Every day there is much to be done on the Fat Ewe Farm. From tending the animals to cooking a meal, from loving a lamb to doctoring a chicken, from harvesting the garden to sharing a glass of wine with friends, my hands serve me and those whom I can share with. How often have I sat pondering how life would have been different should I had chosen box B instead of A. How much I would not have known or shared from my life on the farm?
I am very grateful this day. My lifelong friend is coming to dinner tonight. I am preparing a gourmet feast for our friend and for her and myself. We will have stuffed grape leaves with lime sauce for an appetizer followed by a herb garden salad with homemade balsamic dressing. A savoury tomato soup is simmering away on the burner and long soured bread is proofing in the oven. The main course will be lamb loaf with Portabella mushroom sauce, organic edamame with garlic butter, steamed broccoli, and curried lentils and rice. Dessert is a baked apple with Saigon cinnamon and brown sugar, drizzled in coconut cream. Of course where there is good food, there is wine to sip, and a glass of coconut water to stay hydrated and satiated. I love to create gourmet meals, but not as much as I love to serve them and to share them. The chores are nearly finished and though I planned to paint a second coat on the dungeon (basement) floor, that can wait until tomorrow.
I got thinking about what I did for the past two days only and wrote this little missive rather than just spell it all out. Mostly, I am just so at peace and very grateful for my life at this time. And, thank YOU for being part of it. Namaste.
I am grateful for these hands.
These hands that held a young orphan lamb and stroked her soft fleece, loved and cuddled her until her heart was quiet.
These hands that trimmed the dung from the back end of a ewe so she would remain healthy and problem free.
These hands that gave the gift of pickled eggs to two young men.
These hands that made some gentle soap so those using it would have soft chemical free skin.
These hands that wrote words to my beloved daughter so far away in a foreign country, though so close to my yearning soul.
These hands the bled while erecting a temporary shelter for small ones to get out of the incessant and unforgiving rain.
These hands that created bread, long soured dough, the old fashioned way, to share with my friends and loved ones.
These hands that planted seeds in the garden so they would grow and be bountiful for my winter sustenance.
These hands, wrinkled, old, misshapen and arthritic, that so tenderly held the hand of an old friend whose last days are nigh.
These hands that are lovingly preparing a gourmet supper for great friends from near and far and will willingly share the nourishment.
These hands that tenderly stroked the fur of a dog imparting much love with every touch.
These hands that Painted the floor and walls of the basement so that it can become a welcoming workspace.
These hands that gratefully gathered the eggs given freely by the farm chickens.
These hands that picked fresh greens for the Angora rabbits stuck in cages.
These hands that combed the gifted wool from my gentle sheep.
These hands that gathered the herbs to infuse in healing preparations and drinks.
These hands that were washed so many times this day, worked and felt so very blessed.