cables
- crying
- more crying
- conversation with Matt who has to turn the UHaul around to get his wife out of the ditch:
"I don't want to move here any more!  I hate this State!" (sobs)
"Oh honey."
- reevaluation of previous statement after stranger runs through the snow to help push us out
- State doesn't seem so bad
- Matt insists I drive the UHaul.  It's loud, wobbly, and big.
- 2 hours worth of crying
- blowing snow continues (still evaluating the State)
- sky turns blue, air becomes warm
- arrival at new home
- chicken coop unloaded with love by smiling family
- State seems a little nicer

Monday
- Rosa passes away
- lots of crying
- State definitely has it in for me

 Fast forward to Thursday (Tuesday and Wednesday were boring and contained a fair amount of crying).

Thursday
- wake up with the house for smoothies and coffee
- feed horses alone during sunrise
- walk with mother-in-law and doggies
- no crying
- person and State accepting one another






It's been said that what is important is the journey and not the destination.  I call shenanigans!  While the journey here kept getting worse and worse, the destination is getting better and better.  And that is where we find the hope, as promised.