December 24, 2009

a christmas letter

December 24, 2009/ molly balint

This morning I am facing what may be the biggest baking/cooking/prepping day of my life. I'm looking forward to the challenge. But first, I'm taking a quiet moment for a bit of coffee, sitting across the room with our lop-sided little tree that was decorated last night by eager little hands.

I thought I'd quiet this little blog for a few more days, but before I do I couldn't forget to wish all of you a happy holiday season. May it be peaceful, merry, warm, and just right.

Before I go, however, I wanted to share with you a special Christmas letter....the one my mother sent out this year to our friends and family. I wish I had that perfect picture to go with it--because I know exactly which one I'd choose--except it's at her house, and I am here. But I have a feeling the picture will be clear enough in your head.

Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays.

xo.

molly

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She became my project when she made her way, so many years ago, to the sheep pen in our barn in Leitersburg, Maryland. Along with two others, she traveled up I-81 from Virginia Tech to Hagerstown in the back seat of daughter Mary’s silver Ford Escort. Emily was an orphan, and even though I didn’t need a single (or triple) extra thing to do, her fuzzy head and sweet eyes captured my heart. What’s a mom to say? Drive those lambs right back to Blacksburg? Hardly.

Under my care and two bottles of milk replacer a day, Emily flourished. Soon grain and hay replaced the bottle, and come springtime she discovered green grass and warm sunshine. Emily and her barn mates, Hope and Nelson, were thriving.

One late Spring evening around the supper table, conversation turned to the fact that Miss Emily was the only lamb on our farm yet to be sheared. Since the weather was mild and daylight lingered a little longer, Mary and I headed out to the barn after the dishes were done, with halter, extension cord and clippers in hand.

Here was the thing about this situation: When we sheared a sheep, it stood on an elevated metal platform. Its head was immobilized by resting the chin in a U-shaped bracket with a soft rope corded around the neck. Emily had never been off the ground, all four hooves at once. She had never had her head stuck into something that held her fast. Sometimes this scenario is challenging if the sheep determines to buck, so to speak, the system…and most do. We didn’t know how this would go.

Together, Mary and I hoisted Emily onto the stand, placed her chin in the holder and threaded the rope across the back of her neck securing it under her chin. I stood on one side distracting Emily with a handful of grain. Mary, on the opposite side, plugged in the clippers and flipped the switch.

The first pass with the clippers from the base of her tail up the middle of her back brought no particular response from Emily. Mary continued—legs, chest, underbelly. Emily was incredible--standing there munching peacefully. Mary shut off the clippers in order to apply fresh oil and let them cool before attacking the last obstacle, Emily’s head. Loud, vibrating clippers around the face, eyes and ears of a sheep are hard to tolerate even for the most stoic of animals. So far, Emily had been a dream, but now it could all fall apart.

I dipped out a fresh scoop of grain and Mary started in along the jawbone and toward the ear. As long as I live, I’ll never forget what happened next. In her moment of fear, as the clippers approached her eye, Emily leaned against me. She simply shifted her weight and leaned on me. No panic or jerking. She just leaned in and we stood there together braced against one another until all was quiet again.

I haven’t forgotten the message Emily sent me that evening. Unexpected things come along—especially these days. Jobs disappear, portfolios shrink, houses don’t sell, accidents happen, health issues surface. But there is something anyone can do…lean in. The Good Shepherd, whose birth we celebrate this time of year, stands near with wisdom and provision. Every time.

We are blessed beyond measure and send our love and greetings to you and yours.

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND PEACE IN THE NEW YEAR.

December 17, 2009

ONE Simple Question : No. 8

December 17, 2009/ molly balint

It's been getting harder and harder to find willing souls to help with chores around here. But I don't blame them--it's cold, the wind is whipping, it requires dressing in multiple layers, finding hats, mittens, scarves, boots...coming back with runny noses, purple hands and chapped chins.

But there's one little soul, rain or shine, freezing temperatures or mild ones, who's always anxious to come along. Her boots go on before the pajamas come off, and she knows the routine--cats first, throw down food to the chickens, shut the shed doors, walk to the coop and let the chickens out for their dash across the yard to their grain by the garden shed. She also knows how to keep warm--one mittened hand pulled inside her coat the other hand in mine and shoved into my coat pocket. She makes for great company.

On the nights when I find myself alone--doing the evening lock-in by myself, a warm cup of tea in my hands makes for good company, too. But not as good as Elizabeth, of course.

As for my simple question...I'm looking for some ideas. Christmas day breakfast is on my brain. I'm looking for a good recipe for something I can make the night before--either in the crockpot, or something to put in the oven Christmas morning. Something simple, something yummy.

Specifically, I'd love to find a recipe for baked french toast. I've heard "rumors" of one with thick-sliced bread, apples, cinnamon--something prepared the night before, refrigerated and baked the next morning. I'd love to find a recipe for something like that. Otherwise--I'm open to inspiration. I want Christmas morning to be relaxing but special. I don't want to be standing over the stove flipping pancakes, but rather savoring the morning with my family. But I still want something yummy for the ten minutes I can get my children to gather around the table.

Recipes? Ideas? Traditions? I want to hear them. I'd like to upgrade from fried eggs and boxed cereal for this special morning....

December 11, 2009

when it rains it pours

December 11, 2009/ molly balint

And while that statement could be true about our weather, as of late--it is also true of my life.

First of all, thank you for all of your well wishes for Mary during her recovery from Lyme's. It is a slow and steady recovery, but thankfully, as of yesterday, I think I can say she's pretty much back to normal. No more croquet mallet crutches, no more "Tiny Tim".

And just when you think life might settle down again, and things return to normal......you drive your oldest daughter to the barn to go riding and decide to hang around because it will only be a short ride. And you stand there in the ring and watch her pony spook, buck and bolt. And you watch her fall hard onto the dirt ring. And she stands up, bleeding from her mouth, nostrils caked with dirt, cheek scraped--scared, but still tough. She tells you her arm hurts, but she can move it, so you relax a little.

And then, brave little girl, gets back up on that pony one more time. Tears still stealing out from the corners of her eyes.

And here we are a few days later. Emma fractured her radius, but thankfully it is only a thin crack. No cast, just a soft splint. The first night was downright brutal. Tears, pain, exhaustion and things being said like, "I'm scared I'll never be able to fall asleep and I'm so tired." or "I don't feel like myself. I just want to be normal again." Moments where you wonder who is hurting more--the little girl, or the mother.

My friends keep checking on me--asking how I'm doing--one child recovering from Lyme's, the other with a cracked wrist. But really, I'm doing fine. Aside from a topsy-turvy school schedule, and floors that billow with dog hair, dust and bits of wood from the woodstove--we're all doing fine. Hot cups of tea in the afternoons, a table littered with craft supplies, too many episodes of Little House on The Prairie, and visitors bringing sugary sweet cookies and quarts of chocolatey ice cream, all help speed up the healing process, I believe.

I'll be back here next week with a little more regularity. I have a few things I've been meaning to share once I'm off full-time nurse duty.

Happy Weekend. And thanks for caring about our little family.

**the bucking pony picture is actually not from this incident. same pony, old bucking episode. she stayed on for that one:) **

December 03, 2009

tiny tim

December 03, 2009/ molly balint

Hello, friends. Wow, it's seems like ages since I've been in this place. I feel like I'm still catching up from our holiday weekend away.

My sister and I basically house-swapped for the holiday. She came here for Thanksgiving and managed to take care of our chickens, dogs and cats. While we went her direction, where my mother also lives--and took care of the animals on her farm. (Though she left us more animals to take care of, she had a more "annoying" situation--as our older Lab wandered the valley the whole time we were away...) Things are never problem-free when you go away, are they?

To top things off on Sunday morning, little Mary woke up unable to move her right leg. She was in excruciating pain--couldn't move, couldn't touch her skin and it took us two hours to finally get her moving and out of bed. But by mid-day she seemed back to normal.

Monday morning she woke up again with the exact same problem--this time it took me almost three hours to get her up and able to move--and we hobbled straight to the doctor's office.

She'd had a very bad, sore and swollen tick bite at the base of her hairline the week before and in my mind I had the strong suspicion that she had Lyme's Disease. But there was no "bulls eye" rash, and it was very early for symptoms to start to appear.

After a very frustrating experience at the doctor's office--where I felt like he wasn't recognizing the fact that Mary was faking health and lack of pain in order to not be embarrassed in front of him, he did blood work to determine what was bothering her--(yes, I was the mother of the hysterically screaming child in exam room two)--but basically the doctor thought we were looking at "morning stiffness". ??

She continued to go down hill that afternoon and by dinner, I broke down and called him back--convinced that she at least needed to begin a round of antibiotics--something I'm never quick to put my children on--while we waited out the four days for her test results to come back. It's horrible seeing your children in pain, especially when you don't know exactly what is wrong with them or what to do to help.

But the doctor stood fast, and didn't want to start any meds until we knew what was exactly wrong. I hung up the phone frustrated.

Thankfully, the next night, her test results came back earlier than expected and my suspicions were correct--she has Lyme's Disease. And while I hate to see Mary have it, I'm glad we know what's going on and how to help her have some relief.

So now, she's walking around the house like an 80 year-old woman with bad hips. One morning she requested two croquet mallets to help her get around--which has led us to refer to her as Tiny Tim.

The antibiotics haven't kicked in yet, but I can tell she's relieved to be getting something to help her feel better. She also loves the fact that I'm offering her unlimited amounts of yogurt--to help restore some of those good bacteria the antibiotics wipe out.

As my aunt said the other day, "It's always something, isn't it?" But we're hanging in there. Relief is around the corner. The sun is out today. Emma is horseback riding. The girls have a "baking date" in the afternoon. And I have some crafty plans up my sleeve.

Each day holds both it's own trials and it's own treasures.

October 05, 2009

a day like this

October 05, 2009/ molly balint

Saturday afternoon, Dan headed over to my Grandpa Sayre's farm to chop and split some wood. He took Mary and Emma with him. When Elizabeth woke up from her nap, she was heartbroken, that everyone had gone to Grandpa's without her. So we jumped in the car together and headed over.

We got there, just as the first hints of nightfall were arriving. The sun was leaving it's warming golden glow on every hillside and slipping between the trees.

I'm so glad I thought to throw the camera in the front seat of the car with me because I couldn't even make it up Grandpa's long driveway without having to pull over and take a few photographs.

When we finally pulled into the house, I could hear the chain saw, but couldn't see Dan anywhere. Down over the steep back hill, I found him slowly taking apart a downed Ash tree.

Elizabeth and I started the hike over the hill, knowing (and thankful) that we could get a ride back to the top in the truck. The girls met us from behind a few strides down the hill--they'd been down in the barn, jumping in the corn and checking out the cows.

When Dan finished, and we finally got back up to Grandpa's house, he came out to say goodbye. We stood there for a long time, the girls playing in the back of the truck, Grandpa and Dan talking about property lines, woodburners, farming and politics.

And I stood back, making sure no one toppled out of the truck bed and soaking in the scenery as the light changed from golden yellow to deep blues, to pink, to dark purple.

At one point I stood with the sun setting at one shoulder, the moon reaching into the sky at the other.

It was remarkable.

Grandpa told the girls how, on nights like this, he comes out to those chairs and watches the clouds and waits for the deer to come out of the woods. And how just a few nights ago, he counted 37.

Some light rain finally chased us home--dirty children, a tired, sore and hungry husband.

As I pulled out of the driveway, waving to my girls sitting three across in the truck, all I could think was how blessed I am, we are. To have places like this to come to. To have views like this to cherish. To have people like Grandpa to share stories with and love. To have strong bodies to do work. Warm homes to protect us in bitter cold. And a place like this, and people like you to mark the moment, and share those feelings of fullness and contentment that come at the end of a day like this.