Forever Young!

"Youth is not a period of time.  It is a state  of mind, a result of the will, a quality of the imagination, of victory, of courage over timidity, of the taste for adventure over the love of comfort.  A man doesn't grow old because he has lived a certain number of years.  A man grows old when he deserts his ideal.  The years may wrinkle his skin, but deserting his ideal wrinkles his soul.  Preoccupations, fears, doubts, and despair are the enemies which slowly bow us toward earth and turn us into dust before death.  You will remain young as long as you are open to what is beautiful, good, and great; receptive to the messages of other men and women, of nature, and of God.  If one day you should become bitter, pessimistic, and gnawed by despair, may God have mercy on our old man's soul."
- Gen Douglas MacArthur

On gloomy faces

My Dad had a poster is his office.  Every time I needed something in that inner sanctum of his, I would pause and read it over.    " Joy is the most infallible sign of the presence of God." -Tielhard de'Chardin (hope I remembered how to spell his name right)

I still reflect on that 30 some years later.  There are so many gloomy Christians around me, often including me.
This morning I read, " Christians ought to be celebrating constantly.  We ought to be preoccupied with parties, banquets, feasts, and merriment.  We ought to give ourselves over to veritable orgies of joy because we have been liberated from the fear of life and the fear of death.  We ought to attract people to the church quite literally by the fun there is in being a Christian."  (Robert Hotchkins)

I read that a second time and then a third, decided to share it here to brighten someone's day and now I think I shall go plan a celebration for my children.   We are going to celebrate the fact that death holds no fear."  I challenge you all to do the same!

Hay Fever

I've been roaming through some old scribblings.  Found this one and laughed because all week we have been trying to make hay and one thing or another from rain to old, faulty equipment, has kept us from our appointed rounds in the hay fields.  It seemed appropriate to send this brief meditation on hay out to cyber space where other would-be farmers could read it and weep.

Hay Fever

Hay, Hay, Hay (with apologies to William Shakespeare)

To do hay or not to do hay: that is the question:

Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to sleep through

The wind and rain of a stormy day,

Or to rise up and make hay? To rest: to sleep;

Once more; and by a sleep to say we end the back-ache from

A thousand bales of hay that we would have carried

Today,’ tis consummation devoutly to be wish’d.

To rest, to sleep; to sleep perchance to dream: aye there’s the rub;

For in that sleep so sweet what dreams nay come when we have

Shuffled off the hay for another day, must give us pause:

There’s the respect that makes hay take so long…

Enough with the Shakespeare!

“Get up Naomi, Dad’s waiting to make more hay!”

-Naomi Ilgenfritz (@age13)

      Every year my husband comes down with a severe attack of hay fever. It hits in May when the weather is fine and the pastures are growing out of control and lasts until the last possible cutting of hay in August or September.

      Nothing inspires my children to thoughts of mutiny quite as quickly as the words       “Its time to make hay”

     They have learned first hand what that little adage “make hay while the sun shines” really means.  When everyone was small, our neighbor came over with his equipment and helped us cut and bale the hay.  Sometimes Seth and Benjamin were able to help load the bales but as they grew, additional children were big enough to help and so the hay making project grew as well. 

     I would not call this endeavor a finely tuned process.  Usually it is fraught with stress.  First of all, the weather has to be cooperative.  In May we begin spending a great deal of time on the internet looking at the five and ten day forecasts.  There must be enough sunshine for several days to cut the hay, ted the hay, rake the hay, drying time, baling time and time to load it up in the barn before a thunderstorm hits.  Add to this the fact that we usually use older equipment and so there are breakdowns and time off to run for parts or see if any neighbors have equipment we can borrow while we are trying to fix ours.

     Hay making has led to many tales around the barber chair and fond memories which have been repeated so often they now have names such as the year we had the “Brown Steel Farm Encasement Project”.  This involved not only hay season, but all the spare time in between, building storage for the hay and covering each building with brown steel to keep out the rain.

      Seth’s big hay memory probably is the year he turned fifteen.  We always said if it was your birthday, you got the day off but that year on his fifteenth birthday, the hay was ready to cut and since he was the oldest he had to help.  Since then the age of helpfulness has been lowered to thirteen.  Egg sandwiches became popular during hay season.  You can fry up the eggs, slap some mayonnaise and mustard on a slab of bread and carry it out to the hay field without much trouble.  The only thing you need to remember is who likes mayonnaise and who will only consume miracle whip in their sandwich.

     On occasion we cut hay for our neighbors.  One year one of our Amish neighbors got behind and asked Mark to come cut some of his hay fields.  We mowed and mowed and baled and repaired and baled and repaired some more and then the rain began to move in.  Some of the hay was left lying in the fields since no one wants to be out on a metal tractor in a lighting storm.  That hay was ruined but it had to be brought in anyway so the new hay could grow.  After all that work, the farm was sold that fall, moldy hay and all and we saw no return for all that work.   I shouldn’t say no return, the kids have learned a great deal about agriculture, hay equipment, and the satisfaction of a good day of hard work.  They just haven’t realized all that yet.  Naomi wrote a poem about hay one year for the newsletter which helped me realize how big hay making figures in their memories.

     Another benefit of making hay is the driver education it provides.  Quite a few of the children have begun their driving careers either driving the old farm truck or driving our New Holland tractor with equipment on the back. As would be expected, this has occasionally added to the stress factor as our pastures are not flat but hilly and lumpy and require some ingenuity when driving.

     It’s March as I write this and the grass is just beginning to green.  There will probably be a snow or two on it yet and then suddenly it will begin to grow. 

     Over the winter we got a newer baler than the one we had and a hay bine for better cutting ability and so I called together my older children and said,

     ” Gird up your loins, a big hay harvest is coming.”

     I’m pretty sure we are not raising any farmers here in Dornsife but we are learning to work together and we are making some lasting memories of our time together as a family.

Something to ponder...

" Never forget that you are one of a kind. 

 Never forget that if there  weren't any need for you in all your uniqueness to be on this earth, you wouldn't be here in the first place.

And never forget, no matter how overwhelming life's challenges and problems seem to be, that one person can make a difference in the world.  

In fact, it is always because of one person that all changes that matter in the world come about.  So be that one person."

  - R. Buckminster Fuller

I don't get paid ... or do I ?

It's long been rumored that there is no pay for moms.  Consider:

I do the dishes whenever the kids forget and run out to play - no pay

I have changed thousands of diapers ranging anywhere from "uck " to "toxic waste" - no pay

Every day I have to think up a nutritional meal for ten or more people and cook it- no pay

I wash loads upon loads of laundry - no pay

I have to match uncounted white socks with matching toes for eleven boys - no pay

I am on call 24/7 - no pay

If I have a deathly flu - I still have to get up and  get all the children on the bus - no pay

On the other hand:

I can go outside and walk anywhere I want on thirty acres whenever the notion strikes me - as long as supper is in the oven

I can it on my porch swing and listen to the sound of children catching lighting bugs almost every night all summer long

I can jump in my car and go to the grocery store whenever the mood strikes me- no waiting for a boss to tell me my day is over

I have people hugging and kissing me all day long if I let them.  I feel wanted and needed.

What would I spend to have green mountains surrounding me, chickens in the yard, children everywhere,  dogs and kitties and even pigs at my back and call?

Truly I am blessed.  Who needs pay?

Moms don't poop

Since it's Mother's Day and I'm a mom, I have taken today off (okay I know I've been off since January) but this article celebrating  motherhood came my way today from one of my favorite authors and I had to share it- thus jump starting into more faithful blogging.
Enjoy!  And thank you Seth,  for this window into a mother's real life.

I had the opportunity to watch my kids for the day this week and it came with a startling realization: Moms don't poop.  As the father of five and the oldest of a large family, I am no stranger to the challenges of motherhood; but today I had a rare insight into the daily dilemmas faced by these amazing women.

The day started out easily enough. My wife was going shopping for the day, no big deal. I've done this lots of times. Today she was going to be gone slightly longer, but it's nothing I can't handle. Breakfast, school, a couple of errands, maybe a trip to the park. No problem. Or so I thought.

First off, breakfast; somehow by the time I fixed my own breakfast, the kids had already finished theirs. I sent the kids to get their clothes on, bolted down two bites, and turned around to see what interesting clothes they came up with today. As Lindsay isn't around to give them wardrobe advice, they get me. "Umm, that looks ok. Probably. We'll just make sure you get changed before we go to the park, or at least before Mommy gets home.  Go brush your teeth."

Two more bites of cereal in and I notice that the water has been running on the bathroom for an inordinate amount of time. More ominously, things are quiet.   I open the door to find three children trying to go swimming in one small, overflowing sink.   New clothes, closely supervised tooth brushing, and two more bites of soggy cereal later, it's time for school.

As we begin stumbling through the alphabet, I am filled with a profound respect for one room school teachers. I also get my first premonition of what my body had planned for the morning. Now I look forward to the momentary peace and quiet of the bathroom. There is a reason it's called the rest room. In addition to the elimination of certain by-products, it affords a certain clarity to the day, a chance to ponder the mysteries of life, maybe even an opportunity for some light reading.   I could already tell this was not going to happen today.

I resist the urge and continue with school. Soon Andrea is screaming that she wants to play, Houston is speaking a language only known to baby dinosaurs, Jackson is weeping at the horrors of math, and Maggie is carefully dripping milk leftover from breakfast onto as many papers as she can find.

Finally, school is going smoothly. The urge resurfaces, and it seems like I might have a chance. Suddenly, Noel makes her wishes known. She's sweet, but I know the countdown has begun. I have 5 minutes to get the milk defrosted without a microwave, or I will have to face her wrath. Forget "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."  Hell truly has no fury like a hangry (hungry + angry) baby.

Crisis averted. Noel is eating happily, but the kids have been slowly disappearing from their school work. The urge returns, more insistent. I push it aside as a blood curdling scream erupts in my ear: "I'M HUNGRY! WHERE'S LUNCH!!!"  I duck as a full grown andreasaurus lunges for me.   Dodging snarling teeth I quickly throw lunch at the monster to turn her back into a three year old little girl.

Lunch is underway, the children are quiet.  My bowels nudge me with increased insistence.  Perfect timing, I actually have a minute to. . .nevermind.  I glance at the clock and realize that I have 10 minutes to make everyone finish lunch, clean up, and get in the car so we can get to the boys’ appointment.  With an expert combination of encouraging, appealing, cajoling, and just a hint of threatening, I manage to corral most of the kids in the car to start putting on their seat belts.  I run back in the house, grab the baby, make sure the diaper bag is packed, and double check to make sure that no child gets left behind.  On returning to the car, one child has buckled up, the other two are playing hide and seek in the garbage under the seats, and the third is busy collecting all the loose change she can find.

Finally, I’m off to the boys’ speech class.  It’s so much easier to drop them off without three extra kids, but I press on.  We pile out of the van, and walk to the school.  I am holding what feels like a 300 lb baby who seems deeply interested in eating things on the ground.  As I try to resist her gravitational pull, we stagger into the school.  Someone comment that I “have my hands full.”  Ah yes, thank you for noticing.  I was wondering what was going on with my hands.  I walk by the bathroom and look longingly at it.  But at this point, I know what my body is commanding is little more than a dream.

With the boys dropped off with their teacher, it’s time for the park.  As we get out of the van once more, I reach for the diaper bag.  It’s not here.  I search the van with a sinking feeling and no luck.  The park somehow seems like a much more daunting task without the diaper bag.  Nothing stands between me and certain doom.  I am acutely aware of the diaper of Damocles hanging over my head.  Trying to stave off disaster I search the park for a restroom.  Finally I find one. 

With Noel balanced precariously off one hip, I pull the other unwilling girls to the bathroom.  No family restrooms here, but the park is empty so we at least have the men’s room to ourselves.  I instruct Andrea to use one toilet while I help Maggie with the other.  I help Maggie to perch precariously on the seat; she clutches my left arm to keep from falling into the toilet, while my right arm is trying desperately to hold onto Noel who is trying desperately to fall into the toilet.  All the while Andrea is updating me on how disgusting this bathroom and how she cannot be possibly expected to use such facilities.  With a sigh I go to help her, and Maggie takes this as a signal that she is supposed to go play in the urinal.  I pull her out and begin washing her hands, and by that time, Andrea has also decided that dabbling in the urinal seems like a good idea.

Soap, water, and a headache later I bid the bathroom farewell and try not to think about my unfinished business that is becoming more threatening in its rumblings.  It’s time to pick up the boys from speech.  We pile back into the car, pile almost immediately back out, and head into the school to pick up the boys. After getting the boys and a stop by the drinking fountain it’s back to the park.  After unloading the kids yet again, I sit on the park swing watching the kids running around the park.  I know Noel will want to eat soon, but I forgot her bottle with the diaper bag, so our time is limited.  Finally she can wait no longer.  We had back to the car.  I call Houston to come as I begin loading the kids into the van.  When I turn around, there is Houston being held by a panicked looking woman.  His knee is bleeding profusely where he knocked of a scab.  Thanking the woman, I eventually calm him down with van-side first aid and promises of Star Wars Band-Aids. 

Home at last.  Everyone gets a cool pop while I feed the baby.  This reminds me that I still really have to poop, but there is no opportunity in sight.  After changing Noel and laying her down for a nap, I hear the long awaited sounds of Lindsay’s return.  As she walks in the door, I kiss her quickly, and make for the bathroom before it’s too late.

And so it was that I gained an even deeper insight into the sacrifices made by moms everywhere.  Beyond the chaos, the inconvenience, the challenges they face, they also sacrifice things that no one even notices until they are gone.  Things like being able to take a simple bathroom break.  So on this day of Mothers, thank you for all you do, and for all you don’t get to do.  We love you.

technologie huzzah!

I wrote about the ties that bind several years ago but the ties I knew are changing-
brought about by distance, kids are getting married and moving further apart, by age, by the business of life.
 While I may mourn the changes that mean I won't have 10 kids in the kitchen watching the 11th get a haircut, new methods are sprouting up around me.
 Over New Year's half my kid's went to MO to visit Seth's family, the rest were here and I gained a new appreciation of the words "group text".. If they weren't sending pictures of cousins playing together, we were sending pictures of the great quantities of shrimp we made and in a small way it was like we were all together, transcending the time differences.
 If one grandchild says something cute we all know about it and can comment on it.  I resisted a texting phone for a long time but now I can see one important use for it.  We are using it as a new type of tie to keep our family close. 
Seth has started a brother's Bible study.   Everyone has a book, they read the assignment at home but on a regular basis they have a "group chat" via the internet and they can all talk together while separated by miles.  It does my heart good to see my kids making family relationships a priority and so I will have to start saying "Vive la technologie" .

Impact

I've been reflecting lately on my impact on the world.

I have no expectations or even desire for being a household name recognized the world over.  My world is much smaller  but is full of a few hundred people, maybe even a few thousand.

Someone asked me recently " What would my family say  is the driving force of my life?"

I couldn't come up with an answer.  I may round up all my adult children and ask them 'cause now I'm curious, but in the meantime I am thinking on what I want my impact to be on my little world and if my family doesn't see it, what can I do differently.

Deep thought for a gorgeous sunny day.  I'll have to let these thoughts simmer a few days and return to them.  I guess I'm old enough to figure out what I should be when I grow up - right after I go outdoors to collect some vitamin D.

Some thoughts on Entropy

A couple weeks ago,  I had foot surgery.  I am now in a non weight bearing cast for at least 4 more weeks.  Long, long weeks.  Most of length of my weeks has to do with the fact that I have my own way of cleaning, organizing and doing the wash.  Now I must rely on someone else(my children) to do it their way.  Watching the dust bunnies multiply reminded me of an essay I wrote over ten years ago.   Enjoy!

     Back when we had only thirteen children, I was looking for a creative way to write our annual newsletter and what came out was the following detective story.

     Case file # 1-39A Willitt O.Willittson here (W.O.W) for short). Private Eye.

     This story may not sound true, but this harrowing experience was nearly my last.

     It all began one crisp autumn day at my office in rural Dornsife.  A rapid knocking sounded, but before I could rise to open the door, it burst open and a blond, disheveled young man, gasping for breath and babbling incoherently met my eyes.  The only words I could make out were…”mother, crazy,” and “can’t find”

     I finally convinced the poor fellow to sit down and offered him a glass of water.  After he had regained his composure, he told me his tale.

     It started last May when the family’s socks began disappearing at an alarming rate.  This wasn’t too bad, because Mr. Ilgenfritz, the head of the home, had a sock condition that caused him to buy new socks every two or three weeks.  He also coded the socks “Dad’s”, “Dad’s New”, etc. so they wouldn’t get lost.  Be that as it may, a few weeks ago, when the family was eating breakfast, they noticed that they only had half as many bowls as usual.  Then they noticed that no matter how many dishes they washed, there were never enough knives in the drawer.  This strange lack of household items was driving their mother nearly to insanity.  The straw that broke the camel’s back was when she saw that time was never enough.  Why just the other Sunday, the youth reported, they noticed that the days were getting shorter.  The boy looked at me with fear in his eyes.  With thirteen children in the household, this was serious.

     I took the case!

     My first line of attack to crack this case was to investigate the thirteen children.  Children often know much more that they let on, so I would have to be discrete.  I decided to start with the youngest children first.

     Hosannah was walking around and around the table with a sock in one hand, muttering “Da-DA-Da.”

     While this seemed a promising suspect, I soon realized that thirteen months was pretty young to steal socks, bowls and knives, not to mention time, so I turned my attention to Moriah.

     With his eager smile and bright blue eyes, I thought I’d make progress.  He only grinned and said “nite-nite Ben”

This seemed to be his standard response to all the big boys.  The only other word I got from him was “NO”, but he’s two so what else could I expect.

      Jedidiah (four) and Ephraim (three) got my attention next.  They were coloring pictures at their long table.  Jedidiah was drawing lobsters.  He’s been doing this since he was in Maine in June.  Ephraim was scribbling letters to his cousin Peter.  At the same time, they were singing cow songs and refused to speak with me, a total stranger.

     I tracked Elijah (six) down outside, shooting at targets with his bow.  Hoping to gain more insight, I implied that he might know something, at which point he ran inside with his blankie, leaving behind a knapsack packed with several socks, a bowl, and a knife, but not enough to warrant this investigation.  He later claimed it was because he was going camping.

     David (seven) was playing “Away in the Manger” on the piano.  He said he knew nothing about socks and his interest was in collecting giraffes.  I did notice a copy of Sherlock Holmes on the bench beside him, but paging through it gave me no clues. I also noticed he was wearing tennis shoes with no socks, but I decided to interview Esther as David wasn’t very informative.

     Esther (eight) was full of information.  She could tell me to the exact minute when each missing item was noticed, who was in the room at the time of discovery, and a variety of other irrelevant facts about family members but she had no idea who was guilty.  She said she had to practice piano then, and I went in search of Noah (ten).

     He was shooting holes in apples with his BB gun and claimed to have no information.  I did note that he was wearing socks, and also that he had a large safety pin hooked on his belt loop which is how the Ilgenfritz’s keep their socks matched in the wash, but this didn’t help my investigation.

     I returned to the house where Naomi (eleven) was busy sketching.  She had no new information but did volunteer to draw my picture.  I’ve included it with this transcript.

     Hannah (twelve) was playing the violin and only smiled at my questions.  When she finished her practicing, she disappeared behind the covers of a large book.  This left me only three teens to interview.

     Josiah (thirteen) had six or seven safety pins on his belt loop, leading me to surmise that he was forgetful about pinning his socks together, but nothing about missing socks, table knives or cereal bowls.  He was lying on his bed reading.  We talked until his train clock began running around the track.  Then he politely dismissed me and returned to his book.

     Benjamin (fifteen) was outside building a dam in the stream.  He answered many questions about gardening, building as well as hunting and fishing, but not a clue about missing items in their home.

     I was stumped.  This was the toughest case I’d hit yet.  Seth (sixteen) who had sought my help was out in his car practicing parallel parking but I already knew all his information.  What was I missing?  I decided to talk to Mrs. Ilgenfritz.  She was peeling potatoes with one of the few remaining knives and singing softly...

     “Socks that are matching, and knives in the drawer,

     Swiss Mocha coffee, no towels on the floor.

     Floors that are swept, and no missing shoe strings,

     These are a few of Mom’s favorite things.”

     I didn’t wait to hear the rest of the song.  It was clear I could never solve this puzzler.  There were simply too many variables.  Chalk this one up to experience, I’ll pass.  As for Mrs. Ilgenfritz – her final words as I left were, “its okay, that’s just life with thirteen children.”

     Whenever life begins going along smoothly, there will be a bump in the road just to remind us that we are dependent on God, not ourselves and force us to turn again to Him.

There is also the fact that nothing ever stays the same.  It is constantly wearing down or breaking or descending into chaos. 

    Last winter I was pretty sure entropy was overtaking us.  It started with the dishwasher.  We were renovating a house and in the course of working on the kitchen at the new house, a new dishwasher came my way as well.  The old one had been subject to random fits of leakage so this seemed a good time to replace it.  This appeared to be an easy task but when Mark pulled out the old dishwasher, we discovered that it had been leaking for quite awhile through the floor and into the basement, just not out in front where we could see it.  The floor underneath was rotten.  Obviously this would be a bigger project than we anticipated at first.

     While this project was still in process, our water in the house began shutting off.  We have our own well and I am used to running quite a few things in my attempts to multitask.  I can have someone in the shower, run two washing machines, the kitchen sink and the dishwasher all at one time without too much  distress for the person in the shower.  Suddenly I could only use one item at a time and it wasn’t going to be the dishwasher.   The only way to deal with this problem was run to the basement, shut off the washing machines, turn off the pump, wait a few minutes, reset the pressure switch, run back upstairs and remember to start everything up again.

     We were all still fairly cheerful about these things and then the house got cold and then colder.  It was January and I don’t tolerate cold very well. Since Mark was going out to get plumbing parts, he decided he might as well get some furnace parts too.  Then, to take the cake, our old furnace down in the basement sprang an oil leak.  Now my husband can fix anything but everything in one week was a little much.  Still, one can either laugh or cry.  We decided to have a good laugh and then work at fixing one thing at a time.  The furnace has been removed, the circulator fixed, the water tank has a new pressure switch and I have a new list of things that need repaired this winter.

     Entropy hits us in other areas also. For example, I have a dishwasher, a regular sized kitchen sink and a large 3 bay restaurant size sink and I still cannot keep up with the demand for clean dishes. Over the years I have become convinced that that at least in our house, dirty dishes breed in the sink at night.  No matter how empty the sink is at night, there are more dishes there in the morning.  One year I interviewed some of the children to see if anyone knew the answer.  Benjamin was seventeen at the time, and he offered the first plausible theory.

     “I believe dishes are like Hattifatteners.  The multiply especially fast during thunderstorms.  Outlets by the sink increase this disposition still more”

     This didn’t entirely explain my dish problem, so I asked Naomi.  She put forward her theory eagerly.  “Dishes are relatives to amoebas and they divide asexually at night while no one is looking.”

    Ephraim and Jedidiah simply said “Mom, eating food makes more dishes.” 

     They wondered why was this was so hard for me to understand.  They also added they sincerely hoped I wasn’t planning to ask them to help whip the dishes into submission.

     The more I think about housework and dishes, the more I become convinced that it is a simple mathematical equation. The degree of cleanliness of your house is a directly proportional ratio of mess created by toddlers and ability and numbers available to clean.  In other words, if you have mostly older children, your house will be cleaner than if you have a higher ratio of preschoolers.

     On the other hand, no matter how many preschoolers or almost adult children you have, entropy is always out there lurking just beyond the door, waiting to force its way in.  My husband is not so romantic about it.  He just says,  ” Everything is either being cleaned up or messed up. There is no in- between”

     He is right of course. There is nothing really lurking and conspiring to trash my house.  Life is messy and I have come to grips with that.  I refuse to give up and let it overtake me but neither shall I let it rule my life.  When everything breaks down, its time to gird up my loins and go to work so that when we are done, we’ll have another memory in our cache of stories to tell when we are old.