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.

A Family Vacation

We just got back from our family vacation in Colorado where we rented a cabin way up in the mountains on a sharp, windy path that was only accessible by 4 wheel drive in the summer. It was out there - no electricity or running water, just a small hut with 2 bunk beds, a wood stove, and a few essentials surrounded by a stream and woods and peaks, wildflowers and bear scat. The kids took to it quite well, declaring they wished they could live there, and spent their time running through the woods like nymphs and climbing rocks and exploring, which meant I was on high alert as the potential for injury abounded - the wood stove, the sharp rocks, the rushing stream, thick woods for getting lost, and no medical services within an hour. Sleep was not a luxury either - but those stars, that air, the sound of water spilling over rocks and logs - it was enough to keep me moored. And the fact that I had to walk the young ones to the outhouse every time they needed didn't seem a burden as Phoenix always doted on the views from the doorway, always pointing out the beauty. We had many an interesting conversation while I waited there.

After our days of hiking and exploring and alpine slides and windy roads we stopped at a diner to fill up for our long trek home. In the booth next to us a grandmother and her mentally disabled grandchild awaited her nephew to join them for lunch. You could tell even a cheap diner was a luxury. They were rough around the edges, and I heard her ask the waitress if she could pay with a few different cards as she didn't know how much she had left on each. The grandson couldn't speak, but still she talked to him and explained even the simplest things like dairy creamer and still she asked him questions and engaged him patiently. The nephew arrived, seemingly angry at the world, never softening his features. I heard her tell him he just needed to relax and be calm about things, that it was always better when you weren't angry. All the while she was clutching her cards, pulling at her ratty clothing, and trying to lift up the spirits of these boys. Doing the best she could with what she had. I decided then of a knew family tradition - as long as we are blessed to be able to take a vacation, we would always buy a meal for someone who could use a little help, who deserved a bit of joy. As Matt went to pay up our bill and theirs anonymously, I heard the grandma ask the child if he was happy. He tilted his head up slightly and she smiled and said "good, you should always try to be happy." A glimmer of light even in this greasy spoon roadside diner. I wanted her to know that this world appreciated her efforts. Yeah it was a small gesture, but it was something to mark our own thankfulness for vacation and, as is expected when traveling, to leave the area better than you found it. And remembering her clutching those cards and scouring the menu, trying to show those boys that it paid to be positive and level-headed, I imagine when she discovered their meal was covered she felt a bit of joy and a needed break, and those boys grew in respect and admiration for her. Glimpses of light - what more can we ask for when we have the chance to have glimpses at all?

Paying Attention

It is always so mystifying how different phases and obstacles we face in life play out and become more present to us, guiding what we are internally facing. Like meeting someone new and then running into them with more frequency and you realize you'd probably seen them before but it takes knowing them to really see them. Or when you say a phrase and the next instant someone on the radio says the exact same phrase. If we notice, if we pay attention to the world, we see there is a lot it is teaching about our own dealings. There have been some frustrating dealings with people of late and it is difficult to shake the frustrating thoughts they stake out among the millions of thoughts that run through my mind in a day. Especially when the best thing to do is not say anything, to not call them out because that only leads to contention when people always think they are right. Even when you don't want to go there because the best course of action is suck it up and move on, inevitably you do. I've always struggled with meditation because I can't stop thinking, but I have learned that when thoughts arise, simply recognize them as a thought and send it away. So I've been practicing this in my daily life--whenever an unpleasant thought arises I remind myself that it is not serving me and I send it away.

And also, these two things happened to set me straight... 1. Fisher had a friend sleep over and the kid said to him "you still have training wheels on your bike? I don't have training wheels." Without a beat Fisher answered "good for you." As in I'll let you believe that you think you're better for it and I won't let it bring me down. Good luck thinking you are right and righteous. I was so proud of him in that moment, and I realized how useful it is to adopt to those frustrating encounters we all face. Instead of frustration we can simply think--good luck with the choices you have made on your path. And move on with our own path. And 2. Matt and I were at the 80/35 music festival over the weekend, and among many performers, watched Christopher the Conquered (a very talented, heartfelt Des Moines musician), where he pontificated that "thoughts are not beliefs." Yet again drilling in my mind that thoughts are a separate thing that don't always serve us and our beliefs. In fact they are so powerful that the greatest hindrance to contentment is our own mind--the thoughts we choose to keep. So it was, in these random, unexpected places the answer I was seeking to let go of trap-like thoughts was found. And too, it helps that my youngest daughter, obsessed with the movie Frozen, constantly sings "let it go." Sometimes it is as if the world is in cahoots with our internal struggles. If we observe, if we see its beauty. If we believe in the power of the phrase "so that's why that happened." Answers abound when the time is right.

Life Isn't Always Fair...

...we teach our kids this lesson but it can be a hard one to swallow as an adult when the issues are adult-sized. It's a lesson I've had to confront of late. It has been a rough few weeks here on this speck of the planet with loads of kid activities and running around and trying to find time for part time work and trying to stay on top of everything and trying to ease everyone's days. There have been days I didn't sit or have a decent meal and at the end of the night I hardly remembered having a real deep breath all day. No matter. I know how life ebbs and flows and I kept my head up and remained positive all the while hoping for a break. Could always be worse. And then someone unleashed their rage on me, the likes of which I have never seen, and screamed vile, hurtful words. This person is unhappy in their own life and turned on me--when all I have ever done is try to help--and it became clear they resented me for that. I remained calm during their rage and refused to return the drama and hurtful words. All I said was you can't take back your words when it became clear that reasoning wouldn't work. All I wanted to do was hug the anger out of them but in that moment I didn't feel physically safe. It was unreal. I was in shock. It was not fair! It was like being transported back to high school. Matt tried to remind me that I shouldn't let someone else's problems get the best of me, that I knew the truth, it was their jealousy talking, and they are the one who has to live with that anger. I knew he was right but still I couldn't stop thinking about it. And while those unfair thoughts swirled in my mind this week it seemed the whole world was cutting me down and not letting up...

Cars cut me off, work was difficult, things seemed to happen at the most inopportune times, the kids quarreled and complained. I was starting to feel like I could do nothing right and the world was incessantly working to cut me down. And then two things happened. 1. Fisher was throwing a fit about something he was constructing out of boxes--jabbing it with scissors and yelling defeated words. I asked him to take a break and told him how giving things space when you're frustrated can make it easier when you get back to it. He said it turned out better when he was mad at it (the kid is a perfectionist when it comes to his art). But then you're giving it negative energy I explained, and showed him this video that struck a chord with me years ago:

And 2, yesterday I made the kids a special lunch but was met with Fisher claiming he didn't like the bowl it was in and Phoenix downright refusing to eat. It was a small thing, but after my week of feeling like I could do nothing right and tired of others' drama unleashed on me, I had had enough. I questioned the point of always striving to be kind when it isn't even returned, I wondered why mean people unfairly got their way, and I sat on my steps and cried and pleaded for a break, for something good to come my way. In that moment the kids came and sat on either side and threw their arms around me and expressed their love. Just like that my plea was answered. I thanked them and explained that even parents can feel hurt and frustrated, that I'm always striving to be kind and good to everyone and was down that it didn't seem to be working. And then Fisher looked at me and said he loved everyone in the world except for bad guys and even the bad guys he loved a little bit (he measured out an inch with his fingers) because everyone deserves kindness. I taught him that. He listened. I was reminded how the world can not break you--only you can do that by having negative thoughts and forgetting that sometimes life isn't fair so suck it up and count your blessings. And that video became a vivid display of what I had done to myself lately--feeling defeated and wanting a break created a world that was defeating me. I was finally able to let go of my frustrations because they do not serve me well. But still, a little help here universe...please?! It's okay to ask for that too.

The Weight of our Words

The rain held off some yesterday. The sunlight came in filtered enough so you could look far up into the sky, unblinking. I took the kids to their favorite lunch spot and then we checked the progress on the new Nollen Plaza park downtown, stopping to tap some noise from one of the art pianos the city of Des Moines has given a home and garnering applause from random passerby's. Though the park is still fenced off, I read the lines etched in the concrete benches that snake throughout the space, including "Peace is always beautiful" by Walt Whitman. From there, we agreed to head up to the capital area to walk the sculptures and statues and monuments and roll down the best hill in town. We passed a group of middle-aged men in work attire playing hacky-sack in front of the Judicial building. Don't mind us, they said, we're just on break and enjoying some exercise. I vote for more suits playing hacky-sack outside buildings over lunch. The kids had brought along notepads and would occasionally pause to draw whatever held their view. After rolling on the hill, we walked to the memorial grounds and the kids were sprawled out, carried by their own interests, while I read every word etched in stone therein. I was struck most by the phrase "To be rather than to seem." As I held the weight of those words, I noticed Fisher writing in his notebook in front of the Vietnam memorial which was peppered with bouquets of flowers. He had written: I Love You, Fisher. He tore out that page and placed it under one of the bouquets to give it another kind of weight. Fisher, I asked, do you know what this is? I explained it was to honor the soldiers who were killed in the Vietnam war. These names etched in stone were their names. He hadn't known what it meant, hadn't known why flowers were placed at its base, yet he felt moved to say "I love you." I couldn't help my tears for his big heart that gives without question or prompting. Later, after we toured the capital interior and threw wishing coins in the fountain and were heading back to the car, he said he hoped his paper wouldn't blow away or get ruined with rain now settling upon us. It won't be there forever and it doesn't matter if it does blow away I told him, because what matters is you felt those words--you sent them here and now the energy of those words will always be there. And what is more, that is why it is so important to be kind, to show love, to watch our words--because you matter, we all matter, and everything we do touches the world. As I write this, I am reminded of the recent riots in Baltimore, of the blacklivesmatter hashtag campaign, of the fact that there is still so much prejudice and fear in this country. When I saw the video clips of the riots, all I could think was how I wish I could give every single person involved there a hug. To bring that kind of peace through dignity and love for humankind. I don't have all the answers and I can't undo what has been done, but one thing I can do is recognize how everyone matters. I can choose words that only lift. I can be kind. It is that kind of collective love that will diminish prejudice, because our words do have weight. If people really believed--truly held the thought--that "all men are created equal" then would those riots ever happen?

When You're Needing a Break

On many occasion I stand at the kitchen sink fixing my eyes on the view from that window--the apple tree and shrubs, the sloping hill, the slick glass pane--as if my looking will save me from the agitation blooming from a day spent doing endless mom things. For every sock or crumb or wrapper or art project or doll I pick up, at least 10 more items will be tossed randomly throughout the house in that span of time. The nonstop questions and fits and whims of kids--their needing your constant attention--your hoping you're doing everything right and some day your words will sink in. Having to tell them 20 times to brush their teeth or clean their room or get their shoes on only to hear "I know mom" in exasperated tones even though they still don't budge. They freak out when their shoes laces are too tight or their shirt is scrunchy or the crust is on the bread or there's a bee that exists. They lose things and expect you to know where to find them. Days of this without much adult interaction--who wouldn't feel drained and want a blessed break? But when I am standing at the kitchen sink giving my breath a silent viewing I remind myself how much I'd miss them if they weren't here. I know how much I think and talk about them when they aren't at my side. I remind myself to embrace what is right now. I tell the kids all the time to want what they have. In those sink-filled moments I'm reminding myself the same lesson of thankfulness and satisfaction. For me, that act is enough to tamp the frustrations down and adjust my mood so I can get back to being soft and lighthearted. I know what I'd miss, I know what I'd miss. It is that sentiment that gave root to one of my recent poems, which goes like this:

Spring Storm Coming On

All day you wanted even

a cup of quiet, an inch

in your trail of bread crumb

thoughts outside of all the things

you must do, to remind you

of you. And now the rest

of the house is asleep

and the west is rain and eastward

breeze.

Spring crickets have unearthed –

betwixt as present always is

with wanting and having.

Every time I catch a break I miss

what lead me here. I want

the house to stir and share this sky.

It’s all flashbulbs, a Morse code

of lightening. Could be it asks –

how can you not love it here?

Oh lucky stars.

Casey Lord