The rain came down in sheets last night. Wind ripped through the air testing our newly built wood shed.  When we woke up the sun was shining, the birds were singing, our chickens were pooping on my front porch, and I noticed the daffodils emerging from the ground as a reminder that spring is just around the corner. Sweet baby Q however,  was vomitting.
Not only did we find out she has an ear infection and stomach bug, she’s coughing up a lung. She is tough. She is smiling and laughing when I would be throwing myself a pity party in a puddle of my own snot.
This morning I dragged her smiling and puking out on a consultation farm visit that I had to conduct for my day job. Her cute-baby powers (even at half strength) won over the hearts of those farmers, operators and government officials instantly.  She was running the show from her front-pack baby carrier and those men were wrapped around her slobbery fingers.
Rain blew in as the farm visit ended early afternoon so sweet baby Q and I were able to fit in hours of phone tag with doctors, clinics and labs. Many veteran parents most likely know how to tell when their infant needs medical help, but as a new mom I like to call my doc as if we were besties. Too many poop variances, puke characteristics, and freak symptoms for me to confidently navigate without consultation from a medical professional. In most circumstances I like to default to natural remedies, but when my 5 month old is quickly dehydrating, giving herself wry neck with her head cocked because of her ear ache, and choking on her phlegm, I need more than my essential oils (though I love my oils dearly).
I now know that everything stands still when that little girl gets sick. My new farm business, my day job, and the whole world pales in comparison to baby Q.
 Her smiles are free yet they are priceless and I will do absolutely anything to keep my girl smiling.

(Photo: picture taken on farm visit in Lewis and Clark Astoria, OR)

At times it is hard to drag myself out of bed when it is still dark outside.  My sweet baby sleeps sprawled out over the entire queen size bed, the heater is on, and the pillow calls to me.  Alas, the dog’s tail is thumping against the wall as he asks to go out, I can hear the chickens waking up just waiting until the first rays of sunshine peek over the trees to start screaming how hungry they are, and the pressure to feed miscellaneous other creatures before work starts setting in.

This morning, just as I masterfully extracted myself from the blankets without waking the baby, I stepped on my husband’s sock drawer (that he forgot to push back under the bed).  True to form, I begin to fall reaching for my faithful dog Ted who jumped out of the way –uncharacteristically agile – as I bit the dust into the desk chair.  That sweet sleeping baby turned into a screaming ball of fury.  Thank you hubby dearest.

So sweet baby Q and I proceeded to feed our little farm one-handed, in the rain, and in our jammies.  However collecting eggs with one hand can be tricky.  It involved me holding the nesting box hatch door open with my foot, leaning baby Q away so she doesn’t get chicken goodness all over her and reaching into the nest box to pluck each egg out to delicately drop onto the ground.  Not sure if any of you have seen this 6ft mamma in athletic shorts and barn boots completing this charade, but I think I make it look good.  You may be asking, “ why doesn’t she devise a clever hook to keep the nesting box hatch open?”  Good question and yet I seem to forget. Every. Time.

It can be a pain in the tush to complete the farm-feeding-fun at the butt-crack of dawn in soggy jammies, but the pasture-raised eggs, the free range pigs, the hormone free beef are all worth it.  I am able to feed my family, my friends, and the community.  It is a blessing I am privileged to take part in.

The rain always seems to stop as soon as I am done with chores and today was no exception. The sun rays began to pierce the fog to create beams of warmth and rainbows.   The trees dripped rain drops onto the pasture to create percussion beats to the songbirds’ sweet melody.  I nursed sweet baby Q, ate my ridiculously delicious eggs, looked over my little farm and thought good morning Melville.