Golden, Fading Colors

 

It's a slow one, today is. I scattered grain for the chickens, collected eggs, and then wandered around the place, pulling at dried-up herbs and swatting at tangled webs holding nothing but leaves.

So glad it's autumn now. It's my favorite season. Time for pumpkins and cocoa and raking and spices and golden, fading colors.

Happy fall to you, wherever today finds you.  -Brin
 

Summer Shop Sale...

It's incredible the amount of yarn and tea a girl can go through in the summer. I've stopped many times these past three months and noticed either a glass of iced tea or a tightly-wound ball of yarn close by. It's made me smile.

The end result is that my shop Balm and Honey is stocked with the fruits of my summer labor. Color, shapes, and texture like you wouldn't believe. It's been so fun!

And I'd even like to offer you 10% off... just enter the code GOODBYESUMMER and you'll save instantly.

Happy looking! ...My thanks and best, always. -Brin

What I Recognize As Belonging

An expectation is a future object, 

recognized as belonging to me.

-Samuel Alexander

 

A summer storm blew a limb onto the power line yesterday. The chickens were terrified and ran to the coop as the power company came with their chain saws and bucket-in-the-sky truck to cut it all down. I watched from the kitchen window as wood fell, heavy and splintered.

The kitchen in the little red house is dated and cramped. Folks ask for pictures of the house, but it's not much. Honest. If I weren't so focused on saving and preparing for my future cabin, I'd fuss with it. As it is, I put out my stuff and wipe counters and move along.

And of course put out candles and plants. Candles, plants, and good soap. Always.

In the meantime, while I'm here, I visit my Cabin board on Pinterest to plan and dream. I focus not on this house, but on the expectation of my future object- a place I've long recognized as belonging to me...

A Few Glimpses Into the Life of a Girl Who Keeps Chickens

 

 

 

 

Ten Things

1. I'm glad it's August. Having done July well, I'm eager to see "AUGUST" written across the top of the calendar page. Fall, and relief from the 100+ degree heat, is on the way!

2. I'm making homemade frozen pizzas. Why have I never done this before? Anything to save money on the grocery bill.

3. Speaking of pizza... and saving money... has anyone down South planted tomatoes seeds in August to grow a fall crop? I'm going to try it and see what happens.

4. I'm kicking myself for cutting up beautiful fabric to start a new quilt, then changing my mind on the pattern. Dang it! ;)

5. Time off coming this month- from work and from the Prayer Room. I'm busy 6 days a week, 15+ hours a day, so this is exciting stuff!

6. Chickens are laying!! Love these fresh, brown eggs!

7. This is the most gorgeous music. It's on repeat. 

8. I'm wanting to reread The Forgotten Garden. If you haven't sat down with this one yet, you're missing out!

9. I'm itching to redecorate my living room. Since that's not in the budget, maybe new throw pillows and some flowers will do?

10. Ice cream. Wouldn't it be great if the two of us could sit down with a cone and chat for a few? 


Happy August!  -Brin

The Prayer Room

There's a little about what I'm up to today in my hometown paper. Hope you're having one of those weeks that isn't "one of those weeks", you know?  -Brin

 Anything for a quiet life. 

-Thomas Middleton

  

Cloudy morning. Dark, quiet kitchen. Herbs dry above the sink. Plants stand up for the light.

I make iced coffee, then a zucchini dish- one to keep and one to share. The only sounds I hear are of the scrape of grating green, and the flapping of chickens outside the window.

I think I'll read a book today and listen to violin music.
 

Anything for a quiet life.

Would You Look At This!

See this house? This old farmhouse with shiplap walls and original wood floors? 

It reminds me so much of Freeman House. And... it's mine if I want it. A nice lady wants to give me this house. For free. All I have to do is hire someone to move it 3 hours east, and then come up with a suitcase full of cash to pay them.

Insert hopeful/dare-I-dream/get real/never-gonna-happen/can you believe this?/this-stuff- only-yet-doesn't-happen-to-me sentiments here...
 

The Garden Gives Me Tomato Sauce.

In the winter, when you're straining your eyes seeing seeds into soil, breaking your back planting garlic, and freezing your fingers poking onions in the ground, you dream of this day: tomato sauce day.

Homemade, homegrown pizza-and-pasta sauce day.

I have the magic bubbling on the stove now. Fresh, sun-ripened tomatoes... onions I planted in long rows... garlic I ordered as cloves from Missouri... basil grown from seed- all of it went into my scuffed, black pot this morning. It's been puft puft puft-ing contentedly since. I'll eat what I can and freeze the rest for later.

Ever since Deb debuted her tomato sauce recipe, I've been messing with it. I add onions, a touch of olive oil, and herbs to mine, though. It tastes heavenly. (If you make it, don't skip the butter.) Totally worth all the work to make it happen. And so affordable when you grow it all yourself!

Here's to summer, hardworking girls everywhere, and the sweet taste of success, huh? -Brin

If you know somethin' well...

If you know somethin' well, you can always paint it 

but people would be better off buyin' chickens.

-Grandma Moses

 

I found my diary from 2002 the other day. I scarcely recognized the girl I read about in those pages. Brin from 2002 had this amazingly glitz life: reporting career in Dallas... dinner in high-rise restaurants... handsome boyfriend... fancy shoes... condo decorated by a professional... appointments for facials... concert tickets. Man. Brin from 2012 has an amazingly messy life: tutoring English and writing at a local college... dinner from a crockpot... ugh, men... rubber boots with caked-on manure... a little red house... appointments at the vet... and rodeo tickets. My, how time changes everything.

The other night, as I was feeding the chickens, I told them a little about my old life. Colonel Heaven, the keeper of the flock, stood quietly and listened. I was telling him about people, places and things I missed: the old boyfriend, the Granada, riding DART to get facials. And then I told him how ridiculous I felt, standing in the dirt telling a chicken about the good old days like some prattling old lady who stands alone in a pasture talking to hay bales. I laughed and he crowed.

A dear lady wrote me last weekend and asked why I haven't published anything yet. I told her it's because I have to revisit that old life to tell my story, and for now I'm only ready to tell the entire thing to a flock of feathers. (I'm sure the lady now thinks I'm crazy.) But maybe I could paint it- a dark and clashing collection of colors bleeding across many canvases. After all, If you know somethin' well, you can always paint it...

...but people would be better off buyin' chickens.

(Oh! And if you're on Pinterest, help me add to my 'Chicken Littles' board, would you? :)

The Little Red House

I live in a little red house at the top of a small hill. Have I said? She sits, solemn and weathered, under two oak trees. Her red wooden boards and aging white trim are nailed on, the nail heads rusted in place. When it's windy you can hear her sigh. But she's a strong, resolute little house, and I feel safe inside her walls. I've been here going on two years.

Beside the house sits a little carport. It's leaning slightly and reminds me of an old country barn. At the back is the chicken coop with its heavy beams and old tin nesting boxes. My chicken feeder- a hand-me-down from the man who cuts grass for the local school- hangs from a thick, rusty chain. I like it in there- in the carport/barn and coop. One day I'll organize and show you.

I tried growing organic garlic again this year. I know it isn't time to harvest yet, but I had to pull most of it. The chickens discovered it and, hearing that garlic and chicken don't mix until dinner time, I had to get it out of the ground. Well, all except for a few spare cloves I sunk into soil last fall alongside the little red house. They're mixing well with cherry tomatoes now, and I hope they do well enough to provide me with seed garlic this fall. (It's all getting so expensive now, isn't it?)

Over the next few weeks I'll do my best to show you a few pictures of life around the little red house. Meanwhile, I have towels on the clothesline and cookies in the oven and some scrubbing to do. Talk soon, right?

Love from my little house to yours. -Brin

P.S. I'm trying to get in touch with a Shelly from WI who emailed me last week. Shelly, if you're reading this, my reply to you is bouncing back. Could you please write again? :)

Scattered... Like Chasing Wind

My thoughts are so scattered today:

You're too busy, Brin. Slow down : It's starting to rain. It needs to rain. Family's pasture caught on fire again and the well is running dry : Need to finish painting the lobby of the Prayer Room : Am I out of butter? I'm out of butter. Can't make lemon bars without butter : Agh! Today's Mom's birthday. Don't forget : Who's that calling? : Electrician. Coming tomorrow. : Call plumber for Atlanta Prayer Room. : Ohhhh... Target has a summer home catalog. Looks awesome! Remember to look at it later! : Get in attic and find that cool bowl sink you never used at Freeman House. Have it installed. : I need more Audra Lynn music. And is Norah Jones' new album out yet? Wonder if it's good. : Is it lunchtime yet? I'm hungry....

 Gotta rush off. I'm making this for dinner and need to run by the store before I continue on with my insane day. :)  Have a great week! -Brin

The Blueberry Patch

My very first job was picking blueberries. 

Each June- the first week, old man Harper would set up plywood signs and announce to the town that he was, in fact, selling blueberries. The bushes were planted in neat rows to the side of a huge barn that housed chickens, turkeys and ducks. To get to the blueberry patch, one followed the signs off the highway, onto the county road, off on another county road, up a hill and down a dirt road. Then you were there. As far as a kid could see there were blueberries.

We were paid 50 cents a pound back then for picking. Around 7 am we'd shuffle into the barn, grab two tin buckets, and hoof it to "the patch". I always walked farthest from the barn and away from the other kids so I'd have an untouched row. By 9 am, I'd meander back to the barn with my full buckets, dump them onto a screen and sift out any bugs, leaves, twigs and small berries, and weigh my haul on an ancient scale. Then it was back out to the patch. Every afternoon when I got off work, I'd drink a cold Dr. Pepper and squish my eyes shut, seeing only blueberry bushes. My 12-year-old self thought that was cool. 

I think I made $100 a summer. Something like that.

Those memories came back today as I needed to do something with the blueberries in my freezer. Here it is, nearly June, and I live 3 miles away from the old Harper farm. The family's dead or gone now and as far as I hear, no one's picked berries there for years. Maybe I'll drive out anyway just to see. I don't exactly need the berries, but I am curious...

Do you guys make jam? Fruit spreads? Anything of that nature? I'm hearing great things about some of the books that say: yes, you can make a lot of the things you buy at the store. Books such as Make the Bread, Buy the Butter, and The Homemade Pantry: 101 Things You Can Stop Buying and Start Making. I'm forever fascinated with growing and making things myself. Think I'll give some of these things a whirl.

But first, the blueberries. Time to see to them. It is nearly June, after all....

Playing Out

My Swiss chard is playing out. Each evening, after the scorching Texas sun has set, it looks as if it's fainting. My camera, too, has decided it wants to retire. I decided to take advantage of the fleeting moments with both and bring them together.

I have come to believe that Swiss chard is the perfect leafy green for me. I don't know how it tastes grown in other climates- as I've only had locally grown chard- but to me it's milder than spinach when steamed, has stalks that can be used in place of celery, and is a dream eaten raw. I've been chopping it into omelets, dips and salads, and sauteing the brilliant red and yellow stems into chicken salad, chicken and dressing and soups.

I'm curious what other gardeners are having success with this season, and perhaps what you think I should try. Anyone have suggestions?

Beautifully Irresistible

Last night at APR, I glimpsed sight of a grown man crying. A tattooed, former meth addict- now captured by the love of Jesus- sat with tears streaming down his face.
 
We were playing, singing and praying from Psalms 27:4-5; declaring the beauty of God and how we long to be in His presence. As I watched this man swat at the tears on his face, I marveled at how the beauty of God moves even the hardest of hearts.

I mean, the God who created colors and G minor and waterfalls and proteins and red clover loves us. Yearns for us. One careful study of the world He placed us in... His handiwork... reveals a God who sees to details, spends time with even the smallest of things, and is brilliant in His variety and creativity.

Beautiful. I find Him beautifully irresistible. Even more so when I see inked up men, scuffed Bible open and prayers on their lips, overwhelmed by His beauty and His heart for us.

(Photo credit: My brother, Sam Wisdom)

Apple Blossom Pony Dreams

This is Colonel Heaven's Monday morning face. I don't think the Colonel is a fan of Mondays. 

.     .     .     .     .

Years ago, I read an article in Country Home magazine that's never left me. It was about a girl who ditched the city in favor of an apple orchard complete with a pony and some flighty chickens. I remember that the girl wore a messy ensemble of tights, skirt, flannel shirt, knit hat and the coolest jacket I'd ever seen. She made caramel apples and gave kids pony rides. I was enthralled. In my mind, this girl was it. I wanted to meet her, secretly hoping some of that crazy charm would rub off on me and chickens and a cool jacket would magically appear.

In the passing years I've lost the article. I can't shake the essence of it, though- it's stamped on my mind. This morning, as I was scattering food for the chickens and contemplating where to plant spearmint runners, I thought of that fearless girl. I wondered if she's out there somewhere, walking through her apple trees and brushing her pony.

Here's to us messy women everywhere, and the apple blossom/pony dreams we chase.  -Brin

Hope In Times Of Sorrow

It seems as though I'm forever yearning for lasting simplicity and contentment. They're slippery, those two... especially to one as stubborn as myself.

I'm spending some time this month reading Philippians. I memorized parts of the book as a child, but it never ceases to surprise me how something so familiar can be so fresh. I was reading chapter 4 yesterday and this hit home: "Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” 

Having been through a season of great abundance, I'm now in that place where I'm having to sacrifice financial security for the surpassing greatness of following Jesus. It's hard. In fact, it's the most difficult thing I've done. Laying down my lucrative career to be obedient to the calling God's placed on my life has been a tough decision to persevere in.

That said, I'm constantly seeking inspiration from people who have- or are- walking a path of non-compromise, hardship, and self-sacrifice as it relates to their faith in Jesus. So when I came across the story of Ian and Larissa, I paid attention. Have you heard of them yet? Last night I watched their 8 minute video and then spent hours reading Larissa's blog. I can't remember the last time I cried so hard. I mean, messy cried. Their story is one of the most beautiful I've ever seen, and such a testimony to the big, kind heart of a God who loves without leaving and without failing.

Really, I encourage you to get somewhere where you can messy cry and watch Ian and Larissa's story. And then join us in praying for them... for strength, for perseverance and for hope in times of sorrow.

Knitting with Tea and Honey

While it's normal for my life to be messy and thrilling, it's been unusually frantic as of late.

This is one reason why I knit. It's also why I drink tea and honey. It soothes nerves, settles thumping hearts, and stirs my swirling thoughts into something solid. Something that makes sense. 

 If you're looking to expand the corners of your life and sanity a bit, I recommend taking a knitting class. If that's your sort of thing...
 

Yesterday I moved Renee out and within 12 hours things had gone badly. (As in, upon pulling away from the motel we settled her in, I had an uneasy feeling. And within several hours, the pastor of Church Under the Bridge called to say Renee had let a paroled felon into her room and the guy split with her check card. Which is exactly what happened a month ago and what caused her homeless situation last time. That, and Renee was begging for my phone number as the guy took off with her phone, too.) ...

I'm making more tea. Want some?

.   .   .   .   .

For those who've kindly asked, I am knitting again for lovely people other than those who live around. If you have room in your kitchen or bath for pillowy, hand-knitted wonders, I would love to knit some just for you. Please check out my little shop, Balm and Honey. I trust you'll find these knitted goodies work wonders at mopping up tea, honey... and maybe even a few tears.  

Have a good rest of your week, okay? -Brin
 

Strange, Incredible, Wonderful God

So I'm not sure if you took notice when I said it earlier, but I'm now the director of a small House of Prayer. Me. The leader of the Atlanta Prayer Room....

God is so strange.

I mean, I'm the weird girl who prays weird things. Epic things. Frivolous things. Last week, I leaned back on the couch, propped my feet onto the back, and announced to Renee- in a loud voice- TIME TO PRAY. Only I said it all dramatic and creepy-like.


She raised one eyebrow at me and said nothing.


So I proceeded to pray a frivolous prayer for what was on my scattered mind: that I could use some cash to pay some first of the month bills (the oil business has slowed down and is just picking back up); that I could stand my yard mowed (it has a steep hill that's hard to push a mower over); and that some cake would be nice (because Renee had watched 7 straight episodes of Cake Boss on Netflix and I'd glimpsed one chocolate ganache cake too many). Frivolous.


Only within 3 days, I'd been handed $1,000 cash from random people. And a kid I invite over for dinner frequently dragged my mower out and cut the grass without being asked. Then a nice lady brought over cupcakes. And so, nights later when I was back on the couch and Renee was across the room, she raised one eyebrow at me and said, Dang. When you pray, God listens. I didn't know it worked like that.

I assured her that yes, God does listen and um... sure... it works like that all the time. But believe you me, no one was more shocked/thrilled than I was.


God is so wonderful.


So this House of Prayer... it's a wild thing. We meet five days a week at my house. We read scuffed, folded Bibles, we pour out our hearts to God, and we play instruments and sing to God about how big and awesome He is. People come saying, what in the world is this?, and an hour later they're bawling and saying, it's so peaceful in here. And, wow. When I pray, God really does listen. I didn't know God worked like that...

And I assure them that yes, God does listen and um... sure... He works like that all the time. I say this and smile because no one is more shocked/thrilled than I am.


God is so incredible.

Faith and Cornfields

I had a blowout about 3 hours from home yesterday while on the way to a super-rush, highly stressful work project.
 
Yeah.
 
Yesterday evening, tire repaired, emergency work completed, and utterly worn out, I was driving to spend the night with family I rarely see. When I passed this cornfield, I pulled the car over.
 
Sometimes, when you have a bad day, you just have to pull the car over at sunset and walk through a cornfield.
 
As I walked toward the sinking sun, fingertips brushing corn stalks, I repeated this verse over and over. (And it's almost as if I could feel the words escape from deep inside me and push themselves into the soil.) Let the record show it's one of my favorite, and one of the most beautiful expressions of faith I believe was ever written. Psalm 27:13 says I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
 
I will see... I WILL see... I am CONFIDENT I will see... I will see Your goodness, Lord. With my eyes. Down here. Maybe not today. Or tomorrow. But one day we WILL see Your goodness here. I can't wait, God. My soul waits to see the goodness and glory of the Lord. I remain confident. I will see it, God...
 
Sometime, when you have a bad day, try walking through a cornfield at sunset and planting the faith and hope of that.
 
It works.
 
Happy weekend.  <3 Brin



(And to the owner of this cornfield, whoever and wherever you are, I apologize for wandering around uninvited. I promise I didn't damage anything... and I prayed for your crop and your family. May God abundantly bless your harvest!)

Gardening Day

Pulling: baby onions. After about 100, I quit for the time being.

Planting: squash, more potatoes, and Moon and Stars watermelon.

Watering: green peas, Zipper Cream peas, tomatoes, potatoes, pinto beans, green beans, Strawberry popcorn, Green Dent corn, and Smoke Signals corn.

Watching: herbs, the new lime basil and strawberries.

Wanting: an artichoke bed so I can make this, and rain barrels like this placed throughout the garden.

Wishing: I'd planted more flowers. Can a girl ever have enough flowers?

Meals. Laundry. Feed animals. Water garden. Pray. Care. Sleep. Repeat.

Happy rhythm...

Soothing Oatmeal

It's raining today, the kind of rain that trickles. I keep checking out the window to make sure it hasn't changed its mind and blown away, realizing this is Texas and ooops, this is historic drought country and what am I doing here? But no, still here. 

It feels like a baking day. A day to run the vacuum and then put on mellow music and flip through recipe cards. Maybe I'll make oatmeal cookies. There's something soothing about oatmeal, isn't there? They're my favorite. But heavy on the brown sugar and vanilla and definitely no raisins. (Shudder) Yes, I think those are going in the oven soon.

Things have been strange around here the past few weeks, as if my world has spun off its axis. Routines disrupted. Usual meals forgone. The ever-silent TV always on.  Strangers in and out. Last night I came home to new faces in my house. They were great, and I expect them back again. But giving up my privacy is proving difficult for me. It gets under my skin into bone. I feel uptight. Earlier I read my devotional from my usual Jesus Calling, and was reminded- as ever- that my stability is not circumstances... the rhythm of my home... days going as I expect... it's in my relationship with Him. 

That makes me breathe easy. It makes me calm. It makes me get up from the computer, turn on the oven, and make cookies for strangers. 

Oatmeal ones, without raisins.

Shelter

For You have been a stronghold to the poor,
    a stronghold to the needy in his distress,
     a shelter from the storm and a shade from the heat.

-Isaiah 25:4

I meant to reward myself with a day of knitting this yarn, but oddly enough shelter became the governing issue of the day, so the I-just-gathered-my-tax-stuff-and-then-filed-an-extension celebration time never happened.

Several months ago, the strangest thing started happening. Things, I should say. See, as eager as I am to get to my little place in the wilderness, stretch out a clothesline and begin planting roses, I can't. Not for the time being. God decided I needed to be right here, in this little red house just off downtown in the place I grew up. Since January, the house has been open to people with nowhere to go. And tomorrow, Renee comes.

Renee has grown children and used to have what you and I would consider a normal life, if there is such a thing. Then two years ago she was riding a horse and the unthinkable happened: she fell off. And her right leg poked into the soft ground when she fell, and she couldn't pull it out quite fast enough to avoid the trampling horse.

She lost the leg.

As if that wasn't traumatic enough for anyone, her husband decided he was less than thrilled with her new situation and took off. Fast forward to now, and we found her getting picked on in a nearby homeless shelter. Ladies who can't chase are easy prey for thieves and meanies, apparently.

She's coming to stay with me tomorrow.

Renee's the second person in as many weeks that's needed to access this house from a wheelchair. It's not the easiest house to do that in. So I spent the day dragging stuff around, rearranging, and worrying about what we'll do with the bathroom.

We'll think of something...

Oh God, You are my stronghold, my shade, and my shelter. Help me love You and Renee well.

Quilts, Cats and Cabins

My spring quilt should be finished over the weekend. And you've no idea the hours that went into being able to type that sentence. (!)

I decided on the log cabin design for this quilt since, whenever I have a spare moment for my brain to switch to daydream mode, I'm dreaming of my cabin. I'm itching for a huge stack of handmade quilts in the cabin, especially since I never seem to have enough blankets.

Just ask Marple. You can never have enough blankets. Or quilts. What is it with cats and quilts, anyhow? If your cat ever goes missing, skip the neighborhood signs and set up a big quilt-stitching party in your yard. (Or balcony, whatever.) Within moments your cat will come running, I promise. Dogs, definitely not. Cats, yes. They can't resist the understated power of the handmade quilt.

See the little gizmo in this picture above with the loopy handle? That is a Goal Zero, solar-charged power station, and it powered my sewing machine as I pieced this quilt. I'm slowly figuring out small ways to cut my electricity dependence in anticipation of living in a cabin off grid, and this little station has enough juice to run my sewing machine for hours on end.

Oh! Speaking of. I've gotten several letters asking about my cabin plans. In case I never said, I have just over 5 acres of remote land that is bordered on the north and west by a national wilderness, and I hope to eventually have 5 cabins total: one for me and the others for women who have come out of abusive/desperate situations. For now, I'm taking my time salvaging building materials, supplies and necessary fixtures. Right now it's windows and a kitchen sink I'm after. The more character and the cheaper, the better! (It's so much fun! Wish you could come sale and flea-ing with me.)

If you're curious about what I'm going for, check out my Cabin board on Pinterest, and feel free to pass along any pictures, articles, or how-to things you think I may like.

Right. Better get back to this quilt. My self-imposed deadline is Sunday, and that will be in our faces before we know it. Happy Thursday! -Brin

Raising Chickens

If I hadn't started painting, I would have raised chickens.
-Grandma Moses

It was an otherwise normal day. I woke, drained 4 cups of Starbucks Christmas Blend coffee (because I'm shamefully addicted), put on a slightly rumpled shirt, and went to the local feed store for a bag or two of garden compost. Only I came out with 24 baby chicks.

Here's what I can tell you: raising chickens is one of the coolest things you'll ever do. Yes, they poop everywhere. And yes, they can be a little more to maintain than, say, a lazy goldfish. But totally worth it. They're totally worth it.

For one, chickens are entertaining. Forget TV. Once you have chickens, you can cancel that cable forever. Instead you can snoop on their play time and catch them establishing the pecking order. The tiny, strange chickens are no match for the loud, stuffed ones. I watched as the small, most peculiar looking chicken ever- Haskins, the white one below- was put in line by an older, heavier breed chick named Hamburger. Not to be outdone, Haskins sneaked up on Hamburger while she was at the feeder and plucked out one of Hamburger's largest feathers. She then tore through the coop like a felon with bank loot with that feather clasped in her beak. The others crowded around and chirped Oh no, you didn't!

Oh yes, she did.

 When you look like an angel/feather puff/clown with a chicken head, you'll do what you have to do to survive in the coop, apparently.

  

I have dual purpose birds, which means they'll be sufficient egg layers and chicken dumplings, depending on how it goes. I'm still many weeks out before I get my first eggs. I can't wait.

Here's what I can say after a month or two of raising baby chicks:

1. They grow. Fast. Quicker than quick. Have your brooder (the thing you raise baby chicks in) ready when you come home. And plan to have an alternate place prepared for between the time the chicks are too big for the brooder but too small to go in the coop. I wasn't ready for that and they actually had to come inside (shudder) for a few days.

2. Have a few good resources to help you out. Of all the books I bought, I like Storey's Guide to Raising Chickens the best. About three days in, I noticed two chicks moving a bit slowly. Not to gross you out, but Storey's Guide immediately told me they had pasty butt, and after dunking those chicks in a little warm water, drying them off and snipping a few feathers, they were back in business. To this day I haven't lost a single chick.

3. Chickens drink and eat tons. In fact, I think they should be called "Devourers" instead of "chickens". Be prepared. They can wipe out your spring herbs, strawberry bed, and 50 pounds of feed in a weekend.

4. You have to protect your devourers from predators, drafts, and drowning. Think like an overprotective Mom and you should be fine. 

5.  If you garden, expect instant, amazing results when you begin adding your own chicken manure to the mix. :)

6. Be prepared to fall in love with the little chicks. And, if you're in to such things, be prepared to think of strange/amazing names for them. All my chickens' names begin with "H", and my family and friends had fun helping me name them. They are, in no particular order: Haskins, Hamburger, Hank, HoHo, Honey Badger, Happy, Haggai, Habakkuk, Harold, Hazelwood, Horace, Hobbit, Hulk, Helen, Hotteedot, Hamlet, HoneyBun, Hadassah, Colonel Heaven and Henrietta. Some remain nameless as they might be gonners later and I can't even think about seeing someone with a name on my plate...

And yes, I know that most of my chicks are hens and most of those names aren't lovely. In my defense, I only named a few.

So all this to say, if you've been thinking of getting a chick or two, DO IT. And if you already do raise chicks, tell me: what's your favorite part of the whole mess?  -Brin

My New Address

Guess what, y'all? My website is finally live! Not finished, by any stretch, but it is up. And it has words. And a picture or two. And this neat little "contact me" area where you can type me until your heart's content and we can send secret messages and letters over the web. I'm excited. Please go over and say hello if you feel like it!

Eventually my blog, shop, and entire web presence will live there. For now- like my thighs- I'm spread all over the place. :)

I'm in the (slow) process of taking pictures of stuff again- stuff I'm doing, stuff I've made, stuff I'm working on, stuff that shows you my life now. I have so much to show and tell you! 

We'll get to it all, I promise. ...

Did you have a happy Easter? I did. Since my birthday and Easter fell on the same day this year, my weekend was full of wonderfulness. And by that I mean that after all the hullabaloo was through, I was able to sit on my couch with a slice of birthday cake and watch two Miss Marple movies on Netflix without having to pause them. Not even once! That hasn't happened in ages. It was incredible. (It also reinforced the realization that I'm nearly to my mid-thirties and am officially an old lady. Knitting while watching Miss Marple didn't do anything to contradict that realization, either.)

Ah well.

It's about to rain here, I think. I can tell by the low clouds, the determined wind and the way the birds in the cedar tree are singing to each other. On my TO DO list today is weeding the garden and hilling up the potatoes... neither of which would be fun to do in a downpour. Guess I should shove off the computer and get outside. 

Have a good day, okay? I'm off to dig in dirt before it turns to mud. -Brin

An Update, As It Were

These last few months have been strange and exhilarating. I don't know another way of saying it.

About two years ago, a casual meeting happened between myself and a man named Walt Meyer. We spent about 20 minutes talking, during which I expressed some frustration at not knowing what God had for my life. He nodded, kindly, and then said: If you knew, you would walk away. 

I love how God reads our thoughts like we read a newspaper and knows our hearts like we know our own home.

If God had made plain, two years ago, what I would be doing now, I would have walked away. Undoubtedly. I tend to do this panic thing when I get far out of my comfort zone and skill set. So God did this ingenious thing where He held His cards close, only revealing one when it was ready to be played.

I am, now, the director of a small but fierce House of Prayer in the town where I grew up. Coming home to the place I was so grateful to have left: that was humbling. God threw that card down on the table in October, and since then a small group of us have been praying, singing and playing, and making new friends among the lonely, the struggling, and the forgotten. It's been amazing and agonizing all at once. And on Saturdays we're setting up under a bridge nearby and feeding our homeless friends, sharing in their lives, and telling them about how much God loves the broken, the down-and-out, and those who feel lost.

So I guess you could say I'm trying to be about my Father's business, kinda like Jesus was. Only my efforts are weak. Laughable, really. I constantly have to remind myself that while this isn't the life I would have chosen, it's the life to which I've been called. And do you have any idea how settling and fulfilling that has been?

Besides that, when I have time, I have perfected my cookie baking skills. (Recipes to come, definitely.) I'm still knitting like a grandma in a yarn factory. (Have you seen Jared Flood's new stuff? Gaw!) I've almost finished piecing a new quilt. I have tons of new books I have to tell you about. I'm growing new flowers and my garden this year looks promising. (Have you heard of this Strawberry Popcorn everyone's talking about this year? Mine's getting on a foot tall already!) My cabin plans are finalized. And I have to tell you about my animal adventures. There's so much catching up to do!


My birthday falls on Easter Sunday this year, so I have a scary busy weekend ahead. I'll catch you on the other side! Until then, Happy Easter. Have a blessed Passover. And please know that I am so, so glad we're here together again.  <3  -Brin

The Chick Makes A Comeback

Hi there. Well gosh, it's been forever! Where in the world have you been?

Oh my. Oh my, oh my, oh my. So many things have happened since we talked last! So many things.  I, for one, got chickens. Real ones. The kind with downy feathers and tiny beaks and little feet that stomp through herb pots without any regard to carefully-tended dill grown from seed. (ahem)

How about you? Did you get chickens, too? Or maybe a raise? Or a life-changing circumstance? ...How about a sunburn? A birthday present? A little rain? A surprise? Or a new wrinkle (or two)? Wow, in the course of a year you could have gotten any number of things...

Let's catch up. It's been too long. Be back soon. I have to go pick up Marple from the vet.

(That's my cat. I got one of those while you've been away, too...)

See you soon!  -Brin