Reading through Anne…

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Does anyone want to join me in a little project of delight? I want to read through the entire 8 book Anne of Green Gables Series by L.M. Montgomery again. These are some of the most cherished books of my life, and I thought it would be fun to read and write through them…I’m putting no time limit on this, so it could take me a year or ten 🙂 , but I know it will be a joy. Join me on your own blog space OR just comment in the comment section about sections that stood out to you, quotes, life lessons, and just Anne love. I enjoy reading challenges, but I don’t like pressure added to my life. This is a lovely journey to me with NO pressure. You are welcome to join. I will list these under Anne Shirley in my Ramblings category cloud, so if you miss one, just check there and read along! 🙂 Avonlea, here I come! 🙂

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Diamonds come forth…

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Did you know that diamonds are birthed after 725,000 pounds of pressure? I’ve been thinking of all the squeezing, pressure, struggles, and frustrations that can make up moments of my life. The reality is that most of my “trouble” in this life is just exactly that…REAL life. It isn’t extraordinary or special, it is the daily plodding through life that we all do this side of Heaven. I also acknowledge that the troubles here in America can’t compare to the struggle for daily living in many places.

Yet, the relationships, remodeling, the home educating, the dishes, the meals, the laundry for my family are pressing daily. The beautiful, yet busy holiday pressures of celebrations, traditions, and  gatherings hover over me. The colder weather, the different ages of my children and their needs, my marriage relationship, friends, and don’t forget all the other fringe people in our lives that need love, care, and concern.

The pressure is intense. Yet, just maybe, if I can choose patience, choose joy, choose to look at it differently…these moments are some of our best remembered memories. “Oh, Mom! Remember that time you spun the van around in the driveway? Dad was awesome and dug you out!” “Remember that time we used candles and had an oatmeal picnic in your room when the electricity was out?” “Remember that time we made homemade gifts to stretch the budget?” “Remember the countless hours we snuggled up in the winter, reading together, instead of going out?”  “Remember how you lugged wood seven months pregnant? (I do indeed remember that.)” “Remember dad saving the day?” “Remember that man who helped us?” I could go on and on. The truth is that a mixture of pressures, patience, and hope in Jesus can do more for us then living a comfortable, stress-free life. We can come forth as diamonds.

In these hard moments, it is almost impossible to see the sparkle and gleam of what God is working into our hearts, character, and very being. Believe me, I’ve felt like screaming if one more thing broke at home, or we might not have what I want immediately, but *gasp* have.to.wait. God-forbid, you have to wait for something you want, Amy.

Time and time again, the truth comes forth with patience and perseverance. The whole beauty of life doesn’t lie in the few lovely seemingly perfect moments. It lies in what it took to get there. The working hard, loving hard, falling down, getting up, and pressing on patiently.

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Amy Carmichael

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O Thou in whose right hand were seven stars,

And whose right hand was on Thy servant laid,

How tender was Thy touch, Thy word, Be not afraid.

Thou who didst say, O man greatly beloved,

Fear not, and, Peace be unto thee, be strong,

What wealth of grace and mercy doth to Thee belong.

 

Thy touch, Thy word, and lo, like to a cloud

That was but is not in the fields of air,

So is the fear we feared; we look, it is not there,

Dissolved, departed, banished by Thy touch.

Oh, as we pray, purge us from every fear,

Thou who dost hold the stars, our Lord, art Thou not here?

 

Thou Givest…They Gather

Amy Carmichael

pg 31

Tea, Cake, and Susan Branch

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Dear Susan Branch , I just turned the last page of your Martha’s Vineyard: Isle of Dreams. I was so inspired and enchanted. As a wife, mother and home cook, I found it just the perfect shot of encouragement.  I often loose sight of the little bits of joy in creating a home for my loved ones. I  found so much to be inspired by your tenacity in keeping at your dreams.  Your books, especially, Isle of Dreams, and then, A Fine Romance have brought so many smiles to my face, tears (I felt bad for you!), chuckles, and beautiful quotes to think on. Your thoughts on books, movies, cooking,  gardening, and gushes about little lovely bits of life make my feelings of kindred spirit well up. Isle of Dreams was my favorite, but  A Fine Romance was a very close second and I thought of you and just about swooned with delight as I had the chance to visit England this year.

One of the biggest things I loved about Isle of Dreams, was how much you praised and thought on all that you mother had done for you. It is so encouraging to know that little touches, the hot meals, and the traditions reached you and are remembered in a small way. I found that such a blessing to see a child of a big family praising the hard work her mother did for her family. Motherhood isn’t really a prized profession these days and the endless mundane dance we do each day while being told we have to be something MORE can really beat a woman down.

The little cocoa cups, the tea pots, your kitties, the ivy, and the endless magical little paintings you include teach me more than just love of beauty. I want to learn to pay attention deeply, and I pray my children will follow. Just to really listen to people, to savor  meals, to delight in lingering over tea, to mull over and discuss great books, and to never forget their faith. I desire to grow deeper relationships through hospitality and sharing life. You delight and excel in those gifts. Thank you, Susan, for your sweet books and a bit of brightness and warmth to wrap myself in, with a bit of tea and cake, of course.

With love,

Amy

Inspired by this writer, we enjoyed this lovely coffee cake with tea and some new MUSICA for a fall treat. Enjoy!

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November Days

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The morning suns greets my eyes. I slip on my glasses and glory in the view. The old house creaks a bit and I walk pass the piles flooring we have yet to put in upstairs. I stumble down the ancient farmhouse stairs, dreaming of a steaming cup of coffee. Perhaps I should set up a coffee maker in my room? Maybe that is a bit extreme. 🙂 The chatter of voices greet me. “Hey, Mom. Guess what my dream was?” and “What’s for breakfast?” and “I’m cold, Mom! Where’s my sweatshirt?” all sing out as I grab my package of coffee from the freezer and start my Nectar of Life a brewing. My son begins making oatmeal for everyone, which usually ends up somewhere between water-y porridge or rock hard cement, but we all love it with brown sugar, walnuts, and a dash of milk. Some add a twist with a bit of peanut butter.

I am a huge fan of the author Gladys Taber. Have you read anything by her? She wrote extensively on her farm, Stillmeadow. As I pour my coffee, I take in the scene around me and begin to compose it, in my head, attempting to grasp the charm that Gladys always seems to find as she pens her normal days around the farm. Of course, Gladys lived a different life than me. She worked outside of the home for a time and also ends up having more dogs than children. Yet, I feel a kinship to her, leaning back against the cupboard, sipping, and taking in the beauty of the daily mundane doings and yes, chaos.

“Good news, Mom! Gandalf’s pink eye is clearing up!” is the glad shout I hear next from a precious child. Yes, go ahead and chuckle. Gandalf is our barn cat, so I guess creatures do have a part in my life, Gladys.

We move on through our day, alternating between discussions, chores, and books, with a few fights over stuffed animals and whose scissors the purple ones REALLY are. (They’re actually mine.) Ahh… glorious books. We have chosen to live life with our children here at home, learning together. Gerald Johnson takes us through early American history, we laugh at Ogden Nash’s poetry, and giggle as Louis the Trumpeter Swan learns how to play TAPS on his new trumpet. We write some, do a little math, make some caramel corn, and breathe the fresh, albeit tinged with burning leaves, country air. Someone is always asking me when’s the next meal. My crock pot definitely earns its keep.

I gaze at the steam rising from my coffee cup. Sigh. “Mom, the sewer guy is here.” My romantic ruminations are ruined. Reality stinks a bit, doesn’t it? 😉 I watch the fellow from my window, what a job, huh? He is stooped and haggard looking, I’m thankful for him, he makes my job a bit easier.

A few loads of laundry swirling around, blankets on the line. The scratching noise of pen on paper, drawings and journal entries being created. An old, petrified apple core peeks out from under the couch at me. Ahh. These November days. I get “questioned out” at about 4:00 pm, is there really still 4 or 5 hours till bedtime? Yet, I love this life I’ve been given. So, like Gladys and everyone before and those to come after, I rustle up some ingredients and go about thinking supper thoughts. I sneak in a few minutes of reading in my “garrett” as my daughter calls my bedroom, where I like to hide as frequently as possible. “You can’t just stay up here in your garrett all day, Mom, like Jo March!”

I cave in and put on the electronic babysitter. They have chosen the 1935 version of A Midsummer’s Night Dream with James Cagney and Mickey Rooney. It’s a bit creepy and weird, but I hear a laugh. A Puck-ish laugh, come to think of it.   Later the candles are lit, we began our supper with prayers and because it’s the season of thanksgiving, we purposefully go around sharing what we are thankful for today.

I’m thankful for all the November days days I’ve been given, for little blonde girls who shared their drawing with me, “Here’s what I drawed, Mom.”. I’m thankful for grins after a resolved fight over Nutella, and the piles of books to dig into soon. I’m thankful for the beauty of life. And maybe I DO need that coffee maker in my garrett.

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A favorite recipe for you!

Skillet Sausage and Mushroom Penne

*adapted from original recipe from December/January 2014 Cook’s Country magazine – I use things I have on hand and I’ve doubled the original recipe here for my crowd.

1 pkg sausage of your choice (I use breakfast sausage )

fresh mushrooms, chopped – (I use half to a whole package)

4 cups chicken broth

1 can diced tomatoes (sometimes 2, depending if I feel tomato-y or not)

about 1 1/2 packages penne, this is like 18 oz?? I think

1 1/2 cups heavy cream (I actually use half n half, because I rarely have cream on hand)

Parmesan cheese (being the gourmet that I am, I use the green can shake cheese, I know. The horror. You are welcome to use freshly grated.)

  1. Cook sausage, breaking it up, until no longer pink, add in mushrooms. Cook together till brown. Transfer mixture to bowl, set aside.
  2. Return skillet to heat, add broth, tomatoes and juice, pasta, and cream. Bring to boil. Reduce heat, simmer, stirring often, until pasta is al dente. (I actually use a pot, because of the doubling of the recipe!)
  3. Stir sausage-mushroom mixture and 1/2 cup Parmesan into pasta. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Top with other 1/2 cup of Parmesan, cover, and remove from heat until cheese is melted.

Enjoy! I serve it alone for quick lunch or add a salad as a side for a bigger dinner.

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Soup

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(Chicken & Veggie Soup)

I am always so happy when autumn rolls around. Simply because it is the beginning of three delicious seasons of soup. Here in the Northern Midwest, autumn, winter, and spring are all soup weather. I have such a hard time knowing what to feed my hungry crowd during the summer. My life becomes easier by this humble dish and it is a lovely way to use up what is sitting around my kitchen and stretch what we have on hand. As I’ve been chopping, stirring, and watching this autumn’s batch of soup simmering, something has come to mind over and over again. Of course, the feelings of warmth, home, and family meals, but something deeper even. Our lives are made up of many bits and pieces, simmering and very often tried over fire. My faith challenges me to believe that all of these parts make up a complete whole. Each part of soup and life is important to the finished product. If I just threw one onion into a pot, it would not come out well, if I do not wait patiently for all the ingredients to be added, slowly, and patiently cooked, I would not have a glorious meal worth sharing at the end.  The wafting scent lingering in the house and the savoring of soup, crackers or bread in hand, bring to mind all that the Lord desires for our lives to be. One of wholeness in Him.  I want to stew 🙂 on this more, but it is an important lesson for me.

Our current favorite soup:

(I adapted this from an online recipe YEARS ago, forgive me for not knowing the original source.)

Rosemary Potato & Ham Soup

(I often make this in a 7 quart crock pot, but it can be done quickly on the stove also)

Favorite potatoes, chopped. I don’t peel the potatoes, but you can if so desired.

Small ham piece, chopped.

Chicken broth to cover, about 6 cups.

A Bay Leaf, or two.

Rosemary.

Salt & pepper to taste.

1/2 stick of butter

Crock pot: Layer alternating chopped potatoes & ham. Sprinkle a little bit of dried rosemary every other layer. Throw in bay leaf. Dot top with butter. Add s & p. Cook on high for 5 hours or till tender.

Stove top: Throw everything together in a pot, simmer.

Serve with crackers or fresh bread.

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Speak to me…

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The past summer I moved to a different property. We had been renting it and found ourselves in need a bit more space. My husband was itching to spread out a bit, his love of wide open spaces drawing him. I was really struggling with this plan. Various reasons, really. Hidden Valley Farm had owned a piece of my heart for the last 10 years, so many memories. As we traveled back and forth, readying our new farm, I began to notice the beauty of the drive and the area in which I was going to be living. It was like through my worries about the remodeling, paying bills, house showings, and all the minutiae, the nature, along the way, really began to speak to me. I stopped being frustrated about how far it seemed from our little current city and our life activities. I saw it in a new light. It took me awhile, a really conscious quieting of the litany of voices running through my head. How had I hated this drive? How had I been so frustrated by being removed more? Fast forward to today, November, a few months into our new residence. A few months of a sense of place. There is nothing more lovely then what these vast views say to me. The stream’s meandering, hill’s solid stance, and tree’s dance. It is like a true Church to me. A extension of my faith. I exit my car or return from my walk, inspired and in awe. Seems like a lot from a little bit of nature, huh? The sunsets, slanting light, the quaint, slow simmer of country life, all are a prayer and a song.

And one cried unto another, and said, “Holy, holy, holy, is the LORD of hosts: the whole earth is full of his glory.” Isaiah 6:3

“But now ask the beasts, and they will teach you;
And the birds of the air, and they will tell you;
 Or speak to the earth, and it will teach you;
And the fish of the sea will explain to you.
 Who among all these does not know
That the hand of the Lord has done this,
In whose hand is the life of every living thing,
And the breath of all mankind?” Job 12: 7-10

Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad;
Let the sea roar, and all its fullness;
 Let the field be joyful, and all that is in it.
Then all the trees of the woods will rejoice before the Lord. Psalm 96:11-12

The heavens declare the glory of God;
And the firmament shows His handiwork. Psalm 19:1

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A Book by Hannah More

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I’m a strange contradiction; I’m new and I’m old,

I’m often in tatters, and oft deck’d in gold:

Though I never could read, yet letter’d I’m found;

Though blind, I enlighten; though loose, I am bound –

I am always in black, and I’m always in white;

I am grave and I’m gay, I am heavy and light.

In form too I differ – I’m thick and I’m thin,

I’ve no flesh, and no bones, yet I’m cover’d with skin;

I’ve more points than the compass, more stops than the flute –

I sing without voice, without speaking confute;

I’m English, I’m German, I’m French, and I’m Dutch;

Some love me too fondly; some slight me too much;

I often die soon, though sometimes live ages,

And no monarch alive has so many pages.

 

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