Moon Shine

"For the beauty of the earth,
For the beauty of the skies.
For the love which from our birth,
Over and around us lies.
Lord of all, to Thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise!"
~LDS hymnbook #92

My sister, Barb, recently left Southern California for a visit to the farm. I was very proud of her when she drove the back-hoe around outside the hay barns. I took pictures and videos of this LA beauty while she gracefully drove the yellow beast around, wearing a big sun hat and a pink flowered blouse. Her beautifully manicured nails sparkled while holding her silver-colored can of Diet Coke. Our rancher-friend who stopped by for "just a minute" couldn't take his eyes off this site....and neither could I. "That's MY sister!" I proclaimed.

One night, after the sun went down and everything became dark, we sat together outside on our big back porch...because that's what you do after dark in the country. We were enjoying the ambiance of our stringed white bulb lights, water fountain, and our new chairs and firepit set. Every once in a while, my nose caught the scent of our herbs growing in big pots on the patio:

Rosemary, Basil, Oregano, Thyme, and Lavender.

It was peaceful.

Then we noticed the sky lightening up behind the Chirachaua mountain range to the east. "Let's watch the moon rise!"

We all grabbed our chairs, moved them onto the grass, and pointed them to the east. In a flash, we turned off all the lights outside AND inside the house. Our nearest neighbor is two miles away. When you turn out the lights here, it REALLY gets dark!

And there we were. Sitting in the dark and listening to the sounds of the night. Every-once-in-a-while an owl or a coyote piped up, just to let us know they were out there. We sat and for just a few minutes enjoyed something that none of us had ever watched, eventhough it's a show that has been happening every night since the world began.

The silence was broken by my Southern California-raised sister....

"I never knew the moon moved that quickly," she said quietly and thoughtfully.

And we all agreed. Neither did we.

"Pass The Honey, Honey!"

Bothered by seaonal allergies?

Did you know that if you eat local honey, your body will build up an immunity and you won't suffer from allergies anymore? A few days ago we bought a bunch of Local Raw Wildflower Honey, honey which was made by bees that gathered their "honey-making" ingredients from the wildflowers growing all around the farm.

I know of people here who will start eating a teaspoon of honey everyday (on their breakfast toast, etc.) and they swear by it.

Just another example that God really HAS provided cures for our ailments all around us in Nature. Now, I am NOT above popping some Advil for a stinky headache, but I also think it makes our bodies very happy to "mix it up" with some natural cures as well.

"Leave the Claratin in the cabinet, and pass ME some more of that HONEY!"

"Off To Market We Go!"

There is a market up the highway from the farm. It's called "The Produce Wagon". We've been driving right past it for over 6 months now. (Long before we actually moved here, we visited the area many times.) Usually when we drove past it (on our way to Wal-Mart or Costco), we would say, "We need to stop there some time."

Well, "sometime" ended up being Friday, and it was one of the best decisions we've made recently.

It's a very small market. VERY small. When we walked in and noticed the way everyone was dressed, we quickly realized that it's a Mennonite market. The Amish are a branch of the Mennonites. If you don't know very much about the Mennonite religion, or people, click HERE.

It's not that ONLY Mennonites shop there, it's that the Mennonites run it....or own it...or something...I'm not really sure yet. I think they own it. The Mennonite people in this area are, of course, farmers. We walked by tables of fresh pies, muffins, bread, and rolls, all baked from scratch. Directly on the opposite side was an area full of hand-poured candles, quilting supplies, and local raw honey. I almost bought Ben a Men's Mennonite Hat, which looks very much like an Amish hat (but I refrained).

The feeling we got was friendly, wholesome, and "Back to Basics". As we walked down one isle, we filled bags with fresh produce for our new fruit basket at home. Peaches, apples, pears, lemons, and oranges. As we rounded the corner we saw freezers full of some of the prettiest (and least expensive) cuts of meat I have ever seen. Fresh, wholesome, healthy.

I strolled down the grain area and found bags of organic Barley, Spelt, and Cracked Wheat. Grains, grains, grains! I couldn't help myself as I started grabbing for pre-weighed and hand-measured sacks of Millet, Buckwheat, Quinoa, and Spelt. "EUREKA," I shouted inside my head. "I feel so inspired to eat healthy foods again, and bake wholesome breads for my little family!"

By the time we left, we had a basket full of great finds: Steaks for our grill, Fresh local wildflower honey, a Strawberry Rhubharb pie, and my Magnificant grains.

"I think this little market has influenced my life for the better," I commented thoughtfully to Ben as we walked out the door. "I want to eat better...I want to live healthier again...I want to embrace our organic life in the country."

The term "Back to Basics" has started to mean so much more to us after being here for a while. The thought scared me when we first decided to move here....letting go of the conveniences that we had become so dependant on.

A few days ago, we had a visitor; an aquaintance who lives right smack dab in the pace we moved away from. He asked me the golden question and I wasn't sure what answer he was expecting. I wasn't sure if it was out of LOVE or DISTASTE for the area and it's simple plainness. "So, Nancy, what is it that you like SO much about this place?"

I thought hard and gave him and honest answer. And then, my mind filled with peace and love and I felt a reassurance that nobody can feel for me. "Content," I said thoughtfully and sincerely. "This place makes me feel content. Content with myself and grateful for what I have." Maybe that's a part of the formula for the "Secret of Life"...the "Secret to Happiness." Enjoying the ride, seeing the beauty of life, and being grateful...just being Content.

Strawberry Freezer Jam

One of my favorite parts of summertime is all the fresh fruits that are in season. Living in farm country, that abundance is magnified. EVERYONE has a big family garden with fresh fruits and vegetables. It's everywhere. I'm learning all KINDS of things about gardening and canning...it's a way of life here. I found a new skill in fruit jam-making, thanks to my good friend who taught me how to do this a couple of weeks ago.

I thought I would pass along a tasty (and VERY easy) recipe for Strawberry freezer jam. This tastes WAY better than ANYTHING you will get in the store. Sometimes, I catch myself grabbing a teaspoon right out of the jar...for a sweet treat. You can also use this jam as a syrup for ice cream.You can get jars, lids, and seals at Wal-Mart, but there are also "freezer jam containers" there too.

(NOTE: it is stored IN THE FREEZER. I will be posting recipes for regular cooked jams in the future.)

Sweet, tasty, and healthier for you family! Jill, you will be happy to know these jams do NOT contain ANY High Fructose Corn Syrup. (The sneaky, dangerous saboteur of the American diet.) Give it a try...you'll be suprised at how very easy a recipe it is. It's lots of fun, too. I feel like such a Domestic Goddess now!

So, if you're looking for a little taste of Country Living, try this super easy recipe for No Cook Strawberry Freezer Jam. You will be glad you did....and very proud of yourself when you share your jam with friends and family.


Strawberry Freezer Jam
1 qt. strawberries
4 c. sugar
1 box Sure-Jell
3/4 c. water

1.) Prepare containers and fruit: Wash and rinse with boiling water and drain. Use 1 to 2 cup glass or rigid plastic containers with tight fitting lids.

2.) Have fruit at room temperature. Wash and drain well. If using food processor, take care not to puree fruit (it should still be a little chunky). Use exact measure of prepared fruit; extra fruit can affect sets.

3.) Remove caps from berries. Thoroughly crush fruit one layer at a time. Measure 2 cups into large bowl. Measure exact amount of sugar (4 cups). Add sugar to fruit and stir thoroughly. Let stand 10 minutes.

4.) Mix 3/4 cup water and contents of Sure-Jell in small saucepan. Bring to a full boil, boil for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Stir into fruit and continue stirring for 3 minutes. (A few sugar crystals will remain.)

5.) Ladle quickly into prepared containers, filling to within 1/2 inch of tops. Wipe spills with a clean damp cloth. Cover at once.

6.) Let stand at room temperature 24 hours. Store in freezer. Small amounts of unfrozen or thawed jam maybe covered and stored in refrigerator up to 3 weeks. Makes approximately 4 3/4 cups.

"Damn Yankees!"

I was born and raised in California. Ben likes to tease me because we realized recently that...

I was raised by Hippies.

My parents were older (from the World War II era), but my teachers (K-12) were graduates of the California State College system, and most of their graduation dates landed in the late 60's, early 70's. Graduates of UC Berkley, UC Davis, and UCLA. Until recently, I thought all kids my age grew up like me.

(By the way: I liked this picture because I believe I just may HAVE discovered an actual picture of my third-grade and fourth-grade teachers DURING their hippie years. I DO remember them being VERY good friends.)

I held hands with a boy I had a crush on during "Hands Across America".

I helped color the weather balloon to look like an enormous earth for "Earth Day" (to which we attached letters about dreams of world peace) and let it go at the final count ("3....2....1....PEACE....RELEASE!")

I joined my 6th grade classmates when we sang our hearts out at a school peace rally (for yet ANOTHER Earth Day Celebration). "I believe the children are our future....ooooh, ooooh, ooooh." (Whitney Houston song)

We debated IN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL and discussed our political views on world issues such as over-population, global warming, and the devistation of the rainforests.

It was not uncommon for teachers to wear sandals, jeans, and beads to school. They played the guitar during music time, and some wore round "Lennon" glasses and long hair (both men AND women). All in all, the messages and lessons were that of PEACE, LOVE, EQUALITY and TOLERANCE.

I thought every kid did this in school growing up, but apparently not everyone was raised by Hippies.

With this culturally diverse up-bringing, you can understand my suprise when I realized that some people around here talk about Yankees (and it doesn't have anything to do with baseball). I didn't realize that this was still a part of some American conversations 150 years after the civil war. But the way I'm understanding it, though it has nothing to do with attitudes toward race. Rather, a difference in culture. There is a "southern way" that is different than everywhere else; a way of interacting with each other. It's not a bad thing. Look at California. I can say from experience that moving away from Cali introduced me to other cultures within our country. California has its own "way"...it's own personality. Southerners have their own personality too.

It's what makes us US. This country was founded by all these different people coming here for one thing: the freedom to just be themselves. I'm glad we have this patchwork of personalities.

It's a beautiful thing.

Ben was talking to a farmer/cowboy friend the other day. Every once in a while the cowboy would say, "But he's a Yankee". After a while Ben finally stopped him and said,

"Would I be considered a Yankee? I was born in Alaska, but my dad is from West Texas."

The cowboy took his hat off and thought for a minute while scratching his sweaty, matted hairline. As his brow furrowed and his eyes stared intently on the ground, Ben could tell this was a very serious thought process.

"Texas?...(pause). Texas...Aw....yer aw-right, then!" (laugh, laugh.)

Nancy: "Ben....just don't tell him that I'm from California OR that I still sort my garbage for recycling!"

It's bad enough that I get made fun of for wearing flip-flops and a toe ring everywhere. I usually hear something like, "You're gonna need to get some REAL shoes here 'pirty' soon, California. This here's FARMIN' country!"

"...Keeper of the Dreaded Wooden Broom..."

Farm dogs are supposed to hunt. Ours just likes to eat.

Jack is a smarty-pants. He's too smart sometimes. Somehow, he has figured out a way to train ME to kill his prey for him. Let me explain:

Almost every day it happens. I hear Jack barking his alarm. There are different barks. I know when he's barking at cars or birds...those sound different than when he has cornered a rodent.

I'm not really sure what they are, but they look like hamsters, so they've got to be rodents. Groundsquirrels? Shrews? I'm not sure. Definately bigger than a mouse....they're HUGE. Every day I hear the "bark alarm" and I go running out the door with my broom.

Every farmer's wife needs a good broom. It's a requirement. It's right up there with rich girls needing to carry around little dogs in their purses.....A necessary accessory. Just read a few fairytales and nursery rhymes: three blind mice, Peter Rabbit....the farmer's wife ALWAYS has to have a good broom. AND, in every one of those stories, the broom is used as the weapon of choice against small pests.

So I ran out the door with my broom. I used to freak out and make Ben be the murderer, but now it's an everyday thing to have a rodent in your yard and Ben isn't always there. There is no mercy....it's war. Jack and I protect our home-front from pests trying to attack and lay-siege on our territory. It's true that if you don't defend yourself, they WILL get into your house and eat holes in the un-suspecting box of Bisquick. We are protecting our pantry.

Hayden tries to get in on it too, and weilds a nasty fly-swatter on occasion. He usually shows up after the fact, however, and beats the casualty with the fly-swatter after it's already dead. I think he's trying to make a statement to the other rodents lurking in the field, waiting for their chance at ambushing the pantry.

Yesterday I heard the bark. "Here we go again." I threw on my shoes and headed for the door, grabbing my dreaded broom on the way by. I came out to find Jack doing his usual dance around the....thing. It was a familiar sight: A little hamster-like-thing sitting on his back feet with his little clawed hands up in the air and his mouth wide open, exposing his two teeth. Very scary. Jack kept looking at me and then the....thing, all while dancing around in circles. "Okay," he seems to say, "here it is, mom....now GET IT!" This is where he makes ME smack it with the broom.

This one was a fighter, though. As I came down with the first hit, he seemed to grab the broom, so as the broom flew back up into the air, so did the.....thing. He flew into the air and almost landed on ME! I started screaming and smacking it with short fast movements while doing my own dance, which consisted of me hoping back and forth from one foot to the other. Ben heard the commotion and peeked out the window. Just then, by broom handle broke off! I started running around in circles and screaming. Fortunately, the battle was pretty much over, so Jack took over and I ran back into the house.

A GOPHER! That's what it was......a gopher.

Anyway, maybe I'm not the fearless farmer's wife I THOUGHT I was becoming. Atleast, I need a new broom!

I Have Some Explaining To Do!

I've been asked to explain a little bit of our past. When readers skim through my profile, they notice words like BRAIN SURGERY and STROKE. Some are asking what the heck that means. If you are wondering that too, I will try to fill you in.

WARNING: The next few posts maybe long ones, and may be broken into multiple entries (depending on how tired my fingers get at any given "story-typing" session).

These four entries will all be posted on Monday, but take up four days of posting. Tune in again Friday for another dose of Friday Farm Favorites.

The BRAIN SURGERY is my story. Since that happened first in our series of life-changing events, I will start with that one.....

I served a mission in Quebec. From the time I left for Canada, I felt "punky". Tired, worn-out, moody, and suffering with nasty headaches. I tried to forget about it and chalk it up to adjusting to a new lifestyle. Then, in the wee hours of the morning when things were quiet and I was reading my scriptures on an empty stomach. I started to hear a wierd sound. A squeaking. It was coming from inside my head. Although this had nothing to do with my tumor diagnosis, it scared me enough to finally talk to my second field companion (who I had only known for about 3 weeks). By the way, Jill....thanks for not laughing when I said I was hearing noises inside my head. I felt so silly.

Long story short.....
I went to about 3 or 4 doctors and each one of them was baffled. I explained how eventhough stuff didn't match up, I felt like there was something wierd going on. Each one of them pushed me off. I was treated like a hypo-chondriac. One doctor even said, "Do you really want to be out on your mission, or do you want to go home?" I think my response started something like, "How DARE you......" I started to feel guilty. "I should be teaching people, not worrying about myself. Maybe it really isn't anything."

Later, I found myself compies with a girl from England. Out-spoken, sassy, and fun, we worked really hard together. One day we were scheduled to have interviews with the Mission President (just a regular thing to do every few months). I had been holding my secret "noises in my head" to myself for too long. As I sat down accross from President S he asked, "So how are things going?" I shook my head yes and smiled. I tried to be brave, but I broke. I cried and sobbed and the tears flowed down my cheeks. "Everyone thinks I'm crazy. I can't explain it, I just feel like there's something wrong."

Pres. S whipped out his cell phone and called Salt Lake City. Just like that! He talked to the Missionary Health Department and scheduled a conference call the next morning. Then, he called in my compie, who was concerned and supportive when she saw my eyes all puffy and red. i was so silly not to want to "burden" her with my secret. She wasn't burdened at all.

The next morning the phone rang and I experienced my first conference call. I talked with President S, the Head of Missionary Health, and a Doctor. With everyone listening, I explained how I felt weird. Nothing matched up. "Well," responded the fatherly voice of the physician, "let's just take a picture of your head and see if we see anything. I have no idea right now what it could be." Whether I was making it up or not, the world was about to know for sure.

I went in for the MRI and eventhough I do not have problems with small spaces, I felt like I was going to develop one as they rolled me into the tube. The loud noises of the machine were STILL audible as I rocked out to Mozart.

A week later I received a phone call from a Doctor in Montreal.

"Well, we DID find something.....on your Pituitary Gland."

"What is it?"

His answers were vague, but by the end of the conversation I found out I was scheduled for blood work to check out my hormones. I asked for a copy of the reports....All of them. The answer I kept getting was, "Take this back to the states and show your doctor there."

At one point, I took all the results to a nurse who was a member of our church. "Will you please tell me what this means? I don't understand this kind of medical terminology." She looked over the results. She got very quiet. She shook her head as if she understood the results. With concern in her eyes she said, "Promise you will take care of this after your mission."

"Okay," I insisted, "But what does 'macroadenoma' mean? Is it a Tumor?"

She stayed consistent, "Promise you will take care of this after your mission."

("Oh, great," I thought to myself, "I still don't have any answers and now I'm WAY more stressed out then I was before since nobody will tell me what this means.")

For information on the Pituitary, click HERE.

Pituitary-Part II

I came home at the very end of Febuary. I wasn't scheduled to come home them, but I had received a phone call late one fridged Canadian night from Pres. S, telling me he had received a call from Stanford Medical Center in California.

"Your mom is dieing. You need to decide if you're going to go home or stay in the mission field."

(That's a-whole-nother story to tell some other time.) After talking to my mom, and then the Pres., and then God....I decided to go. I was flying out of Montreal via "emergency transfer" within 10 hours (the next morning). I laid in the bed with my mom as she passed. It was 7 years ago this year.

Shortly after her passing, I moved to Utah to start a new life. I worked at a Cosmetology school teaching about Hair and Esthetics (skin). I also worked at a salon. I also taught figure skating at the Ice Rink in Provo. I tried to stay busy working my three jobs and trying to forget about all the new stuff that scared me.

One day, out of the blue, for no reason at all, I told one of my students (who I barely knew) about the noises in my head. I started the conversation off with, "So, do you want to hear about something freaky?" I almost fell off my chair when she said, "I've heard that too....here's the number for my doctor." That was great, since I didn't HAVE a doctor yet.

I called the number and went in for my appointment. I never actually met Dr. M, I met with his Nurse Practitioner. I brought all my results from Montreal and after reviewing them, she scheduled the follow-up MRI and bloodwork. I was relieved.

Once again, a week later, I received a phone call. It was Dr. M's office. I received the call while I was at the school.

"Hi Nancy, this is Dr. M's office. I'm just calling to let you know your MRI looks fine."

"Fine? Uh, do you have the right results?"

"Of course I DO!" (It sounded like I hit a nerve)

"Well, then, how's the 'MACROADENOMA?" I said with an Irish-blooded 'sassy-pants' attitude.

"OH. Uh, Hold on......" (I waited on hold for what seemed like half the day) ...."Yes, uh, Nancy," her voice was fast and nervous "you have a tumor. Dr. M is scheduling you with a Neurosurgeon so he can schedule you for brain surgery. Just wait for a call from the Neurosurgeon's office."

"WHAT?" but that was the end of our encounter. Somehow the assumption, "Oh, she must be new" works very well at a restaurant. However, it does NOT help when you have just been told you have a BRAIN TUMOR!

I wish I were embellishing this for story-telling purposes, but I am being completely serious....this IS how the conversation went....which is why I hung up the phone and burst into tears. My co-workers circled around me like a bunch of Mother Hens and tried to pep me up, without really knowing what to say.

Within 30 minutes, I got the call. It was Dave, another Nurse Practitioner. Dave is my Hero. I loved him from the first moment I heard his voice. "Nancy, This is Dave. How are you doing with this? Do you have any questions I could help you with?"

(Exact words:)

"Yes, uh, Dave...Am I going to die?"

Dave was strong and reassuring and by the end of our conversation I knew that even if it WAS cancerous (we wouldn't know until they removed it and biospsied it) I was going to FIGHT!"

Within a few days I was sitting across the desk from Dr. Reichman, who's signiture should be followed with the word "Genius".

"So," I inquired, "What would happen if I DIDN'T have brain surgery?"

"Well, the tumor is affecting your prolactin, but more importantly, your levels of Human Growth Hormone (HGH). Plus, it is obviously growing. If we do NOT do something about this now, you will develop Acromegaly. (See picture above.) All your soft tissues will expand, you will develop severe Oseteoporosis and premature Diabetes. Then, as the tumor grows, you will loose your vision as it presses against your optic nerve...and then you will die of Congestive Heart Failure. Sometimes, the tumor will Hemmorrage first and THAT will kill you."

I pictured all this stuff happening to me and what an absolute beauty I would become. Within two seconds I followed his response up with, "SO! When is surgery?"

Pituitary-Part III

I went to the hospital at 5:30 am. I had asked to be the first patient of the day, and hoped that all the people who were going to be cutting my head open that morning had enjoyed a restfull night's sleep. I was also hoping that nobody was going through any relationship break-ups or emotional issues. I made sure I was nice to EVERYONE and spoke with them pleasently. I believed these were important things to remember when walking into Brain Surgery!

Everyone was very nice and spoke quietly. My Anesthesiologist was from Sweden and was a kind and gentle man. He was also very tall. While in the Pre-Op room, I met a lady in her 40's.

"What are you in here for?"

(I felt for a second like I was in a prison movie.) "Uh, Pituitary Tumor."

"Hey! I had one of those! I'm in here for a hip replacement."

She was obviously young for a new hip, so my mind raced back to Dr Reichman's comment about Pituitary Tumors and "Osteoporosis". I tried to clear my mind and relax, but it wasn't going to happen.

It was finally my turn. Dr. "Sweden" came in and walked next to my bed as it rolled down to the surgical room.

The Surgical room was VERY cold. I looked around and saw half-a-dozen busy people wearing greenish-blue scrubs. I saw TV monitors and tables full of stainless steel implements with sharp edges, lined up like soldiers. They moved me over onto the cold metal table and started strapping me down. Then, they wrapped linen blankets around my body from the neck down. Suddenly, Dr. Reichman appeared by my head and I knew for sure that I was in the right place.

In a moment of controlled panic, my mind got a little irrational and I asked, "You're going to put me out for this, right?"

I think they realized then, that eventhough this was an everyday thing for them, it was a new experience for ME and I didn't want to see the pointy implements or feel the freezing cold metal table on my back anymore. Dr. Sweden started the juice into my I.V. I laughed as the room spun. My voice sounded like a third-grader as I playfully proclaimed, "I'm going to keep my eyes open for as long as I can!"

Dr. Sweden grinned behind his mask. His voice sang, "You can fight it, but you won't wi-in."

I TRIED to say, "I know, but I'm going to try," but unfortunately it sounded more like, "I....."

They made the inscision inside my mouth, under my top lip. They went through my sinuses, so when I woke up I had a mouth full of stitches, a face full of bruises, and 12 feet of gauze packed into my sinus cavity.

I also learned that they clamped my head down, because I woke up with scabs on my scalp. I'm SO glad I wasn't conscious for that part!

The worst part of recovery was not being able to close my mouth (You can't breath AT ALL when you have 12 feet of gauze packed in your sinus cavity), AND I could only drink a certain amount of liquids a day after surgery. I have never before been so thirsty or had my thoughts completely consumed by when I could take my next mouthfull of ice chips. (I had to ration my ice chips since they counted as liquid.) I have never felt the same about a glass of water since.

Pituitary-Part IV

After recovering from surgery, my hormones tested out to be within "acceptable range". I was also able to get pregnant with Hayden, which is another good indication of being "Tumor Free". The biopsy came back negative. The tumor was non-cancerous.

2 1/2 years later, I walked into work at the Cosmetology school and one of my co-workers ran up to me. "Nancy! Kevyn Aucoin died of a pituitary tumor....like the one you had!" I was shocked. Kevin was a well-known Hollywood make-up artist who's books she and I collected. It haunted me for the rest of the day.

Sometimes I feel like I am able to have a glimpse of what "could have happend" and it's humbling. My life was saved. That's an amazing realization to have.

I'm supposed to go back once a year to get poked with needles and take pictures of my brain, just to be safe. I'm about three years over-due, so I'm hoping to get that done within the next few months. I'll keep you posted.

There are a few lessons I've learned and a BUNCH of miracles that I was blessed with along the way. Let's review:

1.) Listen to your body. Don't let anyone brush you off if you have a feeling something isn't right. Pay attention to red flags that pop up in your mind because it doesn't HAVE to make sense. If you're worried about something, check it out until your mind is at ease (whether something ends up being wrong or not).

2.) Miracle: I didn't have a lot of the symptoms of a pituitary tumor. It was found so early that the sypmtoms hadn't really manifested themselves yet. I DID have the feeling before my MRI that it was something hormonal, but there wasn't anything yet to back it up. How did I get those feelings? Maybe someone was trying to help me from "the other side". (Just my opinion) All in all, the tumor was considered to be found "by accident".

3.) Miracle: Why did I all-of-a-sudden spill my guts out to a student that I didn't even know yet? Not sure, but she led me to Dr. M. I found out later that Dr. M. ALSO had a pituitary tumor and was treated by his personal friend, Dr. Reichman. Dr. Reichman ended up being one of the Neurosugeons who pioneered micro-surgery and helped map the brain in the 80's. (If someone has to get THAT close to my brain, I want it to be THAT guy!)

It was a scary and strange experience, and I hope I never have to do anything more than give some of my blood and take a picture of my brain. I realized that although I try to live a clean life and do what's right, stuff still happens, and that's okay. If you expect life to be fair, you're going to feel cheated...it's not worth it. Despite this occurence, I know that I am loved by more than just the people on earth. I'm also a child of God, and He is there to help us during those difficult times if we look for it. He won't necessarily take it away, but He will help us carry it. I also learned, that nomatter what, I can get through it....and so could you.

Golden Northern-Style Cornbread

In the mood to try some DOWN-HOME-COOKIN'? How 'bout some buttermilk cornbread?

I've learned something about cornbread....there are different styles. And, boy, do these country folks get creative!

There is Northern-Style and Southern-Style. I'm going to pass along the Northern-style since it's sweeter, fluffier, and easier on the teeth (just my opinion).

*If you REALLY want to be sassy, then try adding some Cheddar or Monterey Jack Cheese in the batter (just leave out the sugar and fold one cup in after adding the butter).

*For a kick, leave out the sugar and add one or two jalapenos that have been stemmed, seeded, and minced.

*Bacon tastes good in or on anything. Cut 8 oz sliced bacon into small dice, then fry until well-brownned and crisp. Drain, cool, and set aside. Follow recipe and leave out the sugar. After adding the butter, quickly fold in the crumbled bacon.

I hope you try it. Stay tuned, I will be adding more recipes to help pass along a taste of Country Life....even if you live in Downtown.

* * * * *

Use stone-ground yellow cornmeal for the best taste and texture. Stone-ground cornmeal can be recognized by its light and dark flecks.

2 Tblsp UNSALTED BUTTER, melted, plus more for greasing the pan
1 Cup YELLOW CORNMEAL, preferably stone-ground.
1 Cup UNBLEACHED ALL-PURPOSE FLOUR
2 tsp BAKING POWDER
1/2 tsp BAKING SODA
4 tsp SUGAR
1/2 tsp SALT
2 LARGE EGGS
2/3 Cup BUTTERMILK
2/3 Cup MILK

1. Adjust an oven rack to the center position and heat the oven to 425 degrees. Grease a 9-inch square baking pan with butter.

2. Whisk the cornmeal, flour, baking powder, baking soda, sugar, and salt together in a large bowl. Push the dry ingredients up the sides of the bowl to make a well.

3. Crack the eggs into the well and stir lightly with a wooden spoon, then add the buttermilk and milk. Stir the wet and dry ingredients quickly until almost combined. Add the melted butter and stir until the ingredients are just combined.

4. Pour the bater into the greased pan. Bake until the top of the cornbread is golden brown and lightly cracked and the edges have pulled away from the sides of the pan. (About 25 minutes.)

5. Transfer the pan to a wire rack to cool slightly, 5 to 10 minutes. Cut the cornbread into squares and serve warm. (The pan can be wrapped in foil and stored at room temperature for up to 1 day. Reheat the cornbread in a 350-degree oven for 10 to 15 minutes.)

Mail-Order Chicks

Did you know that you can buy baby chickens from a catalog?

I didn't either, until I moved to a farm. It's actually the best way to buy them (as opposed to getting them from the local feed store). They are less expensive when you get them from a catalog, they usually throw in a few extras, AND they guarantee the chicks just in case you loose a few on the way.

Wanna take a look? Check it out HERE.

When I make MY order, I'm going to get some Guineas too. They are like watchdogs for the chickens. When a predator comes around they start squawking an alarm. They ALSO walk around your yard and eat all the bugs and scorpions. That's the best part.

In a farming community, it's common to talk about your baby chicks and your garden in normal conversation. In other areas I've lived, I'm sure they're saying things like, "Did you hear what Paris Hilton did?" Not here, though. I haven't heard anything about Hollywood in months. Instead, I learned from our Sunday School teacher that every year, he and his wife take their prettiest tomato out of their garden, lay all the seeds out on a paper towel on the kitchen counter, and use THOSE seeds for their next planting of tomatoes. It's like you're very own backyard Hybrid!

I also learned (at church) that duck eggs are the best to use for baking. Maybe I should add a dozen ducks to my catalog order.

It's amazing what you learn at church in a farming town!

Miss Daisy-Lou

I realize I haven't been keeping up with my writing. I've been running around with my family (as mentioned last time), but I have also been dealing with a little bit of loss. I haven't really felt like writing about it, but I knew I needed to in order to "move on" with the blog.

One of our dogs died. Daisy. She was hit by a car....and I was driving it. I realize this is a farm and that the blog is about the farm. I realize that things like this happen quite frequently in farm life, but it's never happened to me personally, (especially when I was the one at the wheel), so I've been pretty torn-up about it. In order to avoid this being a totally "bummer blog" I've decided to share some of my favorite memories of Daisy.

Daisy was MY dog.

I was the one who insisted we take her, eventhough she was the runt and the littlest one of all. I think she knew that I fought to keep her. She loved to cuddle with me and would usually snuggle up to my neck and fall asleep immediately while making little grunting piggie noises. As she got older and bigger, this became more difficult, but I always said I would keep snuggling her no matter how big she got. When I called her I yelled, "Hey, Miss Daisy-LOOOOOOUUU!" It sort of stuck.

She had floppy ears that seemed to wave when the breeze blew. Sometimes, she would pause, stick her nose up in the air and let her ears flap away. Daisy and Jack liked to chase dust devils together. As the twisters danced around the field, Jack and Daisy would run right into the middle of it and spin around in circles. As it hopped around, so did the dogs, always trying to get right in the middle.

We burried Daisy under the big Cottonwood tree they liked to play under together. She might have only been our dog for three months, but I'm going to miss her for a long time.