Cheesy Oscars speeches

Joaquin Phoenix talked about dairy cows at the Oscars last night, and since he regrettably didn't use the opportunity to recommend ordering extra cheese on your pizza or mention how good it tastes with an Oreo, I'll do it for him because Miss 4091 is wide-eyed in disbelief: GET THE EXTRA CHEESE ON YOUR PIZZA. (Also, milk and cookies go great together.)

I'm also not going to repeat what he said here, because it's never helpful to repost things that aren't true. But I DO think it's helpful to remind each other of some of the other joys of farming, and specifically the dairy-ing kind, which will probably never make it into an Oscars acceptance speech, even though they definitely should.

If he'd be open to it,  I'd love to introduce Mr. Phoenix to the people that work at the dairy, some of whom had never been around animals or equipment, some of whom never even knew they loved -- and are naturally gifted with -- taking care of animals until they started working in agriculture.

I'd love to invite him over for a meal at our house and let him walk the creaky, wooden floors that four generations of the same farming family have walked or let him look out the window at the farm land the same family has farmed for decades.

I'd love to plop him in a Gator or a Mule and let Chris tool him around the fields, explaining how he knows -- even when it's dark outside -- every spot where the ground rises and falls and dips because he's walked and driven it time and time and time again. 

I'd love to introduce him to our nutritionist and hoof trimmer and veterinarian, men who all have made it their work to ensure the health and well-being of animals that aren't even theirs. 

I'd love to let him see my kids' love of the farm and the outdoors, how they snuggle barn cats and watch newborn calves with wonder and how they talk to the cows as though the cows are even paying attention. (They are not, just to be clear.)

I'd love to give him the space to watch a mama cow give birth, to see firsthand a newborn calf only moments old, to watch how well those babies are cared for, and to see them promptly settle in fresh bedding and take a long winters' nap.

I'd love to see him experience how everybody at the dairy rallies during busy seasons of the year like silage and planting and harvest, how people step up for one another and fill in for one another and have each other's backs, and how everybody celebrates and breathes a sigh of relief and takes huge naps when those times are over.

I'd love to give him a chair to sit and watch a cow chomp on her cud like it's her only job, to watch the rhythmic movement of her mouth and the "don't you have something better to be doing?" look in her eye.

I'd love to have him listen to some of the stories the guys can tell: things they never thought they'd accomplish that they've accomplished at the dairy, problems they never thought they could solve being solved at the dairy, capacity and courage they never thought they'd have being learned at the dairy, and I'd love to have him hear how much they laugh.

I'd love to encourage him to walk a pen of cows, to see how calm and placid and downright content they are . . . and HOW HUGE THEY ARE IN PERSON.

I'd love to introduce him to the men and women who get up in the middle of the night to help calves make their way safely into the world, who are up again before the sun gets up to feed the cows, and who fall asleep after it's gone back down because the cows' well-being comes before their own, to the folks who work the overnight shift when it's dark and quiet at the dairy and the only sounds are cows chewing and shuffling and country music playing in the milk parlor.

Do I think Mr. Phoenix is going to change his mind about farming and the farmers who do the work? Probably not. But would I love for him to see the truth for himself? You bet so.

So when you're done accepting awards and the red carpet is rolled up, Mr. Phoenix, you're always invited to come see and experience what dairy cows and dairy farming and dairy farmers do. Take us up on it. You just may find that your speech at next year's Oscars might be . . . a little different.

PS Don't forget the extra cheese. You won't regret it. 

Harvest 2019


One of my favorite memories from my childhood is laying in my bed in the second story of my parents' farmhouse, looking out at the pitch-blackness that is country life, and hearing -- through slightly opened windows -- the sound of farmers still in the field. Combines and tractors and fans on grain bins were always running . . .  from the time I'd lay down at night into the early morning hours.

It was -- and remains -- a comforting sound. It meant someone else was awake, someone else was still out there in the darkness, and all of that was heartening and lovely and a little mysterious. 

It's nighttime now as I write this, and outside, our dogs are barking like it's their spiritual gift because someone is combining across the creek, and even their racket makes me happy too . . . for all the same reasons. 

So if fall ever decides to show up, and if the temperature ever falls from 86 degrees to under 70 in the month of October, you can bet I'm cracking our bedroom window to hear our neighbor's grain bin running as I fall asleep. 

Some people say they love country life because of the stillness. But every now and then, it's the little noises we love even more.

caring for others

My dad's grandmother was in charge of washing the family's silverware at age 2. She came from a large family. Everybody had to pull his own weight, even the two-year-old. So her mom put her to work doing something she could do that would be helpful to the whole family: washing silverware.

I can't say I would trust my two- and three-year-olds with washing the dishes just yet. More water ends up on the floor than it does in the sink, and the front of their clothes are usually soaked by the time the first dish is rinsed.

But they absolutely love washing dishes, and it's made me a believer that there's something to the ideal held forth by my ancestors: the acknowledgement that everyone is a part of his family, no matter how much or how little he contributes to it.

So while I wouldn't recommend you eat off the plates my kids clean just yet (unless you actually enjoy crusty chunks of the previous meal stuck to your flatware), I do love to watch them dig into real life tasks: cleaning out measuring cups, sweeping the floor with their mini brooms, and even hanging clothes on the line.

Isn't it interesting how even the littlest members of a family get so much pride out of contributing to it? It's almost like Someone designed us to care for and about one another. Hmm.

The bulk of their day still revolves around all sorts of play, which is exactly what they should be doing as children. But there are also times throughout the day and week that our play takes the form of some real life work: setting the table, running out to get the mail, unpacking the dishwasher, pouring drinks, and moving laundry from the washing machine to the dryer.

I'm thankful for all those little ways in which they help our family function (not to mention how they help the kids be independent and capable adults some day . . . or so I hope because if they can't figure out how to get a stain out of their clothes, they'll have to call their grandma who is basically the queen of OxiClean), and it's such a joy to watch them take ownership and pride in their work . . . even if the clothespins were upside down and the fork ended up on the right side of the plate.

It's a start. In fact, it's the first step in learning that taking care of someone other than themselves matters. And in a time in their lives where they are particularly prone to thinking only of themselves (hello, toddler "No, me!" mentality), that's something. I'd bet my dirty fork on it. 

Gentle and Classical Curriculum


If you're looking for two small children who are passionate about face washing, they live at our house. Two weeks ago, my three-year-old and two-year-old started Life Abundantly's Gentle and Classical Preschool curriculum, and let me just put it this way: They're here for face washing.

Let me issue this disclaimer though: I'm a firm believer that, at this age, a child's most important work is playing. We spend our days doing just that, reading a lot of good books, helping with real life tasks like pinning clothes on the clothesline and setting the table, taking solid naps, running around outside as much as possible and reading still more. 

I am not the mom who wants my child in every sport by age 3, memorizing his multiplication tables by 3.5, and trying out for Quiz Bowl at age 4. 

Ain't happenin' in this house. 

At the same time, I recognize that my little people are curious about everything (Why? Why, Mom? But why?) and that there is a benefit to learning to sit still, if only for 15 minutes a day. Thus, Gentle and Classical. 

So while you won't find us memorizing Latin declensions just yet or working on trigonometry (ever . . . if it were up to me), you will, for example, find us learning that tadpoles turn into frogs, searching outside for said polywogs, and listening to Frog and Toad

You'll find us singing our days of the week and months of the year, looking at the calendar to count down the days until family members visit, and marking out which day is "church day."

You'll find us memorizing Scripture and having deep toddler conversations that go like this: "No, F, you are NOT the Good Shepherd. Jesus is the Good Shepherd! That's what John 10:11 says!" and "No, G. Good Shepherd ME!"

And you'll find us counting the rocks we've picked up in the lane and hauled around in a small, dinged up Tonka dump truck. 

Teaching my little people that fish swim in the ocean and that patience is a virtue is one of the brightest spots in my day, and from the repeat question of, "Can C go take a nap so that we can do school, Mom?" it's clear to me that my two older kids love it too. 

Thanks to our little school routine, I now have two happy face-washers. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go see what week we learn how to fold clothes, cook supper and unpack the dishwasher . . .

the perfect house

We're in the midst of renovating and adding onto my husband's childhood home.

I say "we." By that I mean "my husband and lots of other people who know what drywall and HVAC and trim work mean." My job primarily is to act like I understand how load-bearing walls and can lights and roof angles work. {Failing miserably and owning it.}

When the house is finished, our children will be the fourth generation to live there. My husband's grandparents raised their children there. My husband's parents raised their children there. And now we will too.

Picking light fixtures and flooring, countertops and doors has caused us to have a lot of conversations about this home: how we want it to function, how we want it to look, and what we want to occur both within its walls and outside of them.

We know this:

(1) It will be beautiful, but it will not be a museum. We want our children to be able to be at the dairy with their dad, to come home dirty and dusty and smelling faintly of cow, and to be welcome there. We want it to be cozy and inviting, but we do not want it to be sterile for the sake of a blown-out Instagram post. 

(2) It will be a secure, thriving, warm place for our children as they mature. Because we intend to educate them at home, we want our play/homeschool room dedicated to learning and discovery, a space where they will be able to decipher poetry and dig into the sciences, admire art and cheat their way through math. {Whoops. That was me as a kid. Forgot who I was talking about there for a minute.} We want the views from that room -- of trees and crops and a lake -- to bring the outdoors in and allow for imagination and even a little daydreaming.


(3) It will have a traditional with a touch of funky kitchen and an inviting dining room so that we can welcome others into our home and feed them and make them feel loved and cared for. We want them to sit at our 100-year-old kitchen table and look at the kitchen cabinets Chris's grandfather built for his wife by hand and have a good glass of wine and a steak my farmer put on the grill and a big salad and a loaf of bread that I hopefully didn't burn and tell stories and ask questions and debate and laugh and lift their glasses for a refill.

(4) It will have a library because reading is life. We have a space where kids and parents alike can lose the smart phones and immerse themselves in a good book for an hour or two, or pull out a map to find where the a certain battle occurred, or play a game of chess. We also have lot of books . . . from Hop on Pop to Kristin Lavransdatter, books about theology and history and agriculture and all the classics we can get our hands on. {Kristin Lavransdatter is, by the way, a great book that you should all read. It may take you all of 2020, but it will be worth it.}

(5) Our kids will share bedrooms, because sharing is caring. {Or just a good way to teach them how not to be selfish.} We want them to have conversations late into the night when they should be sleeping, to learn how to live side by side with another human being, to strengthen the relationship between siblings because they are all they will have in this world. And also because, channeling my mother, I want to be able to holler up the stairs at least once a week, "Kids, it's time to stop talking and go to sleep!"

(6) It will have a family room with a fireplace and piano so that we can gather together every night, as we already do, for devotions and giggles and singing and the general chaos that comes with small, noisy people, namely Dad roughing kids up and kids shouting for more and Mom telling everyone they're supposed to be calming down instead of getting riled up.

(7) It will have a guest space in the basement so that our family and friends who need a quiet respite from life can find it. We want them to sleep in, to enjoy the sunshine, to make a cup of coffee and look out over the fields, to have their own space, to feel replenished, to feed on some stillness in the midst of a world bent on noise and chaos.

(8) And it will have porches, because the First Article gift of being able to sit on a porch with a glass of lemonade, and a slight breeze, and the sounds of bugs chirping and birds singing and wind blowing through the corn is rare, and it is good.

Our list goes on, but we are doing our best to keep those main goals as our focus: to provide our children with a place to grow in faith and understanding, to care for those around us, and to enjoy time with one another in all the best ways that country living has to offer.

Perhaps, better put, our goal for our new-old home is this, as Tolkien wrote, "That house was a perfect house, whether you like food or sleep, or story-telling or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all. Merely to be there was a cure for weariness, fear, and sadness."

And if, when we're all finished, we -- and anyone around us -- thinks that, we'll be tinkled pink.

Here I Swap 2019

 Lutheran ladies, it's mug swap time! (I was going to post the "Let's get ready to ruuuuuuuumble!" video here but that didn't seem quite appropriate.)

Now read this next part closely.


Closer still. 

A little more. 

There you go! 
  1. Ready to swap mugs? You sign up here. 
  2. I pair you up with another gal and send you both the information you'll need to know about one another (names and adddresses, etc.). You're matched up with one person, and she's matched up with you.
  3. You put together a little care package for her. You're free to add as many goodies to the package as you'd like -- as long as it doesn't cost you more than $20.00 -- but you have to include a mug. (I mean, this is why it's called a mug swap.)
  4. Stick that package in the mail! (But seriously, for real, because having to track people down who don't hold up their end of the bargain makes me grumpy.)
  5. Instagram your pumpkin spice latte while waiting patiently by the mailbox for your buddy's package to arrive for you. Or don't. Whichever. 

Are you game?

 If you're 21 or older, sign up by clicking this link and filling out the form. 

  • Sign-ups close September 15, and you'll receive information on your swap friend by October 1. (Yes. It may take that long to send all the emails out. I'm a wife and a mom of three 3 and under. You understand.)
  • Again, after reading up on your new friend, head to Walmart or Home Goods or any place in between to put her fall swap package together, which must include at least one mug.
  • Send the package -- along with a little note with your name and how she can connect up with you -- by October 15.
  • Post a picture of your swap package when it arrives. Use the hashtag #hereiswap2019 on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. Wait. Do people still even tweet? 
  • Finally, I'm hoping this swap remains a helpful way for Lutheran women to encourage each other, but unfortunately, I can't be held responsible for your partner's actions. If she doesn't send you a package, feel free to follow up with her via email! A healthy dose of the Law never hurts, amiright? 
Are you excited yet? Sweet.

Let's get swapping!

it takes a village (of the dairy variety)


I've written about silage season here and here before, discussing that unique time of year that is a pretty big deal to dairy farmers and remains unheard of by . . . virtually everyone else. And while I usually end up spending a lot of time thinking about cows and all their bellies and how these couple of weeks are so critical to keeping them fed for the whole year, this year I've spent a lot of time pondering the people behind the season. 

The milkers and herders who keep milking while everyone else is out in the field. 

The guys in the shop who keep the choppers and trucks running. 

The herd health guys who keep the cows cared for and on top of their game.

The people who make parts runs. 

The people who cook and bake to keep everyone fed. 

The guys in the pushing and packing tractors who put in 15-hour days driving back and forth all day long.

My mom, who helped me make Chris a million sandwiches to eat while chopping. 

My sister and her children, who came for several days. She helped me make 20 meals for 20 silage truck and tractor drivers while her older two boys swept the shop and picked up trash and tracked silage truck loads.

The girls who drive big ole tractors like it's no big deal.

My sister-in-laws, who brought protein balls and caramel corn for hungry farmers to snack on while trying to stay awake and delivered snacks and Red Bulls.

My mother-in-law, who makes the world's chewiest oatmeal cookies, which keep ALL the team's spirits up, and who lets a whole lot of family camp out at her house while all of the rest of this is going on.

Little boys, who ride in silage choppers with their dads and uncles and think talking to each other on the radio and being around big machinery constitutes living their best life.  

My brothers-in-law, who drive silage choppers like they're stolen and whip trucks through muddy fields like they're in a demo derby, and live on iced coffees for several days in a row, and have fun doing it. 

My husband and father-in-law, who manage it all from chopper seats and pick-up trucks and can somehow talk on a radio and a phone at the same time without confusing who is talking to whom. 

If you're not a farm family or if you don't know a farmer, just know that for two weeks, everything on the dairy centers around getting corn chopped for cows to eat for the following year so that they can make milk so that you can eat cheese and yogurt and have something in which to dunk your cookies. 

And for those same two weeks, farm families come together to care for one another and for team members, and employees step in and step up to help those who are chopping and hauling silage. 

Everyone is tired, and the work - no matter what it looks like -- is hard. 

It takes a lot of people. 

And it's all so very good. 

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