Life Lessons from Buddy

Buddy with a feather he found on a walk...toys are everywhere!

1. Stop when you need to and take care of bodily functions. 
2. Eat what is set before you with gratitude and gusto.
3. Drink enough water. 
4. Welcome friends and strangers – they may be bearing treats. 
5. Be present in the moment with all your senses: smell, taste, listen, look, touch. 
6. Don’t turn down a little travel. It might turn out to be an adventure.  
7. When it is hot, find a cool corner and lie down. When is it cold, sleep in a warm place. 
8. Dig some holes now and then. 
9. Every day, walk some, sleep some, play some. 
10. Don’t engage in futile pursuits. You will never run fast enough to catch a rabbit! 
11. When something is out of the ordinary, let your people know. 
12. Pay attention to and obey the one who leads and loves you.

Relish

From the book Saving the Season by Kevin West: 

The archaic origin of the word “relish” is revealing. Around 1300, “reles” entered the language from the Old French relaisser, “to leave behind.” The Oxford English dictionary cites a poem from the era ....[and] proposes that the meaning of “reles,” ... although unclear, was probably “the sensation or impression left behind” – the aftertaste. From the sixteenth century onward, the word’s spelling, pronunciation, and general sense of “to enjoy” became what it is today. “Hunger and Thirst are our best sauce,” wrote the Reverend Nathaniel Ingelo in his religious allegory Bentrivolio and Urania of 1660. “We still keep some to relish our next meal.” … 

 

[R]elish occupies a niche somewhere between condiment and side dish. …Relish stimulates the appetite – and leaves behind a pleasant aftertaste. 

So I made corn relish, from a recipe in this book. The corn came from my brother’s garden and the peppers from mine. It is lovely, little golden jars of corn studded with red and green peppers, spices, and chopped onions. We will relish this – enjoy it -– in days to come, and I will relish the memory of preserving the food that grew from our hands on our land, left behind now in my pantry.

 

Baptism!

On Sunday, we baptized a sweet baby whose daddy, aunt, uncle, and grandmama were also baptized in our church. The grandmama is the clerk of Session so in our liturgy the clerk begins by saying: “On behalf of the session, I present this child.” She choked up before she said the baby’s name. And then I choked up, and so did the baby’s mother and father. And so did most of the congregation. It was a precious moment. 

The baby’s grandfather was buried from that church. Her great-grandmother was a deacon there, the first woman to hold that office. My father was the sponsor/godfather when her aunt was baptised. And they were all – somehow – present in that moment. It was so holy, so sacred. And I felt so honored to be able to so this. 

 

Pickle du jour!

Sweet Pickles with Lemon and Rosemary

People bring me all kinds of fruits and vegetables. It has been this way since I moved back to the farm.  The bounty is a blessing! And I feel I cannot let anything go to waste. Some goes in a pot for supper, some goes in the freezer for the future, and some gets pickled! 

In that past two weeks, I’ve made squash pickles, dill pickles, sweet pickles (for my neighbor who is off her feet for a while), black and blue chutney (my creation from boxes and boxes of blackberries and blueberries), sweet pickles with rosemary and lemon (another of my creations), and pickled green beans. 

I tasted the chutney before it sat long enough, and it was already delicious. I will try the lemon and rosemary pickles in a week or so. And the pickled green beans are so, so good. Today's pickle du jour was more of those. I am about to decide that almost anything can be pickled! 

At Christmas, when we do our big charcuterie for the whole family, there will be lots of pickles and jam and chutney. When a friend drops by for a glass of wine, there will be pickled green beans beside the cheese and crackers. When my sister and I crave a savory snack, there will be something in a jar to open.

And when I eat these pickles, when I serve them to others, I remember the folks who brought the berries and beans and squash and cucumbers. There is a blessing in the bounty of produce, and an even greater blessing in the bounty of friends!

 

Tenderness

Last week, I went to get my hair cut. The woman giving me a shampoo asked if I was “tender-headed” and I said no. She then gave me a good scrubbing and a wonderful scalp massage. 

I’m not sure anyone has asked me about being tender-headed. A more familiar expression to me is tender-hearted, and there are several in our family who are often described that way. I don’t know that I am one of those. But maybe I should have told the person washing my hair that I was tender-headed. It is in my head that I feel tenderness for the world. I think about the horrors that are reported every single day, big and small, and my head is filled with sadness, grief, frustration, and disbelief at all the daily cruelty. And I find myself wishing, hoping, praying for tender heads rather than hotheads in places of power and decision-making.

 

Update.....

The corn is now higher than my head and starting to tassel. Here and there, I can see baby ears starting. It has rained at just the right time. The sunflowers, however, are no more…. The deer ate them all, leaving only the lower part of the stems, all stripped clean of the leaves. And then the weeds grew, so the rows are green but not with sunflowers. The deer need to eat, and a tender buffet right there is tempting, I suppose. But I will miss the blooms in the summer mornings.

 http://pastormartha.blogspot.com/2025/05/time.html

Neighbors

Some of the pickles!

When I lived in New England, it was rare for someone just to drop in. People (me included) almost always called in advance, to see if the timing was convenient or if folks would be home. But here in the country, it is very different. People stop by all the time. And they usually bring something. Sometimes it is a story or an old newspaper article about a long-passed relative. Lately, it is produce. People have brought pints and pints of blueberries, cabbages, the last broccoli from a garden, a bucket of peas. And this week, it was squash, pounds of squash; and then, green beans. So I got out my jars and pickling salt and canner. I have make 20 pints of squash pickles and six pints of pickled green beans. We will share them with neighbors, and eat them in the winter, when they will be like a taste of summer in a jar!

 

May 4

Daddy was born on May 4, 1918. He lived to be 98 years old. Last year, on May 4 – his birthday -- Mama said she thought she was getting a cold, but she didn’t seem to feel really sick until Wednesday, May 8. It wasn’t a cold – it was pneumonia. The year before, she had pneumonia at about the same time. We nursed her through then, but last year was too much. She died on May 11, 2024. She was also 98 years old. 

She was an educator for all her career. And her final act was one of teaching: She donated her body to East Carolina University for medical students to learn about anatomy. She graduated from East Carolina, as did her mother, her daughter-in-law, and her grand-daughter. What an act of generosity, and what a legacy!  

This year, on May 4 -- Daddy’s birthday -- we buried her ashes. We did everything we think she wanted us to do. She is buried in exactly the same grave where he is. After eight years of life without him, she is physically where she said she wanted to be. We wrote our messages of love on the box that held her ashes. Our brother put the box in the ground, and my sister and I helped to bury it. It was sweet and sad, and we were surrounded by so much love. 

She was known and loved for the letters she wrote. She thanked people for anything and everything – a plant, a visit, a bucket of peas, a job well done. Those letters were precious. It seemed just right to read 2 Corinthians 3:2-3: “You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, known and read by all, and you show that you are a letter of Christ, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets that are human hearts.” She did write on our hearts, inscribing our lives with her love. 

It has been a year and a bit, and I miss her every day.

 

Time

When I walk with my dog, our way passes between the fields, corn on one side and sunflowers on the other. What started as bare ground yielded to faint green as the seeds sprouted. Now the corn is knee high and the sunflowers are growing, too, except in some spots where the deer have eaten the tender stalks. In a few months, the plants will be taller than I am, and my way will be lit with golden sunflowers and tasseled corn. 

Once upon a time, my life was governed by a calendar and a clock – meetings here, meetings there, things to schedule, places to go and people to see, deadlines and timelines. Now, I find myself marking time by how much the corn has grown. It is a different rhythm, sweet and satisfying. I still have things to do, appointments to keep, a calendar, but watching the corn grow and talking to the dog fill me with peace.

Cards and Notes

My new year’s resolution for 2024 was to send a card or note to someone every week of the year – 52 in all. Some weeks, I sent several, some weeks, none. But I was doing well with it, keeping up with my resolution on average, and enjoying it. 

Mama always wrote people to thank them for anything and everything – a plant, a visit, a bucket of peas, a job well done. People loved her notes and kept them. I recently saw one on a bulletin board where my niece works that Mama had written almost two years ago. It meant something to get a hand-written note from her. She also sent, without fail, birthday cards, Halloween cards (with music and motion!), and Christmas cards. 

Last December, when she had written all her Christmas cards, she chose the ones for this year and the stamps, too. We bought them and tucked them away in her desk. And here I am this December, sorting through her list, addressing the cards she would have sent, missing her. 

And my notes for 2024? After she died, I wrote at least 80 thank you notes, in addition to my little list of one note a week. People were so generous, so caring, so loving. And she would have wanted every one of them to have note, to be thanked. I learned from her how important that is, how special. And I am trying to live up to her teaching. 

And the Christmas card list is up to 72…..