What We Have Done on This Speck of the Planet

Just over a year ago Matt and I closed on our home that sits on two acres on the appropriately named street, Lovington. We gutted the house. We redid much of the indoors ourselves, and though we have a ways to go, we are proud of what we have accomplished. But it is the outdoors that we were itching to work on, as it is the land that drew us here. The large plot, the woods, the creek, the slopes, the potential to finally fulfill our shared dream of being urban farmers. This place has become our oasis. We thrive here. We grow. We dirty our hands and save chickens from raccoons and fox. We plant and prune and weed here. We teach the children how to garden and build things and use their hands. I have always dreamt of living somewhere that rooted me, a place where I could plant fruit trees and be secure in knowing that I would be there come harvest. Before this, everything felt temporary--I was always looking for the next thing, the next move. Now I realize I had been looking for Matt, and I found him. And we had spent our lives working to get to this point together. And it feels really good being able to feel like we are going to be here a long while. We are moored by this:

 We bought the coop, but built the open run area. All told we have 7 chickens now and it appears they are all hens. The kids gather 4 eggs a day. 

 We built this fence a couple weeks ago. I am drawn to working with my hands--something about the meditative flow and seeing results.

 Raspberry bushes we planted late last summer.

 We started a 15 by 25 foot garden, fenced it to keep out the deer, and tilled up this little hill for our pumpkins, squash, gourds, and cucumbers. All things viney.

 Squash blossoms creeping up by the driveway.

 Our fruit trees. We planted 4 apple trees, 1 pear, and 2 cherry.

 Some landscape work. Herbs and flowers and lettuce. The kids and I built that little tri-fence post--cemented it and all. We have no idea what we are doing but we figure it out as we go.

 View of the garden from the house.

 The first pumpkin.

 Tomatoes, asparagus, sweet potatoes, peppers, onions, corn, broccoli and cauliflower. It's a start.

Sunflowers. The kids and their lemonade stand. Phoenix sat their holding that chicken for over an hour. The kids are expert chicken handlers now!

Being Vulnerable

I am truly thankful for this path that I am on--all my travels and the friends that stick no matter what, birthing two spirited children, and finding Matt, the love of my life, and his daughter Ella. Becoming this family of 5 with a dog and chickens and this home that we have revitalized and our land where squash and pumpkins and berries and tomatoes grow thick. And the pride in my parents for embracing another granddaughter and son-in-law. I've been through a lot of challenging times and I grew strong. I was tough--I could handle anything. But then these children softened me. And Matt softened me. And I've realized that my old stoicism no longer works. Because real, deep love is vulnerable. Not in the "I'm always going to be hurt" sense, but in the "I'm going to do this no matter what" sense and that takes a leap of faith. I've realized that the greatest strength is being okay with vulnerability.

I don't know many divorced-with-kids people and even Ella's mom is not really in the picture, so this path is an unchartered one. I made the decision years ago to be a stay at home mom because I didn't want to miss out on seeing my kids grow. And since the divorce I do miss out--3 nights a week. I've learned how hurtful it is to tell a divorced parent: "oh I don't have the luxury of (fill in the blanks) because I always have my kids." I didn't choose this. It is not a luxury to go without them 3 times a week. I've learned that to get through the heartbreak of hearing my kids say "I've done this" or already "tried this" and I wasn't there for it, that I need to be thankful for their opportunities and be a stable ground. I've realized that I've got to stay out of the way and not try to implant myself by going over the top to impress them and just provide consistent love and comfort. To just be me--vulnerable to the fact that I am enough just being me and refusing to compete with their affections.

The best thing my mother has ever said on raising me is "Casey, we had no idea what we were doing and just did the best we could." I've realized to admit that kind of vulnerability is a profound call to love. I've realized that it is essential to give your best, be kind and loving, and things will work themselves out eventually (after periods where they don't). Love prevails. I have Matt and 3 kids and parents and a handful of "any weather" friends to thank for that.