Lessons from the Farm

I’m blessed that my husband grew up on a farm. Land that was cleared by hand, and tilled at the expensive of his parents sweat and backs. His mother still lives there, and still runs things pretty much the same as she did back in the “old-days”.

She rises early in the mornings to let the chickens out, spends her days doing hair (there’s a small beauty shop right there on the farm for her) and keeping things going. She does most things by hand and is a no-nonsense kinda gal. Every spring she plants a garden, and every fall cans its productions. She can whip up a fried pie that’ll have grown men fighting and quilt a blanket so pretty it’ll bring tears to your eyes; all while threatening Chuck within an inch of his life if he don’t get his butt down off that roof. Ole Miss Fay is the toughest, kindest, fiestiest woman I know–and I am blessed to have her as my teacher!

Her methods absolutely fascinate me! She can stretch a dollar further than anyone I know, yet one NEVER walks away from her table hungry. She believes in the old-time philosophies (like a man’s only as good as his word and that Jesus is the Word) that modern society tends to shun and she isn’t afraid to tell you so!

It is that lifestyle and way of thinking that I so desperately yearn to pass on to Hila Fay. However, in order to do that I must first learn them. That is where the adventure will begin since I have never been especially known for my home-making skills (I can, however, read 1,750 words a minute!). In fact, I’m more known for my unusual predicaments that I get myself into than anything else (hence my nickname of 2%). I know I’ll never reach the level of Miss Fay, but if I can pass on just portion of it then I’ll have succeeded in giving Hila Fay an immeasurable gift….and if nothing else, my attempts will be an interesting read!

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2% vs. The Van

Yesterday started out pleasantly warm, but by noon a definite chill had crept into the air. By 5 o’clock, when the work bell rang and announced we could begin our trek home, it was FREEZING!!! (literally) It was then that my battle with the van began.

As usual on cold/hot days, I went out and started the van early so that Hila would have comfortable ride home. I unlocked the door, started the engine, then attempted to open the rear driver’s side door. I pushed the “open” button (it’s a fancy van), and I could hear the motor whirring as it tried to open, but the door stayed shut. I’d had some problems with the doors before, so I didn’t fret too much and just tried to open it manually. No luck.

I figured maybe it just needed some time to wake up, so I shut the driver’s door and walked away for a minute or two before trying again. This time I shut the engine off and restarted the engine first (Josh is always telling me to restart the computer when I have problems so I thought maybe this would work). As soon as the engine restarted an annoying beeping noise filled the van and a message “rear driver’s door open” flashed on the dash. I pushed the button again, nothing. I tugged on the handle, nothing.

Great. It was then that a thought hit me, does the rear passenger door open? If not I couldn’t put Hila in her car-seat and we would be trapped at the office! I held my breath for a second and pushed the button for the passenger door. I heard the same whirring of the motor, and then the same beeping and warning only this time for the other door. Really???

At this point there was nothing left to do but call Chuck. He had just left the shop and was headed towards the farm to drop off a trailer and feed the mules and horse when he answered the phone. One of the things I love most about my husband is how he NEVER panics. He always responds to everything in his slow, southern drawl: “It’ll be awlright.” and I always believe him. He took the situation in in his usual calm manner and told me he’d be up in just “a bit”.

I killed the engine and returned inside the warm office to wait for my prince to come rescue us. I was telling one of the techs about the van and as he laughed at my predicament he asked, “Are you sure all the doors were unlocked?” “Yess!”

Then it hit me. I only hit the unlock button on my remote once, not twice. I tried my best to look as if I hadn’t just made an idiot of myself panicking over my broken van as I went back out to give it “one more try”. I aimed the remote, hit the unlock button TWICE, then opened the driver’s door and pressed the button to open the rear doors. As both doors opened wide, without any problem, I called Chuck back to tell him that the van had miraculously fixed itself!

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