Spring Chicks

    Last Christmas, Jeff bought me an egg incubator. A friend of mine borrowed it and said it didn't work very well. I decided I would try it for myself.  Three weeks and two days ago I placed over 30 eggs into the small Styrofoam container. I carefully watched, using a flashlight, and saw the white and yolk of the egg transform over the week. By week two, there were little critters moving around inside with big dark eyes. In the later weeks it was hard to track progress because the chick grew so fast and took up so much room inside the egg that each egg just looked dark. I felt like I had lost contact with my tiny friends.

   One day I turned the heat up a bit because it seemed to be a little chillier than usual in the box. Big mistake! By the time I went back, the interior temperature of the incubator had risen to, what I was sure was, a very dangerous degree. They had gone from a tropical paradise to a blazing desert.  That's when it happened. I began to entertain the first of many doubts as to the success of my mission.

   Today is Sunday. Last Friday I should have seen eggs hatching. Nothing happened. Something interesting transpires in your mind when you are anticipating something good but what's in front of you doesn't line up with your expectations. I began to doubt. Then I started remembering every negative thing that had happened... The incubator didn't work for my friend... I had overcooked the tiny chick wombs... Some of the water/dye had dripped on some of the eggs... the list was quickly becoming overwhelming.  Friday came and went and nothing happened. Saturday was equally uneventful and I began to plan for the worse.  I now can see how easily I am swayed by circumstances that are right in front of me. I believe what I see, or choose to look at, rather than the possibility of what could happen. My husband sensed my impending doom and secretly prayed that God would grant me the desires of my heart and fulfill the dreams I have for this ranch.

  Late Saturday afternoon I noticed that one of the eggs looked like it might have a crack.  Hours went by and nothing happened. I laid down to take a nap and I was sure I heard peeping. Sometimes I hear things that just aren't there in the natural, so I thought this might be one of those times. I would watch the eggs off and on for hours and once I thought I saw an egg rock.  Sometimes I see things that just aren't there in the natural too, so I figured I was just tired and decided to go to bed. I got up several times during the night and still no activity, but I was pretty sure I was, in fact, hearing peeps. I couldn't think of anything that makes peeping sounds in the dark of the night, so I became hopeful once again.

    This morning I could see one egg actually hatching. I turned on all the lights and began to talk to the little guy (or girl). The chick responded and moved even more. We began a conversation of encouragement, me to him and him back to me. The more I talked, the more he worked. I looked at the other eggs and had an amazing thought. If I have the mind of Christ and he could bless or curse something (like a fig tree) and that tree responded according to His words, and if greater things I would do (according to Jesus' own words), then what's to stop me from speaking to the rest of these eggs? So, I spoke! I declared that I have dominion here in this area and these are my eggs to steward. I came up with all kinds of positive statements to override the negative ones that had previously occupied my mind. I had stopped thinking about the eggs and started to imagine them as chicks. Suddenly, another egg wobbled. Then I spoke directly to the one that had been cracked from beginning, but had not moved since. I told him it was OK to come out and I heard the chick peep and then "pop", off shot a piece of his shell. I would say it was like magic, but I prefer to use the word miracle.

    Now I'm sitting here writing, when I should be getting ready for church. One chick is out, the next is on it's way and there are several tiny peep holes appearing in many of the other eggs. I will choose to focus on what God is doing here on my ranch today instead of what isn't happening. I will count my chicks, as they hatch, and count it all joy!  I also just might apply these principals to my daily life and remember to have the mind of Christ, and all His possibilities, when I pray for people who are sick and "appear" like there is nothing happening.  What have I got to lose? But I, indeed, have everything to gain!

All they know is my voice and my hand...
Kind of like my relationship with God

Angels

I had an experience several months back that still comes to mind many times a week, so I thought I'd record it here and see what kinds of phenomenon other people are running into around the world...

One rainy morning, very early (about 4:00 a.m.), I was sitting in my living room, reading. Suddenly, there was a knock at my front door. I was startled and went to the peep hole to see who it was. I saw a man, in uniform, and a sheriff car parked behind him. I opened the door and was afraid of the news he might carry. Was one of my grown children in trouble (or worse)? Had one of my animals escaped and caused havoc on the highway? Was there an intruder loose in the neighborhood? It's amazing all the questions that can process through your mind within seconds. I opened the door and the man said, "Did you call 911?"

What an odd question. Not because of it's nature, but because it was no where in the realm of thoughts speeding through my head at the time. His question totally caught me off guard. My answer was "No", but then I wondered about my husband who was still asleep in the bedroom. Was he, in fact, asleep or was he experiencing a heart attack and could only use his cell phone to get help? Before the series of unthinkable possibilities could begin to play in my brain, I thought I'd better get them under control and check out his condition myself.

"Would you like to come in?" I asked the officer. It was pouring rain, by this time, and something about him felt safe. He came in and stood on our rock entry while I went to check on Jeff.  Odd, I thought, why doesn't he search around the house in case I was actually being held by some monster and had to lie about calling 911 myself?

Jeff was groggy, but alive and well, tucked safely in his warm bed. I didn't check on Tiffany, because I knew she wasn't capable of dialing 911 herself. "Everything seems to be fine," I told the man standing in my living room. He explained to me that sometimes phone lines have a weak place in their connection and it can cause a 911 message to be sent out to officials. Hmmm. I had never heard of such a thing.

The man seemed satisfied that I was safe and now informed. He left with no further conversation or advice. I sat down to process what had just happened and noticed some peculiarities that still stand out in my mind today. 

1) The man standing in the rain had beautiful dark hair. He seemed Hispanic and his hair was full and nicely coiffed. I realized he had not been wearing a hat. Did I mention that it had been pouring rain at the time of his visit?
2) I don't recall having any Hispanic sheriffs in our small town.
3) The man's uniform was clearly visible because he wore no jacket. Who stands in the rain with no jacket?
4) The man stood on my rock entry for several minutes while I checked the house. There was no puddle where he had stood. No wet footprints to mop up. Nothing that indicated that I had just had a visitor on a very rainy morning.
5) Our buzzer that notifies me of someone is driving down our road never sounded. Not when he came, and not when he left.

I had a strange feeling that my visitor may have been something more than a sheriff. If he was, in fact, some kind of supernatural being sent to give me a message, then maybe I'd better check out what he said. When Jeff work up, I told him about the possible broken line and sure enough, there was a place that needed repair. I went online to read further about phone lines randomly dialing 911 messages when they were damaged and found nothing.

So, what does this all mean? Was I in some kind of danger that needed an angelic presence at that moment? Was he some kind of messenger that just wanted to alert us to household repairs that needed attending to? Was there an important call coming soon that I shouldn't miss? Was God just being a good Daddy and showing me that he sees me and my needs?  I don't know, but I am convinced that this wasn't any run-of-the-mill sheriff's visit.

I'm Not Getting Old

It was an exciting week. I was asked to join my friend, who was turning 92 years old, in an excursion to a neighboring casino to celebrate her birthday. She had wanted to do this last year, but was in poor health. This year, I couldn't wait to accompany her and see her long awaited wish come true and to celebrate the fact that she had lived to see another year. A party of four was formed which included my best friend (her daughter), my mother-in-law and the two of us. What fun we had as we drove the hour long trip through windy mountain roads, visiting and giggling the entire time.

There was an atmosphere of excitement as we drove into the parking lot of the giant hotel/casino near Yosemite. I think it must be something they pump into the air as you enter Indian territory. My friend, Lee, must have felt it too. She was chomping at the bit to get her hands on a one-armed bandit. I was afraid we might skip lunch and cut short the wonderful time we were having because the pull was so tremendous.

First thing's first... find a parking spot. Thank goodness my friend was 92 and qualified for a handicapped parking spot. It just so happens I have a plaque for my daughter and was thrilled that we would be able to utilize it and park close to the vacuum of adventure. The first clue that I had entered a time-warp should have been apparent when I took note of the many parking spots painted blue. Space after space of wheelchair accessible spots were lined up with most of them occupied. I had arrived at Senior Central. Who else is available to pour money into big noisy boxes in the middle of the day? I felt a twitch developing on the right side of my face.

After unloading my friend's walker and stretching our legs, it was agreed upon that we would indeed reinforce our stamina by trying out one of the many beautiful restaurants that were built along the parameter of the casino. Our choice, the never ending International Buffet. I was deep in conversation over how we would all be contributing to Lee's birthday lunch when the waitress asked an offsetting question, "How many here are seniors... over 50?"  All four of us raised our hands and all eyes were on me.

A senior? When did that happen? Just last month I was being asked for my driver's license when I bought a bottle of wine at the grocery store. It didn't matter that California was just finding an easy way to enforce the law. I was "carded", that's all that mattered.  Now I found myself sitting in a gigantic building full of walkers and wheelchairs and I had become one of "them". A senior. The very thing I swore I would always honor and admire from a distance, but never partake in.  Life is funny, don't you think?

So, am I old? Never! The famous saying, "You are only as old as you feel," was written by someone who just received their first senior discount. Will I ever visit the place of my first crashing piece of twilight realism? Of course, they had an amazing buffet!

Note To Self

Today I was merrily cleaning up my daughter's old room (did I say merrily and cleaning in the same sentence?).  She is coming home tomorrow and I am very excited. 

It's funny how quickly things can accumulate in a room when no one is using it.  There were bags of wool I have yet to spin, Mason jars I have yet to use, and old wine bottles we'll one day fill with home made wine.  I was feeling extra happy and quite strong as I carried a Rubbermade tub out to our old shed.  With the few ounces of strength I had left in me, I precariously balanced the tub on one knee as I heaved open the heavy shed door.  Pride flowed through my veins as I carefully escalated up the wobbly stairs while simultaneously holding the crate in my hands and the door open with my rear end.  With one big shove, I pushed the door wide enough to get both myself and my heavy load up the last step and in through the opening before the door could catch my foot or I lost my load.  That's when it happened.  I guess I had more suppressed adrenalin than I thought because although the door swung powerfully open, it came back just as quickly (with the help of a unexpected gust of wind) and slammed shut with me tucked safely inside.

Not so bad, I'm sure you're thinking.  Not so bad unless you consider the fact that there is a latch on the outside and no way to access it from the inside.  That stupid door.  It never closes.  Not even when I slam it from the outside.  Sure enough, in today's 90 degree (plus) heat, the wood shrunk back to its original size and the door performed in perfect working order.

So there I was, dumbfounded.  I didn't even put the box down for several minutes because I was in such shock.  This seemed like something out of a horror movie.  You know, the one where some silly girl creeps up the stairs because she heard a noise... and then SLAM!  The door shuts behind her and she's locked inside with the monster.  Yes, there I was in my very own starring role in this year's biggest headliner, "Woman Skeleton Found Christmas Eve as Husband Pulls Old Ornaments Out of Shed."  What a humiliating way to die.  How on earth will I ever get out?  Wait a minute, I thought, I know Tae-Bo.  I knew all those exercise tapes from the 80's would one day pay off.  I'll kick my way out.

There must be a mathematical equation for kicking solid objects with intent to destroy while baking in a 110* box.  You know the type... How much sweat accumulates, how much energy is exerted, and how many kicking attempts are made if a horror drama queen gets stuck in an over-sized coffin?  You do the math, I already know the answer.

My next thought was to pray.  Actually, I think I was probably praying the entire time because at that moment I could hear my husband's noisy muffler coming down our steep dirt road.  Do I have any energy left to whistle so he can hear me?  I'm known around these parts for my very loud, and completely unfeminine, way of calling people to dinner.  Fortunately, there was no need.  Jeff drove right up to the front of the shed (Thank God!).  You should have seen his face (I could though the only crack I made in the door with my Tae-Bo) when he heard my raspy voice shouting, "Let me Out!"

It took him a moment to realize where I was what had happened and he asked, "How long have you been in there?" As he quickly opened the door.

"Not long.  You came home just in time."

It's so great to have a punctual husband and a very large God!

Wood Stove Phase 25

When we first moved to Abu Peak Ranch, there was one important thing missing from our home that we knew we'd need right away... a fireplace.  Winters, in Auberry, can get very cold.  Occasionally we have snow, but at our level (about 2000 feet), it doesn't last long.  My husband, Jeff, decided to build a hearth for a wood burning stove.  That was eight years ago.  Fast forward to today.  We are now on phase 25 of the "Install a wood burning stove" project. 

The phrase "A carpenter's children have no shoes" also applies to contractors, plumbers, electricians, etc.  I now know why.  When money is coming in, you're catching up from the time it wasn't flowing so freely.  When work has shut down due to storms, snow, or economy, you're living off of everything you just caught up.  There never seems to be a moment when free time and money are both available simultaneously.  This year will be different.  This year we will finally complete some of our ever growing list of unfinished projects! 

Here is a picture of our beautifully installed rock/tile hearth, complete with the wood burning stove.  The hearth turned out amazing.  The small rocks in the center are actually a waterfall.  Who would have ever thought of installing a waterfall in the house?  My husband, that's who!  I stand in aw of his never ending talents and his ability to "think outside the box".  He has certainly earned his title of "Master Craftsman".  But before we all turn to mush over the alkaloids of the amazing Jeff Sanders, can you see what is missing from the picture?  The flu.  I'm guess there will be a Phase 26 in the near future... and maybe 27, 28, ...

Just a short note that my Mom wanted me to be sure to include in my next blog... Why we named our ranch "Abu Peak".  When Jeff first drove me to the site that would one day be our home, he explained to me that the local American Indians inhabited this very spot.  He even had a picture of a small family sitting on our property, their stick tee-pee, and our local mountain range behind them in the background (did they really have cameras back then?).  Eventually, the small family must have moved (and built the casino that is located behind our property).  I told Jeff that we needed a name for our new piece of heaven, an authentic sounding name that had lots of meaning.  He suggested Abu Peak.

"I love it!" was my reply, "What does it mean?" 

"It's 'Peek-A-Boo' backward.  The game we used to always play with Tiffany (our daughter who still lives with us)."

Abu Peak it was.  The ranch now stands tall with it's beautiful, mysterious name.

Raising Pigs

Back in the "old days", people called pigs "mortgage lifters".  Apparently, raising pigs is supposed to be so profitable that you can drop all your other responsibilities and know that your house payment will still be made.  I have a different title for the little bristly freight trains... fascinating, funny, fear-erasing, bruise makers.

We raise a rare heritage breed of pig.  They are called Mulefooted pigs.  Mulefoots are black (red and spotted ones are considered extinct, although we have a red one) and have feet that look like a mule's hoof rather than the cloven foot of others in their family line.  They grow to be enormous!  I don't have an animal scale, but our adults are thought to be right around 400 pounds and they are just one year old.  They stretch out to be almost the length between two of our fence posts (don't you love my way of measuring?) and make a noise that sounds like a bear about to attack.  It is easy to be intimidated by these overgrown Labradors, especially if you're a girl and you have to get something out of the boar's pen and he's feeling frisky.  God is using my project to help me overcome some nasty fears I didn't even know I had.

Recently, we had a batch of piggies born here at Abu Peak Ranch (I'll explain the name of our ranch later).  A couple of days ago, we decided to move the mother and her young over to the big pen where the boar was and move him to the smaller pen they were now vacating.  We had done this before, when there were only two pigs, and it was quite successful.  The plan was to simply make a narrow path, using old wire fencing that was laying around, and create a shoot for them to travel from one pen to the next.  The problem was going to be getting everyone to end up in the right place since they had to pass each other in the shoot.

In my mind, this plan ran like clock work.  I would send the boar over and then open the sows gate,  He would run in and be so curious about the new surroundings that I could scoot the sow out and her babies would follow.  She would happily trot over to the new field full of fresh grass (her personal favorite), both pens would be closed and locked and I'd go inside and have a glass of lemonade.  Somehow, the plan in my head translated to bruises on both my and my husbands bodies after spending hours re-enacting what looked like a scene from The Three Stooges. 

We were able to move the boar just fine.  He and my husband have a mano-e-mano relationship.  They both mutually respect the other because I believe that deep down, they both think they could take the other out immediately, if need be.  The problem presented when the boar caught wind of (literally) his old pen-mate.  I guess I thought that pigs were like nursing women... they rarely had to worry about getting pregnant because who wants sex when you have babies hanging on your breasts all day.  I was wrong!

Fast forward to the scene where both pigs are enjoying their "after encounter" cigarettes.  We finally managed to move the sow, but her babies wouldn't follow.  They were too interested in their estranged father who recently came into the picture.  Now we had to move the boar back in hopes that the little ones would follow.  They didn't.  Plan "B", catch the piggies and move them in a dog crate.

I could hear the imaginary narrator, in my head, announce, "Let the bruising begin!"  If it wasn't so painful, it could have been the runner up for Funniest Home Videos.  Pigs are fast, and greased or not, they are hard to catch.  I won't bore you with the details, but did I mention that my husband and I are both over 50?  Now you get a better picture of how we must have looked.  Cut to the end... everyone ended up where they needed to be and we took out stock in the BenGay pharmaceutical line.  I had to skip the lemonade and go straight for a beer.