Wrestling with a miracle in the mud

We’ll be bringing chicken and pork up to Ian’s parents’ house in the Longfellow neighborhood of Minneapolis this Sunday (April 26) from 12:30-1:30. We’ve got all things chicken except thighs, and we have lots of pork roasts, pork steaks, chops, ham and ham steaks. E-mail us to place an order.

We’ll also be having work -day weekends on the farm every weekend in may starting Sunday May 3. We’ll be preparing summer housing for the chickens, cleaning the brooders out when our baby chicks graduate from them and generally taking care of business. Let us know if you want to come be part of the action!

As spring unfolds, everything has to happen at once. It’s an amazing time with so much to do and appreciate, but it’s also enough to drive us a little batty if we try to do it all by ourselves, (kind of like parenting that way).

I am fully aware, as I do chores under the bright spring stars, that I am witnessing miracles. The smell of wet earth and growing things tells me there’s a song of praise rising up from the land and singing in me. Chicks chirp and sing, bouncing with bubbly life. Slowly, the trees’ leaves swell with buds, and the hogs celebrate beautiful days by grabbing mouthfuls of hay and shaking it around the way a playful dog might shake a toy.

Our farming work at this time is like the land, and the trees. Everything has to change quickly to be ready for summer, and a tremendous amount of creation must be accomplished in a short time. First the chicks need the infrastructure to stay clean and warm and dry, and then they need infrastructure in the field so they can enjoy the greens when they’re old enough to feel comfortable in cooler temperatures. Our extra three acres of pasture need to be planted. The bounty of eggs coming from our newly laying spring chickens must be cared for and put to good use. We need to prepare for more hogs.

So promise and exhaustion hold hands in spring. We stomp around in our muddy boots carrying buckets, drills, lumber and water as the limitless joy of the season presses against the limits of what we can do in a day. We wish each day could be a week long at this time of year.

Each day we go out again to wrestle in the mud with a miracle. I get hurt and tired and cranky while all the while knowing that I am wrapped and pressed by the divine. Ideally, we might tenderly hold hands with something of breathtaking beauty and share lovely words with it. We’re not doing that, but wrestling in the mud with something glorious has its advantages. It’s a full-body experience, for one thing, and there’s nothing theoretical about it. It’s real. I like it that way.

Let us know if you’d like to come join the wrestling match of spring preparations or if you’d like us to bring you anything on Sunday!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *