Happy Holidays!

This Christmas letter begins with the answer to a question that Lance and I have been asked multiple times this year: “When are you moving back into the farmhouse?” From close friends and family to neighbors and co-workers, everyone seemed interested in the ETMI (Estimated Time of Move-In)—and the best answer that Lance and I could give was “soon.” Last October, when we moved in with my mother to seek refuge from the messiness of construction, “soon” was “after the holidays.” But spring came, and “soon” had not arrived. Summer was no more promising: when my grandfather moved to Mom’s to recuperate from hip replacement surgery, the whole family was under the same roof at Hotel Brenda. Come fall, we celebrated our 5th anniversary wondering if “soon” would ever come. It did—and at a most appropriate time: Thanksgiving weekend. The week before, our faithful contractor Mike had put the final touches on the original farmhouse and connector addition and sealed it off from the cabin. The house was again livable…and WARM. (One of our favorite new “toys” is the outdoor woodstove that Lance installed over the summer. Now, instead of hovering by the fire, we enjoy a flow of steady, sustainable warm air when the temperature drops.) So, while most Americans were breaking wishbones, Lance and I were breaking open dusty boxes of books (always books!), clothes, and bedding. Then, we packed up Beaker for the two-mile trip back to Walnut Grove. (No doubt, he was already pining for “Mamaw’s” wall-to-wall carpet and generous tuna treats!)

Though we have settled back in, the project is far from complete. Mike is just beginning work on the cabin. Right now, he is building the porch and will soon begin chinking and dobbing the logs. A completed restoration project is the goal for next Christmas. I think we can handle one more year.

This year has not been all about the restoration, though. In February, Lance, Lance’s sister, Kim, and I traveled to Honduras for a two-week medical mission trip. There, in the little mountain village of Yaruca, we joined with other doctors, dentists, nurses, translators, and “general helpers” to provide vitamins, cough syrup, and toothbrushes to the grateful and gracious residents. In preparation, Lance had spent the previous six months learning Spanish, so he would know what to do when a patient exclaimed, “Picazon! Picazon!” (itchy!). I, on the other hand, was content to speak only to the animals!

When we returned from Honduras, I set to work on the garden, which provided us with a bounty of sustenance and satisfaction. We even had enough produce to sell at the local farmer’s market. As always, Mom and I spent many hours canning tomatoes, vegetable soup, salsa, and beans. Now, in the bare winter months, we can be fed by a jar of summer.

A warm house and steaming bowl of homemade soup cannot make up for the companionship of Poe, our “fearless warrior cat” and wisest denizen of Walnut Grove, whom we lost in March. After his annual trip to the vet, he went missing. We searched every inch of the farm, every nook and cranny, every fallen tree, but nothing. Finally, a week later, Mike found him in the attic, where he had burrowed into the insulation, curled up for a long nap—and never woke up. Lance and I had dreamed of the day when we would all be back together again at the farm. But it was not to be.

Alas, the farm continues to be a lesson in love and loss. Not long after losing Poe, we rescued a little black cat, whom we named “Oliver” (“Ollie,” for short). He is quickly filling Poe’s paws as “lord of the manor,” though Pippin, our other barn cat, won’t quite let him wear the crown yet! The chickens too are a bit hesitant to kneel to him since he likes to chase them around the farm and eat their scratch grain (yes, apparently, cats like cracked corn). And as always, Billy, our old goat, and Jezebel, our boss mare, think that they are king and queen of the farm. Lance and I don’t tell any of them that the farm is a democracy, not a monarchy!

As I close out this letter, I would like to look forward to a bright future. 2009 is already full of promise. Lance is planning to continue studying Spanish so he can better serve the Hispanic community in this country and abroad. I have recently taken a job as Educational Coordinator at Exchange Place, the living history museum where I have volunteered for the last few years—so I will be taking a break from teaching at ETSU. I will, however, continue my beloved hobby of playing violin in the local symphony. Even more exciting news is that in January, Lance and I are going to brave the cold and crowds and attend the inauguration of Barack Obama. In a serendipitous twist of fate and through the generosity of a friend, Lance scored two tickets, and we are looking forward to being a part of such a momentous moment in our nation’s history. Washington D.C. is always a stimulating place to visit—a place to learn from our successes…and failures. Let us hope the new president will inspire us all to be more educated, responsible, and compassionate citizens and stewards of the earth.

Wishing you and yours a Very Merry Christmas and a Happy, Healthy New Year!

Here are some current pictures of the restoration project: the new kitchen, the wood stove, and Mike working on the cabin porch.

5th Anniversary Sweet Gum

In honor of our 5th wedding anniversary, Lance and I planted a native sweet gum tree on the knoll beside the horse barn. As it grows, it will shade the graves of the animals that we have loved and lost and hopefully provide an ideal spot for a summer picnic.

The Dalai Ollie

If you happen to visit the farm and see a black cat dashing from woods to barn, don't be alarmed: it's not Poe's ghost (though his spirit is very much alive at Walnut Grove). We actually have a new addition to our menagerie. Oliver ("Ollie") came to us via one of my friends at the English Department. At first, we were reluctant to adopt another cat since Poe's death was so fresh in our memory, but as soon as we met Ollie, we knew he belonged on the farm. Strangely enough, he looks and acts very much like Poe, and we like to think that Poe has come back to us in another form--like the Buddha of Compassion who embodies each new Dalai Lama. Unlike Poe, though, who ruled the farm with a reserved wisdom, Ollie takes a more aggressive, even pompous, approach: "herding" the chickens and horses, strong "pawing" Pippin, our other barn cat, and perching on my shoulder while I do my chores. He even does an inspection of Mike's work at the end of the day!

All in the Details

Not much has changed on the exterior of the house since our last post, but Mike and crew have been working diligently to install kitchen cabinets, interior doors, and window hardware. As soon as the masons finish the massive stone chimney, Mike will smooth out the landscape around the house, plant grass, and install our new cistern.

P.S. Apparently, the Ghost of Kitchen Past is keeping an eagle eye on the project (see orb in photo of ovens). She's no doubt wondering where we're going to put the wood stove.

Mr. Jefferson at Walnut Grove

Since this is July, the month in which we celebrate the birth of our country, I thought I would offer a tribute to my favorite Founding Father. Many of you know that I am fascinated with Thomas Jefferson (and remain thoroughly convinced that we are somehow related, our mutual relative no doubt having been cast out of the family for some noble act of non-conformism like multi-racial marriage. ha!) While I share many of Jefferson's political views, I most strongly share his fervor for gardening and affection for home and hearth. I admit too, that like Jefferson, I am an idealist. With Walnut Grove, I am doing much what Jefferson did with Monticello--attempting to create a uniquely personal oasis where my aesthetic and ethical values can merge. It seems only fitting, then, that Jefferson's spirit infuse my little utopia: A Twinleaf wildflower ("Jeffersonia diphylla"), a gift from Lance, grows in the woods near the house; bright green peas ramble in the garden in early spring (the English pea was reportedly Jefferson's favorite vegetable); and an occasional deer grazes in the lower meadow at dusk (Jefferson stocked the woods around Monticello with deer for a "picturesque" effect). And next time you visit, you may even see Lance prancing about in britches and silk stockings!

P.S. Lest I seem a too loyal subscriber to the popular WASPM (White, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant, Male) version of history, I would like to say that Abigail Adams perhaps out-shined all of the revolutionary generation. She would have made an excellent president.

The Third Age

Earlier this month, 40 baby chicks arrived at Walnut Grove from Murray McMurray Hatchery in Iowa. They are a motley crew of classics and rare breeds: Rhode Island Reds, Buff Orpingtons (gold), Dominques (or "Domineckers," as we call them here in Appalachia), Araucanas (the green egg layers), Delawares (white), Cuckoo Marans (a dark brown egg layer from France), and Silver Grey Dorkings (an old breed from England). Lance immediately took to the Dorkings, and he made it a habit of singing "The Dorking Song" to them every time he went into the coop. (FYI: "The Dorking Song" is basically the word "dork" sung to the tune of "Surry with a Fringe on Top" from Rodgers and Hammerstein's Broadway play "Oklahoma.") Though certainly not Mozart, "The Dorking Song" had a positive effect on the little diddles, and now, one of the Dorkings--"Dora"--jumps into our hand every time we open the brooder. Looks like she will follow in the footsteps of Henny Penny and Lance Jr. and will soon be foraging for worms at my side as I dig in the garden.

We have dubbed this generation of chicks "The Third Age"--in reference to J.R.R. Tolkein's "The Lord of the Rings." The First Age, lead by Henny Penny, included our very first chickens--the Black Giants from Uncle Baker and the Rhode Island Reds and Golden Laced Wyandottes from Uncle Lawrence and Aunt Betty. The Second Age, originally led by Lance Jr, and now by Galadriel, included the first batch of chicks we ordered from Murray McMurray back in 2005. Petie, the rooster I "inherited" from my Uncle David when he died, is still the proud patriarch.

Pictures: (1) Dorkings and Araucanas in the brooder, (2) Dora

The State of Things, Spring 2008

Here are some long-overdue pictures of the house. As you can see, Mike has restored one of the side porches and is working on the other one. The masons are slowly but surely covering the chimney--which they have dubbed "the Empire State Building"--with stone. We're still waiting on the windows.

"Nevermore"

Lance and I knew that one day we would have to write this entry, but we never expected it to be so soon: Our beloved Poe cat is gone. He went missing last Wednesday night, and we spent the next several days frantically looking for him, searching his favorite napping spots--the attic, the smokehouse, and the barn loft--and walking all over the farm calling out his name: "Poe Poe Kitty!" Our hopes rose with every movement, every dark shadow--"There he is!" But what we thought was Poe turned out to be just a black hen, scratching for worms, or a piece of torn black plastic, blowing in the wind.

On Tuesday morning--nearly a week after we had last seen him--Mike, our contractor, finally found him in the eave of the house. Apparently, he had crawled up under the insulation in the attic to bed down--and never woke up. I have no idea how Mike found him as he was so far down in the soffit, but we are so thankful that we could finally stop searching and fearing that we would never get to see him again. He had some blood on his nose, but otherwise, he seemed unharmed. The vet thinks he probably died of a pulmonary embolism. Mike built him the sweetest little coffin, and Lance and I buried him with some cardinal feathers--as cardinals were one of his favorite snacks.

Needless to say, the farm will never be the same without our "fearless warrior cat." He was one of those rare animals who holds sway over you, who earns your unconditional respect without ever demanding it. We would joke that he was a "pharaoh cat descended from royalty," and we would spend hours just watching him: perched under the bird feeder, tail whipping in anticipation of a songbird snack; slinking through the woods like a panther; rolling around in the dirt; sunning in the garden near the catnip; trotting down the driveway at night, yellow eyes flashing in the head lights; snubbing the affections of Pippin, his frisky "younger brother." Everything he did was worthy of study--as if he were a Master Jedi Cat imparting his infinite wisdom of the universe upon two Padawan learners.

We first met Poe on August 31, 2002--the first day we looked at the farm. As soon as we entered the barn, we heard a noise in the rafters. We looked up, and there he was: a shiny black cat climbing down to greet us and making his characteristic squeak: "Eeh Eeh." Immediately, he seemed to trust us, and immediately, we were enamored with him. I made Lance ask the current owners of the property if the cat came with the farm--a question that Lance was certain would decrease our chances of haggling for a lower price. "If they know you like the cat, then they know we want the farm. We have to play hard to get." I've never been good at that game, so we took our chances and expressed our interest in the farm's feline resident. The owners assured us, that yes, the cat did come with the farm. They had taken several of the barn cats to their new home, but they had left the black one--"Phantom," they called him--because he would disappear for days and seemed weary of humans. What? The cat we knew was no misanthrope! He was wildly affectionate, always bounding out of the barn to meet us when he heard our car in the driveway so he could get a "whole butt rub." We decided to keep quiet about his charm, though, in fear that they would take him back. Luckily, that didn't happen, and we secured the farm as well as our new friend, whose name we changed to Poe, after Edgar Allan. We quickly learned, though, that even though we had bought the farm with our money, Poe truly owned the place; he was "the lord of the manor." It was like he had always been there, and would be there long after we were gone. We seemed mere visitors, just passing through.

Poe was obviously used to fending for himself, so when we set out a self feeder for him in the smokehouse, he thought he had struck gold. No more did he have to hunt and capture his food, bite off heads, and chew through bones and fur. Now, his food came in handy little morsels--and in an all-you-can-eat buffet! We found out quickly, though, that the self-feeding option wasn't going to work. The day after we set the feeder out, we found him hunched beside it, big as a balloon with a stomach full of Iams, and ready to pounce on any potential thief. Eventually, we fell into a rhythm of feeding him in the morning and evening, and he could still catch birds and mice for an occasional snack.

We tried many times to keep him in the house, but he didn't take to lounging around like his brother, Beaker. Poe was a "fearless warrior cat," and fearless warrior cats don't lounge. They explore and protect the homestead--perhaps too well, as Poe was apt to fight off intruders, namely other cats who came snooping around at night. Undoubtedly, he would suffer a wound from these duels, and undoubtedly, he would get an abscess, which would need to be lanced and drained by the vet. During times of convalescence, Poe would willingly stay indoors, though he would sometimes forget where to use the bathroom--as when he peed in the air vent. Before we discovered his crime, he bounded out the door into the woods and was gone all day. That evening, he brought us the largest bunny that he could carry--as a peace offering. "I'm sorry I peed in your vent. Accept this paralyzed bunny as a token of my regret. Here, I'll bite its head off for you." A compassionate warrior indeed.

Over the years, we coined many nicknames for him: "Toonces" (he would often jump up into the car with us and put his paws on the steering wheel); "Bat Cat" (Lance would often make him "fly through the air" like the Dark Knight); "The Dread Pirate Black Butt" (every pet needs a Princess Bride nickname); and "Buster Brown Leg" (one of his back legs had a streak of brown fur on it) were a few of our favorites. But the one that best captures Poe is simply "the greatest cat in the world." And he was.

Viva Yaruca!

Many of you know that Heather, Kim (my sister), and I were planning a medical mission trip to Honduras in February. Well, we did it -- and what an experience.

We started traveling on February 14th and finally arrived in La Ceiba, Honduras late afternoon on the 15th. La Ceiba served as a base for the International Health Service (our group) which included 105 volunteers. Twelve different teams covered the country and all had daily radio contact with the base located in the Gran Hotel Paris in La Ceiba. Our team of 15 people was located in the mountains of Northern Honduras in a town called Yaruca (you can see where it is at www.ihsofmn.org). I have posted a few pictures of this beautiful little village which is surrounded by green mountains and next to the clearest little river I have ever seen.

Our clinic consisted of two doctors, a juggling dentist, and an eyeglass clinic. Of course, I was busy seeing patients everyday. Heather and Kim spent time fitting people for eyeglasses, being dental assistants, and being good influences on the young girls in Yaruca. They were two Pied Pipers with throngs of little girls following them wherever they went.

The people there are as beautiful as the landscape. Yarucans are warm, gracious, trustworthy, and honest. Some of my patients had walked 6 hours to be seen -- usually with three kids in tow. I saw lots of the same ailments that afflict people in the States (hypertension, diabetes, arthritis) as well as conditions that Americans are less likely to be familiar with ("piojos" (lice), "sarna" (scabies"), machete wounds).

The cultural experience was outstanding primarily because NOBODY spoke English in Yaruca. Additionally, a wonderful lady named Cristina served the entire team three traditional Honduran meals in her house everyday. She had a friend named Leticia who helped with the cooking and did our laundry for us. It was easy living - kind of.

One of the most memorable parts of the trip was our last day (Feb 28) when we were departing. After 14 inches of rain fell the night before, the only road out was flooded. The people of the village rallied together with mules and trucks to carry us to the next village where a bus was waiting for us.

After we returned to La Ceiba, the three of us took a trip to the western part of the country to see the Mayan ruins in Copan. They are only 1300 years old so it was not overwhelming at all.

Overall, it was an unbelievable experience that I plan to repeat each year. Honduras is a beautiful country with wonderful people and rich history.

Lance

Pictures included are 1) a view of the valley that Yaruca sits in, 2) the Rio Grande which runs next to Yaruca, 3) Kim, Heather, and two of the village girls, 4)Heather and Kim with Cristina and Leticia, and 5) the three of us at the Copan ruins.