Replanting Fruit Trees One More Time

Growing houseplants (or fruit trees, in this case) is a labor of guilt. At least it is for me.

So often I want to give up on them, since only the pomegranate has produced fruit in the five years we’ve had them.

It’s around springtime that I think it’s time to let them go; start fresh with something that will do what it’s supposed to do.

But every year, I repot, breaking off the old soil from the roots and replacing it with the nutrient-rich.

One more year, why not?

At least I have good, yet trouble-prone, company while I decide if the plants will receive a thumbs up or a thumbs down this year.

Before I go, I wanted to mention we’ve been doing some shed hunting these past few weeks and thought I would share a not-so-old post if you’d like to see what that all entails.

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Welcoming Spring

There are no shortage of reminders that spring is here.

All people and animals were winter weary, including our frozen pipes that led to backing up of water, then to the rationing of water, then to me feeling like a hand-sewn prairie dress and bonnet away from the late 1800s.

Thankfully, though, spring has come. In all her imperfect glory, she has come.

You know what this means… shed hunting. Calving. Fencing. The many great and wonderful activities spring brings to us on the farm.

Though this was a long winter for us all, it’s already forgotten as the sun warms our face and cool air cleans out our lungs.

It’s another season in weather and in life.

Looking forward to what’s ahead.

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Click on this post or your computer will explode.

Well hi! That was so nice of you to click through, on your own terms. Good to see you!

So we’ve been busy beavers despite this gosh darn cold that really wants us to stay inside all day long and play old school Super Nintendo.

Ok, we may still make time for that.

On Sundays he likes making things, and I like reading. I finished The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey and mostly loved it. It’s about a survivalist couple who live in the remote mountains of Alaska and build a snow girl that turns real. I am not especially keen on fantasy stories and would have liked it better had she been a real child, but overall it made me think and isn’t that the point?

But on Sundays, the day of rest, Country Man likes to take a few hours and spend time in his shop trying not to trip over cats, thinking up new ways to display antler items.

antler candle holder

Cedar Log and Deer Antler Candle Display Holder

We have been so fortunate to actually make some money from our shop, using nature-made materials such as whitetail and mule deer antlers and cedar trees.

antler dog chews

Deer Antler Dog Chews

As we set our sights toward figuring out what’s preventing us from creating our #1 dream, and then work on fulfilling it, we ask that you not only consider checking out our shop, but perhaps “liking” us on Facebook and spreading the word?

The other day I asked people to “like” a post and it generated over 600 views. I was like, holy moly, you just have to ask for help and people will give it?

Well I do it all the time so I don’t know why I was so surprised. But I was, and also very grateful.

antler candle holder

Deer Antler Candle Holder

It’s something to think about, anyway.

antler knife

Deer Antler Knife

antler wine rack

Deer Antler Wine Rack

Hope all is well on your end. I am including an updated photo of the buffalo. We are mutually suspicious, but it doesn’t stop me from trying to pet him.

But the steer tried to.

Love, Country Wife

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Time Traveling

You are looking at my childhood right there.

One of the few memories so strong that even a hint of Wintergreen Skoal tobacco transports me back to a kitchen, where Grandpa’s round cans sat at the counter-end next to a bowl of colorful M&M’s, intentionally set out for our every giggly stay-over.

Jo-Jo in the kitchen, whipping up breakfast and Pap coming up to give her a kiss good morning, saying “My Jo-Jo” and we’d grin and greedily reply, “No, our Jo-Jo!”

Country Man and I visited the two at their Arizona home recently, and the moment my feet entered the doorway I was hit with such nostalgia that I almost cried. I was seven again, I was loved, life was so very uncomplicated. I am in tears thinking about it.

The thing that baffled me was how the smell was exactly the same. The combination of  soap, Wintergreen Skoal, and unique skin that combines into this most beautiful scent that if I could bottle it up, I would pay high dollar just for the opportunity to lift the lid and enjoy the time travel for the rest of my days.

My grandparents seemed the same to me, looked the same, too. They eagerly hugged us, lodged us, and fed us. Paps even played tour guide, a little more slowly than 22 years ago but with the same enthusiasm.

It might sound strange, but I missed them even while with them. I missed their youth, somehow jealous that I will never know their pre-grandparent selves. I miss my grandma’s beautiful laugh, my grandpa’s love for the flea market and how he called us “his girls”.

I  miss them because I have the crisp memories, and because some day, that’s all I will ever have.

Do you want to Instagram with me?

That’s how you say it, right? Sounds right.

I recently dove into instagramming using a stolen Google Nexus (Country Man’s) and I think we should follow each other. Do it.

I’m not bossy, I’m demonstrating good leadership skills.

 

Most of my pics will look like this

Most of my pics will look like this.

and this.

and him.

and that.

 

So come join me if you’d like. I’m right here.

Toodle doo friends!

Jeeze Louise it’s cold.

Well if that’s what everyone else is talking about, then I might as well chime in.

Cold cold cold. Talking almost 50 below with the wind chill tomorrow. I don’t like it one bit.

Country Man bought me a fancy latte-maker for Christmas, in good timing since our coffee maker broke yesterday. I need to order one ASAP.

While I will be gripping a cozy Grandma-sent mug to stay warm, Country Man will turn the heater on in his shed to keep the rest of the crew comfortable.

See? They have no idea it’s freezing out there.

Where are you? What is your weather doing?

I hope wherever you are that you are warm & happy.

~~~~

Ps. Wanted to say a big thank you for the outpouring of love you gave on the last post. You are all so wonderful.

 

A Journey Called Infertility

I always wanted a natural birth.

From the moment we decided to start trying all those years ago, I had a plan. It would go such and such a way, because that’s the mode life works, you know?

A natural birth, an opportunity to demonstrate my strength, a metaphor for the transition from girl to woman, from caterpillar to butterfly.

So we began to try, and oh, did we try. And when each try ended in failure, our hearts broke a little more and we rested our weary head on wet pillows, sometimes together, sometimes not.

To describe this time of pain is difficult, because it’s so completely personal and most people only half-listen but are fully ready to answer with an optimistic solution that only amplifies the loneliness of this journey.

It can’t fully be understood by those who don’t know it for themselves.

Two people in love, too much love for one another that they urge to let it spill over onto something they’ve created together, something pink and wrinkly that smells of heaven. And they can’t do it…

A pain so life changing.

However, while this journey does not define us entirely, it has changed us, me, so much I hardly recognize the person before. It has changed me for the good, and that was a daily choice,  oftentimes a battle.

The reason I share this is because someone reading might need this, and because infertility is a condition with no need of shame.

And if I want to keep this blog going, I have to be willing to share the unpleasantness. A year of vulnerability, perhaps.

If you know someone going through this, they need your listening ear, kind heart, and empathy… no pity, no advice. That’s what everyone needs, I’ve come to realize.

Thanks for reading! And Happy New Year. May it bring renewed hope and wonder.