The next chapter

This blog post has been percolating in my head for months. It's a blog post I never wanted to write. It includes facts I don't want to be true. Many of you know I grew up as a "sickly" child, according to my mother and doctor. There was "nothing" that could be done to keep me healthy, again according to them. But in my 20s, I discovered that by adopting a diet rich in real foods, I no longer suffered from the all-too-common colds and flus and other ills that had plagued me for the first two decades of my life. I would go as long as five years without a cold and ten years without the flu.

For the past year and a half, I've become the sickly child again. At least that's how I feel as I've dealt with one health issue after another, some of which I've written about here. All along in the back of my head, I had a nagging feeling that I might have a problem with food sensitivities.  But my brain would quickly respond that's not possible! But then the other side of my brain would say, "remember back when you were a vegan, your problems with constipation went away, and every time you'd have a little piece of cheese or other dairy product, it'd come back." But the rest of my brain would just ignore that. It could NOT be true! I LOVE cheese! I write about cheesemaking. I talk about cheesemaking. I TEACH cheesemaking!

Last year when I got diagnosed with Hashimoto's, I read that the majority of people with thyroid disease have a sensitivity to wheat and gluten, and that some people have actually reversed the disease by removing gluten from their diet. I was sick and tired and desperate, so I quit eating wheat, which meant no more bread baking, which we had been doing for the past 26 years, almost daily for more than a decade. (See that pic on the right.) I LOVED bread! There are bread recipes in my books. I've taught bread baking from Washington State to Pennsylvania and Virginia, and I always felt bad when someone would ask me if I had any tips for gluten-free bread. I even said, "I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't eat bread!" It seemed a horrible fate. But after eliminating wheat from my diet, it became obvious that my body didn't like it. I'd occasionally wind up eating something with wheat in it when traveling, and the only thing that happened is that my digestive system would just shut down. Not pooping when you're traveling is not such a bad thing ... until you've gone five days!

Many aspects of my health have improved since eliminating wheat. I haven't had a cold or flu in more than a year now, I no longer have migraines, my asthma is gone, and my Hashimoto's is in remission. My antibodies were cut in half, and my hormones have remained at an ideal level. I no longer take any prescription meds. My vitamin D and vitamin B12 deficiencies have been completely corrected, and those levels are now optimal. But things weren't perfect. I still had nagging digestive issues, including constipation, motion sickness, and random nausea in the middle of the night. After seeing how my body reacted to wheat, I knew that I probably had other food sensitivities, which were wreaking havoc on my digestive system. But what?

The gold standard for figuring out food allergies is an elimination diet. I started talking about it last year and said that after the holidays I'd start. The holidays came and went, and it didn't happen. I gave a half-hearted shot at it in January, but I had one excuse after another why it wasn't a good time. Finally, in March after reading yet another book about auto-immune diseases and how food sensitivities play a major role, I started one day cold turkey. I eliminated corn, soy, dairy, eggs, peanuts, and tree nuts. After three weeks of not having any of those foods, I started to add them back into diet one by one with several days in between so that there would be no confusing which food was causing a reaction.

Of all the foods I eliminated, the only one that I've been able to add back into my diet with no problems has been peanuts. Everything else caused a reaction of some sort. Eggs was one of the worst as it caused chaos in my digestive tract, starting with nausea. I was also sleepy and dizzy and generally feeling like I'd come down with a stomach bug. It occurred to me that my motion sickness and random nausea had probably been caused by eggs all along. In fact, as I was flying into Denver last month in a rather bumpy flight, it suddenly occurred to me that I was feeling absolutely no motion sickness at all!

I could write pages and pages about this, but since March I've been keeping a food journal and writing down everything I eat and everything that happens to my body. I've tried to re-introduce most foods more than once because honestly, there isn't anything that I want to give up. Above all else, the number one thing I did NOT want to give up was dairy products. I've only tried cow milk once, and it was in the form of yogurt. It was our wonderful grassfed Jersey's milk made into yogurt, which is supposed to be easier to digest because of the probiotics, and yet it was not good. I had a smoothie made with the yogurt and didn't poop for three days. Not fun!

The goat milk did slow down my digestive system some, but not nearly as bad as the cow. This has made me very unhappy. It's not like I can just stop buying this stuff at the store! I have 14 goats out there making milk as I type. So far, this spring, all of the milk has been used to feed kids, but at some point, the kids won't need the milk any longer, and how am I going to feel about continuing to go out there and milk them every day? At the moment, my husband is actually doing almost all of the milking, but when he starts teaching again in the fall, the job will be mine again. I love my goats, but I originally got them because I loved their milk and cheese and yogurt. What will I do if those reasons no longer exist? I honestly don't know.

At this point, I've told myself that I should just continue for the next year before making any decisions. I've spent the last 13 years building a wonderful herd of milkers, and it would be tough to give that up. I am hopeful that as my body continues to heal, I will once again be able to consume their milk. Many people have been able to do that, but not everyone. I am not a patient person. I wish I knew what the future would hold for me, but I must learn patience.

That leads me to the next thing that causes health problems -- stress! Stress plays a major role in almost every disease. And we are all under stress. I constantly hear people say that they can't do anything about the stress in their lives. And I've said the same thing myself. But I've spent a good chunk of the past year reading books to help me regain my health, and it has finally sunk in ... we will all have stressful situations come into our lives every day, and we can't help that. We can, however, control how we respond to those situations. And it isn't just a matter of saying that you won't get upset when something negative happens. That just does not work.

I've learned that we have to make a conscious effort to regularly force our minds into a state of relaxation. Okay, "force" is not the right word, but it feels like that in the beginning. I've starting practicing yoga and meditation on a regular basis. I'd love to say daily, and that's the goal, but I'm not there yet. I have noticed that when I meditate daily, my response to stressful situations is much more calm -- and that's exciting!

I've also learned to take time every day to be grateful for the beauty in my life. Even when things are not going well, there are things to be grateful for. When I had car trouble last month, I sat there and thought of all the things for which to be grateful -- a tow truck was coming, I had peanuts in my purse, and so on.

I knew I'd be entering a new chapter in my life when my children left home. I also knew menopause would create some changes. But I always thought they'd be outward things, such as a new career. I never anticipated the changes within my body and mind that would have to happen. Yes, I have had my pity party, as I did not want any of these changes to happen. I thought life was perfectly wonderful over the past decade. But we have to play the hand we're dealt, and I intend to figure out how to make this next chapter the best yet.

The recliner -- and why you should live your dream NOW!

I haven't written a decent blog post in almost two months -- and that one was entitled "Catching Up," because I hadn't posted in a couple of weeks, during which time I had severely injured my back. And my back has now been re-injured so many times that I've lost count. It's somewhere around seven or eight. Each time I hurt it, I wind up back in the recliner because it is the only position in which I am not crying in pain.

We bought the recliner when I was pregnant with Katherine 22 years ago, and it used to hold such fond memories of nursing her as a baby and cuddling and reading to my children. Now, however, I am starting to refer to it as "that stupid recliner" and say things like, "I hate that chair!" Thankfully, my stints in the recliner are getting shorter. This last time it was only a day. Apparently I have a bulging disc in my back, and it takes the tiniest wrong movement to cause it to flare up again -- things like standing too long at a sink washing dishes. It isn't a big sudden, "Ouch!" kind of pain. It's a slow-building pain, which obviously gets worse as the disc swells more. I've discovered that icing my back after anything that could remotely cause a problem is a good idea, and I've probably avoided a few stints in the recliner by doing that. But sometimes I don't realize something is problematic until it's too late. Spending two hours sitting on the ground trying to get newborn kids to nurse proved to be a definite no-no.

Speaking of kids ... we've had five goats give birth since April 27, and three more are due within the next month. Aurora gave birth to quads the morning of April 27, and by that afternoon, I was in the recliner, which is where I stayed for almost a full two days. Since then, Mike has handled most of the birthing while I stand around taking pictures, trying to keep my back as straight as possible, not because it hurts to bend it, but because it will cause excruciating pain later, if I bend it the wrong way for too long. And that's the problem. It would be easy to not move the wrong way, if my body gave me some indication at the moment that I was doing something wrong. But it doesn't work like that. Nerve pain is quite different from muscle pain. It kind of feels like my body is giving me a pop quiz 24/7 on how to stand erect.

Part of the reason I haven't been blogging is because I haven't been able to sit in front of the computer for so many days. And when I am able to sit here, I spend hours catching up on things like email. I just updated the kidding schedule on our website so that people can see which kids are still available for sale. That was also about two months out of date.

The other reason I haven't been blogging is because I don't want to sound like I'm complaining. So, for the record, this is not a big long complaining rant. This is just the story of my life for the past two months. And there is some usable information in here. I hear a lot of people say that they are going to move to the country and start living this life when they retire. Now that I'm "older," I can say that that is really not the best plan. Two years ago, I had no idea that my body was going to have all of the problems that it has started to have. I am so glad that we moved out here 13 years ago. I had a lot of great years doing things that I loved. I don't want it to end, and I'm doing everything I can do to figure out how to continue living this life. But had we only moved out here a couple of years ago, there would probably be a "for sale" sign out front by now. If I think of all the challenges we had the first few years simply because we were new to this life -- and if you added all of my current challenges to that -- it would have been a recipe for utter failure.

I don't usually give advice on this blog, but I'm getting older, so I figure I can throw out a little advice every now and then. So, my advice is that if you are still young and healthy, and if you read this blog wishing you were living this life, don't wait. Figure out how to do it now.

Catching up ...

Since my last kidding post, six more goats gave birth and I hurt my back twice. I can't possibly provide all of the details on everything, so here is a short summary ...

 Emily's doe 

This year's goat births have been going extremely well! Of the ten goats that have given birth, no one has had any problems that required assistance, even though they had some challenging presentations, such as an ear first, a posterior, and a couple of breech kids. We had two sets of quintuplets, three sets of quads, three sets of triplets, and two sets of twins. That's an average of 3.5 kids per doe, which is unbelievably excellent! Even better, we've had 22 does and 13 bucks. Since these are dairy goats, the does are the most coveted because obviously boys don't produce milk. Of course, I should not get too excited because we still have eight does left to kid, and they could have lots of bucks and flip that ratio on its head.

 Scandal's doe 

Two weeks ago I stepped in a hole, which threw my back out, and I spent two days in the recliner on the first floor of our house because I couldn't walk upstairs. After a week I was doing pretty well, other than feeling like someone was following me around and randomly stabbing me in my lower back. Then on Tuesday I was doing chores, and the mud was just too much for my back. I was able to make it back to the house under my own steam, but then I spent the next 48 hours incapacitated, either in the recliner or in the guest bed on the first floor. Who knew that walking in mud could throw your back out? The chiropractor said I have a bulging disc, so tying my shoes could throw my back out. I am really hoping it won't get that bad.

In the meantime, Mike and I are talking about adding a first floor master bedroom because between my knees and my back, going upstairs is getting harder and harder. After 10 years, the house is still not entirely finished, so adding on sounds a little funny, but I need a first floor bedroom more than trim on the windows, so an addition sounds pretty important right now.

If you missed Friday's post about our upcoming farm dinner, click here for more details and to make reservations.

Falling apart -- and lessons from a goat from years past

The first three months of 2014 have flown past, and I don't mean that they have flown past in the usual way. It seems that all of us constantly talk about how time flies, but the last three months have been a blur of one doctor's office after another, one test after another, and an emotional roller coaster. I've been diagnosed with five different conditions and told that I might have cancer (twice now), and I flip flop back and forth between wanting to throw in the towel and move to the burbs and then gathering up the strength to keep pushing myself forward -- because seriously, what would I do in a condo in the burbs?

I can't believe it's been almost a month since my last post. We have a lot of catching up to do! Two Sundays ago I was in San Francisco at a publishing conference and I had a few hours before my plane would be leaving, so I decided to take a walk around Fisherman's Wharf. After a delicious breakfast at an organic cafe, I was two blocks into my walk, and for some crazy reason I decided to run across the street, didn't look down, and tripped over the curb. I hit my head and shoulder on a brick wall, skinned the palm of my right hand and my right forearm, sprained the thumb on my left hand, and really smashed my knee. Having far too many problems with my knees in my life, I knew I needed to head back to the hotel and spend the next two hours with ice, which I did. I also bandaged up the skinned areas. Twelve days later (ER, primary care doc, ortho doc + x-ray, ultrasound, and MRI), my knee is still swollen and painful, but I only have a massive hematoma in the bursa. The bad news is that I also have grade four arthritis in the knee. Who knew they grade arthritis? And four is the worst grade. (I've never received the worst grade on anything in my life!) A quick online search tells you that grade four is when they start talking about knee replacement.

The latest cancer scare came when they x-rayed my knee. The morning after I was in the ER, I got a phone call from the hospital, and the woman said that a radiologist had looked at my x-rays, and although he did not see any breaks, he did see a "lesion" on my tibia. He said that I needed to have an MRI to rule out bone cancer. I had a good cry after I hung up the phone. Seriously, how many people are told they might have cancer twice in two months. The thyroid biopsy came back benign in February, and thankfully the knee MRI did not reveal a cancerous lesion. They concluded that it was either a benign fibroma or an old injury. And after the ortho doctor saw me, he said that it was caused by the knee surgery I had as a teen.

But wait, that's not all! The day before I left for San Francisco, I visited my primary care doc, because the gastroenterologist said he didn't think my swollen throat, cough, and hoarseness were caused by gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD), although he was willing to do an endoscopy to rule it out. Rather than wanting to wait for those results, I took my little self right back to my primary care doc's office the next day.

While I was there, I had a coughing fit, which she said sounded like a bronchospasm. She had me blow into a peak flow meter, and 300 was the best I could do, which is low for someone of my age and height. So, I did a breathing treatment with a nebulizer and my peak flow went up to 350, which is still low but improved, so she said I probably have asthma. She gave me a prescription for an inhaler, as well as another prescription for an oral asthma med. I quickly discovered that the pain in my chest was from my bronchial tubes getting inflamed and that using the inhaler helped tremendously. Initially I was using it about four times a day, but now that I've been taking the oral meds, I've only had that tightening in my chest about every other day. I've also purchased an air purifier for our bedroom. It stinks to know that I have asthma, but it is far less severe than some of the stories I've heard, so I'm grateful for that and for knowing what causes the pain in my chest.

So, between January and today, I've been diagnosed with Hashimoto's disease, GERD, asthma, a mold allergy, and grade four arthritis in my knee. In addition to my primary care doc, I've also seen an endocrinologist, a general surgeon, an orthopedic surgeon, a gastroenterologist, and I've been referred to an ENT and an allergist but have not seen them yet. I've had a thyroid biopsy, a leg ultrasound, x-rays, an MRI, and more blood tests than I can remember. I have an endoscopy scheduled for the end of April but may skip it if this swollen feeling in my throat goes away.

So! What next?

As you might imagine, I have had a lot going through my head in the last three months and especially in the past twelve days as I've been laid up in bed! I've had way too much time to think, and I've had tons of time to research these various ailments, as well as hang out on Facebook. I saw someone complaining on a goat group about buying goats from an older man who was selling off his herd because he could no longer care for them, and the person who posted was not very charitable in her assessment of the living condition of the goats. All I could think was that I never want to be the crazy old goat lady who held on to her goats longer than they could be properly cared for, but I seriously expected that time would come when I was 70-something, not 51!

In January, we incorporated the farm as Antiquity Oaks LLC because I wanted to focus on our goal of creating a learning farm for future homesteaders and farmers. I was going to formalize and expand our classes and internship program. We had so many plans -- more than I want to share at this point -- because it has all come to a screeching halt for the past three months. My goals and enthusiasm waver from day to day and sometimes moment to moment, depending upon what is happening. Sometimes I feel like this is the end! I'm washed up and done and should just move to a condo in south Texas. Other days I'm positive I can still make my dreams come true -- helping to educate people about growing, preparing, and eating good food. I am still as passionate as ever when it comes to my desire to help people live better lives. Besides that, I was just about ready to lose my mind after a few days in bed!

It was much easier, however, to talk about healthy living when I had not had a cold in five years. It has been hard for me to accept myself now that I'm not the perfect picture of health. I can't help but feel like I have failed in some way, even though none of my ailments are specifically related to food or diet. Having been adopted, I don't know my complete family medical history, so the cards could really be stacked against me genetically. One reason I have tried to maintain such a healthy lifestyle is because I could not look at my ancestors and see that they lived long, happy lives.

Even though I have had some days when I thought about calling it quits, I do still find myself thinking about this year's doelings growing up and becoming productive milkers. I consider including meat and eggs in our new CSA instead of only providing vegetables to members. I ponder the effectiveness of adding ducks to our garden for insect and weed control and then selling their eggs. I search online for pond plants that might help to naturally control algae. I think about building a cabin where interns can live. Whenever I think about the future, I am here. Antiquity Oaks seems to have become a part of my identity and my very being. Although I might be able to leave for a short vacation, I don't think I could really give up this lifestyle.

Years ago we had a doe named Rosewood that was suddenly paralyzed from a spinal cord injury. For the first half hour or so, she was furious. She was screaming and struggling wildly to stand. And then she calmed down and accepted her new reality. I knew she had taught me a priceless lesson. I could not imagine any human being so quickly accepting such a fate. Rosewood eventually learned to walk on her front legs alone, balancing her body and her limp hind legs in the air. I have been thinking of her lately and am thankful that I do not have anything nearly as devastating to deal with. If she could learn to walk on her front legs, then surely I can deal with the challenges that have come my way.

Rotten, lousy day

To be completely honest, today did start out great. I had a two-hour visit with a reporter from a newspaper who is doing a story on homesteading. It is always fun to walk around the farm, introduce the animals to people, and talk about what I do here. It was a great visit, and I'm looking forward to seeing the story. But then the day went downhill.

I got another email from a potential goat buyer who was being a pain. She called yesterday interested in a buck. I had already responded to her email, sending her a picture and linking to the buck's parents on the website. She asked, "What's your best price on him?" I said I'd have to look on the website, because they're all listed on there. It's $400. She asked if I'd come down, and I said I've never come down on a price. She said she didn't want to pay more then $300-350, which really shocked me because she had also expressed interest in a $600 buck. (Did she think this was half-price day?) I pointed out that the $400 buck's dam has both a one-day and a 305-day milk star and classified "very good," with a score of 88.3, which is less than two points away from excellent. Well, she just raises goats for pets. They don't milk or show.

Then she sends me an email asking if I'd meet her in Springfield, which is a two-hour drive for me. I said yes, then she sends another email asking if I'd take $375 for him. As I was responding to that email -- reiterating that his price is $400 -- she sends another one wanting to know how much white he has on the other side of his body. (That's the picture I emailed on the right.) She had told me on the phone that color was very important to her, but seriously -- how much white does he have on the other side of his body? By then, I was so annoyed I just went to bed -- not to mention the fact that I honestly had no idea how much white he had on the other side of his body. I did briefly chuckle to myself as I imagined measuring the white on him -- but that sounds more like a job for my engineer-husband.

This afternoon, I received another email from her saying that they are interested in him, but they want to know how much white he has on the other side of his body. Were they seriously going to decide whether or not they wanted him based upon how much white he had? How much white were they looking for? So, I responded honestly -- said I didn't know because I didn't pay that much attention to color. It doesn't put milk in the bucket, and there are no points for color on the scorecard. And I honestly hoped I would never hear from her again.

Then it started to rain. And I was home alone. It's bad enough to have to do chores alone, but rain makes it depressing. So, I headed outside at 5:30, knowing that it would take at least a couple hours, and sundown is around 7-something now. When I went into one stall to give the goats grain, I saw a kid hanging by its neck from a hay feeder. I gasped, "oh, no!" as I ran over there and lifted it out. It was limp. I kept saying, "oh, no!" over and over again as I sat down holding it in my arms. It was still warm, and I briefly thought that maybe it was still alive, just unconscious. I tried to find a heart beat, but there was none. The other goats came up to me, sniffed it, and walked away. I sat there for a long time, thinking that I needed to finish chores outside before the sun went down, but I didn't want to let go of the kid. The other goats kept coming up to me and sniffing the dead kid, and then I remembered a conversation that I had with someone recently where she said she left a dead kid with its mother until it seemed the mother had accepted its death. Somehow it did seem easier to leave the kid in there with her mother and brothers while I finished chores. After I laid her down in the straw and walked away, her brothers laid down next to her just as they had always done.

As I continued working on chores, I knew I would have to milk Viola at some point. She's one of my la manchas -- a big goat, which means she has a lot of milk, and it takes at least twice as long to milk her as it takes to milk a Nigerian. And although her kids are only six weeks old, she's decided she is tired of being a mom, and she keeps jumping fences -- as many as necessary -- to get away from her kids. Yes, this means she has already taught her kids to jump fences also. She just keeps going until they can't follow.

At some point in the middle of all the chores, I felt that annoying pain in my neck that sneaks up on me every now and then. I knew that within a few minutes, I would not be able to turn my head because my neck would be frozen. I've had arthritis in my neck for four years, and I was also diagnosed with two herniated disks a couple years ago, but there are not any good options for dealing with either problem, so I just live with the pain. The day-to-day pain is bad enough, but the pain when my neck goes into a spasm is really horrible. After four years, however, my sub-conscious has at least learned to keep my head completely straight and not even attempt to turn in any direction, because if I do turn my head, it feels like I've just been stabbed in the neck, and the pain shoots into my head.

I don't normally do much of anything when this happens -- I prefer to lay down so that I'm perfectly still -- but no one was home, so I had to finish chores and milk Viola. I decided that the cows would just have to spend the night in the pasture, because they still haven't learned the routine of going into their stall at night, and it usually takes one person leading with alfalfa cubes and one person pushing their back ends to get them into the right stall in the barn. (They don't learn nearly as fast as goats!) So, I figured I'd be asking for trouble if I attempted to get them in the barn by myself when my body is not firing on all cylinders.

I prayed that Viola would be a good girl on the milk stand. Katherine told me she's been naughty lately, trying to kick over the bucket. I find it interesting how some goats respond differently to different people. Thankfully, Viola was as good as ever for me.

When I walked in the house, it was 8:33. I had a glass of carrot juice and some crackers with Mike's cheddar. Then I made myself a cup of willow bark tea for the pain in my neck. It also did a good job of warming me up. When I checked email, there was a long, scathing response from the woman who wanted a cheap, flashy buck, criticizing me for refusing to tell her something as simple as what color he was. Any bit of guilt that I had about not budging on the price disappeared when she said that she was buying a pygmy goat from New York for $550. And it's not like they have goats for their family's milk supply. It finally clicked that money must not be much of an issue if they have fifteen pet goats.

Tomorrow will dawn bright and early for me because Katherine is at a journalism conference, so I have to do most of the goat chores, including milking. We'll have to bury Anne's doeling, which was one of the kids I was planning to keep. Then, I'm going to see the chiropractor and massage therapist. Hopefully they can do something with my neck so that I can at least turn my head again.

Dream a little dream

A year ago, I read this article in the NY Times about how people with mental illness who worked on a farm with animals "reported a statistically significant improvement in self-efficacy and coping skills compared to those who had not spent time working with animals." At the time, I commented about how it didn't surprise me at all, and I shared a dream I had:

About a year ago, when the land across the road was for sale, I thought about how great it would be to buy it and create a homestead for women and their children who had been in abusive relationships. I think it would be so healing for them to be out in the country, working with the goats and chickens, breathing fresh air, running through pastures. One of these days, I hope to figure out how to make that happen.

Yes, it was a big dream -- a million-dollar dream -- and how could I ever hope to make something like that happen? But it was not something that just popped into my head when I read that article. It's something that I've been thinking about ever since I heard about Rick Warren's book, The Purpose Driven Life, (which I still haven't read) and started asking myself what am I uniquely qualified to do? What special gifts do I have that fit together perfectly to create something that the world needs?

I love my life out here, but I don't think that I will ever be remembered for saving a rare breed of livestock from extinction. I will never make millions selling organic food. I think I did a good job raising my children, but they're almost grown, so they don't require all the hours they did 10 years ago. There is a part of my life that I tend to forget or ignore, but then Someone comes along and seems to say, "Did you forget where you came from?"

I was sexually abused for my entire childhood and had an abusive boyfriend in high school. I "ran away" 2,000 miles to college and rarely looked back. I was a statistic, but I was one of the "lucky" ones -- with the love of a good husband and the help of a few good therapists (and good insurance), I was able to overcome a past that could have destined me for a life of self destruction.

Every now and then as I am happily living my middle-class life with all its many blessings, someone comes along and makes me think about how far I've come. That's exactly what's happened these past few days and why you haven't heard from me since Sunday. That's when I met a woman who is a victim of domestic abuse, and I invited her to come stay with us. Over the past couple days, we listened to her, walked with her in the pastures, and introduced her to all the animals. She laughed when four goats piled on top of her as she sat down in the grass and Coco the goat learned to unzip her jacket pocket. When Mike got home last night, he told me she looked a lot happier and more relaxed than when she arrived. I agreed.

Today it was time to take her back to a world of court rooms, restraining orders, and police reports. She smiled and laughed as she told others about the goat unzipping her jacket pocket, a stark contrast to her demeanor when talking about her own life. She thanked me for letting her stay with us, and she offered to help with the animals whenever we might need it. I gave her an escape plan in case her ex ignores the order of protection again. She said she'd follow it.

Ever since I started thinking about my personal gifts and all the things I love -- talking and listening to people, living out here with the animals, being understanding and passionate about abuse survivors -- I didn't think I could do anything because I didn't have the budget to create something big like the homestead I mentioned in my NY Times comment. Then it occurred to me that I don't have to do something big. I can do something small. I can help one single woman. So, my million-dollar dream has been downsized. But my little dream is something I can accomplish. Just because I can't help 20 or 30 women today does not mean that I shouldn't do what I can to help one. And then I can help another . . . and another.

I don't have a concrete plan yet, but amazingly enough, people are coming into my life to help with this. Someone emailed me recently after reading my NY Times comment from last year, asking if I was doing anything and how she could help. And today I walked into my church just to kill some time, and several women were watching a video lecture on domestic violence. It's almost a little scary the way all these things are falling together, but I'm starting to understand why I'm here and what I should be doing.

French Women: Part deux

The first couple hundred pages of this book are devoted to food and our relationship with it; however, the last part is equally important. Her chapter on exercise is short but significant. In fact, I wanted to devote a whole post to it, because I echo her sentiments exactly. Exercise should be a natural part of life, not just something that happens in a gym. In fact, exercise was one reason I wanted to move to the country. I was the absolute opposite of a gym rat when we lived in the burbs. I loathed working out, although being "into" healthy habits, I thought I was obligated to work out daily. After all, getting enough exercise is just as important as eating right, isn't it?

I fell off the wagon -- or treadmill, or exercise bike -- so many times in my suburban life, it was a joke when I merely started to think about trying again. There were times in my life when I'd get out of bed early to do my half hour on the treadmill in my basement or bike half an hour to nowhere. I even belonged to a bona fide health club once. After reading Guiliano's book, I see that it was not the only club in the country to sell those enormous sweet muffins in the snack bar. Health club, indeed! Yes, I know my chocolate chip muffin recipe is decadent, but those muffins are not staring me in the face daily after I've just spent an hour torturing myself on exercise machines.

So, what's up with French women and exercise? They have the same attitude as I do. Life should provide exercise. That means taking the stairs instead of the elevator and walking or biking instead of driving. One reason I moved to the country was to get "honest" exercise -- real exercise. Seven years ago, I couldn't carry a full 5-gallon water bucket or a 50-pound bag of goat grain. (Okay, I can't do that today because I injured my back, but that's another post.) There is no doubt I am more physically fit now than I was when we moved out here.

I also agree with Guiliano's idea that Americans are so caught up in the idea of saving time that they lose a lot of opportunities for natural exercise. Driving is quicker; elevators are faster. One of the books I read about farming talked about the importance of having your barns close to your house. The author talked about how much time you'd save -- or waste -- depending upon the distance between your house and your barn. Why do we view a few extra steps as wasted time instead of an opportunity? When you see how many modern farmers are overweight versus how many Amish are not overweight -- in spite of their rich diets -- it becomes pretty obvious who has the right idea.

French Women Don't Get Fat

As I mentioned last month, I need to lose weight, because my knees are unhappy about carrying around this much weight. I was weighing over 160 most mornings. Now I'm averaging about four or five pounds less, and I'm not dieting. My oldest, Margaret, has an extensive collection of books on nutrition, and I noticed she had French Women Don't Get Fat by Mireille Guiliano.

Being in bed the last two days, I've had a chance to read most of it. My husband and I have also been reading Michael Pollan's latest book, In Defense of Food, and he repeatedly mentions the French Paradox -- how can the country with the world's best food and wine have so few people who are overweight? On this point, Guiliano and Pollan agree -- Americans have a bad attitude about food. We almost think of it as an enemy. Guiliano says French women never talk about "guilty pleasures." They enjoy food and they never feel guilty about it. They also don't stuff themselves with large servings. And they only eat the best food.

I already figured out most of this on my own, but it's nice to know that someone thinks I'm on the right track. I quit eating bad food about five years ago. Huh? Bad food? Yes, I quit eating at fast food restaurants and those buffets where they serve warmed-up, canned green beans and frozen foods that have merely been dumped into a deep fryer. I discovered exactly what Guiliano says -- I didn't feel satisfied after eating at those places, right down to the canned pudding for dessert.

I always thought that the French didn't drink water all, but apparently they don't drink tap water. It hadn't occurred to me that a lot of bottled waters started in France. So, Guiliano says to drink lots of water, including a glass of water first thing in the morning before your coffee, since caffeinne is a diuretic. It's easy to mistake dehydration for hunger, so if you drink enough, you'll eat less -- as long as you're eating to satisfy hunger.

Guiliano basicaly tells us to pay attention to our food and what we eat. She starts by telling the reader to write down everything you put in your mouth for three weeks. Then she has these suggestions:

• Always sit down at a table to eat.
  
• Don't eat while driving.
  
• Use a smaller plate, so you don't feel the need to have a larger serving.
• Have several small courses (soup, salad, entree, dessert) rather than one large course. It takes longer to eat, and variety is more satisfying.
  
• Eat fruits and vegetables that are in season because they taste better.
  
• Eat high-quality dark chocolate, rather than the super sweet milk chocolate that is more common.

In addition to advice about becoming friends with food, she also has some recipes that I'm looking forward to trying. I am most excited about the zucchini blossum omlette. I know a market grower who sells zucchini flowers to a chef in Chicago and always wondered what to do with them. I'll be sure to let everyone know how it goes when I try it this summer. Guiliano also provides recipes and encourages readers to make their own yogurt, fresh bread, and croissants!

The subtitle for the book is "The Secret of Eating for Pleasure," and she definitely delivers on that promise.

Boredom and goals

I'm bored! I don't think I've said that in 20 years, but then I can't recall a time in the last 20 years when I was stuck in bed, flat on my back, completely awake, and unable to move without moaning in pain.

Today was a gorgeous day! I went out this morning ready to do all the barn cleaning that I couldn't do when we had that gorgeous day last week, because our basement flooded. Today was my day! Or, at least it was supposed to be. It took an hour to get one of the goat pens in the kidding barn almost clean. The straw on the bottom was really heavy, because it was soaked with urine. Rather than taking it in small chunks, I was stabbing my pitchfork deeply into the bedding. It was heavy. I haven't mucked out a stall in a couple months because it's been so ridiculously cold here -- even below zero Fahrenheit on several days. We just throw more straw on top of the old stuff until we have a warm day when we can clean it all out.

Today was the day. I was about 90 percent done with the pen that holds the pregnant does. I stabbed a big hunk of wet straw, turned, tossed it into the wheel barrow, and turned back to get another fork full. Then I said, "Ouch! That hurt!" I paused. "I think I hurt my lower back." Mike suggested I go inside and start lunch while he and Katherine finish the mucking. I didn't think I was hurt that badly, but I didn't think it would be smart to aggravate it by continuing to work, so I headed inside.

By the time lunch was over, Mike had to help me stand up. I'd wince or moan or scream in pain if I moved the wrong way. It became obvious that bed was the only safe place for me. Knowing that NSAIDs will do nasty things to my stomach, but knowing that this is the worst injury I've had in a long time, I decided to take my chances with the pills. I also took a generic Zantac to help mitigate the effects. The last time I was in this much pain was just before my neck was diagnosed with arthritis.

So, I've been laying in bed for the past 10 hours. This was not how I'd planned to spend today. But I'm also happy that I'm living my dream. I look at my mother-in-law and remember what she used to say when she was our age. She wanted to do lots of traveling while she was able, and it's a good thing she did. They traveled all over the world. Although she is still quite able-bodied at 70-something, she is caring for her husband who has Alzheimers, which means she is effectively homebound herself. At least once a week, someone asks me how I juggle all my different projects -- teaching, goats, sheep, kids, writing, cooking, cheesemaking, soapmaking, etc. Today someone asked how I was going to add my new worms to my already busy schedule. Well, you just do it. When something is important enough, you figure out how to do it.

I've never had any confidence that my body was going to last a lifetime. I was born with birth defects in both knees, went through periods of inactivity, braces, splints, surgeries, and even a wheelchair. My orthpedic surgeon's parting words to me at age 15 were, "You'll probably have bone spurs in your knees by your 30s." Maybe that's why I've always felt an urgent need to get things done. In the beginning, I wanted to do all the things I couldn't do before my knees were fixed with surgery as a teenager. Then, I knew I had a deadline.

But everyone has a deadline -- and as my mama used to say, "Tomorrow never comes." She was right. Whenever I say I'll do something tomorrow, it just gets put off day after day. It's not until I decide that I'm doing something now that it actually gets done.

Since I started writing this post, I realized that I was not bored today. I was angry and frustrated. It reminded me of my past, and it represents a future that I fear. This is why I don't waste time watching television, which was my constant companion as a child. And it is why Auntie Mame's words have always resonated with me: "Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death." Most people just don't see the banquet that's out there, but I do, and I want all of it. When I'm stuck in bed, unable to do anything, I'm starving for all the things I could be doing, and I hate it. I want to enjoy the banquet!

Eggs: what's the difference?

A few years ago, Mother Earth News undertook a bit of interesting research. Apparently, the professional egg producers had long insisted that no research had ever shown free-range eggs to differ nutritionally from factory-farmed eggs. Well, that wasn't exactly the truth, since no study had ever been done comparing the two. So, Mother Earth News set out to have some free-range eggs tested. I remember reading the results of their tests at the time -- the free-range eggs were more nutritious.

A couple days ago, I received my February-March 2009 issue of Mother Earth News, and I learned that they've continued this research. Four pastured farms (Texas, Kentucky, Kansas, Pennsylvania) sent their eggs to a lab, and again the free-range eggs had more nutrition than what the USDA claims is in eggs -- data that is, of course, based upon factory-farmed chickens.

So, what's the difference? Free-range eggs contain . . .

• 1/3 less cholesterol
• 1/4 less saturated fat
• 2/3 more vitamin A
• 2 X more omega-3 fatty acids (the good one)
• 3 X more vitamin E
• 7 X more beta carotene
• 3-6 X more vitamin D (On the high end, this means that an egg contains 126 percent of the US RDA of Vit. D, which is quite significant since Vit. D deficiency is becoming a problem in this country.)
  

For those of us with our own chickens that are free-ranged, this comes as no surprise -- especially the beta carotene. Store-bought eggs have a very pale yellow yolk, whereas free-range chicken eggs are school-bus yellow.

Mike and I are still working our way through Michael Pollan's latest book, In Defense of Food, but this really corroborates his research on the difference between naturally-raised food and factory-farmed food. I'll be doing a review of that book when we're done with it.

Personal sustainability

I need to lose weight, and I'm not saying that because it's a new year. I need to lose weight because my knees are objecting to carrying around 160 pounds. I had three knee operations when I was 13 and 14 years old, and at the time, the doctor told me I'd have bone spurs in my knees in my 30s. My knees did fine until about five years ago. I gained 20 pounds the year after we moved out here. I blamed easy access to too much goat cheese, but the reason was irrelevant. Vanity was irrelevant. My knees were important, and they were objecting loudly. Having been through steroid injections, physical therapy, and surgery, I had no desire to go running to the doctor. I assumed that with less weight to carry around, they'd be happier. I was up to almost 170 and lost 20 pounds to get down to around 147, which is not bad for someone who is 5'7". My original goal had been 135, which is ideal, but by 147 pounds, my knees were happy. Apparently, my knees have less tolerance for weight now.

January also marks one year since my neck first locked up and I was diagnosed with arthritis. I had just finished teaching and started to turn my head when a sharp pain shot through my neck, and my head would not turn. It's been a frustrating year of x-rays, an MRI, discovering an allergy to narcotics, an intolerance of all things NSAID, and a propensity for exhibiting side effects when taking muscle relaxers. Of course, it did not thrill me to learn that the manufacturer of one drug does not know how it works. And the FDA approved it? Hmm, perhaps if they don't know how it works, there are a few other things they don't know about it?

After months of frustration, I decided not to trust my future to the doctors, the drug manufacturers, and the FDA. When we talk about sustainability, we think about renewable energy, organic gardening, and big-picture things. But really, sustainability starts right here in our own bodies. It means being responsible for what we weigh and how we feel, both mentally and physically. I can't fathom the idea of taking drugs for the rest of my life, which could be another 30 or 40 years.

What have I done about this? I've read Heal Your Aching Back by Jeffrey N. Katz, M.D., associate professor at Harvard Medical School, as well as a variety of interesting articles on the web, including The Pain May Be Real, but the Scan is Deceiving from the NY Times. The article says about the same thing as the book, but in 250 less pages. Basically, they're not really sure what to do about back pain. In situations like this, I go with common sense. If it feels better, do it. If it doesn't help, drop it. And since pills don't cure anything, use them as little as possible.

It's kind of ironic that I've spent my whole life worrying about my knees giving out, but it appears they might last longer than the rest of me. Since September, my right hip sometimes causes so much pain, I'm walking like a much older woman, limping along slowly. I had enough of doctors in 2008 though, and with my hip, I think the logical answer is as simple as it is for my knees -- lose weight.

So, here are my personal sustainability goals. If you want to call them New Year's resolutions, fine, but in my mind, they're life resolutions:

1. Get down to 135 pounds by eating real food and just paying attention to what I put in my mouth!
   
2. Practice yoga daily. (The stretching is great for my arthritis!)
3. Learn to meditate well. (Most of my pain is caused by muscle spasms, which are supposedly a protective mechanism for those of us with arthritis, which is why muscle relaxers are a common prescription.) I've been trying to meditate for 20+ years, but I'm terrible at it. My mind jumps around more than my little bichon. No more complaining though, I just need to learn how to do it!

Until I've mastered these three things, I'll be writing about them in my blog, but don't worry, I won't be giving you daily weights, confessions about eating a piece of apple crisp, or anything like that. First of all, daily weights are meaningless -- when I say I weight 160, that means that over the course of a week, the scale says everything from 158 to 163. Second, I don't intend to starve myself and feel guilty for days when I'm not starving. We're talking about sensible eating here, but then if you've been around my blog for long, you know that "sensible" is the litmus test for everything I do.

Winter breakfasts

A few months ago, I wrote about making biscuits for breakfast a couple times a week. Well, that's when we have plenty of milk, because I make my own buttermilk, and the best biscuits are definitely buttermilk biscuits. We don't usually buy cereal, except for granola to mix with our yogurt, but we don't have yogurt this time of year either. In the middle of winter, when we're low on milk, breakfast is usually cheesy grits or oatmeal. I know some of you are thinking, "Ugh!" But let me explain!

Although I am originally from the south, I never had grits until I lived in Connecticut. There was a restaurant in Old Lyme (I think) that had the most glorious Sunday brunches, and that is where I was introduced to cheesy grits. The original recipe called for making grits according to the package directions, then mixing them with cheese and eggs, placing in a buttered baking dish, and baking for half an hour or 45 minutes, which is really a long time to wait for breakfast. Fairly quickly, we figured out that cheese was the key ingredient, so we just started adding cheddar cheese and garlic to the grits on the stove. Stir until all the cheese is melted, and spoon into bowls. It's delicious!

I never really liked oatmeal, except for the artificially flavored packets, and when I cleaned up my eating habits, those were verboten, because of the high sugar content and artificial flavors. However, oatmeal really is a healthy and quick breakfast. I don't know where I got the idea, but for several years, I have been adding a spoonful of peanut butter and a small handful of chocolate chips to the oatmeal. If you're a chocolate and peanut butter lover like me, give this a try. And before you decide that this is too high calorie, 16 chocolate chips only add 70 calories.

Living with arthritis

One of the reasons I came to the realization that I can't have a desk job is because I was diagnosed with arthritis about five months ago. Yeah, I figured I shouldn't be spending hours on the computer every day, because I was in pain, but then in January, my neck locked up and I found myself at the doctor's office. I couldn't turn my head from side to side, so after a series of x-rays, a diagnosis was made that I had bony changes in my neck -- arthritis.

I resisted the idea of taking drugs, but being unable to turn my head from side to side, as well as having horrible headaches, I finally relented. For awhile I was taking seven pills a day, but after a few changes, we wound up with an anti-inflammatory (2X daily) and a muscle relaxer that I could take up to three times a day, but I tried to only do two. The physical therapist convinced me that I wasn't going to make much progress in physical therapy if I didn't take the medication to get the swelling down and to get the muscles relaxed. So, I had nine weeks of physical therapy, and finally I had some decent mobility in my neck. I was released from physical therapy with daily stretching exercises and a home traction unit. The physical therapist told me that part of my problem was ridiculously weak muscles in my upper back.

He was actually thrilled when I told him that I live on a farm and have started doing more chores. When I was in grad school, I pretty much let the girls take over all my chores, not realizing that I was causing myself to have some problems as a result. The physical therapist gave me ideas on how to gradually increase my strength using water buckets and other farm chores as "therapy."

After the semester was done, I gradually weaned myself off all the arthritis drugs, and I've been feeling so much better. I'm stiff in the morning, but once I do my stretches and use the traction unit, I'm ready to take on anything. Another thing I've noticed is that I am in a much better mood when I spend the whole day working outside with the animals or in the barn or doing something physical.

Then two days ago, Katherine and I spent the whole day in town at Margaret's new shop. I foolishly spent six hours knitting. I should have known how bad that would be for me. I was making a conscious effort to stretch my neck regularly, but that was obviously not good enough. Now, I've been in terrible pain for two days, desperately trying to not start taking the drugs again, but remembering what the physical therapist said -- maybe I should take them for a few days to get the swelling down and get the muscles relaxed again?

I've discovered so many benefits to living out here -- so many more benefits than I ever thought existed. Humans weren't made for sitting around. I think it's funny that when we lived in the suburbs, I'd drive my car to a gym to lift weights that were meaningless, bike to nowhere or walk to nowhere, staring at nothing but exercise equipment and other people going nowhere. It's more meaningful, more fun, and more interesting to carry water buckets or walk around 32 acres of wooded pasture land. And I think it's probably more beneficial to me, the animals, and the environment.
Our newest addition! Butterfly gave birth to this beautiful little girl two days ago!

Healthy and sustainable

This morning as I was sitting in physical therapy, I found myself counting the days until I am done with grad school. I've recently decided that I should never have a 9 to 5 job at a desk. My body just can't handle it. I need to be outside, lifting water buckets, shoveling the muck, and walking across my pastures. It's not work -- it's a necessary part of life. When I lived in the burbs, I thought about how ridiculous it was that I would drive to the Y to spend half an hour biking to nowhere and lifting weights that were never moved anywhere.

Since I've been in grad school, my daughters have taken up the slack at the farm. They've been doing a lot of my physical work outside. That was a mistake. A few years ago, I remember telling my husband that even if I could afford to hire someone to take care of the animals, I wouldn't do it. Now I realize I shouldn't do it. I've been in physical therapy for two months now, trying to strengthen the back and shoulder muscles that have grown weak from spending too much time at a computer.

Although I know our lifestyle is more sustainable for the planet, and it keeps us healthier because of the good nutrition, I have recently come to realize that this lifestyle keeps us physically healthier and stronger. I don't want to grow old and weak like those people I see in the gym at the hospital, recovering from the heart attacks that nearly killed them. It's no secret that people need to be active to stay healthy as they age, but 30 minutes at the gym a couple times a week is a joke.

When I told the physical therapist that I've started working more on the farm, he got pretty excited and repeatedly reassured me that I was doing a good thing. After my initial evaluation, he told me that if I don't strengthen my back muscles, I'm going to wind up in the same shape again and again. I imagine he sees a lot of repeat customers. He's probably more optimistic about my future knowing that I'll be getting some real exercise after my physical therapy ends.

Spring fever

Today I find myself wondering about the history of "spring fever." I think I might have it. I woke up with a headache today, which continued to plague me through the morning and into the afternoon. Finally, I felt like I just needed to get out! Around 3:00, I went outside, and I don't recall a single twinge of pain after taking my first deep breath of wonderful spring air.

I walked over about a fourth of our 32 acres. I visited the peach trees and started to pull back the straw from their bases, but then I decided I could come back later with a pitchfork to do it. The garden was calling my name. I looked at all the dead plants that needed to be pulled out, but before I let myself start working on that, I decided to check out the east pasture. I planned to come back and work on those peach trees and the garden after visiting the pasture and the creek. Although the ground was muddy, I loved walking through the trees and seeing the gigantic slabs of ice that had washed up on shore. In our five years here, I've never seen that before. I need to get out there and take a picture of it. Who knows when I'll see it again.

As I headed back towards the garden, it started to rain. It had threatened earlier, but I didn't take it seriously because it wasn't very cloudy. This time, however, the sky was dark, so I hurried back to the house. After being inside for a few minutes, I noticed my dreadful headache again, and I started to wonder about the origins of spring fever. It seems the best cure for this headache is fresh air and exercise. I'm hoping to get more of both tomorrow -- as long as the weather cooperates.