Recently I took a ride with my daughter to the farm I grew up on. Not the big 250 acre farm in Missouri, but the 40 acre one in Michigan. None of my children existed, the last time I drove by this old homestead. All that remained the same were a few out buildings, the property tree line and the big red barn. We parked in the state game area just down the road, where herds of 70+ deer used to graze. I told her this pond was where I would call my goose, Sam, home. Sam followed me down the road with six ducks in line behind her. I was the goose girl of Gibbons Road. I showed her the split hung door that I tried to close in effort to keep the horse from running me back to the stall. I wanted to learn to ride. The horse didn’t. Only the top half of the barn door could close, so the old nag had gone underneath dropping me to the ground. I showed her the two big sliding doors. Behind them were places I would wait for the newest batch of kittens to peak out. Hours spent taming them, hours well spent for a child. In this barn, I shoveled too much manure, swung from a rope swing into a huge pile of hay, played hide and seek, and climbed the forbidden silo looking far to the edge of the horizon. This barn was a great place to be a kid. We drove by the property one last time. I noticed the orchard was overgrown the fields of hay were wildflowers. The land seemed quiet. My father had never escaped his farming instinct. He had planted ten acres with corn, beans, peas, and potatoes. He had worked the land keeping it clean. Not spotless clean because he didn’t have time, but usable and strong. It occurred to me that farmers have an important role in our world, beyond growing the food we eat. They groom the land letting us see the strength of the soil. They will the seeds they sow to grow against the odds of no rain, too much sun, or too much cold. A farmer’s life is never easy, the work is never done. A farmer’s understanding of life, however, is very different based in the observations of toil. A farmer keeps things simple in a life that’s often hard. A farmer represents the best in us, the sheer determination to stand up another day when life feels hard. A farmer is the quiet voice that is often missed and not heard. A farmer represents the strength of people to make something special of this great land once again.

This blue spruce stands as a reminder of the most magical Christmas the Krasny family ever knew: the Christmas of 2007. September of ’07, our family faced the fears of the downward market. Over 1200 employees at my husband’s work found themselves unemployed overnight. He among them. At the time, I worked as an instructional assistant in an elementary school making $11.40/hour while finishing my masters in education. Christmas was coming, the budget was tight. A week before the big celebration, we went to Lowe’s to get a tree. Christmas was all on sale including evergreens with root balls in pots. For $30, it was quite the steal, but the tree was short. Roots and all, the tree barely came waist high. Even with decorations, my seven year old stood as tall as this tree. Our children were troopers, but sugar plums certainly didn’t dance in their heads. “Mom, a Christmas tree should be taller than us,” my oldest said. In her voice, the worries and dreams of Christmas magic expressed doubt. Back in the days on the farm, our trees always seemed taller and bigger than they probably were. That’s the beauty of a child’s memory. My children’s impressions of the joyous noel were threatened and under attack. I went back to Lowe’s buying one of the last $10 cut trees, snuck it home, and stuffed it in a barn stall. The children asleep in bed allowed my husband and me to decorate the second tree upstairs in the barn. It was a secret, our secret. Christmas Eve came, we gathered around our tiny spruced up tree in the pot. The children looked at the sparse presents beneath the diminutive decorated branches. They didn’t complain, but their smiles were missing. We opened one present: pjs for all, then headed out to the barn to watch a movie. As the children climbed the stairs, one by one we heard them exclaim. The real celebration waited up top in the beauty of the tree’s lights. We planted that short little tree in the pot later in the new year. The small, short spruce has now grown three times taller than we have. Standing there in the back pasture, the tree represents the magic of Christmas. Each time I pass it by, I remember the change from heavy disappointment to gasps of pure joy. Christmas that year came from a very dark night. The miracle of love filled our little barn just like it did many years ago. This year, summer doesn’t feel like a child’s playground. This July 25 of the summer 2020, no gifts are needed, decorations can stay packed, but the perfect opportunity to surprise our families deserves to be experienced with the gifts of each other. Embrace this time upon us. Go beyond the new norm. Reach outside of the questions and heaviness to find a reason to give. Let 2020 grow in a positive way in our hearts and memories by choosing to make a miracle happen.

On my morning walks, scattered along the path, encouraging rocks lay waiting to cheer neighbors on their way. They are obviously made by children, but the paths are mainly populated by adults. Some child some where believed people were sad and in need of a boost. They played with colors and came up with many different expressions of good cheer. They went out of their way to make a difference. Like the inhabitants of Whoville, they put out their rocks for Horton to hear. As the weeks go by, I notice lawns cut with the rocks still there. Adults are removing the rocks, caring for their daily chores, and replacing the rocks. These rocks matter. Some of the rocks disappear, but more show up to replace and restore the messages we all need to hear. One rock said, "You've got this!" another "It's going to be alright!" each one painted with the creative hearts of a child. With all of the shouting and noise in the air today, remember to watch where you're walking and be kind to the children. They understand this mess a whole lot better than we adults do.

Each morning I take a cup of tea, possibly a muffin and head to my chair on the back porch. The world's far away as I listen to the muse invoked by a cacophony of bird calls and gentle breezes spin the wheels of memory. Nature's incantation allows my thoughts to ponder and then to wander through the many conversations that I have had. It's the cool of the morning before the heat of the day my mind finds soothing. I can follow paths of yesterdays watching the changing landscape of my gardens. The gardens speak of hard work, hopes, failures, and the simple beauty that life offers. In this scene I find the strength to share my point of view from where I sit. Please join me as a back porch friend. While we won't solve the world's problems, we may find comfort and encouragement for the challenges of each new day.

Cleaning is tedious! Quite frankly I don't like it. Sometimes though I find a treasure that I put some place safe for another day. Yesterday was such a day. I found my vision board. A year ago I couldn't have told you what a vision board is. Today I can say what a vision board does. While playing with pictures and chatting with friends I was guided to a discovery of what I truly desired. Let me back up. Sara Bywaters-Baldwin, at Willow Circle Art, led a seminar on creating a vision board. The entire morning was designed to allow me and 15 other women to work along side each other making a visual. Sara gave instructions, set aside time for us to breathe and focus, then let our subconscious do the rest. She gently guided us encouraging us to let go and see what we felt drawn to. Incredibly enough as my vision board came together I found a great source of fear. Water has terrified me. I like to be near it, but I do not like to go too deep. My vision board was filled with water, but it also had joy and daring and children. As my board came together so did my understanding. My fear blocked me from my greatest desires. I wanted to write a book. That had been my goal to achieve over twenty years ago. Honestly I was afraid. What if I failed? As an English teacher the words of George Bernard Shaw regaling those who can do and those who can't teach haunted me. We were instructed to take our vision boards home and put it in a place we would see it. Obviously since I found it while cleaning I didn't follow directions. I had tried to hide what I had opened, but the mind is a powerful tool much like a can opener. There was no going back when I saw the beauty of my heart's desire and then accepted the water as a challenge rather than a wall. One year later after declaring my goals to myself a smile of recognition comes. I did it. I'm pursuing my dreams. My mind connected with my heart and the path unfolded from my willingness to try. A vision board isn't magic or voodoo. It's an individual being honest with herself and giving herself permission to say what attracts the heart. Surprising enough on my vision board were three beautiful lupine flowers! Another goal I achieved this year. If you're interested in working through a problem or just getting unstuck from quarantine, before you rush back into the noise of daily life, check out her website at https://www.willowcircleart.com/

I have spent many years and effort working in a garden. Would I call myself a real gardener? Not really sure. Maybe more of a foot soldier. The battle is epic and some summers I simply walk away head down, eyes averted. Anyone who tells you gardening is easy is a liar. A garden, however, holds a secret. Many stories are behind each plant and view. What you see as an end result never shows the journey to arrive at that place. Much like the people we meet.