Tornado Warning Lessons

As my weather radio frantically beeped and chirped every day the first half of this week, I got to remember a few timeless lessons and do some things around the homestead that are often overlooked in the chaos of everyday life. Here's the wisdom I stumbled on:

I discovered that my batteries are, unlike the rest of my home, ridiculously organized. My flashlights, however, are not and, although they're the large kind, they are difficult to take apart in the dark.

If it looks like it's about to storm and your stove is electric, cook faster.

I learned that I really should charge my phone overnight and maybe even before I leave work for the day.

People who love you call and warn you when they think you might be in danger. They also want you close by and offer you shelter.

A dog is a great companion during times of stress and anxiety, even if the dog is also stressed and anxious. They also won't pick on you when your fears seem silly or irrational.

I learned my electric company has fantastic service and that things really do stay cold in your fridge and freezer for hours if you don't open them.

Have compassion for the suffering of others but don't be paralyzed by a fear of a similar fate. Let your worry drive you outward to action rather than draw you inward.

Moving outdoor containers near the house prevents seedlings from swimming. (Victory! Blue Lake bean plants sans lakes!)

I remembered that people can be entertained and survive without phone service, television, computers and gadgets and all you really need for fun is a tiny flashlight, a book and a soft place to rest.

I realized that at some point I got rid of all those candles I used to collect before I started in on the yarn.

Guided Meditation

Jack Kornfield mp3 audiobooks on meditation are relaxing during thunderstorms.

Sometimes you end up starting from seeds indoors anyways. If you fail, there's always someone with a greenhouse to buy starts from.

When the sky is black and earth is SILENT, the weather is about to hand you your ass. Take the eerie stillness without the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves seriously. Give your respect to what you cannot control.

Spontaneously developing lakes can be beautiful and the raw power of nature is awe-inspiring.

Sowing Hope

Spinach and swiss chard are stretching skyward by my front walk, their tender young shoots enjoying the warm bits of morning sunshine at each new day. Eyes closed and salivating, I imagine the combinations we'll create when the hens finally join us. Our future holds fritattas.
Elsewhere at the SemiFarm, strawberry petals lightly coat the rich dark soil. A cloud opens up and all traces of hoofprints are washed away, leaving little evidence of the wayward foragers. Lilac blossoms give way to dense green foliage and bare branches are shielded from sky.
Spring fades toward summer as humidity peaks and dark clouds of thunder roll in on the wind. The seeds still lie in the darkness and safety of pouches as we bide the slow passage of time and for earth to drink the soil dry.
Under roof and sheets we ride on faith, dreaming prayers for time to plant and the harvest, of full bellies and sore muscles.
Farming is hope sown as seed, planted and tended till it rises as food, a gift from the earth to sustain us.