Nothing. Everything. Nothing.

There's a line in the movie "Home For the Holidays" where the main character's daughter asks her what's wrong. She says, "Nothing. Everything. Nothing. I had a not so good day today, honey." Just before that, as she got into her car after being fired, the song, "That's Life" came on the radio. She sat there for a moment in utter disbelief and sort of just existed.

At this terribly precise moment it has been 366 days, 7 hours and 37 minutes since I heard the words, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but your mom has passed." I can distinctly picture the place in the driveway, at the exposed tree root and the gravel, where I fell down, breathless and wailing at the same time. I can still feel the grief, shock, and pain take turns squeezing my chest and my throat making it nearly impossible to breathe.

It isn't unusual - the passing of friends and family members. People die all day long, every single day. But when you learn that their death was caused by suicide, the maddening culmination of mental illness and depression, it changes things. It changes everything. It changes nothing. It changes everything.

The last words I heard from my mother were, "I love you!" And my last words to her were the same. There are days when I can remember her face so vividly it is as if we are eye to eye and heart to heart in the same room. And when the fog of grief is heavy - I can scarcely see the shape of her stunningly beautiful face - she is but a wisp, iridescent pink and white, of my heart's imagination.

Heart trumps logic in grief, this I know for certain. Every hour of every day I can tell you, intellectually, that she is gone, there is nothing that can be done about it, and that someday the sharp, icy edge of grief will be softer. But the heart rails against all logic and intellectualism. The heart sees nothing beneficial in being realistic. And just about every hour of every day I am acutely aware that she is gone.

She would have turned 60 on July 15 of 2016. She wrote in her planner on that date, "60th Birthday OMG!!"

To be continued.....

That ONE photo.

Ever have one of those moments when you see something epic, grab the camera, and it works?

That entire seemingly impossible moment comes crashing together in one millisecond and shows up in real live color, proving that the life you are living each day is worth it.

The life proven by mud and muck and $hi! on your boots, by the cracks in your fingers and dried out, un-ladylike, fingernails. The life that puts others needs before your own comforts and persists regardless of colds, flu, sprained ankles or other supposedly more admirable obligations.

That one. The one that makes those moments of finding death and struggling to put a 900-pound round bale of hay out and schlepping 50-pound sacks of feed into barrels weekly worth every step.

This is it.

Hope Farms
December 2014

Our Story

We all have "a story," don't we? The thing about our stories, though, is that they are ever-changing. Evolving. Progressing. Becoming refined. And not one of them is exempt from the bad and the ugly.

And the blessing, here, is that each chapter builds the next - the foundation of false starts, hard-times, and heartache all contribute to the present. Which, as you all know, is a gift.

On Saturday our friend Martha stopped by the farmers' market to say hello and that she really enjoyed reading our article in the Stanly News and Press.

Wait, what? I hadn't been aware that it was going to come out so soon! It seemed just like last week when Shannon Beamon, a staff writer for the SNAP had pulled up in the driveway, the skies threatening rain. We had met Shannon once before at a pizza night over at Fair Meadow Bakes.

While Shannon and I meandered around the farm between the garden, raised beds, greenhouse and pasture - we chatted about how this family arrived in North Carolina from California. We also explored the why, the how, and the results of our figurative detours along the way. Eventually we sat at our dining room table, with her asking questions and me answering them, while often finding myself off on a tangent. A story cannot be told in just an hour. There's a fraction of a lifetime of information to gather and organize!

As Shannon left I thought, "I hope I didn't make us out to sound like pompous asses." Even though I know we are not pompous asses, there are the perceptions of others to consider. Or, are there? Maybe a story gets its uniqueness from the interpretations and perceptions.

There are certainly misinterpreted parts of our stories. The parts where people perceive a statement one way, when really the truth is the opposite, or at least another version of the perception.

There were a few mistakes in this story, like the "motor-home" we traveled across the country in? It was a 1982 GMC one-ton dually, a 6-liter diesel, pick up truck. Slower than molasses in January. And not real comfortable to sleep in, which we did several times.

Also, I don't paint. I'm not good at it, but Captain Strong Arms painted this entire house, by himself, with one brush. Two coats, mind you. And that was AFTER he scraped, sanded, and caulked. THEN he primed it before he began painting - with that SAME brush.

It's true, I did make a lot of sandwiches. And chase a perpetually-active toddler. Most of all, I was one-third of a role in the building of our story. And I have taken a lot of photos along the way.

While we do use solar-power, it has nothing to do with the outdoor wood stove that heats our hot water and in the winter time heats our house. Those are two separate entities. And two separate stories. Like the one where we didn't have electricity for three months while we were saving our pennies for the solar panels.

Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed that tidbit of our story. As Dr. Who says, "I’ll be a story in your head, but that’s okay, because we’re all stories in the end. Just make it a good one, eh?"

Tranquil Tuesday

There has not been much time for writing lately, and although two full months have gone by since my last post, it seems like the celebration of the New Year was just last week. It isn't that I'm busier than usual, it's just that I've allowed some priorities to rest and some to rise above the hustle and bustle.

One thing I have been doing is taking the time to take photographs. Enjoy!

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year to all of you from Hope Farms - may you spend more time doing what you love, what is right, and what is best. 

I'm, hopefully, going to spend more time on horseback this year. No resolutions here, except to live in the moment, which is a daily resolution, not just an annual one. 

Cheers!

Cheers!

Day 14: List

List

Day 12: Wish

Wish

Comfort Food for Your Feet

It started decades ago, without me consciously realizing it, this love of creating beauty, and it certainly was not something I spent time contemplating. Especially a favorite was taking something that was intended for one thing and using it for another. I firmly believe my mother instilled this in me by example: she could, and still does today, create something out of practically nothing - in home decor and food.

The creative side of me was not born, it was developed; cultivated, coerced, bribed, and given an ultimatum: Create or be "normal." This flower of ingenuity did not begin to bloom until the year 2007 and has not stopped since. Oh, sure, there have been quiet spells, busy spells and "normal" spells - but there is always this need to create something.

farmhousewife rag-rugs of yester-year

One summer, about five years ago, my mom came to visit and stayed for a couple weeks. She taught me how to make a crocheted rag-rug.

The Three Original Rugs that Mom and I made.

Vivid in my memory bank is the red crocheted rag-rug she had for many years. Easily washed, re-shaped and laid flat - it was ready for duty of any kind. Kitchen duty, bath duty, or "let the kitten play underneath and peek through the holes" duty.

Most Recent: currently in a lovely little shop called LaLa & Co in Troy, NC

We made three rugs and a basket that visit, and I kept all three of them. Most of the ones I've made since then have been bartered, sold or given away as gifts. They're time consuming - mostly the prep work - yet very satisfying to create with endless color combination possibilities.

"Prairie Pink" completed yesterday....so sweet!

Easy to care for, these rugs can be washed on gentle cycle, line dried and re-shaped to enjoy over and over again. They can be used as a bed-side rug, accent, baby's room, basket-liner, RV door mat, and more. Durable, soft, and oh-so-cute they are sure to serve as comfort food for your feet. Each one a farmhousewife original, made from up-cycled sheets, pillow-cases and various other materials, they put good use to these items that might have otherwise been discarded. The materials are laundered and line-dried before the creativity begins

If you're looking for something handmade, unique, no-two-alike for yourself or a loved one - let me know how I can create something for you. Have a look at my in-stock rugs in my Etsy store and tell me what you think! As always, let me know if I can answer any questions. Ordering is easy, secure and, also, I'm happy to deliver if you are local to Montgomery and Stanly Counties in North Carolina.

Happy Creating, y'all!

Happy Cows Come From...Hope Farms

By the way - join our antics shenanigans foolishness on Facebook if you haven't already! 

Notes From The Farmers' Market

It occurred to me when her blue eyes smiled at me. Scratch that, they twinkled! She did not stop to talk but just smiled as she passed by.


Visiting a farmers’ market is healthy. Not just because of the food, but because of the interpersonal connection. Something magical happens when you make eye contact with others.  Suddenly you are one. Or not. Some folks like to talk, some do not.

For some reason, I dislike the phrase, “How are you?” It feels contrived. I find myself telling passersby “Let me know if I can answer any questions.” And that seems to be a neutral invitation for conversation that doesn't immediately obligate one for extensive personal reveal.


Then, the connection either grows or is broken. It is unlike reading a Facebook post or receiving an email. It is a two-way interaction that rests light responsibility on both pairs of shoulders. I've learned it is okay to always be myself – foot-in-the-mouth and all – regardless. I can’t help but be myself. Besides, I hear everyone else is already taken.

Interestingly, repeat customers know what they want and typically don’t read your signs anymore after about the second visit. This is, again, an opportunity for conversation. If an individual chooses just one or two items, I always say, “What else?” instead of “Is that all?” – and open ended question is better than a closed-end question and the reason for this is not to make another sale, but to expound upon an opportunity to learn about your customer. “ I've got lettuce growing at home,” they might say to which I always smile and encourage anyone that attempts to grow their own food. It seems contradictory but really, it’s to everyone’s benefit to grow one’s own food, and creates a ripple effect that cultivates all of our roots – we all have this in common: the necessity to eat. Not one of us is immune to that need.

One of the greatest things about the interaction of the farmers’ and their customers is the invaluable feedback that returns from week to week. “Your lettuce keeps so well, I still have some left!” This is valuable to us, and to consumers, and we growers will remember this as our experience grows. Feedback, negative or positive, is essential to good customer service. I've come to offer the vulnerability of telling the truth – the heat makes lettuce bitter, and that if they experience anything that makes them unhappy, to come back and tell me, and I will replace it. So far, everyone that has come back has told me that they have loved the fresh food. This makes me happy.


What also makes me happy is that people seem to smile more at the market. There must be something in the air. Maybe it’s the fresh morning breeze.


Getting to know your fellow vendors is important, too. Most often, if they don’t smile – smile at them first. It’s free and they can’t help but smile back – it would make them look like a jerk if they didn't  yes? It can be like an awkward dance, at first, especially if you and another vendor are producing like items. The produce world can be brutal. Dealing with perishable crops and being at the mercy of the weather and persistent pests can cause stress. Stress can help us become better farmers and better customer service providers. Competition, on a healthy level, is usually a good thing. Sometimes, when a farmers wears too much of a frown, especially when he or she looks my way, it might be a sign that they are having a bad day. Or, it could mean that they’re just jealous. Wait, that’s what I just said! Or, it means that it has nothing to do with me and that comparison is the thief of all joy. Be like a duck and let it roll off.  Better yet, extend your hand and smile in grace and mercy and open that door to conversation. You might be surprised.

On another note, kids (of ALL ages) like to touch. It’s always good if you can have something out front for people to squeeze, pinch, smell and feel. I learned this from a gentleman who genuinely loves to grow plants and is a very talented grower and is very much a people person. The senses are very much a part of the farmers’ market experience. Put a bouquet of herbs out there – lemon balm is always nice to touch and smell. Interactivity is the basis for our relationships. It starts with the twinkle in the eyes which starts with the smile.

See you at the market!

December-ful

Sometimes, it's nice to see the faces behind the computer screen...

Some friends from Farm Chick Chit Chat recommended THIS SITE for putting some photos together in a collage format, and I sorta had way too much fun.  Give it a try - you might like it and make a photo collage of your own! Be sure to come back and tell me what you think!

Hope your December is full of love, peace, mercy, and grace.

Love, 

Ed, Sheila, & Eddie Jr. of

speechless sunday