Sprout and I on a Blood Glucose Curve

Yesterday was hard. As of the end of January, our little Sprout is fighting diabetes. We’re still working on finding the correct dosage of insulin for her. She’s lost 3 pounds since last fall – about 20% of her body weight. Most days she is her tail-wagging, energetic, walk-loving, sweet self. The days when she’s lethargic and not as sure-footed are soul crushing to watch.

Loving the walk on a warm day in January

Yesterday I did my first blood glucose curve with her. Starting at 6:30 am, I inserted the test strip in the glucose meter, stuck her for blood, touched the test strip to the blood, waited for a number from the meter, and recorded the number in a spreadsheet that simultaneously generated a line graph. I repeated this process every two hours until 8:30 pm last night.

Some of you know that I have historically become light headed and near fainted around needles. My reaction is completely mental. Some days I’m able to power through it (I close my eyes every time I go to my acupuncturist and have managed to administer insulin shots to Sprout without hitting the decks beside her, yet). Yesterday…the needles…the multiple sticks to successfully extract a drop of blood…the concern over a sick animal that I love so much…the mental and physical exhaustion set in at day’s end.

With each life experience there is a lesson. The last two and half months watching and helping Sprout live with diabetes has been eye opening. The meticulous detail to which this disease must be monitored constantly is mentally exhausting, not to mention the debilitating physical implications of the disease. I have so much empathy for my friends and family that live with diabetes. Going through this process is a great incentive for me to eat well, exercise and maintain a healthy lifestyle. Excess sugar and a sedentary lifestyle can add up to a miserable and sometimes deadly combination.

At the end of the day, I took Sprout out to pee. After a weather bizarre April, I was amazed at the clarity of the sky and a beautiful view of the moon and Venus. I called my son out to share in the site. He was inspired to take this picture – “intentionally fuzzy so that it looks more like a painting”. It was a moment of joy at the end of a tough day, and a reminder of how beautiful our lives are when lived in gratefulness, wonder, love, and kindness. 

I am grateful for every day that I get to spend with Sprout. She has blessed our family with her unconditional sweet love and tail-wagging happiness. She inspires me to seek out the joy in the simple moments every day. Here’s hoping her blood sugars are regulated and she is setting a mean pace for our family along the Appalachian Trail again soon.

Thank you medula!

For most of us, our amazing medula involuntarily manages some critical life sustaining functions...breathing and a beating heart. I am grateful for my medula!

Unfortunately for some of us, breathing can be a scary struggle when impacted by allergies, asthma, and other airway impacting diseases. When my son was little, he was hospitalized twice for reactive airway disease (RAD) - the condition small children have before being officially diagnosed with asthma. For the next three to four years, we went to the pediatric pulmonologist or his pediatrician at least every three months for them to prescribe more steroids and albuterol and sometimes prednisone. Being hooked up to a  nebulizer became a routine part his day. My son didn't mind too much as he took the time to chill out and watch videos - an activity that kept him still while he was connected to the machine. I hated that he was being pumped full of steroids every day. In my mind, it was a short term solution.

Mama Bear kicked in and I did everything I could to peel him off those steroids. Our home has hard wood or resilient flooring - no wall-to-wall carpet. We tried some essential oils. I paid close attention to what we were eating sourcing from the local farmers market and/or organic sources. We drank healing teas. I changed our air filters on schedule. Thankfully, my son has outgrown his asthma and has not been to a doctor for sickness for almost four years.

New filter on left. Three month old filter on right. Ick!

Americans spend 90% of our time indoors. The indoor air quality is critical to our health. Contaminants can come into our homes on our feet, on products we buy that off-gas in our home, on products we spray or burn inside our home, and in the outside air that is pulled in through our home's heating and cooling systems. Every time I change our air filters, I am amazed and disgusted as to how much dirt builds up in three months time. As we all hunker down for the winter months and spend even more time indoors on these short sunlight days, do yourself a favor and change out your air filters this month. Spring for the ones that filter more than sand (1200 filtration level or 1500 level or higher if your heating and cooling system can handle it). Your medula will thank you.

Living in a small rural community somewhere along an outdated, coal burning power source, it is not uncommon for our power to flicker or go out during high winds, snowstorms, or the errant bird/cow/vehicle tweaking a power pole/line. Such was the case yesterday. Friday at 1:30 pm I'm on a work conference call. The call lasts until a half hour before I have to head for the bus stop. Motivation to rig up the computer power was low. I crippled through the rest of the work day on my cell phones and collected water in five-gallon buckets from the yard hydrant fed by a natural spring. When the water source is from a well, one quickly learns the advantage of daylight trekking through the yard to collect water for later use.

Shrimp and sausage had been defrosted in the fridge in preparation for dinner. The power company had texted with an estimate for 10 pm for the power to be back, but it's always best to take that info with a grain of salt. With a gas stove and no need for spoiled meat, the paella for dinner proved to be a perfect power outage one-dish meal.

While I was cooking dinner, hubby connected the inverter to our marine battery and voila! The house was lit with LED rope lights. The wireless and computer were connected and up and running too. After a candlelit dinner, we gathered by the masonry stove. The dude played video games. Hubby surfed the web. I made paper flowers for the school dance. We survived satiated, warm and happy in each other's company until our power came back on just before 8 pm last night.

Warm Sunny February Day, I Love You.

Typically upbeat, there are rare times in my life when joy is fleeting. After a week of feeling glum, the sun's healing radiance on an unseasonable warm February day was welcomed with open arms.

It was a kite flying,

frog leg spinning, 

log-splitting,

chocolate chip cookie making, yummy day.

 Thank you, World. I needed that.

Compost Win!

When your neighbor sets out a gold mine of leaves for trash pick up that runs today, you hop in your trusty ol' truck only to find that you left the ignition switch in accessory mode for the last 36 hours. Dang. Never fear, the Mazda 3 was up to the task. In three short round trips most of the leaf bags were moved to our house. Glorious leaf compost is in our future!

Banner Egg Day

Our twelve ladies have proven to be prolific egg layers throughout winter. Without stimulation of artificial light, many chickens stop laying eggs during the short daylight hours of the winter. Our chickens typically provided a collective three to five eggs each day. This being our first winter with chickens, we were delighted.


Yesterday was a banner egg day! I collected eleven eggs from our fine feathered friends - the most eggs collected in one day. Each morning I greet our chickens and wish them a good day as they flutter out of the coop and begin their foray around our yard and the neighbor's farm. Each evening I thank them for the eggs that they provide us - rich, nutrient-dense, intense orange yolked, tough shelled eggs in a variety of shapes, sizes, and colors.

This morning I wished the chickens well and made eye contact with each hen wondering which one held out yesterday.

Lurking Predator

Chickens are serious about their sleep and hilariously checked out after nightfall. A big part of having chickens is making sure they are protected, thus why we have an electric net fence and a mobile coop. The chickens are amazingly efficient at loading up in their cozy coop as the sunlight starts to wane. Thus far, we've been successful at keeping all 20 of our chickens alive. With only five months under our belt, winter not too far away, and the adventure of living in a rural setting, we have to be willing to observe, learn, and change up our routines as needed. 

Returning from our walk this morning, my miniature schnauzer picked up the pace and her nose went into overdrive as we approached our front porch. Chipmunks are abundant here, so I started scanning for a glimpse of Alvin, Dale or Theodore. To my surprise and confusion, a much bigger animal emerged with a flurry from under our porch. My first thought was our neighbor's cat, but then quickly realized my error.  

Ranger Rick has decided to make sleepy observations from the crotch of our beloved maple tree today. Unfortunately for our fly-out-of the-net-fence, free ranging chickens, the debris and perennials around the base of this tree make it a favorite spot for scratching and finding chicken snacks. According to Wikipedia, "Contrary to popular belief, raccoons eat active or large prey, such as birds and mammal, only occasionally, since they prefer prey that is easier to catch, specifically fish, amphibians, and bird eggs." I'm going to put my faith in that statement, trust in the wild, survivor quality of our chickens, hope the roosters look up, see how things play out today, and order that pressure washer I've been intending to buy for a while. 

Chickens

In mid-June we loaded up in Red (our pickup truck) and headed over to my husband's former boss' house. Upon learning that we planned to get chickens, he insisted that he would happily give us some. With some ambiguity in his wording, he mentioned two hens and some chicks...maybe nine. Two hours later we returned home with two hens and eighteen one-week old chicks. They were ADORABLE!

Chick love

Cheeps and the nine designated as hers to mother

Salsa and her brood

Without much time to prepare and unwilling to spend thousands of dollars on a fancy coop, we rigged up a makeshift area that has managed to keep them all alive to date.

Cutting the chicken wire in preparation for our tiny chicks

We have 164 linear feet of 4' tall solar powered electric net fence enclosing a portion of our backyard and a contraption of cattle panels, chicken wire used more in the early days when the chicks were tiny, a tarp, and some big sticks for roosting jammed through the cattle panels.

As the winter and cool spring days found us rocking in our respective rockers in front of our soapstone stove, summer and chickens have us plopped on the back porch, beer in hand, watching chicken TV. It's educational, entertaining, and nutritious! Mothering done, Cheeps and Salsa starting laying eggs about three weeks ago. With a little hunting, we've found all of the eggs that they insist on laying outside of the safety of the net fence and in the cool shade of a kiwi vine, locust tree, or out of commission burn barrel.

The chickens are a mix of colors, shapes, and sizes. When I asked the previous owner what kind of chickens they were, his reply was simply, "Chickens." Our neighbor said, "Those are the kind of chickens that'll fly up in a tree to roost." In a nutshell they're survivors of a mix of breeds over thirty some years. They're a bit skittish around people but we're working on that. Every day I hand feed them some food. Two of the chicks have let me pet them and pick them up. These are proud mama moments.

I'll keep working on taming the chicks. Until then, we'll be entertained by the silliness of chickens. It takes them fifteen to twenty minutes each night to find their spot on top of the tarp or on one of the roosts below the tarp. "Finding" means pecking, nudging, crawling under, hopping on top of, sliding off of, and complying until they settle. I highly recommend Chicken TV over traditional TV.

Settling in for the night on top of the tarp (their choice of place to spend the night)

Oak

Growing up with oak floors, they were simply the floor that went down the hallway and into our three bedrooms; cool under my feet and slippery in socks. Majestic Virginia Hall at Mary Washington College had wood floors in the dorm rooms. My roommates and I quickly learned not to scooch our bottoms on the floor unless we were willing to pluck out splinters thrust from the well-worn floor. 

The following five years were spent on carpeted floors of varying descriptions. Only one carpet remains firmly in memory - a sculpted 70's wall-to-wall carpet remain whose color name I decisively discovered when I misplaced a roll away brussel sprout. 

My Portland, Oregon and Charlottesville, Virginia apartments returned me to the comfort of oak floors. 

Puppies and a baby found their footing on berber wall-to-wall carpet in Roanoke County, Virginia. Two years old, my son struggled with asthma and wood floors became a priority in the search for our next home. 

We moved to our Roanoke City, Virginia house with oak floors in May 2010. There's a dark spot in a bedroom from the previous owner's cat. There are holes drilled in room corners for cable television we never used. There's a couple of dents in my bedroom floor from when my son scarily pulled over my jewelry chest. There's a bit of tackiness where the 24" x 48" rug and rug pad lay in my office serving as a collection point for my family to snuggle and watch movies on my computer screen across the room. There's a dent in the dining room floor where my husband and I remembered the IKEA cabinet comes apart in two pieces. 

Today I did my final vacuum of these floors and closed the door on a chapter of my life. It was a chapter filled with moments that challenged me to stand strong, bend in the wind, adapt to the seasons, and soak up the moments of swinging in the shade of a mighty tree. Today I settle into my life in Eggleston, Virginia with a mix of 90-year old wood floors and 9-month old wood floors. Our lives will blemish these floors and we'll reflect on those stories as well. 

Rooted

In the first couple of years of my son's life, once he went to bed the mom part of me was mentally done for the day. Our bedrooms in my former house were a hallway width apart. My tuned-in ears of a mother were always on, but I rarely went back into his room to steal one more kiss or to watch him sleep. It didn't occur to me to do that until reading a friend's Facebook status.

Our bedrooms are adjacent to one another now. Every night before I go to bed, I return to my son's bedside, readjust dream swept covers, lean in next to him, kiss his upward turned cheek, and soak up his sleepy peaceful warmth. Seldom does his pattern of breathing change and seldom does he move. His subconscious mind knows that his love-struck mother is snuggling in for one more kiss goodnight. He is rooted in my love, my guidance, and my support.

There are nights when I wake up, mind whirring of tasks undone, tasks ahead of me, and much needed sleep evaded. Cups of chamomile and lavender tea, homeopathic sleep aids, stretching, and disengagement from electronics before bed have helped me regain more restful nights. On the mornings after I sleep well, I wake renewed, rooted in where I am, and smiling knowing that I am doing my best to give my son roots for whatever his life journey may hold.

Reused

Everyone should know the three Rs by now: reduce, reuse, recycle. My guess is that most people don't think about the fact that they're listed in order of importance.

In our materialistic society, reduction should be first and foremost. Do you really need one more newly made shirt that was most likely made by underpaid workers, shipped across the Pacific Ocean, and then trekked all through a retail stores' warehousing system? Could you survive wearing one of the twenty shirts you already have hanging in your closet? Reduce.

If you must have another shirt, could you possibly find a new-to-you shirt at Goodwill or the fabulous little neighborhood consignment store? Maybe you and some of your friends could organize a sip and swap where everyone gathers to sip beverages and swap clothes that no longer fit or just don't appeal to the current owner. Reuse.

If your current shirts are in tethers, you can still donate them to many clothing donation sites. As they sort through the clothes, they'll take the unacceptable clothes, package them together, and ship them to a facility that recycles fibers to be made into new products. Recycle.

Sometimes new-to-you items are necessary. For example, you can't exactly squeeze a 18-month old toddler into the 6-month old infant romper it was wearing just a short year ago. Unless you are in direct line of a friend that has all the clothes you would ever need for your child in the fashion style you prefer, shopping for children's clothing is inevitable. I hate to shop. I do everything I can to minimize shopping. I rarely go to the mall. In recent years, I try to avoid chain stores. Thus said, every spring and fall after my son was born, I've been doing my part to reuse. I bring the clothes, shoes, toys, and anything else I can sell to the consignment sale. As a consignor, I bring my battered old laundry basket (reserved for such occasions now) and shop the night before the sale opens to the public. In 2-1/2 hours time (an hour is spent waiting in line to pay), I get almost everything my child will need to wear for the next season at a steal of deal.

Consignment loot

I spent $97 on 7 pairs of shorts, 10 shirts, 1 pair of shoes, and 3 pairs of pants. I could have easily picked out 3 or 4 items that would have quickly added up to the $97 at retail prices. I save LOTS of money, time, and fuel by not having to drive all over town shopping for this and that. The pricing of my items beforehand takes a bit of time, but it forces me to methodically get rid of outgrown items each season and make room for the next growth spurt. Reuse. It keeps me sane.

Five Minute Friday: Red

The charge is simple. Spend five minutes writing about the prompt that is posted on Lisa Jo Baker's blog. The writing should be unscripted, unedited, and real.  In effort to center my heart and brain for the work day and weekend ahead, I decided to participate in Five Minute Friday today. Confession: the backspace key is part of my typing subconscious, so this bit is subconsciously edited.

Red is one of my favorite colors. To me it represents love, passion, anger, fiery spirit, and outward strength. 

I also associate it with some of my favorite foods: acidic tomatoes bursting with almost too ripe intensity, juicy fresh picked strawberries signaling the flush of summer fruits yet to come.

I wear red on days that I seek warmth and energy all rolled into one.

Red is the color of my son’s bike. It’s a deep red, a grounded red, a red that gives him confidence, gives him weight to keep tires on the ground and feet on pedals, a red that makes him go fast and challenge himself to zoom down grassy hills with mountain bike racer speed. 

Legs to Spare

During our morning routine, my son calls out, "Ew Mommy, a bug. Look at him go! Get him!" Wishing peace on the house centipede's little soul, I approached with a wad of toilet paper in hand and was told, "Wait a minute. I want to watch him. Squish him when I say, 'Go.'" Well, he never said, "Go." My son had to dismiss himself from the situation for a few minutes, so I was left in charge to monitor the bug. Scheming, I got my tweezers and planned to gently snag Fuzzy by the leg and capture him in the bug house conveniently at hand for such situations. Little did I know, Fuzzy had a few tricks up his jointed legs. When in the grasp of a predator, house centipedes can drop their captured leg(s) and keep on running on all of the remaining 15+ pairs of legs. I successfully scared two legs off of him and decided to stop before my son emerged to find a legless Fuzzy. With a tulip poplar flower for a water dish, Fuzzy is still hanging out in the bug house waiting for his eminent release into the backyard tonight. 

House centipede. Photo by Laura Jesse 

Every day I add another factoid to my noggin. 

Spreading the Word

I'm more of a "lead by example" kind of gal. But when given the opportunity, I'll state my case. My friend and editor of ASID ICON, Jen, approached me with one of these opportunities. This coming Friday, May 25 is World Interiors Day, a global celebration of design's influence on society and the built environment. For the week prior to World Interiors Day, ASID ICON blog is featuring ASID members and what they have to say about #SpaceMatters. I set about my task to capture the #SpaceMatters theme, World Interiors, and the idea that every decision designers and consumers make impact the environment and ultimately our health. Here's a link to my blog entry.

http://icon.asid.org/index.php/2013/05/22/design-in-detail-spacematters/

Spatial Relations with Food

We participated in Good Food Good People's first ever Spring Anticipator CSA. With a dozen eggs coming our way every week, we've been eating lots of egg salad, tuna salad, hard boiled eggs, omelettes, and anything else that needs eggs. It's been fun to see what the local farmers were able to store from their late fall and winter crops. We've had some yummy hydroponic tomatoes, carrots, parsnips, potatoes, turnips, a rutabaga, and a few apples. The potatoes were starting to take over more than their fare share of my countertop, so I whipped up some baked potato soup tonight. 

We ate a couple of servings, walked four servings across the street to a neighbor, and saved the rest for leftovers. Every time I pack a container to near overflowing, I think of my grandmother. After a big holiday meal, the family helped to wash dishes and put away leftover food in her kitchen. Inevitably, Granny handed me a huge bowl of leftover green beans (or whatever was cued up for storage next) and an empty Cool Whip container. I looked at the green beans and then at the container thinking, "There is no way this is all fitting in here." Sure enough, those green beans fit and there wasn't room for one more. I am proud to say that those skills were passed onto me. It has helped me space plan many offices in some of my previous jobs, has enabled me to pack the trunk of a car for road trips with no room left except for the passengers, and continues to allow me to save every last bite of delicious leftovers without a serving or a bean going to waste.

Cornbread and Black-Eyed Peas

With my Scotch-Irish roots, I make it a point of eating some cabbage and corned beef on New Years. Add in the Southern tradition of black-eyed peas for good luck and some hot, buttery cornbread and you've got yourself a hearty, belly-pleaser of a meal to kick off the new year.

Prior to cooking this meal, I made a tiny effort to start off 2013 using local and/or organic ingredients. I asked the butcher at the local grocery to tell me the difference between the conventional, non-organic corned beef I held in my hands and the organic beef roast that was leering at me from the meat case. Basically corned means pickled. Knowing I didn't have ten days to pickle the organic beef, I made a mental note for next year, averted my eyes, and abandoned the organic beef roast.

The black-eyed peas were from a can that was probably lined with BPA. The cabbage was organic, but I didn't note which country grew it. The cornbread was made from scratch using local farmer's eggs, local cornmeal, local butter, and organic milk.

On my calendar, I've marked December 6 as the day to buy beef brisket. I've added black-eyed peas and cabbage to my grocery to do list for the farmer's market in late December. For now I'll celebrate the cornbread!

Oregon

Rainy days like today have been infrequent this summer. However they always put a smile on my face. It takes me back to my days in Oregon and the seemingly infinite overcast days that comprised winter. The winters made me soak up every bit of Oregon's temperate summers, appreciate good footwear, and be refreshed by the rain. Water is life.

Eating Local with a Yellow List Guest

Last night we had a fabulous dinner inspired by our CSA share recipe suggestions this week. We bought some tuna and committed to Grilled Tuna with Fresh Tomato, Cucumber and Dill Relish, Rosemary and Garlic Roasted Potatoes, and a side of lettuce greens and strawberries. The weather was perfect for grilling and dining on the deck. The results were delicious.

While celebrating the successful employ of our CSA share, I cannot help to be a bit disappointed in myself. The recipe called for 4 - 8 oz tuna steaks, so that's what I ran out and bought. Here's where I failed in sustainability. I did not consult the seafood watch list. Today after enjoying my leftovers, I finally faced the music and looked at the watch list. There it was.

Yellowfin tuna =

• Green, if caught via troll or pole from the U.S. Atlantic,
• Yellow, if caught via longline from the U.S. Atlantic, and 
• Red, if caught elsewhere.

Since I live four hours inland from the Atlantic, my hopes are that it did come from the Atlantic. The fish was labeled "wild". With my limited knowledge of fishing and fish labeling, I don't know if this means caught via troll, pole, longline, or purse seining. Either way, I think I hit a green or yellow fish. With further exploration of the Monterrey Bay Aquarium site, I found this gem, "A notable exception is longline-caught yellowfin from the U.S. Atlantic or Hawaii, where strict bycatch regulations result in a "Good Alternative" ranking." 

Indigestion is resolved. I made a call to the headquarters of the grocery store where I purchased the tuna and know the questions to ask the staff next time. The Seafood Watch pocket guide is handy for future shopping. I'll look at the list next time and keep working to find a trusted seafood supplier.

Good Food Good People

Tomorrow begins a new journey. I will be picking up our first Veggie Advocate Share from Good Food Good People at the West End Community Market. Good Food Good People is farmer-owned and farmer-operated community supported agriculture (CSA). All of the food is grown within 100-mile radius of Floyd, VA which is about 35 miles from where I live.

Community Supported Agriculture - Yay!!

I just received our first newsletter which includes a list of food we'll receive and some suggestions for recipes. 

May 8, 2012
Your box this week will contain:
Baby Lettuce Mix—Fertile Crescent Farm (BIO)
Kale, Red Russian—Full Circle Farm (BIO)
Baby Bok Choy—Fertile Crescent Farm (BIO)
Tomatoes, hydroponic—Yoder’s Farm (Low-Spray)
Green Garlic—Fertile Crescent Farm (BIO)
Rosemary—Virginia Klara’s Farm (BIO)

Strawberries—Yoders’ Farm (CONV) 

Recipes included: Baby Bok Choy with Green Garlic, Greens and Green Garlic, and Green Garlic Pesto. 

We love going to the farmers market and supporting our local food sources. This year we'll be embracing what is in season and eating whatever comes our way each week. I look forward to the challenge with containers for freezing and canning, food dehydrator, and compost bins standing ready for action. 

Next week we'll pick up the next Veggie Share and our first Fruit Share. My little fruit-lover, a.k.a. fruitarian, will be thrilled. 

Picking, Freezing, and Preserving Goodness

This past weekend was the opening of the season for you-pick strawberries at Scott’s Strawberry Farm. My son and I beat the Saturday crowds and picked in the coolness of Friday evening. Sampling the irresistibly sweet goods as we went along, we managed to bring home about a five-gallon bucket full of strawberries. The smell of fresh strawberries wafted through my house and smiles abounded.

In attempt to eat more local, I am going to put some effort into taking advantage of produce when it is in season this summer. Instead of driving and buying frozen organic berries from the grocery store in mid-winter to make my yummy smoothies, I will skip downstairs to my chest freezer and pop open a bag of frozen strawberries.

I also made my first attempt at making strawberry preserves. The air was humid and sticky sweet in my kitchen last night as the sugar, water and strawberries simmered and I patiently waited for that magical moment that the syrup thickened. The mixture is setting for 24 hours before it is scooped into delightful little jelly jars and simmered in their warm water bath for longer term storage.

The humidity of last night had lifted and night air had done its natural thing and cooled my house overnight. The preserves had set up well while I slept and breakfast was a welcome treat – cereal topped with fresh strawberries shared with my little dude.

The grass is long and my seasonal allergies (grasses) came back in their tried and true way on Saturday. I usually do not mind cutting the grass, but today I know it will involve much sneezing and eye-watering and an immediate shower afterwards. This is where I share my final employ of the strawberries – ice cream! I made two quarts of mouth-coating, calorie-laden, Ben & Jerry’s strawberry ice cream. It is my reward and incentive for cutting the grass today. Off to do some mowing!