Silence and Abundance

Soft kitties share my sun porch with me this morning as the sky turns pink and blue, and then orange and red. The valley below the house is softened by a light fog and early morning twilight. From where I sit, I can see the neighbor’s horses grazing along the pasture fenceline. The cattle finished the round bales of hay yesterday, and they are all restless, waiting for my husband to arrive; it will be a little while yet since the men folk are deer hunting this morning. My eldest son shot a deer last night, just before hunting season ended for the day, and he will search the old railroad rightaway to see if he can find it—he was quite sure he’d hit it, but in the dusk he could not find anything. We prefer not to let an animal suffer, but he simply could not do any more until the morning light.

The silence is soft. The bird clock clicks away second by second in the kitchen—a sound we normally never hear above the daily activities. Sometimes I hear a crow break out with his roucus caw-caw-caw, but then he seems to be gone and silence is restored. When I stepped outside onto my deck, I could hear the Amish neighbors across the way, sounding as though they were doing their morning chores. Here in the sun porch the only sound is the washing of kitty paws and a few purrs or little cat voices talking to me in short meows or chirps. The neighbors must have roosters with their laying hens, for just now I heard the cock-a-doodle-doo of a cock. Here on the farm the sounds of early morning are a soothing balm to the body and soul.

Morning comes gently, but soon we will be bustling with activity, preparing to visit grandma and grandpa for a meal of Thanksgiving with relatives and friends. She will have baked the turkey (one we butchered on Tuesday) and perhaps added a small ham to the menu. She always has two or three kinds of vegetable dishes on her table: green beans mixed with mushrooms, corn, and a long, narrow dish filled with raw carrots, cauliflower, celery, and olives. Jello salad, broccoli salad, and a bowl of fresh fruit will be squeezed onto her table extended with every leaf available. Dinner rolls, mashed potatoes, cranberries, and stuffing will be there along with milk, coffee, and the offereing of a cup of tea. When we arive, she will offer us crackers and cheese, summer sausage, and relish with dip, a big dish of dill pickles and green olives (the grandchildren’s favorites), and a glass of wine for those who want it. After we’ve moved from the appetizers to the dinner table and have filled ourselves a little too full, we will help her clear the food away, only to fill it once more with pecan pie, pumpkin pie, apple pie, and a bar or two, ice cream and whipped topping. When we can no longer sit comfortably at the dinner table any longer, the women folk will gather in the kitchen to scrub the piles of pots and pans; the rest of the day we will sit and chat with Aunt Alice and Uncle Steve and wait for the time grandma will begin to pull out the leftovers and beg us to eat up so that she will not be left with so much. She will probably have one or two new pies stuck away in the cupboard for us to be sure that there will be enough dessert for a second meal. When, at last, it is time to find our coats and keys and offer hugs and thanks, grandma will begin to scurry around the kitchen, filling small dishes and baggies with food for us to take home—the mashed potatoes and the beans, the turkey carcass and a salad or two. We will have plenty of leftovers in our refrigerator for a meal or two this weekend. The tradition of thanksgiving will have once more been celebrated.

This has been a long and hard year on the farm. We have given up trying to make ends meet with the income the farm can provide, and my husband has taken a job across the state, traveling away from home 4 days a week. My husband has also started the battle of macular degeneration. The children and I have worked to keep the farm going while he is gone while we continue to homeschool, help with election campaigns, and search for colleges for my oldest to attend next year. Life is not always easy, but we have never lacked for something to be thankful. Life is good. God is faithful.

It is good to take the time to ponder. Today is the day to remember what we have that is special and good. I pray that your day be blessed.

Jean