Garden Pic: Bean Sprout

Just a week after I planted the pole beans next to the corn, the sprouts came up! Of all my plants started from seeds, the beans are my favorite. They remind me of origami as the seat coat splits and the large firm leaves unfold. Last year, I started beans indoors but quickly learned that they do much better when seeded into the ground. As young plants, indoors they grew leggy and the leaves grew large and fragile to compensate for the lack of sunlight. Outdoors, the young plants were strong, dark green and tolerated the dry spells between watering better. Once acclimated, I couldn't tell the difference between the two. Last summer I extended the crop season by planting new seeds every couple weeks until mid-summer and replanting those I'd allowed to over ripen. In just a small garden box, I was able to grow a couple gallons of pole beans. I have extra beans for planting if any of my local friends want to give them a try!

Mottled Squash Leaves

I was a little concerned that my largest and most vigorous squash plants had a disease, so I went digging on the garden forums to try to find a picture similar to mine (the picture above is of my plants). Sure enough, there was one, but it was for zucchini. Someone even commented "that's how zucchini leaves are supposed to look." That's when I got confused. Isn't zucchini a summer squash? Why are some called squash and some called zucchini? Well I went and checked the seed packet for this plant, and even more confusing is that it's titled "Summer Squash, Butterstick Hybrid Zucchini". Which is it? When I cook it for dinner, do I say, "This is sauteed yellow zucchini" or "This is sauteed squash"? Does it matter how I announce the meal anyhow? Seriously, who announces their meals?

It turns out, these leaves are totally fine! I can relax ... at least about the health of the plant.

Well, I have planted four varieties of yellow summer squash (crookneck early, Pic-N-Pic Hybrid, Goldbar Hybrid, and Butterstick Hybrid Zucchini) and one type of green zucchini (Aristocrat)... or is it that I have three types of summer squash and two types of zucchini... or should I just say I am growing many plants from the Cucurbitaceae family?

Soybean Plant Revisited

Back in March of last year, I wrote of how a loud humming noise had been echoing across downtown Raleigh, traveling through my walls and driving me absolutely batty. The night of the Superbowl (2009), my sweet hubby rode his bike down Martin Luther King Boulevard to track down the source so we could possibly fix the problem, file a noise complaint, or at the very least have a name by which to cuss. The noise was coming from the Cargill plant on Blount St, and after calling several times at 11pm when the noise was the loudest and being greeted by voice machines, I did get connected with a wonderfully helpful man named Joe, who promised to figure out where the noise was coming from and rectify the situation. Within a day or two, we no longer heard the noise and my blood pressure dropped back down within a healthy range.

About six months later, we could hear a faint return of the noise, but it wasn't bothersome enough to make a call. We were still just grateful our walls weren't vibrating and our overnight guests weren't awake at night wondering what crazy neighborhood we'd sold our souls to. A couple months back, though, it was obviously getting worse. Finally two weeks ago, I called up Cargill Joe and thanked him again for how he fixed the noise problem last year but was sad to inform him the noise was back. Just like a guest on Car Talk, I did my best imitation of the noise on the phone for him, and he said he and the guys would go back to the plant that evening to listen for the humming. We ended up not hearing the noise for about a week, but then two nights ago it was back. It was loud. We could even hear it during rush hour traffic when the highway noise usually drowns it out. I can even hear it right now as I type!

Well, I just got off the phone with Cargill Joe, and he told me that after I called, they took a look, and the sound insulation around a drying fan had folded over in a spot and they were getting it fixed in a day or two. It explains why I'm hearing a constant hum that intensifies at intervals. WWWEEEEERR mmmmmmmm WWWAAAAARRNNNN mmmmmmm...

Thanks, Cargill Joe!

Belly Pic, 33 Weeks

There are seven weeks until the official due date! Today my belly was sore on the inside and outside. The baby was jabbing the ribs, and Daniel was extra bouncy, pouncing on my lap, swinging his arms in every direction, and using my belly as a spring board from the couch to the ottoman. It's amazing the things a pregnant belly can be used for. It's a resting spot for my iPhone when I need to dry my hands in the bath tub, makes an excellent parking deck for Hotwheels, and is not too shabby for setting aside snacks while clicking away on the laptop.

Missing Fork, Missing Mind

I'm a believer in matching silverware. Some folks can pull off the eclectic blend of mismatched pieces with ease, but when we have guests, I even want to make sure each place setting has the same size fork from the same style. I rarely put out the full 5-piece set during family meals, as I think seven times out of ten just a fork and knife will do. After our wedding, my husband and I filled out our own registry with eight place settings. It was quite a big decision picking out plain white stoneware plates and the flatware that felt balanced in the hand and was visually pleasing.

Within a couple months, many of our plates and bowls had chipped, and one bowl was tossed a couple years later, which really angered me considering the price we'd paid for the mid-range dinnerware - and we no longer had eight complete sets. It wasn't fancy China, in which case I wouldn't be using the dishwasher, but the label said dishwasher, microwave, and maybe even oven-safe. I looked at replacements online, but just couldn't bring myself to fully indulge in my vain preoccupation the airs of dinner presentation. Joe and I agreed that the next purchase of dinnerware will probably involve a 40 piece box from Target. Now that I have a pottery wheel and kiln, I really ought to make my own set of imperfect yet artsy and personal plates and bowls.

I remember mom and dad going through the plate fiasco about the time I was in middle school. They replaced all their brown rimmed late 70's set with some lipped stoneware that chipped to pieces in the dishware, and later replaced it all by something in the vane of Corelle which was lightweight, easily replaceable and nearly indestructible - and they bough tons of it. I'm sure for both of us, the stoneware chipping had to do with loading and unloading the dishwasher. You know what, that's always going to be a little noisy and clank-clumsy, because I don't think anyone really enjoys doing dishes, even with the modern convenience of the dishwasher.

All this brings me to my biannual count of the flatware. I'm missing a dinner fork, and hey diddle diddle, I think my mind ran away with it. I'm just about the pull out the couch from the wall and take a flashlight to the base of the oven to locate the fork. And yes, I've already priced out replacements online. My flawed and materialistically-diseased heart knows it's just a fork and no fork deserves this much thought, but I have that glitch in my brain that until that fork is found, will assess every object in house and label it "FORK" or "NOT A FORK".

Planting Corn

Growing up, corn was always at the dinner table in the summers. Mom and dad swore on the superiority of Silver Queen and I remember mom pulling back the husks to check the ears before buying them. There were several roadside stands on the way to our house, so getting corn was never a problem. We almost never had canned or frozen corn growing up, which is why for me, corn is a delicacy of the summer. Dad grew it for a couple summers and we really enjoyed picking what the crows didn’t beat us to.

For whatever reason, I’ve grown out of practice in buttering and munching an ear of corn, but I hope to remedy that this summer. Earlier this month I planted my own crop, taking a stab at spacing from online tips. I planted 7 18-24” wide rows with plants spaced 10” in a trapezoidal block (this was in the ground, not the boxes). The block is 3’ wide on the top and 8’ wide on the bottom. This equated to about 45 plants in 60 square feet or garden space or 1.3 square feet per stalk.

There are several recommendations I’ve come across for spacing corn:

• Dad planted Hickory Cane 10” – 12” apart with rows wide enough to walk between. He said he learned to plant two per hole and thin to one only once the plants were big enough to not be snipped off by the crows.
• NC Cooperative Extension Horticultural Agent Mark says corn is usually thinned to 9-12” inches between plants when done in 30” rows and encourages people to plant pole beans with the corn. This equates to about 2 sq ft per stalk, to be shared with beans.
• Larry Bass of NCSU has a good article on home gardening that discusses the entire process from soil prep to harvesting. His corn spacing recommendations are similar to Mark’s, 12” between plants, in single rows (width unspecified).
• Square Foot Gardeners claim that 1 square foot is adequate to grow 4 stalks. I expect that square foot gardeners accomplish much tighter spacing through a richly amended soil mix and easy access due to limiting the width of garden boxes. GardenWeb forum members have had luck with planting squash and pole beans together with corn at various spacings (most folks were talking up square foot gardening methods and the Native American Indian companion planting methods).
• Several sources recommended home gardeners plant in blocks rather than a couple long rows since corn is wind pollinated.

What’s the deal with the pole beans, you ask? Corn has high nitrogen demands and pole beans demand something to climb. Coincidentally, pole beans return nitrogen to the soil and corn acts as a sturdy trellis. It’s a win-win situation. I planted pole beans yesterday. I dug a small hole 1” from each two week old corn plant and dropped in two beans. Since my spacing was a little tighter than recommended for row planting, Mark advised me to watch for yellow leaves on the stalks and to supplement with compost or fertilizer.

Personal Pan God

It's Monday and I'm supposed to have said something insightful by now. Here's my deep thought for the day - I find it a little ironic that as my son is advancing in potty training, I find myself regressing.  Thirty-two weeks pregnant and carrying a low-rider, anyone?

But in all seriousness, let me see if there's anything... Ah, yes. God's personal will for our lives. I think often we order up God's will like we would a personal pan pizza, thinking that while the extra large one on the table suits the rest of the family just fine, we need our own slice - hold the olives and put a little extra cheese on there. And we have the audacity to sit at the table while everyone is smacking their chompers and partaking in lively conversation and complain of being hungry as we wait to be served.

Over the past couple years, I've questioned my need to feel like God has extra special plans for my life, to feel like I've got some higher calling than that which has been laid out in front of me. From third grade until shortly after Joe and I got married, I knew I was going to be a missionary overseas. I was awkward enough, passionate enough, and serious enough to just barely not fit in here amongst believers in my own home. I took short term trips which fired me up and reinforced this perceived calling, but in between these trips I felt a lack of life and challenge.

It didn't really occur to me until the second trip to Romania that I might be partially motivated by pride and a quest to impress God or others - not sure which. About six months into marriage, I finally relinquished my "right" to missions understanding that perhaps God had called me to stay and serve where I was. I can't tell you how angry I was up until this point. I didn't know how to follow Jesus without doing something that involved a major physical change in my surroundings. I'd never pictured my life as a normal American, in a normal house, driving an SUV and dropping my kid off at Mom's Morning Out once a week, but that's where I am.

This Sunday, I reflected on how the instant I start wondering what more God has in store for me (surely I'm cut out for more than just doing the laundry and trying to get a toddler to eat his yogurt), I begin to lose gratitude for this life, and fail to see the gravity of my daily service to my family. I become introspective and selfish and don't serve well. My child gets whiny, my husband feels neglected, and I get bitter.

Do I think God can have a personal will for our lives? Most certainly! I look at my sister who nannies during the fall and spring semesters and travels to Nicaragua during the summers to work with orphans. She has a very unique calling on her life. However, she doesn't force it. She knows just as seamlessly as God brought her these opportunities, He could remove them from her. When she's not traveling, she digs in hard with her local church serving in what capacity she is able. I also look at various Israelites and disciples in scripture whom God called to accomplish huge things in distant lands. It seems that their callings were blatant, undeniable, and nearly unavoidable. As Tyler emphasized in church on Sunday, God's heart is for all people to know him and therefore, there must be those that He sends out.

God's universal calling to followers to build the local church, make Jesus's name known, and to worship Him is no small or lesser calling and is certainly nothing to be ashamed of. As I saw that God had closed doors for me to serve in other countries, I was embarrassed. I'd talked up my heart for missions. I'd expressed to my Romanian friends my desire to return. I'd found my identity in international ministry. I didn't feel needed here. Here felt like a cop-out. What finally occurred to me was that if my heart could not be glad in serving God here, then perhaps Jesus was not at the center of my calling to go somewhere else. Maybe I was. I now see that my having a heart for all people or even a specific people group is not mutually exclusive of my serving in my own town amongst my own people.

My pride still rears its ugly head in the form of wanting to jump into major service projects or taking leadership of ministries when it is clearly not my time. There are eight weeks until this new baby boy "heads out". I need to be in serious prayer for my family. I need to be thanking my husband for his hard work and for how he shows us affection and care during his time off work. I need to be humbling myself to the lofty calling God has placed right before me. I cannot predict the next forty years of my life, and do not know whether or not God will one day send our family somewhere, but meanwhile I need to be the hand or the earlobe or whatever part of the body He has told me to be.

Strawberries (Pics)

A Peek into my Psyche

Last night I had a dream that the powers that be decided to clean shop amongst humans. They were assessing each person's contribution to society and eliminating those that weren't considered valuable. They weren't killing people, but the people simply vanished - no longer existed. The details have gotten fuzzier as my day has gone on, but I remember the discussion over my resume showing that since having children I'd failed to significantly contribute to my field of study and seemed overly preoccupied with things of the home. I tried to emphaisize the importance of home to our lives and to society. Somehow, I didn't vanish right then, but the dream carried on with me looking over my shoulder and noticing that some of the people that weren't eliminated weren't particularly contributing much other than their hot looks (which was not the reason I was spared). I'm not sure where this dream came from. I'm satisfied with my life. I believe that the time I spend investing in the lives of my children is highly valuable - to my family and to society. No, I haven't updated my resume in awhile, but what would I add to it?

I Really Love Your Peaches

I've been watching the peach trees ever since they were covered in blossoms to look for signs of summer fruit. This afternoon I went out to check, and to my delight, the older tree was covered in these half-inch peaches. The tree we just planted even had several fuzzy ones! I am crossing my fingers that we beat the birds and bugs to the ripe ones this summer. It also looks like my blueberry and strawberry bushes are in business this season.

The rest of the garden is mostly in the ground. Here's a count of what has been seeded and sprouted this year:

• 30 sqft bed of peas
• 30 sqft section of corn (~25-30 plants)
• Eight hills of squash (3 breeds)
• Six hills of watermelon
• One hill of canteloupe
• 18-20 tomato plants (6 or 7 different breeds)
• Three buckets of potatoes (2 breeds)
• Lettuces (sprinkled about in the various beds)
• Onions (3 breeds, various locations)
• Herbs: basil and cilantro
• Twelve pepper plants (various bells and Anaheim)
• Flowers: marigolds and holyhocks (the ones started indoors)
• One 20' row of asparagus

Seeded but not yet sprouted:

• Two 8' rows of okra
• Dill
• Flowers: nasturtium, six 'blaze' calla lilly rhizomes, two elephant ears
• Sweet Italian peppers

From Busyness to Malice - Separating from Community

In the song "By Thy Mercy", J.J. Cummins writes:

From the depth of nature’s blindness,
From the hardening power of sin,
From all malice and unkindness,
From the pride that lurks within:
By Thy mercy, O deliver us, good Lord, good Lord.

Last night, I was on my way to deliver some tomato plants to a friend, who was volunteering at church, and was debating sticking around for the service. I was in preggers' sweats and still a little dirty from the garden. Joe was at home working on something else for church while he waited for Daniel to wake up from his nap. As I handed over the tomatoes, I told my friend that I'd been feeling pretty distant from church and was getting a use to it (even proud of it), and she responded that maybe I needed to stay. "Getting used to it" wasn't an appropriate phrasing. "Growing cold" or "growing hard" would have been more inline with what I was experiencing.

I slipped into a back row where I could sit with my legs crossed and not have to interact with people around me. Ironically, the topic of the sermon was pride - something Joe and I had discussed no less than an hour before in the context of why people develop issues with the church and eventually leave. It seemed more than a little providential that I was sitting there, as it does nearly every time I come feeling vulnerable and in need of truth.

I've written several times about being resigned to live and serve in certain seasons of life, but sometimes we experience unseasonable weather from which we need to take cover. Over the past month or so, our family has been busy either with work related things, visiting family or sickness, and we've been unable to make it to our community group in almost five weeks. We missed church last Sunday and several weeks earlier in the year due to various circumstances, and I've found myself in an ugly place.

To clarify, my faith cannot depend on Sunday services and community group - waxing and waning with my attendance. The same is true of my perceived acceptance by God. However, involvement in community and making myself available to the instruction and correction of fellow followers of Jesus is vital to growth and accountability. I've noticed a trend in my life of the progression from business to malice that goes like the following.

1. Busyness: One unavoidable conflict leads to the justification of avoidable conflicts to the allowance of any inconvenience to disrupt involvement in community activities and commitments.
2. Loneliness: The time missed with community leads to isolation, unprocessed struggles, lack of good conversation and laughter.
3. Insult: Eventually, enough time away leads to feeling like an outsider and being angry about not being missed, regardless that this was completely by choice.
4. Pride: Feeling like an outsider leads to the construction of walls and the "Who needs them, I'm fine on my own" attitude. It's all shun before being shunned.
5. Malice: As the us/them mentality continues, more perceived differences and insults pile up in the head, more bitterness and distance grows in the heart and the unresolved sin leads to anger not only at community but God as well.

I think this might be a progression that many people go through leading up to separation from the church entirely. We want to be pursued and needed, and in our pride we forget that we need and are to pursue community. While solitude is a scriptural state that God can bring on a person, this I was experiencing was unseasonable weather. It was dry and dusty, and I needed to pull out the garden hose and just soak in it until it passed.

As the music picked up again after the service, I sat in silence reflecting on the words:

I know the Lord is nigh,
And would but cannot pray,
For Satan meets me when I try,
And frights my soul away,
And frights my soul away.
I would but can't repent,
Though I endeavor oft;
This stony heart can ne'er relent
Till Jesus makes it soft,
Till Jesus makes it soft.
Help my unbelief.
Help my unbelief.
Help my unbelief.
My help must come from Thee.

-Red Mountain Music "Help my Unbelief"

Weekends

oe dumped out an unopened and expired 4 lb bottle of ketchup yesterday afternoon as we were cleaning out old condiments and boxed foods from the cabinet. The noises that came out of that bottle made my day and possibly even my week. I still chuckle thinking about wondering what on earth that sound was and exclaiming, "Golly Joe!" before realizing he'd moved on from the Texas Pete. After the final trickle was done I said, "Seriously, thank you for that. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time."

Life has been very sweet on the weekends lately. From laughter over inappropriate noises, to the joy in Daniel's voice asking for chocolate shakes, to all four of us squeezing into the cab of Joe's truck for trips to Lowes, we are treasuring it all. My favorite is on Saturday mornings hearing Daniel run from his bedroom to ours with his arms full of blankets, ready to jump up on the bed for a little Sesame Street. This morning we snuggled for a bit before heading downstairs to fix pancakes and bacon.

If This is the Reaction to Applesauce ...

If this is Daniel's reaction to applesauce, which is one of the two fruits he eats, how will I ever get him to eat something green? Tonight was the first time Daniel got the bright idea to put his hand over his mouth to protest a food. Usually he just yells "No!" or swats at the spoon and turns his head away, but this evening I put him in his chair and immediately he covered his mouth with his hand. And he grinned about it. I eventually did convince him to eat it by counting to three (we did this about 11 times to finish off the 4 oz cup), and there were no tears.

Letting Music Tastes Out of the Closet

Saturday evening at a cookout, my husband and a friend were standing around talking music, dropping names and such, when the friend turned to me and asked a dreaded question, "So what do you listen to?"

Ummm, nothing really. I haven't listened to new music in years other than what Joe brings home.

I went on to explain what I do like in music - good creative lyrics, a discernible melody, preferably more acoustic sounds. His wife and I talked about how we used to be considered the more musically inclined friends in our college circles until we met our husbands at which point we both relinquished our rights to music introductions to the home. For example, Joe creates the travel playlists, and when he tries to make them "Paige friendly" they usually include a couple of groups of his that I've told him I don't dislike.

Slowly I began to name off a couple groups - none of which he was familiar with and I began to grasp 1) how dated my tastes were, and 2) how uncool I felt. I have this idea that taste in music say something about a person's personality and their level of sophistication, and I feel there are certain right answers that allow you to at least pass the test, even if it's apparent you aren't a connoisseur. Typically that lists involves a couple artists from each genre (excepting the really hard stuff), a couple of indi artists (album names included) thrown in for good measure, and careful limits to define what you imply by country. Naming a group from the 70s usually gives you a couple bonus points.

So, here's the big reveal. I'm letting myself out of the closet to I can proudly wear my lack of sophistication and no longer feel like a deer in headlights during conversation about music tastes. Just a little background - I grew up listening to Christian children's albums, John Denver, Sandi Patty, the Bill Gaither Trio, Amy Grant, Michael W. Smith, the Beach Boys, the local oldies station (mainly 60s and 70s music), Three Dog Night, the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Banks and Shane, and various live and local blue grass groups. In highschool, I listened to the radio for the stuff they played at highschool dances and on field trips, and bought a lot of Christian cds -including DC Talk. I went to one of DC Talk's concerts back when they danced around with socks on their heads. In college, I listened to a lot of country and contemporary Christian music and worship bands.

While I don't actually listen to a lot of music now, I still have my favorites. In no particular order, here's 8 that have managed to stick over the years: Harrod and Funck, Rockwell Church, Rich Mullins, Caedmon's Call, Sufjan Stevens, NPR's Back Porch Music, Dashboard Confessional, Nickel Creek. Yes, half those groups are either defunct or no longer living and one is a radio program that can have some really bad lyrical Irish stuff now and then (which I don't like). Dashboard may or may not have sold out, Caedmon's is a bit whiny (are they even still together?), and Sufjan is and will always be amazing. There's still tons of other music I enjoy and I don't sit around every day and listen to these eight groups (I actually rarely pull them out), but these take me to a good place and usually inspire either creativity or depression and a contemplative mood - all of which I freely admit to enjoy.

Well that feels better.

Easter Less the Feaster

I struggle to celebrate Christian holidays with a reflective attitude while avoiding sensationalizing the Americanized traditions veiled as religion. The holidays are about Jesus and my family has always strived to keep him central, but these celebrations have skin - something that wraps around the theological significance, and gives form to the celebration. Easter has always been a time of family, food, fun, uncomfortable dresses and white tights that fall down to the knees and make me walk like a penguin (well perhaps not since I was 8). As kids we attended my grandparents' church service instead of our own church's, which I used to grumble about, and we'd follow it with an egg hunt in their yard and a big delicious meal.

Since leaving home for college and even more so since marriage, the two biggest Christian holidays, Christmas and Easter, have felt somewhat emotionally barren to me. I wonder if it is not related to the loss of grandparents and my deeply ingrained memories of their home and their presence during these times. I expected having a child would bring back some of the magic - and it does - but having a toddler and being pregnant has limited travels and given these times a completely new feel. I realize the the stripping of family and tradition should not also lead to a loss of anticipation, a lag in joy, or a lack of meaning. It has been so easy for me to make the holidays about family. This is how I was raised, and I think family is so important. However, salvation is just as deep, Christ's sacrifice is just as grand whether or not there's a meat, two veggies, desert and a table full of faces I love.

This morning, our Easter church service was conducted on the couch in the living room. Instead of white tights (or something slightly more dressy than my usual Sunday attire but not overly ambitious), I was wearing one of Joe's white Hanes t-shirts. Instead of a sermon, we read from Daniel's picture Bible. Instead of worship music, rock music poured from the garage as Daniel and I played with tools in the driveway and Joe worked on the truck. Instead of eating an Easter meal, we cleaned up Daniel's puke from the kitchen floor. Yes, we were hit by the stomach bug.

Is Easter still Easter without the usual traditions, without the familiar faces? This is where I struggle, because I don't believe Christ's resurrection is something meant to be reflected on one day of the year, but at the same time, having marked times of celebration helps carve out a time of focused reflection. As a people we can come together share a meal and express common gratitude in the blood that ties us closer than that which courses through our veins. I've really missed family and arguably mourned the way traditions have changed as family has shifted and grown. I also recognize the uniqueness of this Easter in particular and appreciate both my history and the circumstances that led to some different reflection than usual.

Good Friday in Pictures

Clockwise: Joe versus 6.5 horses, belly pic at 29 weeks and 5 days, fun with a transfer truck, going for a ride in Daddy's truck