Honeysuckle times on the farm...

Honeysuckle time on the farm... When I step out on my front porch early in the morning, the sweet smell of honeysuckle greets me. Driving down the dirt road, I am surrounded by the blossoms and scent of these wild flowers growing on the ditch banks. As a child, my sister and I would pull the end off the blooms and suck the nectar like hungry little bees. Only a whiff, a little bit of sweetness that tasted like it smelled, but it was wonderful. These past few days have been honeysuckle days for me... time to smell and taste the sweetness of life here on the farm. Summer is sidling up and summer chores are in full swing.
Our second cutting of hay is on the ground, the fields at mama’s house and Gary’s field. The weather has been perfect for curing hay and we begin baling this afternoon. The smell of new mown hay drying in the sun is as sweetly distinctive as honeysuckle. It carries memories for me, memories of stacking hay in daddy’s pole barn, swinging the hay bales up to the boys on the top row, South Georgia summer weather with blue skies bleached pale by the heat, watching the Rizer brothers cut, stir and rake the hay before they baled it.
And now, we have our own community hay baling. Friends give generously of their time and energy to help. Hay baling in square bales is labor intensive in short bursts of time. Maybe someday we will switch to round bales but we do not have the equipment for that. Besides, we are using a baler that is well over fifty years old with the tedder and rake not far behind. With Gary’s tender ministrations and a judicious kick or two, they still work fine, mostly.
David, Alison and Aidan were here this weekend for a visit. Aidan did almost everything there was to do from riding Junie B (a LOT, he said) to riding the tractor. He saw the chickens moved to their new coop, the snapping turtle in the road, petted the donkeys, fed the cows, watched Charles use the “scooper” to dig out the pond, and rode the Kawasaki mule and the lawn mower. Watching his busy bee’ness helped me see the wonders that surround me everyday at Sabbath Rest Farm. There is so much work to do that gives me pleasure and so much that gives pleasure to those who come to share the farm with us. When children come, I am given the gift of falling in love with this place all over again.
After years of legal maneuvering, the mediated settlement has enabled us to begin the restoration of our pond. Charles has been working for five weeks now and is almost finished. We will have our waterfall, a little swimming hole for small children and dogs, a silt pond upstream to catch silt before it gets to the big pond, ducks and turtles and frogs and fish again to keep us company during summer’s golden time. Tim and Jeannie’s paddle boat will once again ply the waters of our Golden Pond ferrying children to and fro on journeys of fun and frolic. Our Cat Square Church services are accompanied by the music of water falling and birds singing. The Treadwell Chapel will be surrounded by water again, the only combination chapel/fishing hole I know of. Once again, children like Noah, can catch their first fish, sit and dangle their feet in the water or like a little Meg, strip down and get wet all over. I celebrate the return of the pond.
I called an old friend from our former church the other day to share the news of the death of one of our mutual friends in that church. He and his wife live on a farm in a neighboring community. We laughed about raising cows not being a moneymaking proposition but a soulful work. Alan, who is retired, said he found it difficult to find reasons to leave his farm except once a week to work for Habitat. Living close to the earth, we agreed, is a daily worship service of praise and thanksgiving when you are a thoughtful steward of the gift that has been given to you. And so it is for me, this day, a paean of praise and thanksgiving for honeysuckle times here at Sabbath Rest Farm, God’s home and mine. Thanks be to God for all my good gifts.