Springtime - the Colorful Part

As I have said before, spring is my favorite season. However, within that season, there is a specific time which I always anticipate more than anything else about spring, and that time has come:

The trees are green again.

It always seems to catch me by surprise. One day I'm walking along, kicking through puddles and grinning and bits of green poking up in the garden, and then I look up and realize the trees are bursting with that sharp, bright new green of springtime.

Were I able to dance, I would do so every year when this happens. As is, I content myself with a whoop and a fist pump.

It's ridiculous, really.

Speaking of gardens, I am finally getting my own in place. The vegetable garden has yet to be established, and once it is we will be loading it with mature plants, like as not. However, Mom and Dad granted me my own "bit o' earth" in which I can cultivate a flower garden. Probably scattered with herbs, because they are my new obsession.

At the moment, I have a small 2x6 stretch of exposed earth with some grape vine cuttings and a couple canna bulbs. That stretch will probably get some more annuals set in. At the other end of the garden my new rose bush is in place with another canna in an old metal pot. Eventually I'll be setting up a spot for some peonies and hens-and-chicks, and I'd like to add more cottage style plants and the herbs throughout the season.

All of this I am doing with little more than my gloves, a trowel, a chicken, and a machete.

Yes. Machetes make great gardening tools. I pulled Dad's out of the garage, Wes sharpened it, and I'm using it to cut away the sod. Lobelia is my faithful gardening partner. She realized I was digging the other day and came over inquiring about worms. When she discovered there were also June bugs aplenty (eugh), she was ecstatic. (Note: chickens are also great for pest control.)

We pulled the chicks (did I mention we have about 30 more we got last month?) outside to get some fresh air, and I treated them to samplings of worms as well. If you want some cheap(ish) entertainment, get chickens. When they first taste worm.... Oh, it's hilarious. Our little bully Albert was always too slow and the girls would taunt him with their catch. He ended up standing in the middle of the pen screaming in hurt and indignation.

My weekend was full of fresh air and dirt and ant bites. On Friday, Mom took me with her on a run around town to check some yard sales, and we got a wheelbarrow. I am in the process of spray painting it sky blue. The girls like the color, though Mom and Dad are more skeptical. 

I also found a model ship that had been stored in the previous owner's tool shed. It's missing a couple sales and it's quite dusty, but for $7 you won't find me complaining.

So that's been my week. Well, that and we had Missions Revival last week. Always a wonderful time. It's one of my favorite annual events at church. The speaker was our missionary to the Philippines. He also spoke last year. The challenge was "serving as senders", and he spoke on how we as a church can support our missionaries in all aspects of their work, from furlough to the field and back.

Next on the list of church events is VBS. I pitched in last year and loved it, so I committed myself to returning this year. The theme will be more difficult than last year (which was Western): sports.

I'm not a sporty person. The best I manage is a leisurely jog. If only I could rent a fencing uniform.... Actually, I want to dig up something obscure or weird, like scuba diving or dressage. Regrettably, most uniforms are skin-tight or look ridiculous off-field. But that's half the fun, right?

So that's life at the moment. I should have more news to share in the next couple of days. The eggs Mom put in the incubator are starting to hatch. Their breeds are a complete mystery. We were hoping for some Barred Rock eggs, but we aren't really sure what we put in. I'm still hoping we don't end up with one whose father is Gerard or - horror of horrors - the late Presley or Aidan. Here's hoping.

It's Spring...and I have Nothing to Say

I think it's finally safe to say spring is here.

I have never before been so ready for winter to go away. Yes, around February I will hit a phase where I'm impatient for the weather to turn, but this winter I about went stir-crazy. Usually I force myself to tough it up and remind myself how much we need the cold and snow, but not this year.

And now, at long last, the snow is turning to rain and I can abandon my winter coat. Woot!

In honor of the warmer weather, I've been forcing myself to get out more and walk my dog. (Her energy level from being cooped up all winter is half of what drives me up the wall.) I had intended to get myself a membership at the gym for my birthday. I even bought myself some neon-colored running shoes and promised myself that if I could keep it up for a month I could get some real running pants. (Yes, I have a self-bribing system I enforce to make myself perform. You clearly have never seen me in a gym.) I walked in, all ready to slap down my debit card. I took one look at the line of treadmills and shuddered. Then I saw the actual price for the membership and promptly left.

I'm not that dedicated.

So springtime! Of course, it would be easier to believe if all those bulbs I planted last autumn would sprout. Not a single crocus, no sign of my hyacinths and tulips.... Not one green tendril.

We did get more chickens. It's already been established that we are crazy, but just so no one forgets. And they are new breeds from the kind we have. I've officially lost count.

Soon most of the roosters will be gone, except for Rocky (our nicest Buff) and Gerard the Brahma because he's too funny to kill. Mom is hoping to hatch some chicks from our flock, but we kind of want to separate the chosen hens and Rocky to avoid any spawn from Gerard. Funny as he is, he has enough quirks that we don't want to see what sort of creature would result from crossing him and a hen. (If it happens, we're naming the thing Napoleon.)

The ducks have been loving the mud puddles. Poor Alfac injured his leg on the ice in the winter and it healed wrong at the ankle, so he has a permanent limp. Our driveway is a mess now due to the flooding, and I put my rain boots to good use.

Clearly I'm rambling. It has taken an hour for me to get this far. I'm working on a more "deep" post, but it's not finished. However, I knew I kind of needed to say something.

After the murderous winter season we endured, all I want is to see something green and living. My aloe plant just isn't cutting it. I have plans for a flower garden on one side of our yard. Hopefully we'll also get in a vegetable garden like we didn't last year.

We had a spring cleaning session among us girls a couple weeks ago, and I discovered two things: 1) the color of my floor, and 2) the fact that I apparently do not clean my room during the winter. Oops.

Ok, I'm done blathering. With any luck, I'll be back later this week with something more worthwhile, now that I have gotten spring out of my system.

How I'm Slowly Coming to Grips with Adulthood

I'm sitting in another coffee shop this evening, polishing off some hot chocolate and contemplating the wrap and pie I just ate, which almost filled my meal budget for a week.

Yes, it was delicious.

Per usual, I don't really have much to say. I'm trying to work myself back into the blogging rhythm. Bear with me. Or, conversely, come back in a month and see how I'm doing.

In a month, I'll be 20. Yikes.

I'm not ready for that, guys. Mostly mentally, though a little emotionally as well. 12-year-old me was sure I would at least have a boyfriend by now and be halfway around the world on some grand adventure, or autographing my latest best-seller.

I miss childhood. The world felt so much bigger then. Now I'm settled into my adult job, doing my best to budget and dealing with the responsibilities of maintaing my own car, buying my own clothes and food, and not having to run every social engagement by my mother for approval. (Seriously, she is insisting I be the independent little adult she raised me to be and plan stuff without her ok. It's weird.)

Most days I struggle with my lack of time management skills. I get the feeling this may be a life-long practice. Bother it all, but I am bad at it. Once upon a time, I was that little girl in the corner stuck in her book with a bag of chips. Now I only snatch enough time to read right before bed or in the morning before work. It hurts.

Also, I forgot to mention that over the winter (starting in September, really) I went on something of a health kick. Suddenly I found myself enjoying hummus (which I once swore I would never eat), buying essential oils at the health food store downtown, craving organic granola, and snubbing potato chips and pizza. What? Part of it can be attributed to the fact that by September I had been working a real job for a year. A job that required me to be on my feet and moving around. Turns out what I wanted during my beautiful childhood was a little more activity and a little less curling up to read. Much as it pains me to admit. (Come on. One fencing class made up the whole of my school sports career.)
When I switched to my desk job this September, I had a small moment of panic. Suddenly I was back to sitting for most of the day.
In short, I'm more conscientious of what I eat now. I'm even contemplating a membership at the gym. (Please contain your shock.) But I'm still learning, still adjusting. I'm slow like that. My biggest struggle right now is the feeling that I'm just spinning my wheels. I can't quite explain it, but it's like I just can't manage everything in my life, like I'm missing something in the chaos. Not that I have a lot going on, but I'm trying to figure out how to arrange everything so I can still do the things I love, the things that matter.
I think part of it is this horrible weather. Usually I love winter, or at least know how to endure it, but this one is making me feel a little stir crazy. I'm daydreaming of my garden this year. We didn't get one in last year, and that was rough. Which is silly, because before then I had a grand total of two years as a gardener. I put in a load of bulbs around the front of the house, and I'm eager to see how they will look. Mom is making plans for the vegetables we will have. Mostly I'm happy that the chickens will be contained to their run and I will be able to enjoy the fruits of my labors in peace without worrying that someone's beak will destroy them for a snack.
I'm also hoping to get into a good walking/running habit with Sasha. She's been driving us all a little crazy lately with her boundless energy. It's embarrassing what a terrible dog owner I turned out to be. Live and learn, right?
The beauty is that I can only imagine the ways God is going to use all of what I'm learning. I'm just trying my best to make the most of it while I'm here. My inner child whispers that somewhere there is a lesson that could save my life one day. That annoying mature, practical part of me groans.
I came here tonight with Mom, who had a Search and Rescue group meeting. Wanting to meet the people she and Dad always talk about, I joined them in their separate room for a while. It got weird when I choked on a bite of lettuce and realized if I showed signs of distress, I'd have half-a-dozen people jumping to offer assistance. Wesley and Heather know how well I handle the suggestion of CPR. I carefully and slowly swallowed that lettuce and soon left. And now I'm waiting, because I didn't expect it to take this long.
At least here I don't have the distractions I'd have at home. Like chores and a dirty room and a cuddly puppy and one of Allenna's shows on TV. That's the problem with me and time management: I have time, but worrying about how to manage it leaves me tired and I end up wasting my time.
And I'm just rambling. I should probably go. I will say, before I do, that my goal is to blog Fridays and Tuesdays as often as I can manage. I never realized how much of a stress relief blogging is to me. (Well, the stress mostly came from guilt that I wasn't blogging, but....) So until Friday, I hope!

Gardening with the Chickens

I think it's safe to say my opinion of chickens has changed rather drastically. I won't say I love them. I do, however, take great pleasure in observing them.

Today was another beautiful day. After hours of helping Mom on the computer, I was itching to get outside. I grabbed my bow and went to practice. Eventually, Allenna joined me. I determined that I really need to work on my aim. (Don't worry. Nothing broke.) Dad tightened my bowstring for me yesterday. I think it actually helped a little. Not with the aiming, mind you; just with general drawing.

After a while (and mostly because my arms were tired) I handed the bow to Allenna and went in search of my gardening supplies. I've had some plants waiting for a few days to get in the ground, and I figured now was as good a time as any to take care of them. The chickens and ducks have been hanging out in the little corner where the some of the flowerbeds are. They steered clear of me for the most part, at least when I made like I was going to touch them. If I ignored them, they played at being bolder and would peck at my feet.

I started by turning up the dirt in the flowerbeds while contemplating a good place for my primroses. As I did, I uncovered some insects. I grabbed the nearest chicken and plopped him in the dirt. He didn't realize I was trying to help him, and scuttled off. A minute later, however, another one wandered over and realized what treasures I was uncovering.

Chickens are little like seagulls in this way: if one finds something interesting, you can bet the rest will quickly pick up on it and come running to get their share. Soon four or five chickens were pecking around in the dirt.

Then I found a worm.

As far as I know, our chickens have yet to encounter a worm. Eagerly I scooped it up and called the chickens. Most regarded me suspiciously and walked away. One of the older Buffs, however, saw I was offering something and hurried over. She pecked inquiringly at the worm, decided it was promising, and took it. Another chicken soon noticed the first beating the worm to a pulp in the dirt and came over to investigate. The first grabbed her meal and started running.

Apparently a running chicken is a signal to all the others that there are good things around. In under a minute, it was like watching tackle football.

I wish I could have taken a video, but my phone was acting up. I did get a picture, which I will try to post.

I found some more worms when planting my peony. Soon I had the chickens trained to come running when I tossed something to them. 'Twas delightful.

Meanwhile, the ducks held themselves aloof of the reveleries and lashed out at any chicken who scrambled too close. If the chickens are small minded, the ducks are even more so, and pretty much intolerant of any creature but each other. But now both of them will accept apples from me. They still have serious separation anxiety. The best way to get them back into the garage is to pick up one. The other will follow as quickly as he can (they're very clumsy on their big feet), both of them screaming all the way.

One day I may base two characters off those ducks and their inseparability. For the moment, I'll amuse myself with the backyard antics of them and the chickens while I garden.

Bark, bark here and a cluck cluck there....

I'm back. That's all I have to say on that point.

Not much in the way of news around here. Except for this:

We're getting chickens.

Yes.

Chickens.

Chickens.

No, I don't have anything against chickens in general. I love the edible side of the picture. It's the fact that we will be raising the creatures themselves which puts me off.

I have a (in my opinion not all that irrational) strong dislike/borderline fear of chickens.

There. I said it.

Because what little creature with a sharp mouth, pointed toes, and beady eyes can really be trusted? (Although I loved our cockatiels.)

This hate/fear goes back to a visit to my grandma's years ago. I don't remember how old I was then. Maybe...11 or 12? Grandma had chickens - hens and roosters. I thought they were funny, ugly, rude little monsters. I loved throwing bits of moldy bread into their pen and watching them all scrabble to get a bite. Rather like seagulls, now that I think of it.

On this particular day, I was wandering along toward the backyard, where everyone else was hanging out, when I spotted Grandma's rooster stalking my way. I must have heard something about how mean this fellow could be or perhaps seen some demonstration previously, because I was instantly on guard.

And I learned that chickens, like most other creatures, can smell fear.

The rooster made a beeline in my direction, taking very deliberate, firm strutting steps and eying me maliciously. And silently. At first I tried to pretend it wasn't happening and continue on my merry way, telling the rooster to back off. But he kept coming, and I was overwhelmed by a sudden fear for my well-being.

I do believe I may have been crying or very nearly by that point. I was downright terrified as the rooster continued to advance. I was also struggling to keep an eye on the evil thing without making eye contact, knowing that animals feel threatened and are more likely to attack when you make eye contact with them. (And at that point I didn't care whether or not the rule applied to mean old roosters.)

All my efforts to will the rooster to leave me alone and let me pass were in vain. He charged.

I screamed. My first (and so far only) blood-curddling scream of the terrified and life-threatened.

I don't think any part of the rooster actually made contact with my body, but I was too busy trying to run on legs that had suddenly gone weak, shielding my eyes from wildly flapping wings.

And then Wes came racing around the corner of the house asking what was wrong. I was crying at that point, and I had trouble telling him what had happened.

Though I can't guarantee it because shock gave me a poor recollection, I'm sure Wesley laughed at me, and proceeded to tell Dad that Amber got attacked by a chicken and was now bawling like a baby.

So I think my distrust of chickens is at least well-founded, if a little...well, irrational? I stand by my instincts, though.

Then there's the part where I read a book about a girl in the 19...40's? whose family owned chickens, and the chickens abused her and pecked at her incessantly and were all around monstrous. That's pretty much the only part of that book which has stuck with me.

Mom's been researching all sorts of chickens. She's set on getting Buff Orpingtons. (And I only know that's what they're called because she said, "I want Buff Orps" and Dad said, "Oh, buff orcs?" and proceeded to display his biceps while saying, "Those are the orcs that are..." *flex flex*. I laughed, Dad chuckled, Mom glared.)

I've made my opinions very clear on the subject. Perhaps I've been rude or childish about it. Mom just shakes her head. She has assured me that she's only getting hens because she only wants the eggs, and Buff Orps are "docile and gorgeous".

As if a fat feathered fowl could be called "gorgeous". Granted, they have a nice russet coloring and aren't horribly built as far as chickens go....

And I'm totally going to demand we call one "Buffy". (Get it? "Buff Orpington?" Maybe we should give one a Lord of the Rings name in honor of Dad's quip. Galadriel? Merry? Or that evil female cousin of Bilbo's?)

Much to my confusion, I'm almost excited about the whole notion.

So that's the deal with chickens. And pretty much the only news in our household at the moment.

You know the drill. I was going to post this last week, when Mom declared, "We're getting our chickens next week!" but never got around to it. I have another post I'm planning based on Pastor's sermon last Sunday morning, but I haven't sorted it all out.

Next on the agenda of my uneventful life: my birthday!

Also the day I leave for a weekend single's retreat. Which I was convinced I'd never ever do.

I also said I would never abide chickens, and here I am picking out names.

While Mom plots out places to put the chicken set-up, I'm plotting my garden. So psyched! Beans, peas, squash, cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers, onions, corn.... Most of which I don't eat. And then there's the flower garden(s?) I'm planning. I wish we could have taken the rosebush from the old house with us. I loved that thing. I tried getting a cutting from it to get a new bush, but that failed. And like as not the new tenants will tear it up because they're allergic to or against roses or something.

So I'm hoping to get roses, lilies, irises (maybe), some little annuals....

And I'll spend my days weeding the vegetable garden and tossing overripe tomatoes to Buffy and Lobelia. (That's the name of the grasping relative. Yes, I just googled it.)

It's Amazing What You Find When You Clean

When we were kids - and even now, on occasion - and we'd happen upon a long lost item while cleaning, Mom would give us that "I told you so" look and say, "Yeah, it's amazing what you find when you actually clean stuff up."

No, this isn't going to be a post about how I discovered money when I was cleaning my room. (Though the thought of such a possibility, however slight, does make me want to clear out that madhouse.) Despite my ability to lose pretty much anything, I'm a little more careful when it comes to where I put my money. Usually if I've misplaced it, I need only check a limited number of places to find it.

This post is about my garden. Please, try not to get too excited.

My garden has been in serious need of tending for the last couple of weeks. My negligence isn't completely intentional. We've been busy running fireworks tents lately, and I was up there most weekday afternoons. I did manage to keep the garden well-watered most days, and almost drowning it made up for the days I failed to turn on the sprinkler.

Anywho! I'd noticed that the pea plants were starting to droop and asked Mom for some advice. She'd mentioned setting up a lattice (I think that's what it's called) to keep them upright, and said I could just use sticks and string. (Sticks and string have been staples in our garden supplies this year.) So I trooped out to tend to the peas.

I got pretty philosophical observing how the peas all clung to each other and, instead of holding each other up, pulled the whole line down. I had a feeling that could develop into some sort of deep illustration, but after coaxing peas to let go of each other for fifteen minutes, that's as far as my deep musings got.

I noted that the garden seriously needed weeding, but I was a bit tired and sore after stooping over peas, so I left it.

Now we get to the point!

I went out this morning to check on the peas and make some adjustments and starting pulling at weeds scattered around the garden. Along the kennel fence there's been a mass of grasses and weeds that keeps coming back, and I decided it was time I took care of it, because the peppers were being overrun.

I was reaching for a rather large weed when I noticed the leaves. They looked familiar, but not like any weed I'd seen yet. Then I glanced back at the tomatoes and realized I was staring at a tomato plant. I gawked at the leaves for a few minutes just to be sure, and then spotted the little yellow flower. Yup. Tomato.

After I reported my discovery to Mom, I went back out and started working on the weeds around the tomato plant. My efforts uncovered something unexpected. There were not one, not two, not even three, but five tomato plants. (I brought Dad out to confirm this, just to be sure I wasn't being an idiot.)

Along the fence is where our tomatoes were placed last year, and I can only guess that some of the overripe tomatoes I abandoned when we became overrun with produce planted themselves.

The irony is that Dad left five spaces for tomatoes when we were planting everything, with the intention that we would pick up a few more, which we never did. So I finished weeding and transplanted the plants to those empty spaces. Now I'm hoping they're the traditional style of tomato and not more romas.

Speaking of curious garden discoveries, I don't think I mentioned the walnut tree I found while uprooting day lilies last month. I pulled up a curious little plant, thin and straight with a few small leaves and a bulge near the bottom that looked like a walnut. I brought it to Dad for inspection, and he declared it a walnut tree. Of course, he then proceeded to crack open the nut just to be sure, right as I was planning where I'd replant the little thing.

That tree was a result of the girls shucking walnuts on the deck last autumn. One must have rolled off and settled in the hideous mass of lilies.

So that was my adventure for the way! When I came back in to wash dishes, I noticed my arm was hurting and itching, and looked down to see what looked like the beginnings of a rash. I'd noticed the itch earlier but ignored it. Either I scraped against a dangerous weed or the tomatoes were punishing me for moving them. I'd received small rashy scratched before when I've scraped rose thorns, so it might just be a simple skin irritation. I hope.

Mimes, a short recap, and Secretary of State: Part Two.

I started to blog on Friday. Then I got distracted. I'm not even going to try and finish that post.

In short, my last day as a 17-year-old was mostly droll until we got to church and Jessi took me to get ice cream as 7/11 because it was that kind of day. 'Twas happiness.

Thursday ran mostly ordinarily: up early, a short walk with the mutts, co-op (where I received many "happy birthday" wishes and chocolate, a locket, and a cool little thing to hang in my room from the most awesome science teacher in the world and roses from my parents), and paper routes.

Then we headed back to the church. The drama class (in which there remain only four students) were being visited by a real mime, and Mom, Dad, and I were the audience.

The first two and a half hours were nigh torturous. Not going to lie. The drama kids kept going through a few of their scripts and were being instructed and critiqued. Boring.

Then, after a short break during which we all jumped in puddles from the 10 minutes of rain we got, we finally got to see a demonstration of miming. Awesome! Absolutely amazing! And I was happy.

Home to gifts (two tea kettles, tea, chocolate, stuff for my garden, and...I can't remember what else) and ice cream and pizza.

Thus ended my 18th birthday. Each year it gets less and less exciting. Not that I'm complaining.

On Friday I watched the two sons of a missionary family in our church, as I have done for a couple months. They brought me a balloon, a cool basket, and chocolate. Some people are really smart.

I also got started on...starting the seeds for my garden. Some went into the mini greenhouses. (Including a few pepper and squash seeds I'd saved from last year's garden. I'm curious to see how - if - those grow.) The rest went into regular planters.

And that has pretty much been my week. Well, yesterday and today I "researched" for my story by planning out a detailed itinerary of my characters' road trip. (I'm sure everyone who checks facebook has heard about that.) 'Twas most enjoyable, and it got my creative juices flowing. Until yesterday, I hadn't really written in a week, probably.

Yeah, I think that's it.

Wait! On Saturday Mom, us girls, and the dogs walked a mile and a half down to a little park with a lake. (Actually, I'd call it a pond, but the pride of this city would scorn that.) I walked barefoot most of the way. My heels are still sore. Sasha pulled the entire time walking to and from, but while we were at the park she didn't pull at all. She stood or sat still when I wasn't moving and mostly stayed by my side when I was walking around. And she went into the water. Up to her chin but no further. She couldn't seem to grasp the concept of swimming. Not that I'm too upset, but I wasn't in any condition to follow her had she tried to swim. I really need to teach her to just stay close without a leash. We'd both have more fun.

Anyway, by the next morning, Sasha was so worn out and sore she could barely move, and she laid around most of the time. I fear I may have slightly injured her. Ooops. She's still a bit gimpy on the back legs.

Yesterday we had three little kids over (ages 1, 2, and 3) for the day while their mom was at a doctor's appointment. First Sasha eyed them and hid in her crate. When she did finally come out and I locked the crate so she couldn't sulk back in, she hid for a while. I thought maybe she was just nervous of such small children. Then she started making little growling noises in her throat and wouldn't look at the kids or Mom and I. She just stared at the wall. When she finally came out and let the kids pet her, she seemed to be doing okay. Then the oldest (a girl) went to give her a kiss and Sasha got defensive. So she and Hershey spent most of the day outside and the rest in the kitchen. Talk about jealous!

Okay. Now I'm done. I think.

Oh. No, I'm not.

Friday morning Mom and I went to the Secretary of State to figure out what license I need now that I am 18. We were 10th in line, and almost all of the women seemed a bit...vampiric. The nice one that Mom really wanted was kept busy with an older man who was trying to register or re-register his farm truck or something. A bunch of his papers had been mixed up and there was a lot of confusion she calmly and kindly was walking him through, but it was taking forever.

We got the one lady we really did not want. Honestly, if you're going to have a job where human interaction is a main part, you need some people skills. Yes, people are idiots, but you don't have to let them know you know. This woman didn't even need to speak for us to get the message: "I'm not in a good mood and I don't want to talk to you and I think you're stupid." At least, that's the message I got. Seriously, if it's not the job for you and you don't enjoy it, just quit. You'll make everyone's day better.

She was very brusque and rude. When she realized what we needed, she gave me a form to fill out and sent us away. Mom and I waited until she was busy with someone else to stand in the return line. We had the second-nicest lady help us the next time 'round.

I got my TIP (temporary instruction permit) with the 30-day period waived and registered to vote. Yay me!

What I do: Gardening

First: my mother is home! After 3 long weaks, she is back. Yeah, Tuesday was a lesson in patience from the start, between trying to help with a store remodel where the carpent people were late and so having to push back the time from 8 AM to 2 PM to 5 Pm and then having nothing to do to Mom getting stuck in customs and missing the flight that would have her home by 11 AM, having to wait another 12 hours or so at the air port and go through a terminal evacuation we still don't know the cause of and barely getting on the last flight out for the day.
Why all these reminders to be patient? Only, looking back, I don't think it's just that. There's also a little lesson about relying on God. Especially for me, who had this terrible habit of worrying obsessively. If something goes wrong, I panic. If it's suggested that something could go wrong, I'm willing to expect the worst. Granted, I have also learned to pray when I'd rather cry, but that mostly comes out as "Please, please, please!".
So Dad and I spent an hour at the airport waiting for Mom. I had planned to do some people watching, but there weren't really many people to watch, and only a couple were real characters. It was good anyway. After Mom finally arrived, we drove home in the rain with one windshield wiper going crazy and catching the working one and knocking it off its track or something. 'Twas an eventful day, I must say.
(On a side note, Mom brought back for me an awesome pair of royal blue-striped "Peru pants", which I am currently wearing and loving more than I anticipated. I am happy.)
The next thing on the crazy family calendar is another missions trip for Mom and Dad in less than two weeks, and then school starts. And it's my last year! (Yes, pretty much forever. No college for me!) I'm so not ready for school.
Anyway. I did have something non-recapping to do, so I'll get to that.

I like gardening. Call me crazy if you must, but it's true. I like watching things grow, especially when I planted them myself. I like marveling over how such beautiful things can come from such tiny seeds or simple bulbs. I'm not so much a fan of planting as I am of watching, which is why I prefer perennials over annuals. One-time planting, a little watering and pruning, and we're set!
Until this year, I'd never grown any form of food. I don't know what prompted us to decide to start this year. We didn't even get anything in the ground until June. (Hopefully next year we can start from seed like we wanted to but weren't able to because of our crazy summer schedules that begin in April.)
I must say that this year was a learning experience. Most of the vegetables in the garden are things I don't even eat (take our 20+ tomato plants for example). But I loved watching them grow from sprout to mature plant, watching them blossom and start to produce fruit, seeing squash and cucumber and watermelon vines spread out all over the place and sometimes use the tomato trelllises for support. I don't know what to do with the cauliflower, cabbage, and lettuce. I don't know if we'll even get anything from them. But that doesn't really bother me.
We've been getting cukes and squash pretty steadily now since the beginning of the month. I never have been fond of either, but I decided that I might as well learn to enjoy them because it's homegrown goodness right at my fingertips and I felt bad for wasting it. So I chop up a cucumber here or there and toss it in my salad. I'm still not fond of it.
I think the cooling weather has been getting to the garden, though. Most of the squash leaves are browning (if that's even a verb!) and I think we're seeing the last of the cucmbers. It makes me kind of sad.
I don't know where I originally planned to go with this. Maybe spouting off how good it's been for me because it makes me happy to start my day by going out among the plants and marveling over how they grow. Maybe I'll say how this whole experience has been training for me in a number of ways, but has also made me aware of how bad my memory is. I've turned on the sprinkler and gone off to do something for a few minutes, then got preoccupied, and the next thing I know I'm drowing the plants because I left the sprinkler on for too long.
Guess I don't really have a purpose behind this. It's just a new part of my life that I've enjoyed, so why not share? (Well, that and I needed to blog but didn't have much to say. Sorry if I'm boring you. It won't always be like this, I promise.) It's a pretty straightforward, easy summer project with tasty results. Hopefully next year I'll be more prepared for cucmber vines that need support and actually knowing when to harvest plants.
Yup. I've found another hobby. Well, we'll see how I feel about it next spring.