Doing Our Thing

As I was sitting in an American flag sling lawn chair with the moonlight above my head, a fire crackling by my toes, and the chilly North Dakota night breeze blowing on the back of my neck, I leaned over to Somebody and said quietly under my breath, "Who gets this life?"  He didn't say anything back, but rather looked at me and simply nodded his head, giving me his agreement of what I was feeling.  

Who gets the life of listening to an amazing to the point of awe inspiring singer and guitar player while camping with friends?  I mean really.  It was a pinch me, this can't be happening, moment.  Because when I met Terry earlier that afternoon, I would have never guessed by his laid back demeanor and plaid shorts and tennies and kid bossing, that he would turn out to be an artist.  A musician.   

The average man, husband, and father who had been doing the normal camping activities of leveling the camper, drinking a cocktail, catching up with friends, and keeping track of kids riding around on bikes transformed into an artist right before my eyes around that campfire.  All by picking up his guitar, the one his father gave him, and plucking the strings with his fingers.  And then letting his voice join in, the singing voice that is so perfect in tone and pitch that it is nothing other than a gift.  It has to be. 

It went on for hours.  A request for a song would be yelled out from the peanut gallery.  He'd play and sing it like it was his.  And he'd turn to one of his kids right in the middle of a break in the words of the song and say, "Hey, I told you to put that flashlight down."  All without missing a beat.  It went on for hours.  Us sitting there completely transfixed by an artist doing his thing.  

I'm convinced that when someone is engrossed in their art, they become the person they are meant to be all the time.  Life has a way of hiding that person because the every day gets in the way.  The lawn needs mowed, the kitchen needs cleaned, jobs need to be went to, food needs to be prepared, kids need showers...and pretty soon night falls without there being time for art.  Time for doing your thing.  

I'm also convinced that art comes in many forms.  I even think teenage boys constantly working on their pickups, adding this sound system and that chrome, is their way of being an artist.  Or when I watch my sister spin her horse around a barrel, I believe that's her art.  We all have something that makes us tick.  We all have some kind of artist living inside of us that needs to be allowed to thrive.  Because, it's in those moments of doing our art that we transform into the people we are meant to be.  Then I suppose the trick is to keep that "yeah, I'm rocking this" feeling going through the more mundane tasks of the every day.  

For me, the most substantial rocking this feeling is found through my camera lens.  I consider myself lucky because my art really does come along with me all day and keeps me noticing the small.  

And the large.  I notice the large too.  All because of my art.  

I know.  I know with certainty that in the brief seconds of rolling down the car window and click click clicking the sunset, I am the person I am meant to be.  

 

We all have something that turns us into the artist that hides in us.  For Terry, it's his voice and his guitar.  Just when I thought that maybe the night before had all been a dream, that I really hadn't witnessed an inspiring, amazingly talented musician around a campfire, he pulled out his guitar again.  This time under a bright blue sky spotted with white marshmallow clouds with the birds chirping as background singers.  He did his thing.  He transformed into an artist.  

It didn't lose any of its magic either.  It might have even been better in the light of day.  

As I sat there in that same American flag sling lawn chair, this time red faced and hot from just returning from a long run in the hills, I turned to Somebody once again and said quietly under my breath, "Seriously.  Who gets this life?"     

With a Side of Garden

Whoa!

First garden produce.  

This is my first year caring about the garden.  My family has always been on the garden band wagon and now I've jumped on with both feet.  The reason I first started to care was for the natural food aspect.  Dirt + seed + water + sun = food.  And that is how it should be.  But, what I have found through caring about the garden is this...sitting in the dirt with my legs tucked underneath me and the sun shining on my head with ipod music inspiring my ears is dang good for my soul.  The quiet time weeding has become my think time.  My slow my roll down and process, really process, what is going on in my life time.   

The garden this year is far from fantastic as a large portion was flooded out shortly after the planting, but it is giving us some produce.  First up was kohlrabi, swiss chard {the stuff that looks kind of like rhubarb}, radishes, and green onions.  The radishes are all cleaned up and sitting in a ziploc bag of water in my fridge waiting to be used.  However, the kohlrabi, swiss chard, and onions didn't even survive three hours before they were gobbled up.  I made a quick simple stir fry out of kohlrabi, onions, and mushrooms while the swisschard was steamed.  Then both were used as sides for fish tacos. 

Let me jump in here and say that fish tacos were made in my kitchen.  Real fish tacos.  With the cabbage slaw cilantro lime whole shebang.  Somebody manned the fish and I manned the rest and it was a success.  

I wasn't able to take any pictures during the fish taco making because I'm still at the point in my cooking journey where I need to concentrate and pay attention to what is going on when I'm making something new.  But, I will make them again and now that I know what I'm doing, a stop here and there for a photo won't throw my game off.  And then I'll share the recipe with you.   

Having a garden, taking care of that garden, cooking, and eating real food are all proving to pretty much make my heart sing.  

I'm off now to try and wrestle with the tiller for the rest of the afternoon.  I'm not sure that part of gardening will be heart singing inducing.  Hopefully the tiller doesn't end up taking me down, giving me the typewriter, and winning.

 

Friday through Sunday

Weekends.  

Are my favorite.  

Although in my current state of summer vacation, all days are my favorite.  But there is still something about weekends.  And a packed full weekend makes me fist pump and donkey kick.  

On Friday, my family hosted the second annual Hartland Showdeo at the farm arena.  They all do a ridiculous amount of planning and work to make it come together and I show up the night before to help set up a couple canopies and then take pictures the day of.  That's all I do.  They do the rest.  And they put on quite the event for those littles.  It was rainy and chilly, but that didn't stop the ear to ear smiles from finding their way to all of those cheeks.  

And on Friday evening, you want to know what I did?  Laundry.  Laundry while curled up in a handmade quilt on my couch to watch all of the DVRd Real Housewives of Everywhere that I never seem to sit down for.  It was a gloomy, chilly summer evening and it felt oh so good to simply relax  on the couch to the sound of the washer churning and the dryer burning.  

I really have a hard time relaxing but I'm working on it.  One time when my friend Karen {half marathon training partner} and I were out and about, this guy told me I sure was wound up and then he asked, "What do you do to relax anyway?"  And Karen piped right in with, "She runs.  She runs to relax."  

Then I realized that was indeed true and decided to work on learning the art of normal relaxing.  I'm still trying to get there.  So Friday night was good for me. 

Saturday night was a different story.  Not relaxing.  But FUN.  Moe {the nickname has stuck} is my cousin and she is marrying Joe this coming weekend and we had their bachelor/bachelorette party on Saturday night.  

It started with a bbq and ended with a party bus and in between there was lots of laughs, dancing, and more laughing.  The kind of fun I don't bring my big camera along for.  But I am glad I brought it out for the before part because these are my very favorite kind of pictures.  Unplanned.  Capture a funny moment.  Joe was being slightly ridiculous and would not take a nice picture.  It reminded me a lot of trying to take pictures of Brother.

And he wanted in on the picture of Moe and I.  With a puppy.  He felt the puppy should be in there as well.  Seriously, these are my very favorite kind of pictures.   

We quickly booted him out so we could smile and look alike.  Maybe you can tell we are cousins.     

Yes, Moe and I look similar, but she and her sister look real real similar.  I love sister pictures.  They make my heart happy.  

And after another glass of red wine out of plastic cup, my camera was safely tucked away in the back of my car.  Because we all know when ladies get together and wine and heels are involved, it's best to not have anything to keep track of.   

I have this weird syndrome that goes something like this...

I went out last night.  Therefore, I must wake up early and stay busy and not be lazy and go and do something.  MUST. STAY. BUSY.

Does anyone else have the "I went out last night and therefore I must be extra productive today" syndrome?  

Like I said, I have that.  So on Sunday morning I packed up my car with running shoes, ipod, cowboy boots, swimsuit, sweats, jeans, camera, a cup of hot coffee...and I hit the road to the farm.  Where first, I weeded garden while listening to Garth Brooks, wearing a swimsuit top with yoga pants rolled up.  I'm glad the farm is in the middle of nowhere because oh boy, I was looking stylish.  Let me just say this...dirt, music, and sun equals perfection.   Puts me in a state of this is a great life. 

Then, I traded in the rolled up yoga pants for jeans and boots to ride horse.  Let me just say this...horses, sun, and littles equals perfection too.  This summer, Sister Pister has been teaching Firecracker and Easy Rider to ride.  Really ride.  And it is freaking cute to watch her with them.  

I needed to find my riding legs back so I started out on trusty ol' Bandit.  He doesn't like moving.  It takes some convincing to get him to even walk.  I like him and his stubborn ways because I relate.   I also like him because he is the horse that saved my sister from being afraid after a bad riding blow up when she was a tiny one.   For that, he will always have a special place in all of our hearts.  Even though he doesn't like to move and requires a little tap tap on the rear every once in awhile.  

After I got my riding legs back on trusty ol' Bandit, I rode Sister Pister's big red horse Fox for the first time.  We loped across the arena when I only wanted him to trot and he doesn't like when I text and ride, but it was fun.  I was laughing.  Laughing out loud.  And anytime you actually laugh out loud it adds years to your life.  I just know it.  

After weeding garden and horse riding, I went to meet Somebody.  I figured it was time for him to see me with filthy jeans tucked in cowboy boots with dirt grime on my face and crazy wind blown hair.  It was time for him to see me with a smile of that was a great day with the dirt, in the sun, on a horse.  Because that's a big part of who I am.  He told me my hair smelled good.  Like clothes that had been drying in the sun on the line.  

Good answer.  It was a good answer.  

Weekends.  

Are my favorite.