1.3.09
Happy New Year
As quiet as fog, the New Year arrived here on the farm. There was no fanfare, no ball drop, no shotguns or fireworks; Nothing but the simple act of taking down the old calendar and replacing it with the new. The creatures of the barn knew nothing of the silent change that took place. Bedded down head to tail they snuggled in comfort as busy field mice families came alive with the darkness to scavenge the barn floor for crumbs of feed and leftover morsels that are often left in the wake of “those who walk on two legs”.
The house people bedded down early, a mid- week chance to catch up on sleep. Coal’s from last night’s fire glow softly in this quiet, early morning of my day. They wait for the breath of new life; dry kindling, more wood and a gentle, blowing breath from some boy kneeling intently toward them, hoping, as he shivers in the morning cold, that it will only take this one time to rekindle last night’s orange and red fiery dance.
Windows rattle as they are buffeted by sharp blasts of a January gale. In my favorite chair, wrapped in blankets, I am listening to the wind, sipping tea and watching the blinking cursor move down the rows as my fingers search across the keyboard. Dough is rising in the warm oven, cinnamon buns to start the year off right. Today is the first day of the New Year, a clean slate, another chance. So many possibilities, so much hope, so much to strive for and look forward to.
There are a few goals on the eternal list this year. Farm goals, family goals, personal goals, all merge into one idea, one common thread, that blankets us all as we move into the this first day of our three hundred and sixty-five day cycle.
1. Sustainability: Increase sustainability. Move our thoughts, actions, lifestyle and farm into an ever increasing self sustaining entity. This will allow each of us to live ever lighter upon the land and to continue to move beyond dependency on an increasingly unstable system.
2. No more “New”: This has been our motto now for two years. With the exception of boots and jeans for hard working young men, we strive not to bring anything into our home that has the potential to end up in a land fill. This includes electronics, toys and nonsense items found in almost any aisle of Walmart.
3. Health: Our health is our number one investment. We will continue to increase our knowledge of healthy eating and living and adjust accordingly.
4. Relationships: Beyond health, our relationships with each other, our friends, our community and God need constant care and attention. As always, we will strive to respect and understand the needs of those around us.
5. Preparedness: This was added to our list last year and we weren’t really sure exactly what all it entailed. This year, we will continue to work toward being more “prepared.” For any event- fire, tornado, flood, blizzard or ice storm, family emergency etc. We have put away extra food and added a well stocked medical emergency kit with an easy to follow Red Cross First Aid book.
Perhaps, as a people, we will start to turn inward. Dismal economic times have always given people a reason to pause and reaffirm the tenets of their faith, their values, their attitudes and behaviors. True wealth is not acquired in a paycheck and we cannot take our diamonds with us when our last breath has been expelled.
As I sit here this morning in the quiet of a New Year, it my most fervent hope that this upcoming year bring inner peace, joy in the small things, hope for a brighter future, belief that we can change, the comfort of love and genuine forgiveness.
God Bless,
Andrea J.
12.26.08
Dinosaurs
There is a dinosaur in my closet. Rummaging around for some lost object, I heard the distinct rumblings of a dinosaur. There are several lurking around my basement; their footprints are seen only by me. I thought that I had banished all my dinosaurs, but it seems that they either didn’t leave or I have acquired some new ones. I would bet on the latter.
You see, it was only just a few years ago that I cleaned out all the dinosaurs that had been hanging around and now, it seems that some have returned. I know, because I have heard them, and now, as the old year comes to a close and the new one offers its endless possibilities, dinosaurs that we have collected and brought home must once again be banished in order that we may all sleep a little lighter and live a little freer.
Dinosaurs were thought to be extinct, but I have found that to be untrue; each thing that I hang onto or drag home is like an egg; a dinosaur egg. I bring it home, happy with my purchase, my treasure, my find, and then a dinosaur hatches. Small at first, they tend to grow very large, some of them can occupy huge areas of one’s mind, nibbling at thoughts and drinking energy tea, meant for us, but snatched up by the greedy mouth of a hatchling dino.
Crazy, I know, but the older I get, the more sense I have that they have returned and I must chastise myself and my family for bringing them home. Dinosaurs include things from the past and things from the here and now; things like clothes or shoes that one of us just “had to have,” that now sit with dust on the shoulders, unworn and unwanted, toys that were bought with the best of intentions that sit in boxes or baskets, under stairs and in closets, dishes and plates and knick knacks and brick-a-brack.
Pretty soon the closet becomes a scary place where only Mom can go. Whole rooms can be taken over as the dinosaurs multiply and grow. Kids no longer play in their rooms as they have been pushed out by their own creations. Kitchen cabinets, cupboards and drawers become hatcheries until the drawers won’t close and every search in the spice cabinet becomes nothing less than a search for the missing arc.
Dinosaurs have no mercy, pushed to extinction by rapid climate change, they are happy to be given footholds in our homes and in our minds. Monsters that I had dragged around since college and before marriage and kids jeered at me from behind boxes until I finally found the courage to expose them, sweep them out into the light of day and rid my mind and my home of their ever bearing presence.
I have found that it is not possible to move forward with these heavy beasts on my back. I have found that my mind gets stuck in the mire and muck and there it stays until little by little I am able to sort and pitch, give away and sell until finally the room, the closets, the cabinets and drawers are free.
It sounds so simple, but it takes a tremendous amount of energy to reclaim those spaces in my home and in my mind. They didn’t hatch over night, they took time to grow and multiply, divide and conquer. But, there is no better time than the New Year. I have already started. Freecycle, Ebay, Craig’s List are often in my inbox. Boxes and toys, furniture and other things are going out.
I am lighter already. Perhaps I won’t be alone in my defiance; Maybe, as a people, we will keep our pocket books snapped shut as we head into this New Year. We will clean out our closets and garages and reclaim our minds from the insane amount of stuff that we have drug home over the years of overindulgence and overspending.
Perhaps we will see that we already have what we need to simplify, no experts are necessary here. The path is now brightly lit. Some will surely call the times ahead a depression, but maybe in the light of the New Year, we might see it as an “opportunity”; an opportunity to rid ourselves of the dinosaurs that are lurking in our homes, our minds and our hearts.
Happy New Year!
Andrea J.
12.9.08
Christmas
Moonlight from the window woke me, it was half past three. I tightened down my eyelids and tried to will myself back into peaceful slumber. But peaceful slumber was out chasing the moonlight, playing with the sandman, and I was left to lie in my bed and hope that he might return before the moon completed its evening journey across the night sky.
It wasn’t meant to be, and my mind, happily began to grind into action. I tried to wrench a stick into its gears before it got too powered up and woke the rest of my body. It seemed to be working, I felt it all slowing back down when the thought slammed my entire being wide awake: “There are only 16 shopping days til Christmas!”
“What!!??”
I knew my fight was over, it was almost four. I glanced over at the sleeping form of my husband. I could see that this realization had not affected him in the least. Peaceful slumber was still holding him tight. “Shopping days” had never been in his life before, and it obviously hadn’t crept in this year.
Ok, Ok, I reluctantly sat up, my feet feeling for my waiting slippers; cold slapped my bed warm form as I fumbled my way down the stairs. Sure enough, the calendar confirmed it- 16 shopping days til Christmas. I rubbed my eyes and turned on the tea water.
Sitting there, in the half dark, listening to the kettle warming on the stove, I wondered what I was going to do this year. The last several years had been a gradual reduction in presents. This was due in large part because we had slowly come to realize that we were drowning in stuff. We have never bought for each other, just the kids, but that alone left enough waste to fill several large garbage bags just from the wrapping paper and the packaging.
By the time my children were 9, 7, and 4, they could tear through the most carefully wrapped packages in less than ten minutes; a month of planning and agony strewn across the floor along with hundreds of little plastic pieces, instructions and clothes. I would sit there in amazement, holding my camcorder as a witness to the wasteful carnage.
It had to stop. We had been trying unsuccessfully to fulfill a fantasy for our children. A magical fantasy where someone would come and grant your most secret wishes and all you had to do, was just wish. How absurd is that? December had become a month of dread and worry. Who was going to get what? Was it even? Maybe he needs one more thing, wouldn’t want him to feel slighted.
I became a crazy woman, yelling at my kids- don’t touch the tree, stay away from the presents, if you don’t stop screaming the man in the red suit won’t come and you’ll get a lump of coal! They would look at me and blink- Had she lost her mind?
The next year, we didn’t do a tree. Maybe it was the tree, that vast, cavernous darkness underneath begging to be filled with brightly wrapped presents. It seemed to help. We leveled with our kids, told them the truth, shed light on the great Christmas myth. We had never lied to our children before, but we had lied about that. They thought that was great! They knew the truth and they were suddenly free. We had not understood the burden that the lie put on them. We opted out of the family present fest, told siblings and grandparents that we were done.
Sadness hit our family hard when my oldest was eleven. My Mom passed away on Christmas Day. We had not done anything for Christmas, as our focus had been on helping her to die. Her only wish, as she lay on her death bed, was that she wanted more time. More time to see her Grandbabies’ grow up. It was the message we needed.
Last year was a very quiet Christmas for us. We did not spend much money; we tried instead, to spend more time. My Mom’s dying wish has become our Christmas plan. It is interesting how freeing it is not to be chained by consumerist thoughts. It is interesting how the days of December melt away without worry or stress. It has become one of my favorite months.
The greatest gift this season and in all the season’s yet to come, will be the gift of time. There are really only a few true gifts that we have to offer and the gift of time is one of the most precious. So, we will spend the month of December parked in front of our fire, reading, talking, and playing cards. We will eat popcorn and fight over the blankets. The weather will keep us in and keep us close. We may have a tree to chase the shadows out of the darkness and we may plant a few presents beneath it, but it will not be our focus.
Our prayers at the dinner table will become longer as we seek to take the time to say our many thanks, for we are blessed beyond measure. We have the greatest gifts we could ever hope to have;Time and health, love and hope.
It’s just after four now, and this computer screen is the only light in the house. I won’t go back to bed now; to close to my rising time anyway. I glance over at the calendar again to confirm it- yes, 16 shopping days til Christmas. Whew! That realization had given me quite a start! I sit back, take a sip of tea and relax, my shopping cart is full and I am finished.
Andrea J.
11.30.08
Horses
There are very few times in life when I feel totally present- locked in the here and now and not thinking about the next moment or the next and not agonizing over moments that came before. My day starts with a head full of plans. Before I am even out of bed, I am plotting breakfast. How will I spend my precious hour before my family rises? The laundry is calling from the utility room floor, the dishes that I didn’t get done the previous night are jeering at me over my morning tea and the list goes on.
Like most people, I am always on the go, moving around, getting things done, marching through my days like a marine storming a foreign beach. All things are taken care of in my wake, children fed, dressed, animals milked, fed, watered, house picked up, dishes done, laundry folded, bills paid, school started, lunchtime, phone calls, school again and finally, time to start dinner, feed animals, milk animals, and water animals. On some days, and these are precious days indeed, there is time for me. I struggle to put on my coveralls and gloves, with a feeling of anticipation in my belly. I glance out the window, looking, taking stock, and deciding on my course of action. Where in the pasture is he? Does he know that I am coming, that I am looking for him? That I simply cannot wait to press my face in close to his mane and inhale that wonderful smell?
Does he know that he has saved my life, over and over again? That when I look outside, even on the dreariest of days, when both soil and soul are soggy and weighted my spirit is lifted? That he is the object of many of my daydreams? I hurry outside, grabbing a handful of apples pieces and head for the fence. The graceful bend of his neck as he nibbles on nothing shoots up when he hears his name. He takes a moment to decide and then he trots over, eager to see me too.
“What shall we do today?” He wants to know as his nose presses eagerly toward my pocket. He knows that I have brought him a gift. I hand over an apple piece and his soft nose tickles my wrist.
“Scratch there, and here,” He raises his neck fully and gives me his throat. I scratch and tell him that just his being here is enough; that his beauty soothes my soul and makes my breath quicken at all the same time and I am thankful that I am alive on this clear, cold day in November. Another horse comes over and I am surrounded and warm. They welcome me. I tug off my gloves and put my hands under his mane, I scratch behind his ears and we play our little game of follow me.
“I’ll be your shadow today,” I tell him and I follow his lead. We walk and talk, stop and nibble. Social creatures that we are, we have much to say to each other. I ask him if he wants to carry me and he answers a soft, “Yes.”
What a joy, to be carried as an adult! How many times in life are we carried? How often do we have an opportunity to let another being shoulder our weight and the weight of the world that we each carry with us? What a pleasure to let go of the day, the week, the month, the past, the future. What sublime joy it is to have such a sturdy presence carry us forward, away from the dishes and the laundry, to another place that we don’t have to walk to.
“Where shall we go today?” He asks, as my three year old scrambles up into the saddle, snuggling tightly against me.
“Let’s just go,” I say, and we do; around the farm to say hello to the cows. The August calves dodge and swerve, looking at us from under the umbrella of their eyelashes. They play with us as we go along; running ahead, into the bushes, out from the bushes, around the fence- gingerbread calves-can’t catch us now!
We pass the other horses and they raise their heads in silent greeting; the pigs are sleeping in the sunshine and do not notice our passing. The chickens are busy with the dirt, they scratch and peck the cold earth; they lie together catching sunbeams, picking good-naturedly at their neighbor’s feathers.
The scene quiets down as we leave the familiar path around the farm; the birds sing and call for their mates and the squirrels work quickly to hide their food. Small creatures’ that we cannot see scurry beneath the leaves, along the edges of the dying grasses, now laid over and brown from the frost. We pay attention to this world as we ride and we marvel at its complexity and beauty.
“Winter is coming,” The barren trees call out to the animals, “Hurry! Hurry!”
We count the white contrails against the cloudless sky and watch for deer on out path up ahead. The load lightens, with each step, it lightens. There is only here and now. Our breath is caught in the cold air for just a moment and every minute revealed is a miracle. Technicolor trees and the passing surroundings are bright and vividly clear. It’s like I have a new set of eyes; eyes that I didn’t have before and everything is sharper.
I think I know how Heaven will feel. It will be a sublime letting go; a gentle rocking motion, a soft sigh up a steep hill, scenery passing, a deep trust; true peace and the joy of freedom; another to shoulder the heavy weight and the burdens of life. I am thankful, as we go along, that I don’t have to wait, that my little piece of heaven waits patiently for me in the pasture.
Andrea J.
11.4.08
James Family Farm
Autumn is upon us again and the leaves are splendid this year! November is still a busy month here at the farm as animals are taken off pasture, fences are taken down, hay is put up, the garden is tilled…. The list goes on and on. Soon, we will be able to put our feet up and catch up on reading as the fire warms our toes!
I want to take a moment to thank everybody for making this chicken season such a success! The word has gotten out and we closed the season with a waiting list for our delicious birds! Thank You!
Turkeys: Those of you who have reserved turkeys can pick them up anytime- they are in the freezer. Please call ahead or email to give me a heads up before heading out to the farm. If you have ordered and have decided that you do not want your turkey, please let me know asap, as I have a waiting list of anxious folks.
Beef: Our autumn beef is in the freezer. Due to demand, we are selling our premium grassfed beef by the cut. Our price list is posted on our website: Jamesfamilyfarm.com Call or email me with your request and I will have it ready for you. If you just want to come shopping, we are generally available after 3pm during the week and all day Saturday. Please call ahead so that we don’t miss you!
Pork: Our tasty whole hog pork sausage is still available if you are interested in trying some. We have kielbasa, breakfast patties and bulk Italian and breakfast. Delicious!
Eggs: Egg production is slowing down as the weather turns cooler, but the demand isn’t! If you would like eggs, please reserve them ahead of time.
Wheat: Wheat? Yes your eyes are not deceiving you! There is a group of us here in the area that is getting a wheat order put together. We need 5,000 lbs to get a truckload and to get truckload prices. The wheat is through wheatmontana.com and the prices are excellent! The wheat is non-gmo and chemical free! They also have flour, spelt and other grains to order. If you are interested or would like more information, contact: Julie Embalabala at ipbees@yahoo.com or phone her @ 217-636-7942
Thanks again to all of you for making this past year such a success! We are proud to be able to offer you the very best food for your family. Let me know what we can do for you!
PS. You can visit with us or pick up some of our great food at the "Meet Your Local Producers Event", sponsored by Slow Food Springfield, Robert’s SYSCO and the Land of Lincoln Ag Coalition. They will be supporting this second annual local farm expo and holiday market. This year’s event will be held on November 22, 2008 (the last Saturday before Thanksgiving) from 10:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. at the Illinois Building on the Illinois State Fair Grounds. Admission is free to the public. This will be a great chance to pick up some goodies from local producers for your holiday meal! See you there!
Andrea James
10.30.08
Reluctant
I wasn’t ready when it arrived, sometime during the early morning hours, under a clear, starlit sky. The Big Dipper, framed in the bedroom window, was tilting crazily in the sky, pouring out the darkness. I wasn’t ready, but it came anyway, inching across the pasture; cold fingers stealing the color from the earth, curling leaves and creating mirrors on small puddles in the lot.
I am still hanging on to the dream of summer reluctant to let go this year. Already I miss it, the steady hum of insects, the days that seem to go on forever, long and hot, like a forgotten road in some vast desert. I want to hold on to the smell of the hot earth as I bend down to pick its fruit, the feel of life heat from some animal that has been basking in the sun, the waves of heat rising up from our hillside stirred only by the hot breeze of an Illinois summer; A breeze that rarely cools the porch people.
I want to hear again the sounds of children playing in the garden hose water, the sounds of running feet, and the shouts of “Tag! Your It!”. I want to drink the cold lemonade and let the sweat on the glass cool my tired hands. Smell the grill cooking chicken, hear the muffled murmurings of the house people in front of the fan, watch the animals doze under the shade trees, under the porch, under the silent tractor; Even the chickens are still and watchful beside the hen house.
Horses standing silently, head to tail, swatting flies and fanning their friends, whispering, “When will this end?” Their reverie broken only by the people, coming or going; wheels trump hooves and they stand, still undisturbed, except for the flies. The battalion that invaded yesterday is already being replaced by reinforcements.
Emerging from the house yesterday morning, I was greeted by silence. Only the bellowing of a cow looking for her calf broke the chilly air, the sound bouncing off the barren ground and frozen surfaces; Gloves on, coat on, boots on, here we go; Breath heavy, announcing my advance; My reluctant advance into this next season of cold.
Andrea J.
10.22.08
Boxes
In my youth, I was fascinated by the boxes that sat upon my Mother’s dresser. An old, off-white, smoke stained dresser held all of my mother’s treasures in an array of boxes: jewelry boxes, one with drawers and music and a small mirror, the other made of marble with blue swirls and a heavy lid; wooden boxes inlaid with exotic carvings of birds and butterflies and smaller boxes that held safety pins and hair pins, straight pins and paper clips of varying sizes.
When she was getting ready for work, her jewelry boxes stood open displaying their treasures proudly. She would sort and pick, leaning over in her slip and reaching for the gold earrings to put in her ears when the curlers came out. She dressed perfectly, every day. A bookkeeper, she might have made the impression of a lawyer or some other sharp dressed professional.
After she left for work, her boxes would sit closed and silent, awaiting her return. Stern was the warning I could never heed to leave them alone. I could hardly wait to go through them. On summer days when her perfume would remain hanging in the humid air for hours, my young hands would hold the sparkling jewelry up to my throat fumbling with the complicated clasps. I would parade in front of the mirror clipping on earrings that would swing wildly when I threw my head, wearing silver watches with shell faces and unreadable numbers, and trying on reading glasses with faux gemstones on the sides.
Her drawers beneath were just as neat. Boxes of gloves; satin, white to the elbows, short black cotton, nylon beige; ribbons and slips of varying lengths, bags of hosiery and neatly folded shawls, scarves and rain bonnets. The drawers of a lady who loved to dress filled with boxes that I couldn’t resist.
I was looking for something the other day and my eyes fell upon those boxes, up on the top shelf of a little used closet in my basement. I almost shut the door and went on, but the cool fall weather has me waxing nostalgic and I stood on tip toe and brought one down. The same objects, now dull and dirty looking greeted me. The music still played from the little jewelry box with the drawers. Rings and bracelets had been replaced over the years by slips of neatly folded newspaper clippings; Obituaries of her close friends, her own mother and my father.
I stood still there, in the cool of my basement as the sun slid down over the horizon and made long shadows on my wall. I closed my eyes willing myself to see my mother young, see her sitting in the sunlight of an early summer morning at her dressing table, spraying her fresh curls with the hairspray that sat on her dressing table; fiddling with her watch clasp, while the spray from the giant pink can reflected in the light and mixed with the swirling smoke of her burning cigarette, falling gently down around her shoulders creating the aura of an angel.
I looked around my basement at the myriad of things that were in boxes, bags or baskets. A great deal of time is spent putting things in boxes and bags to be used next season, for the next child, next year.
We place much importance on the things in our lives; holding on to them long after their usefulness has passed, as if some part of us or our children are somehow attached to the thing that we deem worthy of saving. Of course, in the end, they are reduced to the reality of what they always were and we are left with boxes of memories in closets and attics, garages and crawl spaces. There they remain, tucked safely away, a storehouse compiled over the years of our lives until a rummaging loved one comes and opens them again and remembers:
Remembers the quilt that lay across the bed, the books that lulled you to sleep, the lamp that needs a new switch that you bought on your honeymoon, the clock whose key is lost that you found together in a shop in New Orleans, the cards welcoming your first child into the world, the book mark that your son gave you, the announcement from the paper- your second child was born, the ornament of an angel given to you by a close friend, the collar from your old faithful dog, the list goes on and on.
It is simply the fact that our lives our so fleeting, that they are so rich. The possessions in our boxes tell our story. I, for one, have come to believe that we should quit trying so hard to live outside the box, that perhaps what is in the box holds the key to understanding and peace and isn’t that enough?
Andrea J.
10.2.08
Treasures
Treasures were everywhere when I was young. I recall that a simple walk to a friends house might yield any number of magical objects that might have fallen from some unsuspecting passerby; a button, a rubber band, a lucky penny, or best of all a receipt or scrap of paper with something scrawled across the top in some adult code that I had not yet learned to decipher.
As I matured, I stopped finding treasures, my eyes no longer caught the shiny penny on the sidewalk, and if they did, I was often in too much of a hurry to bother to stop and pick it up. Many years went by and children came along. As a new Mom, I was mortified at the things my child would pick up. Anywhere or anytime something caught those little eyes, he was on it. The losing lottery ticket in the grocery store parking lot would mortify me as my young toddler, eyes shining, would present it to me as if it had been plated in gold.
One child’s fascination with found objects soon became the obsession of three; three young boys all competing for the same nickel, the same lottery ticket, a discarded soda can. (But its aluminum Mom!) In disgust I would throw up my hands and hurry along, pushing them ahead of me, while my eyes scanned around for the nearest trash receptacle.
Now, I realize that my children are blessed to find “treasures.” As I pull marbles and nails, broken rock crystals and old clam shells from the pockets of their jeans, I marvel at the amount of things that one pocket can hold. Sometimes I am miss one and I find the object clean and shiny rolling around at the bottom of the washer. I have dedicated an entire coffee can to these pocket treasures; a place that they can come and retrieve the ones they prize the most. Funny thing is, the amount in the can never decreases because there are always new treasures to be discovered. Each and every washing proves that to be true.
Treasures are the currency of boredom. Dragging my children to a boring function or driving in the car, the gems in their jean pockets take on a whole new meaning. Suddenly an old shell casing found down by the creek has a value far beyond what the holder ever imagined. It might be traded for something better, but more often it becomes the ticket to the front row seats of some imaginary hunt; a hunter, concealed in the trees, rifle held still, deer in sight, the shot explodes out the barrel, the deer falls and the casing lands safely in the mud a few steps away from the glory of the kill. Perhaps those dark looking stains on the casing are drops of blood from the deer? Indeed, that is what they must be!
I have started looking for treasures again. My adult eyes often pass over the ones I would have coveted as a child, but I am retraining my eyes to see the treasures that are all around me. When I walk with my head down, I now see the toads hidden in the piles of dirt, or the beetles rolling up balls of manure, or ants on long marches. I often see the flower hidden in the tall weeds or the rabbit sitting still against the soft grass.
When I walk with my head up, I catch the glory of the sunset or sunrise. I marvel at the contrails, at the moon in the daytime, at the hawk that never needs to flap his wings. I watch as fuzz from the cottonwoods glide down effortlessly, picked up over and over again by the wind. I watch as Barney, our Great Pyrenees, gets his weekly bone, and heads off to the pile of woodchips. Digging deep into the soft pile, he deposits his treasure for withdrawal later and I think he is most clever, keeping his treasure somewhere nearby until such time that he may really enjoy it.
Treasures take many forms, but finding a treasure, now that takes practice and time; something that we, as adults, rarely take in our busy worlds. We rush on by the world and its offerings in our busy-ness and we rarely stop to pick up treasures, or notice them all around us. We can take a lesson here from our children and our animals; Life is too short to pass up treasures!
Andrea J.
