three men, two candidates, one vote

As I cooked dinner Saturday night, my ears were tuned to the voices of three different men on the radio. Political candidates. Authors. Three men who are nearly household names throughout this country.

None of their published works appear on my bookshelf. Neither of the candidates has as yet received my vote. But nonetheless, I listened carefully.

Rick Warren, author of The Purpose Driven Life was interviewing the top two presidential candidates: John McCain and Barack Obama. And as I listened to their responses (the word "answers" would be appropriate for only one of the two candidates' responses), I became excited. To my surprise, I was listening to a man I could and would vote for--if he chooses a pro-life running mate.

McCain did not get my vote in our state's primary election. Nor did conservative Ron Paul. I wish Dr. Dobson had gotten on the Huckabee bandwagon sooner. Maybe he could have given McCain a run for his money.

Listening to the clear, concise answers Senator McCain gave Saturday night, I realized maybe I still could get excited about the Republican ticket.

If you've been coming to ylcf.org since the last presidential election, you know how I feel about voting for third party candidates. I saw how close the third party vote came to tipping the scales in Kerry's favor in too many states four years ago.

But I can not and will not vote for a ticket with a pro-choice vice-presidential candidate. And I would not expect a Mormon to do much to protect the definition of marriage as being between one man and one woman, either.

It was obvious how McCain felt about marriage when he declared that his greatest moral failure in life was the failure of his first marriage. And when the question came to human life and human rights, he didn't beg some excuse about lacking the scientific training to be able to answer. McCain instantly answered that life began at conception, and that was that. He didn't have to continually quote Scripture to convince us he had a strong faith and firmly-held convictions. It was evident in his answers, without being "in your face" or sounding like he was begging for the religious vote. (And this homeschool grad was totally won over when he stated that homeschooling works. Not to mention his heroes including Ronald Reagan and Teddy Roosevelt.)

No, I don't begin to like everything about the idea of John McCain being the next President of the United States. But I really dislike the thought of our nation's foremost leader having a name so eerily similar to one of our nation's greatest enemies. And that's just the first of many reasons I would not vote for Obama.

I hope and pray McCain chooses his running mate with wisdom from above. Otherwise you might find me voting for a third-party candidate. Or else writing in my brother's name. Will Glaser for President. Now there's a ticket I could stand behind one-hundred percent. But I wouldn't wish the presidency on my brother. Besides, he's not old enough yet.

Fellowship in the YLCF Team

"Tell me what company thou keepst, and I'll tell thee what thou art."
- Miguel de Cervantes

"Be slow to fall into friendship; but when thou art in, continue firm and constant."
- Socrates
"A Friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of Nature."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

"When true friends meet in adverse hour;
'Tis like a sunbeam through a shower.
A watery way an instant seen,
The darkly closing clouds between."
- Sir Walter Scott
"It is not so much our friends' help that helps us as the confident knowledge that they will help us."
- Epicurus

"I count myself in nothing else so happy
As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends."
- William Shakespeare

Pizza and Tea Cups

Antique FireKing tea cups.

Sourdough pizza (with olive oil and garden-fresh veggies).

And the dearest of friends to sweeten the mix.

Natalie came to visit our farm a few weeks ago. It was truly a delightful time with my sissy. Long talks, laughter, and some tears. True friendship is as precious as it is rare. Miss you already, sis...

if at first you don't succeed...

If at first you don't succeed, eat a banana split. At least that was my motto Wednesday night. Merritt was going to be out late baling hay, and I knew I had to figure out what I'd done to the drop-down menus on ylcf.org.

Misplaced javascript is worse than a misplaced modifier. God created the human mind much greater than any computer could ever be. We can usually figure out the general meaning of a terribly scrambled sentence, but web browsers don't seem to know how to read javascript unless its enclosed in the right tags. Especially when Blogger somehow scrambled what was in the middle too.

All that to say, I think I've finally succeeded in fixing the drop-down menus that were causing such trouble accessing ylcf.org pages. (Whether all that chocolate sauce on top of chocolate ice cream, bananas, and peanuts really helped or not, we'll never know.) Many thanks to a certain Miss Kathryn who patiently checked and rechecked the pages, telling me what worked and what didn't (mostly didn't!). Her assistance was invaluable, since it all worked on my computer.

I do hope the new menus and layout will prove to be more user-friendly. I have also added a permanent welcome page at ylcf.org. Click on "Read" for a link to the blog from the welcome page, and you can always bookmark the direct link: http://blog.ylcf.org And eventually, thanks to the amazing Ashleigh, the whole site will get a makeover. Stay tuned!

Thanks for your patience with the technical problems, and your continued positive feedback. Your emails are the reason we keep doing what we do.

summertime on the menu

Hello from the farm! We're still here, with everything that smacks of summer on the menu!

Yesterday we enjoyed fresh cabbage salsa, with chopped tomatoes (green tomatoes are best in cabbage salsa!), cilantro, Ancho Pablano & Bell & Jalapeno peppers, and grated cabbage and sweet onion. Top it off with a little salt, pepper, sugar, vinegar, lemon and lime juice (the only things that don't come from our garden!), and you've got the perfect complement to nachos or an entire Mexican meal.

Of course, last night I ate an entire tomato all by myself--sliced, with salt and pepper... It was one of the Caspian Pink heirloom variety and oh was it delicious! A few fresh basil leaves are the perfect complement to any tomato, of course. Speaking of basil, I have to share our newest favorite basil and chard recipes...

Garlicky Baked Chicken with Chard and Basil

Gretchen's revision of a recipe from Church Suppers

1 whole chicken, cut up

2 large heads garlic, chopped

4-6 stalks/leaves Swiss Chard, chopped

1/4 c. olive oil

3 T. fresh lemon juice

2 T. chopped fresh parsley

1 c. chopped fresh basil

1/4 tsp. freshly ground pepper

1/2 tsp. grated lemon rind

Preheat oven to 375. Arrange chicken in baking dish. Sprinkle the garlic cloves over the chicken. Combine all remaining ingredients except lemon rind, and pour over the chicken. Sprinkle lemon rind on top. Bake, covered, for 40 minutes, or until chicken is tender. Uncover and bake for 15 minutes longer.


Tomato Basil Pasta

Heat all ingredients thoroughly in skillet. Add grated Parmesan cheese and milk or half and half, and reheat (don't let milk boil). Salt and pepper to taste.

summertime ingredients:

sliced summer squash and zucchini

diced tomatoes

chopped fresh basil leaves

cooked pasta

garlic scapes or minced garlic

winter ingredients:
cooked, diced chicken
whole olives
mushrooms
sun dried tomatoes
frozen basil leaves (when I have leftover basil, I freeze it to preserve the just-picked flavor--the leaves then crumble easily straight out of the freezer)

cooked pasta
minced garlic

Fiction for a Midsummer's Day

Early spring days at our little family antique store can be a bit slow, lending themselves to rearranging the displays, dusting the tables, and reading some good old books. (It would really be unpardonable to read a new book behind the counter of an antique store, would it not?) Three of them stood out as special favorites--all fiction, yes, but fiction that leaves a lasting imprint. These aren't the dime a dozen paperbacks (my husband can hardly bring himself to read a paperback, assuming there can't be much good inside anything but a hardback!), these are the meaty fiction of yesteryear.

First there was The Virginian by Owen Wister. The title intrigued me at a book sale last spring. The entire tale kept me reading when I finally opened it this spring. The Virginian is definitely the best Western I've ever read. It had all the key ingredients for a Louis L'amour or Zane Grey--good guys, bad guys, a pretty girl, and plenty of horseflesh. But for once a Western delved in deep to develop characters and storyline and a love that stays faithful despite the odds against it. And I was continually sharing with my husband all the anecdotes that made me laugh. I'd love to find more of the author's work. If you don't have a hankering for a good Western once in a while, you won't like this book. But how can you go wrong with a Western published in 1902 and dedicated to Teddy Roosevelt?

Next I found myself picking up The Calling of Dan Matthews. It turned out to be a sequel to my favorite of Harold Bell Wright's books, The Shepherd of the Hills. But I didn't know it was a sequel until I started reading of "the trail that is nobody knows how old." Instead of being set in the Ozarks, The Calling of Dan Matthews is primarily centered in the little town of Corinth. (No, not that Corinth, but I think Dan Matthews felt much kinship with Paul in his own Corinth!) Though published in 1909, it could just as easily be written today, set for publication 100 years later. The fact that Harold Bell Wright was a preacher makes me think this book was a lot more biographical than he may have admitted. From the "politics" of the church to the way a church body could be so deeply intrenched in traditions they cared more for the way they'd always done it than how Jesus did it, the author showed great insight into the human nature of church members. Some rather different perspectives on ministry and the church, but definitely thought-provoking.

As the sun set on June 24, Midsummer's Day, I was finishing the last pages of The Twenty-Fourth of June. It was a re-read, brought to mind by mention of the upcoming first day of summer. It had been too long since I'd read this sweet tale of love, family, and home by Grace S. Richmond. It will be on my daugher's required reading list in sixteen years or so. For now, I'm going to pass it on to my sister and sister-in-law. When I read it at that age, I suppose I was caught up more in the love story. This time, the beauty of the peaceful home and happy family struck me in full force (and the love story made me feel like I was falling in love with my husband all over again--which is what every good love story should do for a married girl!). The Twenty-Fourth of June puts a happy family on paper. The author describes the kind of home atmosphere I want my family to feel in ours. And yes, the love story is of the more unusual strain--all centering around that Midsummer's Day, The Twenty-Fourth of June. Originally published in 1914, it's been reprinted, so you have no excuse for not reading it! I'm curious if anyone has found any of Grace Richmond's other works?

Lest you think I read nothing but dusty old tomes, I should admit that the next piece of fiction I open may be not only paperback, but a bit of modern Christian "chick lit" as well. A book whose main character shares my name may just prove too tempting if our local library has Melody Carlson's A Mile in My Flip-Flops. (Having met the author, since she and I spoke at the same writer's conference once upon a time, makes it seem a bit less like I'm just reading some random paperback. As the old adage has always reminded us, you can't judge a book by its cover!)

A Season to...Encourage

Being married to a farmer gives one an entirely new perspective on seasons. I've learned about seasonal eating, the first and last killing frost of the season, and in what season you plant garlic. But I've also discovered that the season of winter is like three months of Sundays after a really long week. In the summer only an emergency can take us off the farm, but the winter is time to catch up on all the visiting and projects we didn't get done in the summer. The spring isn't just about all the little flowers growing around us--the spring is for planting all the produce we will reap later in the year. Autumn is one big sigh of relief that the seasons are changing. And of course, there's a reason James uses the example of the farmer when he's talking about patience. But that's another subject.

It's been a while since I've sat down specifically to write a post for ylcf.org. That probably has something to do with being in the "new mommy" season of life, the season of spring in more ways than one! And now our calendar tells me summer is here, and the strawberries we picked yesterday tasted like summer. Another season is upon us.

The YLCF has been part of a lot of different seasons of my life. When I look at the amazing articles on the website now, it's hard to believe it all started as a little "girls-only club" 16 years ago, with a hand-written newsletter I photocopied on my grandma's copy machine. In a lot of ways, the YLCF has grown up with me, or we've grown up with it. As I faced questions about purity and love, I wrote about what I was learning. When I was immersed in politics, my blog posts read like an op-ed for a newspaper. As I was falling in love, my writing couldn't help sounding like it.

The seasons of my life kept changing. And as I prepared to marry my farmer, I handed over the YLCF's reins, as it were, to my best girlfriend Natalie. She brought new life and a standard of stellar writing to ylcf.org. She brought variety and depth, discussing the serious issues along with the light. I've been so grateful for her help in keeping up the YLCF over the past two and a half years.

Now Natalie is finding herself in a new season of life, and handing me back those reins. I'm in a different season of life, and busier than ever as a wife and mom, but I still crave the encouragement and edification I've always found in the fellowship with those of the YLCF. And I think a lot of you share that feeling. Yes, like me, the YLCF is in a different season, but I couldn't bear to think of bringing ylcf.org to a premature winter.

So we're brainstorming about a new look, coming up with ideas to simplify the site and layout, and focusing on bringing you at least three posts each week--sometimes more, sometimes less. I'm hoping to bring on another full-time YLCF team member. And continue to streamline the site so this busy farmer's wife can sort of keep up with it. I'd welcome your ideas (what's your favorite part of the site? what should we keep, what could be eliminated? how could we make it more organized, easier to navigate?) and I covet your prayers. You probably won't notice too many changes at first, but please be patient with the speed of comment moderation and any post problems--I still have a "fast" internet connection, remember.

As I transition back into my role of "editor in chief", I want you to know that your posts and topic ideas are welcome. The YLCF has always been by young women, for young women--and that means you! So please keep those articles coming. I can't respond to every email, nor comment on every submission. But know each one is read!

And as you write and comment, keep in mind that the YLCF has always been about encouragement and edification. It is for that reason that we moderate the comments on ylcf.org. There is a time and place for healthy debate, but it's not here. Nor do private questions need to be asked in public places. And while the YLCF Team Members share glimpses into their hearts and lives with us here in their posts, it does not entitle every blog reader to know every detail of their personal lives. The team who moderates comments are actively protective of each other, so the inflammatory, rude, and/or anonymous comments are deleted before they can be seen by those they might hurt. But your uplifting comments are rays of sunshine in our day!

If I could choose one perpetual season for ylcf.org, it would always be the time for encouragement--"a time to build up," Solomon calls it in Ecclesiastes. There is enough of the negative out there, let us seek out the beauty! With that in mind, please respect Natalie's wish for a season of rest and refreshment. I know she will be back someday to share with you the seasons this journey is taking her through. Meanwhile, let's keep focused here at ylcf.org on spurring each other on towards love and good deeds. I'm looking forward to seeing what God has in store for us...

Hard Things

"This country will not survive another generation of Christians that fit in."

Josh Harris said it. His little brothers are spreading the message.

My husband picked up Do Hard Things at the library for me yesterday, and I've already read it cover to cover. Not that I'm biased towards homeschooling Oregonians, but those Harris brothers write good books. This book is subtitled "a teenage rebellion against low expectations." And even though I'm much closer to a quarter of a century than to being a teenager, the message was hard-hitting for me, as well.

Counterculture. Rising above the norm. Doing hard things. The Harris twins share their eldest brother's gift of using the written word to impassion others to go out and live life for the glory of God. Where Josh called teens (and adults) to a higher standard in romance and relationships, Alex and Brett are raising the bar all across the board.

"Being considered a good teen only requires that we don't do bad stuff like taking drugs, drinking, and partying. But is it enough to be known for the negative things we don't do, or should we also be known for the positive and difficult things that we do?" (pg. 97)

I know I linked to their "Rebelution" blog when I first heard about it. But I was busy wedding planning, then I became a farmer's wife without internet, and was busy doing my own hard things: talking to customers (aka strangers), learning all about the vegetables and antiques we sold, trying to drive stick shift, and taking care of my husband when he broke his leg. Needless to say, I don't think I've visited therebelution.com but once or twice since. But everyone was talking about their book, so I had to read it.

And I found that Alex and Brett put into words what I'd been feeling since I turned 13. They even used the YLCF's theme verse, 1 Timothy 4:12.

But they got right down to the heart of the matter. It isn't enough just to be better than average, just to be the one that everyone says is such a good girl. We can and should be doing more for Christ. That's where the hard things come in.

The problem is, the guys made it clear that doing hard things doesn't really stop with the teen years. Just because I started a teen magazine and worked in a political office when I was a teenager doesn't let me off the hook.

Being a wife and mom involves a lot of the "small" hard things. Doing the dishes, picking up after your husband, coming up with a creative menu for dinner, walking a crying baby when you're so tired you can hardly see straight.

But there are more hard things I could and should be doing: finding ways to work Christ into my everyday conversations with customers and finishing that stick shift driving lesson (we started that the day before Merritt broke his leg).

One of the closing illustrations in the Harris brothers' book really summed up my life right now. 18-year-old Brittany Lewin wrote:

"'As much as I love politics and campaigning, there is not a single political job I could find that would match the joy and satisfaction that comes from following God's special call to be a dedicated wife and mother. Campaigns are won and lost; elections happen every year. I can only do so much by myself. What's more inspiring to me is the thought of rebelutionaries across the world raising lots of counterculture, God-fearing, low-expectation-defying children who are constantly doing hard things for God's glory.'" (pg. 198)

Just read my blog posts from four years ago. I was eating and breathing politics. But Brittany is so right. Nothing can match the precious tasks that fill my daily life right now: those of my job as wife and mom.

Politics is still important to me. Maybe even more so, because the political decisions affect our freedom to own our own home and homeschool our children. I'm sure I'll have a political blog post or two this fall, and you can bet I'll be discussing politics across the counter at our store. But most of my time is spent raising a little political activist (she just doesn't know it yet).

I'm not a teenager with time for door-to-door campaigning or missions trips overseas right now. I'm a mom, trying to do the hard thing God calls all moms to: not just raising obedient children, but raising children who do hard things for the glory of God.

Read the book. Do hard things. And join the counterculture who's raising another generation of Rebelutionaries.

Betsy, Tacy, and Tib

Last fall a YLCF reader commented that a picture of Gretchen, Lanier and myself reminded her of the friendship portrayed in the timeless books by Maud Hart Lovelace. Betsy, Tacy, and Tib. It only took me a moment to think which of us was which; the similarities are striking.

Tacy was the tallest. She had long red ringlets and freckles... Gretchen is most certainly Tacy. Her curly red hair and snapping green eyes leave no room for argument.

Tib was the smallest. She was little and dainty with round eyes and a fluff of yellow hair. She looked like a picture-book fairy, except, of course, that she didn't have wings. Lanier is similar to Tib in so many ways--although her personality is even more soft and sweet and she is even more beautiful! And she's a dancer--just like Tib.

Betsy was the middle-sized one. She was almost always smiling. At twelve she had been short, straight, and chunky with perky braids and a freckled, smiling face. At fourteen she was tall with a tendency to stoop. Her brown hair waved softly. Freckles were fading out of a pink and white skin. As a matter of face what one noticed first and liked best in Betsy were her eyes, clear hazel, under dark brows and lashes.

As for me--Natalie--Betsy is the only one left and I seem to be the most like her anyways, from the brown hair and freckles to her insatiable love of literature (it was because of Betsy Ray that I fell in love with Ivanhoe!), Europe, and writing. My own half-finished novels and stories done in pencil on scratch pads were scribbled with no less aspiration and fervor. I also have much of her sometimes-amusing romantic sensibilities.

Betsy's oldest and closest friend was red-haired Tacy Kelly. They had been loyal, loving chums, and they had been friends with Tib almost as long as they had been friends with each other. She and Tacy sat looking down Hill Street while the clouds in the sky behind Tacy's house turned pink. Their hands met and as always, unfailingly, joined in a loyal clasp.

Some friendships remain treasured for a lifetime. I count myself immensely blessed to have such friends as these who stick with me through the times of great celebration and heart-wrenching sorrow. Their loyalty proved true when they had nothing to gain from being true friends--when I needed them but had little to offer in return.

Yet such is one of the glories of godly, genuine friendship. They are not friends only when the relationship is comfortable, enjoyable, and mutually beneficial. They are friends when such means suffering with those who suffer, weeping with those who weep, and remaining steady and true despite the chaos.

This summer I get to visit both of these dear friends. In fact, today I fly to see Lanier! I look forward to sharing more during and after those days together.

- Photo of Natalie, Gretchen, and Lanier aka Betsy, Tacy, and Tib by Philip Ivester

An eternal cup of tea

I'm so thankful that we'll have an eternity in Heaven to fellowship with other believers. Our times together with other kindred spirits here on earth are altogether too short. We hadn't even finished our mochas and teas on Saturday before Merritt and I were saying goodbye to Garret and Melinda. (In fact, Melinda's tea was still too hot to drink.)

Grandma's 80th birthday party took us to Melinda's hometown this last weekend. Though we live in neighboring states, it's still almost a 10-hour drive. So even though we knew it would be quick, we had to get together to say hi. Melinda directed us to meet them at this "delightful little coffee shop". Merritt and I followed Google Map's directions implicitly, turning around multiple times to find the Avenues South instead of the Avenues North (reminding us muchly of a trip with Phillip and Lanier where following Google meant many turn-arounds as well), and when we finally found the right 3rd Ave, we parked in front of an empty building with signs saying "thank you for the 8 1/2 years of business." It wasn't the fault of Google Maps. It was the right coffee shop. It was just permanently closed.

I called and left a message on Melinda's cell phone. She called back mournful that her favorite coffee shop was closed, but laughing that it would have been the perfect set-up for an ambush or something. When we finally met up at a (newly-opened) coffee shop a bit later, we ordered our coffee and tea (all of us except Ruth--she is a bit under-age for caffeinated beverages), and sat down for a quick chat.

Melinda and I go way back to days of the "Editor's Circle", when she was editor of Inkblots Literary Magazine and I was still publishing the YLCF Journal. Then years later we really bonded, as only girls can do, over our hair. As fellow "Curly Girls", I was pleased to introduce Melinda to my soon-to-be curly daughter Ruth Ann. (Ruthie's hair shows much promise of curling, but it's a little short to do anything at the moment but stick up straight or lay down flat, unless well-oiled and gelled.)

The menfolk discussed more serious issues: mountain biking and broken legs. Both Merritt and Garret were/are avid mountain bikers. Both have broken a leg in the last two years. Neither accident was due to their biking hobby. Both are thankful to have nearly full use of their legs back. (And their womenfolk are thankful to have them off crutches!)

After years of sharing magazine editing and curly hair tips, I finally got to meet Melinda face-to-face at Merritt's and my wedding. And then her family came to visit our farm when Merritt was hopping around on crutches that first summer of our marriage. But we'd been planning another meeting for quite a while now, to meet her boyfriend Garret--whose leg we'd been praying for, with the experience of those who have been there.

A few cups of coffee and tea later, we're back home, and wishing we'd had a whole day, instead of half a cup of tea, with Garret and Melinda. (I actually thought we might when our car broke down--but a local parts shop was open late Saturday night with just the right radiator in stock, and my amazing husband knew how to put it in--but that's another story...) But we're already looking forward to next time.

If the Lord tarries, it will probably be at another coffee shop or the next wedding. Otherwise, it will be sipping from those eternal cups of tea at the wedding feast of the Lamb.

My brother is graduating from college!

My big little brother is graduating from college today. I may be on the other side of the country, but this proud big sis is there in spirit.

Wasn't it just yesterday we were doing everything together? Skinning our knees on that back sidewalk by the BBQ. Shoveling snow into buckets and wheelbarrows as an "emergency water supply." Playing nurse and doctor in our little "office" upstairs. Writing and performing plays. Burying birds that hit the window in a little graveyard in the corner of the garden. Digging drainage ditches in the field, from "The Big Lake" to "The Ruts." Setting up "The Glaser Museum" in the old chicken house. Flying to Pennsylvania together. Playing Narnia with garbage can lid shields and homemade wooden swords (I was Lucy, he was Peter). Making our own wood stain out of walnut husks. Spending countless hours building and defending the "G&W" fort or "The Secret Tunnel." Playing World War II--first I was a nurse and he was PFC Bill Glaser, then we built an airplane in the apple tree and were pilots. Year after year of hunting together (I always got the easy shots--he had to work hard for his shots and take care of what I got).

We even did our school work together at the kitchen table, until Will's perpetual tongue-clicking noises (if law doesn't work out, it's possible this talent could lead to something, perhaps in the sound effects department?) drove me to a desk in my room. We discovered we could be much better friends if we did our school work separately. Then there was the Faith Summer Drama Troupe--we played boyfriend and girlfriend so convincingly that first year in "There's a Carnival on 8th Street" that some of our friends couldn't believe we were really brother and sister, we got along so well.

Freckle faced, with matching red hair (from the same bottle of dye, as we joked) many people thought we were twins. Two years, two months apart, we were the same height for much of our growing up years (until Will passed me up at about age 11!). From then on, everyone just assumed Will was older than I. And for the record, there was even a time when I could beat him arm wrestling.

But Will quickly passed me up in brains and in brawn. I watched in amazement as my little brother soared past six feet tall and retained more historical facts than I had ever learned. Then we heard about TeenPact. At fifteen, Will was scared stiff to go. But I filled out his application for him, forced him to write his testimony to go with it, and put it in the mail. (Click here for the whole story.) I had no interest in politics, so I had no thought of going with him.

Little did I know how much our paths would thus diverge. I proudly came to each of his TeenPact graduations. I cooked for his TeenPact friends. There wasn't an Oregon TeenPact class I missed visiting while I lived at home. But his TeenPact travels took him all across the country. Other girls were part of his daily life. He had inside jokes with other people. They were always kind enough to make me feel included as an "honorary TeenPacter" and give me reports on my little brother. But it just wasn't the same. My little brother was growing up. And I couldn't have been more proud.

I was his "press secretary" who wrote to the local newspapers when he placed second in the nation with the American Legion Oratorical Contest in 2003, and ninth nationally in the Veterans of Foreign Wars "Voice of Democracy" Audio Essay Contest in 2004. I even entered his political world a bit when he introduced me to a state legislator whom I ended up working for two legislative sessions. I proudly sat there on the side of the Oregon House of Representatives as Rep. Jeff Kropf introduced his aide, my brother, saying, "I'm very proud of this young man. You keep your eye on him because he will be back."

I gladly helped on Will's very first campaign, when he ran for TeenPact President in 2003. I got to be there for the '04 TeenPact National Convention, as he shook hands with the next TeenPact Vice President, that short, sweet Southern girl with beautiful long hair (who he's now courting).

We took our SAT's together. We took college writing classes together. We worked at the Capitol together. Then once again, he was off--and the college campus and capitol hallways were lonely without my brother. On a trip back east I got to see my brother in his new world, during his first year at Patrick Henry College. I watched the videos of his school dramas, longing for the old days of being in drama troupe together. I told him I was going to quit praying for the tests he was so worried about when he always got an A. And I wasn't surprised when he was first elected Student Body Vice President, then Student Body President, and placed second in a national Moot Court tournament. And of course, head of the campus security force ("the guy with three cell phones") was a natural--at six-foot-five, he'd been my body guard for years.

He was one of the first I called when I was engaged (my very bright little brother took a long time to figure out a phone call from his sister, on Valentine's Day, stating she was out to eat with her fiance). He was one of the first I called when I found out I was expecting (he was quicker to catch on to the words "niece or nephew"). Now he's graduating from college. And headed to law school. I guess we're growing up.

Congratulations, little brother. I love you lots and I am so very proud of you.

Building Blocks for Happy Moms, Happy Babies

I’m new at this amazing thing called motherhood. Every day I realize anew how much I have to learn. What I share here is not original with me. Neither is it everything you need to know to be a mom.

It is a summary of what I’ve learned from the other moms in my life. It is a compilation of the things my husband reminded me of when our newborn was crying and I was close to tears. It outlines a few of the things that we feel have helped make our baby the happy, content little girl everyone comments on. It’s just a few of the “building blocks” we’ve used in making our home a happy one. (And I hope you already know this, but nothing you read on the internet should replace your mother’s instinct or the advice of your doctor, pediatrician, or midwife.)

The First Weeks: Getting Milk, Gaining Weight, Getting Sleep
The top priorities for the first few weeks of your baby’s life all hinge one upon another: Mom getting her milk supply, Baby regaining its birth weight, and both of you getting some sleep. This is the time to drink lots and lots of water, feed your baby when he’s hungry, take hot showers and baths (especially before nursing), and sleep when your baby sleeps. If your baby wants to sleep much of the night and there is no medical concern about his nutrition, enjoy your rest. But be sure to wake your baby for meals at least every three hours during the day so he learns day from night.

The Clock on My Wall
It seems that no matter what time I eat breakfast, I only have to glance at the clock and see the hour hand approaching noon to think about eating again. Sometimes I eat lunch well before noon, if I’m really hungry or will be gone at lunchtime. Other days, I wait until well past noon for lunch because I ate breakfast at 10 o’clock and know I don’t need another meal already. The clock does not set my meal times, but it does help remind me whether or not I’m hungry yet.

I view the clock and my daughter’s mealtimes the same way. As a tired new mom, the clock was there to remind me that even though it felt like I’d just laid down for a nap, my daughter hadn’t eaten for 3 hours and I needed to feed her.

When my daughter and I were first getting the hang of nursing, it helped me to keep an eye on the clock to know how long she’d been eating. If she was crying after just two minutes, she probably had a burp, but she definitely wasn’t done. I thought she’d never learn to have a meal in less than an hour. But in just a few months, she was done eating in less than five minutes per side. And because I watched the clock, I learned her mealtime patterns, and could reassure myself that she’d gotten a full meal.

As a scatter-brained mom trying to get lots done while my daughter was playing, it really helped me to pay attention to what time she got up. It would seem only a few minutes since I left her with her toys when those tired cries would greet my ears. But a glance at the clock showed me sure enough, she’d been playing for an hour, and was definitely ready for a nap.

And when it came to naptime, the clock was an equally helpful tool. Based on what time it was and listening to how she cried I could tell if my little one was awakened by a burp or a noise, and needed more rest, or if she was wide awake and hungry. (The older she gets, the easier it is to tell—if she awakens crying, she usually needs more sleep, but when she wakes up happy and cooing, she’s well-rested and thinking about her next meal.)

Feeding a Hungry Baby
Every human being born on this earth is different from every other baby. Not every baby will conform to the same eating patterns. Smaller babies with smaller tummies will probably have to eat more often than bigger babies. Little ones who aren’t gaining enough weight may need to be reminded that they are hungry. Others who seem to want to nurse twenty-four hours a day may have to learn that mommy has other things to do (and mommy may learn the benefits of a pacifier, even when her child was “never” going to use one!).

Rule number one is to always feed a hungry baby. Suggestion number one is to help guide your baby’s hunger cycles so that you are feeding a hungry baby. It can be a challenge when your baby is still tiny, but if you can keep your baby awake enough at meal time so that they will get a good meal, they will go longer before they are hungry again. And when they are hungry again, they will be hungry enough for another good feeding. Constant nursing day and night will only wear mom out, reducing her milk supply. Both the baby and the milk quickly learn whether the rule of the day is continual snacking or a good meal every few hours.

As your baby grows, the times between meals can naturally be stretched longer. If you have to wake your baby up from every nap for a meal, it might be a sign that he can go longer between meals.

Our little girl ate every two and a half hours—from her first week of life, until she was over four months old. She started sleeping through the night at almost three months old, but she still ate every two and a half hours during the day. I could have set my clock by her hunger. Try as I might to stretch it to three, she wasn’t ready. Then, all of a sudden, she was hungry every three hours. And sometimes we stretch it to four.

You will learn your baby’s own unique needs. Just be sure that as you respond to their needs you’re also helping guide them towards a routine that is good for your baby, your health, and your family.

Eat, Play, Sleep, Eat, Play, Sleep
No matter how often you feed your baby, a little routine will go a long ways toward keeping mom and baby happy.

The traditional baby routine seems to have always been to nurse your baby to sleep. Then you tip-toe to the crib, lay them down, sneak out of the room, and hope they don’t wake up five minutes later with a burp.

Try rearranging the routine. When your baby wakes up from his nap, feed him. Then play with him for a while before he goes down for a nap. Naptime will help stretch the time until his next feeding. When he wakes up, he should be well-rested and ready to give his full attention to eating a good meal. After all those burps are taken care of, and the diaper’s changed, it’s playtime. When he’s little, Mommy might have to play with him to keep him awake until he gets adjusted to the order of the routine. As he gets older, he’ll have fun playing on his own for much of playtime—in fact, you’ll probably see that he wants and needs this “alone” play time away from mom and other siblings. (If he has trouble with spitting up, a partial reclining position in a swing or bouncy seat is a good way to start playtime.)

With all those wiggles and burps out, naptime will soon be drawing near. Your little one may fuss and rub his eyes to let you know he’s ready for a nap. Other days, he might be convinced he doesn’t need a nap. But Mommy knows that without a good nap now he will be fussy later. So Mommy makes sure he has a dry diaper, swaddles him up tight, and puts him down for a nap.

It’s a simple routine arrangement of which you’ll quickly see the benefits!

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P.S. Just a note from Natalie...at this point in time I do virtually all of the scheduling for publishing posts, moderating comments, reading and replying to emails, etc. Thus when anonymous commenters leave rude or derogatory remarks geared toward a post's author, they truly are wasting their time as no one but me will ever see them--and I am being completely honest when I say that virtually nothing ruffles my feathers. We at the YLCF look out for each other, including doing what we can to protect each other from things which are antagonistic to YLCF's vision and purpose.

Foundations for a Happy Family

With Mother's Day coming on Sunday, we decided to share two pieces by Gretchen. Watch for the second coming this Friday...

I will never forget what it felt like to hold my little girl in my arms for the very first time. It’s impossible to know a mother’s love until you become a mother yourself. Everyone tells you it will change your life completely. And you think you understand. But you don’t really understand until that little bundle is placed in your arms and your life changes—completely and forever.

I’ve wanted to be a wife and mommy as long as I can remember. I played with dolls. I babysat my cousins. I volunteered in the church nursery. And then my baby sister was born. I was twelve. My brother was ten. We couldn’t have been more thrilled. The baby brother who arrived three years later only doubled the fun. We hovered over them constantly, changing their diapers and playing with them, and doing plenty of bossing around when they became older. I was grateful for the hands-on baby-care experience. And even more important, my brother and I got to watch my dad and mom as they raised our younger siblings.

I’m sure my parents didn’t do everything right in raising the four of us. But the more families I observe, the more I realize how rare our upbringing was. You see, Dad and Mom taught us that delayed obedience was disobedience. We didn’t get to wait until they counted to ten. “To delay is to disobey.” We were not allowed to talk back—in word or in look. And talking back to Mom was talking back to Daddy’s wife, which was double trouble. Our parents expected us to obey. They told people we were well-behaved, and they trusted us to live up to it.

It helped to have this clarified before we hit the teen years. My parents, in their God-given wisdom, knew that preventing teenage rebellion didn’t start at age twelve. In fact, it started even before those “terrible twos.” They began laying the foundations for obedience before we could even choose to disobey.

From the beginning they set the standard that Daddy and Mommy were in charge. Maybe we didn’t always like the fact that we were not the center of the universe. But my brother and I learned it worked better that way. And we knew that when we became parents, we wanted to raise our kids with this common-sense, biblical principle.

One of the many things that made me fall in love with my husband was watching him with our younger siblings, as well as his niece and nephews. It was easy to picture him as a firm but doting daddy to some red-haired, curly-headed little ones. And when, after a year and a half of marriage to my best friend, our beautiful baby daughter arrived, we were thrilled to become parents—but I didn’t want the honeymoon to end.

Becoming a mommy fulfilled so many dreams and desires. But I wanted my husband to know he was still number one in my life. And as his helpmeet, I needed to be able to cook his dinners, keep his house clean, and be available to help him on the farm when he needed me—in addition to taking care of his daughter. I knew that because of our family business I’d need to be able to leave our baby girl with her aunt or grandma. As well as train her to be a well-behaved mommy’s helper at home and in the family-run store in future years.

So there I sat, with a brand-new baby in my arms, an overwhelming love growing in my heart, as a tremendous responsibility settled on my shoulders. But thankfully, my husband and I were surrounded by godly examples. We didn’t have to figure it out on our own.

And so we started out raising our little girl as our parents and grandparents did before us: with a whole lot of prayer, quite a few tears, bushels of love, and a good dose of common sense. There were nights where we looked at each other in exhausted consternation, wondering what in the world was wrong with our crying little one who didn’t want to eat, sleep, or anything else. And there were many times when we tip-toed over to the crib together, just to stare at the sleeping child who was such a blend of the two of us.

As she grew, we learned—we could soon distinguish the hungry cries from the tired cries, the tears that needed attention from the tears that just needed to be cried. And as she grew, we began to teach her—with that helpful, happy toddler in mind. We told her over and over that we loved her. But we also explained to her, as we swaddled her up tight and laid her in the crib, that it was because we loved her that we knew she needed a nap.

We followed the example of our parents, who had raised nine children between them. We listened to the wisdom of our grandparents, who had lived through many crying babies and sleepless nights. They had experience, and common sense.

It was my desire for a way to share some of that generations-old common-sense with my pregnant friends that sent me to the library...

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My Cook Book Shelf

"Food prepared with a light heart and in a happy frame of mind is often the best food. Preparing the special foods that are favorites of those you love...making just a little effort to garnish the salad with a sprig of parsley, a bit of grated cheese, or a wild strawberry from the nearby meadow. This says 'you cared enough to do the little extra things.' This makes cooking pleasant and satisfying."

-"Meal Planning," Betty Crocker's Picture Cook Book, 1956

My cook book shelf is filled to the overflowing. A yellow plastic shelf that began its useful life in my mother's college dorm room, it then became my toy shelf, and now more than 20 years later holds a place of honor in my kitchen as the home of my cookbooks. There are glossy magazines from MaryJane's Farm and Taste of Home, antique hardbacks, three-ring binders, spiral-bound collections of friends and church family, and a stack of copied recipe pages that should be organized into that Mary Engelbreit notebook sometime when I'm not cooking. There's an authentic Mexican cook book and a Chinese cooking school cook book right next to Jan Karon's Mitford Cookbook and a menu for Afternoon Tea.

But if I was stranded in a kitchen with only one cook book, I would want the expertise of Betty Crocker or Fannie Merritt Farmer at my fingertips.

Everyone knows that Betty Crocker is the ever-young, ever-fashionable, most versatile cook in the U.S.A. I, however, prefer the vintage 1950's Betty Crocker, who had just discovered the value of photographs in cook books. Not only does Betty Crocker teach the beginning cook how to do everything from scramble an egg to making a meringue (complete with pictures), as well as set a table and plan a menu, she has so many versatile recipes that even the pro will always be turning back to her pages.

The antique versions of this famous cookbook are best, because back then they knew how to cook from scratch--not from cans and boxes. (See "Recipe for a Good Cook Book.") And what I love about the older versions of Betty Crocker (in addition to the wonderful way it is organized!) are all the key recipes--they tell you how to make a basic recipe, then give you several variations. And once you master the key recipe, of course, you can experiment to your heart's content. At the moment, I have only two copies: a spiral-bound Betty Crocker's New Picture Cook Book (first edition, third printing, copyright 1961), and my favorite, a hardbound copy of Betty Crocker's Picture Cook Book (second edition, second printing, copyright 1956). But being a collector of antiques as well as cook books, I pick up a Betty Crocker whenever I find a good deal, and sometimes I even let one go as a gift to someone I know will appreciate it as much as I did.

I'll admit the reason I first picked up Fannie Merritt Farmer's Boston Cooking School Cookbook was because Merritt is the name of the man whose heart I wanted to win (and we all know the way to a man's heart is through his stomach). But when I finally got my own copy it became an invaluable tool in my kitchen. I like to compare Betty Crocker's recipes to Fannie Merritt Farmer's, often ending up with a combination of the two. I'm guessing Fannie Merritt Farmer was the more gourmet of the two back in their day, but either is gourmet compared to today's home-cooking standards. Fannie Merritt Farmer was apparently the first to bring "level measurements" into popularity--her original cookbook was published in 1896 (mine is the tenth edition, revised by her niece, from 1959). You won't find photographs in her cook books, but the black and white facts of every culinary art will be a great asset to your cooking.

As you can see, though I have two especial favorites, there are more cookbooks on my shelf...

Back in 1995 my grandparents gave me a Reader's Digest cookbook called Like Grandma Used to Make. Often as I flip through it, I find the little sheets of menu plans my cousin Melissa and I made up for one of our fancy dinners for the family (which usually turned out to be semi-disasters, with Gretchen making the messes and Melissa following her around with a dish rag). This book is filled with delicious, down-home recipes you'll always have the ingredients for. It may not have every recipe you'll ever want to make, but it has a lot you'll want to try. Whenever I'm lacking creativity, I turn to the pages of Like Grandma Used to Make.

If you're a working mom or have little time and lots of freezer space, Once a Month Cooking by Wilson and Lagerborg is for you. I used this method for my family when I still lived at my parents', cooking 30+ meals in one day, and filling the freezer with a variety of menu items that lasted over a month. Now that I'm just cooking for two, I've modified the method--I cook lots each meal, and freeze the leftovers for hurried days when I don't have time to cook. For more, read my blog post "Dinner's in the Freezer."

Make-a-Mix Cookery (by Eliason, Harward, and Westover) is an amazing book I've only skimmed the surface of. My mom always made the best pie crusts--straight from this book. The best part was, she made enough dough for 10 pie crusts at a time. Then, when we were ready for a blackberry pie (with berries fresh from the field!), she would take the dough out of the freezer, thaw it, and roll it out. And that's just the beginning of the mixes you'll find in the pages of this book!

It took me one look to fall in love with The Farmer's Wife Cook Book. My grandma gave it to me my first birthday after becoming a farmer's wife. The redhead waving to the man on the John Deere tractor looked just like us... One of these days, I would love to find an original copy of that issue of The Farmer's Wife: a magazine for farm women (published from 1893 to 1939). Meanwhile, I enjoy the recipes from the magazine, compiled into a new cookbook by Martha Engstrom. With old advertisements and photos, and original articles from The Farmer's Wife (such as "Use Butter Generously" and "Why Not Hominy?"), it's a trip into the history of the farm kitchen. My farmer and I especially enjoyed the article on "Choosing a Refrigerator", from a 1930 issue of the magazine. It stated that there were really only two or three months out of the year when a refrigerator was necessary, and at least 5 cubic feet of storage space would be a good idea for a family of 4 or 5 (these newlyweds started out with 14.3 cubic feet of refrigerator space, 12 months out of the year!). If you can't find a vintage Betty Crocker that will fit your budget, The Farmer's Wife Cook Book will at least give you a flavor of good old-fashioned cooking methods (you might discover some new favorites--like baked custard or rice pudding). (And if you see a copy of the magazine with that tractor cover picture, I want it!)

Church Suppers, coupled with a casserole dish and insulated carrier, was one of the most creative and practical wedding gifts we received. A huge notebook of recipes for church potluck and home alike (by Barbara Greenman). The best thing about it is the selection from across the country--from down-home Southern cooking to a variety of New York cheesecakes.

Better Homes and Garden's Vegetable Recipes and Fodale Press' The Green Thumb Cook Book are thrift store finds with recipes organized alphabetically by vegetable--great for fresh ideas for that veggie that's practically coming out of your ears!

For this winter squash fanatic, Reader's Digest's Pumpkins and Squashes by Caroline Boisset was a delightful discovery. There just aren't enough recipes using squash--but this is a book full of them, as well as pictures and descriptions of all varieties of summer and winter squash.

Williams-Sonoma's Best of the Kitchen Library is a bit more on the gourmet side, but any of the cookbooks in this collection are enough to inspire you to new heights. And then there's Gourmet magazine. It's a very inexpensive subscription (especially for us because we borrow my sister-in-law's!), and the magazine is full of mouth-watering recipes. Or, look for Gourmet's "best of..." recipe book collections on sale. Your cooking will wow your friends. And even if you don't have all the ingredients each recipe calls for, you can usually figure out a substitute.

Lorenz Books has an amazing line of cook books, too. I only own the Potato book, but it's true to its name: "the definitive guide to potatoes and potato cooking." The recipes are gourmet and down-home at the same time. I'm sure I'll have to pick up another at a garage sale one of these days.

And then there's the next cook book I'll buy... Every cook knows she can never have enough cook books. There's always one more, with yet more recipes to stir your creativity. Like the library's copy of Ed Wood's Classic Sourdoughs that is making me want to find its twin for my own.

But enough about cook books. I need to get cooking! I'm making curried carrot soup from Church Suppers to go with the "Lowell Inn Crescent Rolls" from Betty Crocker. And my man will be home for dinner in just a few hours...

"The momentous question of 'What shall we eat,' which comes to the housekeeper three times every day and which must be met with a well-supplied table--whether everything else in the house goes undone--becomes monotonous and wearying. We hail suggestions as a ship-wrecked mariner does the distant sail."

-"Table Talk," The Farmer's Wife, May 1912

Recipe for a Good Cook Book

Flipping through a new cook book, just glancing at the pictures can make your mouth start to water. But before you pay for it based on salivary appeal alone, take a second look, and see if you can actually make the recipes included. Is it so gourmet that it calls for ingredients that aren't in your cupboard, let alone in your food budget? Or is it so modernized that it calls for boxes and cans and packages, instead of from-scratch ingredients?

Here's a recipe for a good old-fashioned cook book you'll reference the rest of your life...

Turn to the index, and find a recipe for spaghetti. If it calls for a 16-ounce jar of spaghetti sauce, don't even give it a second look. If it tells you how to simmer your own spaghetti sauce, the cook book may have some promise.

Next, look up minestrone soup. If it calls for a 15-ounce can of red kidney beans, drained and rinsed, forget it. If it tells you the proper dried measurements for soaking, rinsing, and cooking your own kidney beans and chickpeas, you're onto something.

Finally, sniff your way through the pages to pumpkin pie. If it calls for a can of pumpkin, it still fails the test. If it tells you how many cups of pureed pumpkin to use, it's a good cook book. If it mentions substituting winter squash as well, you've really got a winner.

Anyone can open a can of beans in the interest of speed, or follow the recipe off the can of storebought pumpkin. But only a good cook can substitute the perfect from-scratch with-plenty-of-garlic spaghetti sauce when the recipe just calls for a 16-ounce jar. And every gardener knows that squash pie is better than pumpkin any day.

Coming soon: Gretchen's favorite cook books... Stay tuned!

Swaddling Clothes

Becoming a parent turns the topics of burps and messy diapers into everyday conversation. It also makes you a connoisseur of baby products. Don't get Merritt and me started on collapsible baby gyms, one-piece potty chairs, or folding baby swings. Things have changed a lot since our youngest siblings were born 10 and 16 years ago! They have gelled baby oil. Tagless clothes. They even have SmartWool socks for toddlers. Ruth wears hers as socks and gloves. Yes, we could go on for hours about all the great toys they make these days! (How did we grow up to be normal adults without them?) There's one I just have to share with you, however...

By far our favorite baby product has been the SwaddleMe. My mom was sitting next to a young mom on an airplane, and couldn't help commenting on her baby and sharing the news that she would be a grandma soon. This girl said, "Oh, your daughter would just love the SwaddleMe." It sounded so good that Ruth had her very own green gingham flannel SwaddleMe waiting for her when she came home from the hospital.

A concept as old as the prophecy of the Babe in the manger, swaddling refers to the practice of wrapping a baby up snugly, imitating the close confines of the womb, and its mother's arms. We've all seen our grandmothers or the nurses at the hospital expertly wrap a baby, tucking the corners of the blanket in just the right place to keep them there. But few of us can duplicate the method. Ruth's arms find their way out of every blanket I wrap around her--even when I thought I did it just right.

The SwaddleMe, however, has something Jesus' mother Mary had never seen: Velcro. It keeps even the most determined little one snugly wrapped.

Besides the obvious benefit of keeping the baby warm without the danger of suffocation from blankets, swaddling also helps babies sleep better. You've seen babies startle themselves awake, their arms raising quickly? It's called the startle reflex. They usually grow out of it between four to six months, but until then, swaddling can help keep babies from waking themselves up.

It took me a few days to decide to try the SwaddleMe with Ruth. But it wasn't long before we wouldn't leave home without it. Whether sleeping on the couch at Papa and Nanna's, in the bassinet at Grandpa and Grandma's, in the playpen at her uncle and aunts', or in the cradle at home, Ruth always knew it was naptime when we swaddled her up. Once I left Ruth with her Aunt Jessica, and was gone longer than I had planned. I came back to a very tired little girl, who was quite fussy and past ready for her nap. I swaddled her up, and she instantly let out a big sigh, closed her eyes, and went to sleep. If we'd only had a video, it would have been the perfect advertisement for SwaddleMe!

We've since discovered there are multiple brands of swaddles and wearable blankets. I would have tried the Halo Sleep Sack when Ruth grew out of her first Kiddopotamus SwaddleMe, but the Sleep Sack only has the optional Swaddle in the first size. At 6 pounds 10 ounces, Ruth was almost too small for the size small SwaddleMe, though (they had a preemie size, but I hadn't bought it, expecting to have a bigger baby!). With the SwaddleMe brand, it's important to have the right size so the baby doesn't wriggle down inside the blanket. It has the advantage over the Wearable Blanket, however, of not having to fit their arms through sleeves at bedtime. Ruth quickly grew too tall for the size small (I think it shrunk, even though I hung it out to dry every time), kicking the feet pocket open and waking herself up with one foot in, one foot out. We chose the fleece fabric in the size large SwaddleMe, and the stretchy fleece seemed to give her a little more room to squirm without bursting the Velcro open--plus it has a bit more give as I wrap her up.

I know our little girl will soon be past the startle reflex stage, but I think we will keep swaddling her until she becomes strong enough to "Houdini" her way out. It keeps her warm and cozy at night, and I don't have to worry about her working her way under blankets.

Yes, everyone laughs at our little green "glow worm" daughter, teasing us about putting our child in a straight jacket. But they don't laugh at the fact that she's slept through the night since she was almost three months old (for which I credit not only the SwaddleMe, but having her on a routine).

We like the BundleMe from the J.J. Cole Collection, too... But didn't I tell you not to get me started?

Farm Girls at Heart

"I need say nothing of household economy, in which the mothers of our country are generally skilled, and generally careful to instruct their daughters.
We all know its value, and that diligence and dexterity in all its processes are inestimable treasures.
The order and economy of a house are as honorable to the mistress as those of the farm to the master, and if either be neglected, ruin follows, and children destitute of the means of living."
-Thomas Jefferson, in a letter to Nathaniel Burwell, March 14, 1818

I found a book Lanier would like. I think a lot of you farm girls (and farm girls at heart) would like it too. It just comes with a disclaimer.

Merritt and I have spent hours pouring over the photos and ideas in MaryJane's Ideabook, Cookbook, Lifebook: For the Farmgirl at Heart. He said, "You probably can't recommend a book like this on your website, though, can you?" But I told him that was the beauty of disclaimers. Because really, what book can we recommend without one? Every book excepting the Bible has been written by a fallen human being. Not that any book is okay to recommend--but one should not have to agree with every sentence to suggest that someone else read a book.

This book is written by a feminist Mormon, who is as close to being an environmentalist as a deer hunter and reformed vegetarian can be. She talks a lot about the Mormon clan she grew up in, but that part is no different than if I always referenced growing up in a Baptist church. It comes through more in her brief references to toasts to goddesses, and her major emphasis on female entreprenuerism. I'm all for girls finding a way to earn something extra for the family--that's what "egg money" was all about 100 years ago.

But one should not just "include" the husband one is married to--he is the head of the household, and shouldn't be shoved out of the way for any venture of the wife's, whether it's selling soap at farmer's market or planting a garden. Maybe he can't be an active part of your project, but he better be behind it, or you're destined for failure before you start. If you read the book remembering that every farmgirl's first priority is to her God and her man, knowing it is more important to be one with the God of creation than the creation itself, then you'll have the right lens through which to filter what's said between the lines.

That being said, look for MaryJane Butters' book at your library (or snatch up a copy if you find it at a bargain). It's filled with recipes for sourdough bread, one-skillet meals, and lots of chilled gelatin recipes I know my husband would enjoy. There are chapters on everything from gardening and weeds to laundry and sewing (with an explanation of more stitches than I ever knew existed). She tells you how to dry fruit and grind hamburger. There's even a section on how to play all the old-fashioned games you read about in books like Little House on the Prairie.

It's everything your mother would have taught you--if you'd been born a couple hundred years ago. When we stopped passing the baton of thrifty, grow-your-own or make-it-from-scratch home-making from generation to generation, I don't know. Maybe it had something to do with the advent of modern "conveniences". Maybe it came when women started working outside the home. Whenever it happened, it was a great tragedy. Let's re-learn the old-fashioned ways of making and keeping a home, and pass them on to our daughters, shall we?

Photo: Overalls are a pregnant farm girl's best friend!
Gretchen last summer, with a bucketful of fresh-picked cilantro for drying.
Pop quiz: What kind of seed do you plant to get cilantro?

Bookshopping

It was a feast for a booklover's eyes. Row after row of bookshelves over ten feet tall, filled with old books. And not just old books--antiques, first editions, hardcovers.

I could have spent a week there. But alas, Merritt and I had a plane to catch the next morning. And somehow it didn't seem his parents would understand if we didn't show up for work because we were stranded in a Nebraska bookstore.

We were exploring all the book and antique shops in the Old Market section of Omaha. And we found treasures untold at Jackson Street Booksellers. A Dr. Seuss book Merritt didn't have yet, another original Sugar Creek Gang book for my collection. A gorgeous Boy's Story of Lindbergh. A compilation of Booth Tarkington's Penrod stories for Merritt. An original Raggedy Andy Stories to go with my Wooden Willie book (now I just need an old copy of Raggedy Ann Stories to complete that set). An adorable Little Folk's Ettiquette. And a new copy of A Treasury of Dick and Jane (since the originals are so hard to find, and beyond our budget even if we did see them!).

We spent the whole afternoon wishing Phillip and Lanier were with us. After a delicious Italian dinner with them the night before, a day of bookshopping would have topped off our visit. Lanier would have spotted the Gene Stratton Porter books at the same time we did. And I know she would have shown us some "new" old authors to try.

But maybe someday, they can take us to their favorite book shops in Georgia. Everything's just a bit older back there. Not quite as many "old" things made it out here on covered wagon. We have our share of good used book stores (though my favorite has now changed hands and become just another used book store), and of course there are some very cute antique shops (especially here in my corner of the world). I'm sure we have more first edition Zane Grey and Rex Beach books than they do back East. But I've only ever seen two copies of St. Elmo out here, and never an original Elsie Dinsmore.

That's okay. I'm a farm girl. I love Mission style furniture and old Western novels. And I can always visit the old South in a good book...

Ratatouille and other farm-style delicacies

It's one of those cozy, rainy autumn afternoons meant for curling up by the fire with a good book. Everyone must have felt it, for it was a slow day at the store, and Merritt and I did just that--sat by the store's wood stove with our books. I convinced him to try a George MacDonald, The Fisherman's Lady, and I had a fun read in Who Gets the Drumstick? by Helen Beardsley.

Then I got to come home, feed the chickens (who love the mud and the rain), laugh at the kitties (who try to delicately shake the mud from their feet each step they take), light all the candles, and make dinner for my husband who will soon be home from work. (Meanwhile, I'm keeping one eye on the fields in case a buck should present himself as steak for our winter's dinners.)

Tonight I'm trying Bortsch (beet and cabbage soup) for the very first time, as well as making my mother-in-law's standby sausage and potatoes (a simple white sauce and sausage gravy over mashed potatoes) in case Merritt doesn't like the Bortsch.

As the end of a second season on the farm draws to a close, I'm realizing how much living off the bounty of the garden has taught me about cooking. I thought I cooked from scratch before. I may have grown up with a few Costco or Schwans prepared dinners in the freezer to fall back on in emergencies, but I knew how to grind wheat, bake bread of all kinds, and make lasagne (sauce and all). Now I'm making salsa with tomatoes, peppers, and onions I planted, and cilantro from my pot outside the door. Not only is the beef in the enchiladas from our cows (I grew up on our own beef and venison), but my husband farmed the alfalfa hay that fattened those cows up. And the vanilla and honey baked custard is made with eggs from our own chickens and ducks.

But more importantly, I'm learning to cook according to what's in season. This spring it started out with cream of spinach soup and broccoli casseroles with green salad. (And this pregnant lady's favorite keep-away-the-nausea snack eaten at least twice daily, of a tortilla smeared with cream cheese, layered with spinach and salsa, and rolled to perfection.)

As soon as the first little summer squash showed itself, we had squash and zucchini with every meal (sauteed in a cast iron skillet with just a dab of butter, salt and pepper). My favorite summer lunch was an "open-face sandwich", with some of my sister-in-law's homemade bread, toasted, buttered, and topped with bacon, onion, tomato, and cheese, then broiled just until the cheese browned--I could get fat on those!

The week the peppers and tomatoes came into profusion, our favorite Mexican meals began showing up frequently in the menu. My latest experiment was winter squash enchiladas, with a sauce of pureed winter squash, garlic, and jalapeno instead of the traditional tomato sauce. (While I didn't grow up with it, I have become a fan of winter squash in every way, shape, and form!)

But the one farm-style delicacy I didn't get to try this year was Ratatouille. My mouth has been watering ever since we saw the movie by the same name at the drive-in. I came home and dug through all my cookbooks, very proud to find that my non-gourmet cookbook library had several versions of the recipe. And upon reading the ingredients, I found out why the movie characters were so scandalized at serving such a "peasant dish" to the gourmet food critic: the primary ingredients of Ratatouille are zucchini, tomatoes, and eggplant! There were never any eggplant to spare this summer, but I've convinced Mom and Dad to plant a few eggplants again next year just so we can make Ratatouille.

Maybe you can always find eggplant and zucchini at the grocery store. But there's nothing so gourmet as food straight from the garden. And nobody eats better than those who live off the land, eating what's in season, and preservi