Tell Blind Bartimaeus to Chill

 

The feelings I felt inside of me were not new. I groaned as I heard the pleas, again. The same whiney voice crying out for attention.

"We all have problems man!" the words formed in my brain. I wish I could help relieve the pain, but I really can't. Somehow, part of living in this fallen world, means that we will all experience pain. 

Suddenly, as I pondered these things, a verse popped into my head. I had often heard that verse, tucked in the middle of a common Bible story: "...they rebuked him... (Luke 18:39)" I often wondered why.

Why would anyone rebuke a blind man who was crying out for Jesus to heal him?! Even if they didn't have compassion on him as a person, wouldn't natural, human curiosity want to stand by and see if Jesus might heal him?

But, here I was, in the crowd, and my heart was saying the same thing. Suddenly I understood.

Maybe Blind Bartimaeus was well know. Maybe, every day he felt his way to the same spot on the highway and cried. All day, every day. 

"Even Samson ground grain when his eyes were poked out!" someone reprimanded. "Surely there is SOMETHING even a blind man can do!"

Sometimes he sat in the middle of the road. "I can't see." he reminded people when they complained. "You can tell where the road is." they argued. And, he cried again.

This was a main highway that people traveled on almost constantly. 

If there was a wedding, or a funeral, or some other kind of procession, everyone knew there would be one uninvited guest: blind Bartimaeus, sitting on the side of the road, dressed in rags, drawing the focus of the day onto himself, even if it was just for a moment.

"It's embarrassing," someone may have said, "to have him begging right outside our city gates."

Why do I think that?

Because I have thought those things as I watched someone begging for someone to notice him. The crazy thing is: literally everyone DOES notice him. 

No amount of pennies in a cup, or friendly conversations, or drinks of cold water, could change the man standing on the side of the road, just outside of the city gates. 

Not then.

Not now.

Some days, we are busy and tired and don't want to be bothered.

If I was in the crowd, this would have been a day like that.

Jesus of Nazareth had risen in popularity. He was a wise teacher. He told stories that made a person think. He talked as he walked. It was hard to hear with everyone around. Maybe I would have caught a word here, or there. 

The people in the front tried to quiet everyone down and clear the path, so everyone would have a better chance of hearing.

They were almost to Jericho, to the city gates, when a blind man yelled to whoever was on the road. "Who is coming? I hear a lot of people!"

"It is Jesus of Nazareth." they answered, hoping he would quiet down so they could hear what Jesus was saying. It was a really important topic. He was telling them about his upcoming death and resurrection. This was not the time for interruptions. Bartimaeus could collect coins all day every day. Jesus was only here for a little while and there was so much to learn. Couldn't the blind man hear that he was interrupting an important discussion?

"Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" Bartimaeus yelled even louder, planting himself in the middle of the road. His young nephew, who had the job of leading him around, hid his face in embarrassment. 

"Stop! Just stop!" came out of MY mouth. And, I finally understood. ALL of the interrupted important conversations. All the celebrations that turned into being about him instead of the person who we met to honor. Even interruptions of my time with Jesus!

I paused when I heard it, and I saw the crowd and my Lord. Oh how I wanted to hear every word He had to say. Just this one day I wanted to be able to walk past the blind man without having to shower him with attention.

I tried to shush him, to shoo him away, but he just hollered louder.

Then, Jesus saw him...

                                        ...and stopped.

Jesus walked right up to that annoying, pestering beggar and asked him a question.

"What do you want me to do for you?"

Now don't go thinking that maybe I should have thought to ask him that question. Because, I had, many times. That exact question! 

True today I was hushing him, but many times I had stopped and asked him exactly the same question. But, his requests were always impossible! It was no use even listening to his outlandish demands.

"Lord, I want to see again." the blind man requested.

I held my breath.

Finally he was asking the right question to the right person.

"Receive your sight; your faith has made you whole!" Jesus said.

Suddenly the blind man wasn't blind anymore, but he wasn't quiet either. He was shouting the praises of God. But, now he wasn't blocking the road. He was following. Following the only One who could give him what he longed for.

The little boy, who was his guide, was smiling, a free happy smile, and so was I. 

And, now I also see that it wasn't just the blind man who received healing that day. Many other burdens were lifted.

Jesus, really did come to lift heavy burdens, set captives free and give life: abundant, beautiful life!

I don't know what this realization will change in me. Maybe nothing. Or, maybe, next time I feel like telling someone to "just chill" I'll just get out of the way and let someone handle this who can see deep into the heart and provide what I can not.

Friends Without Words

 

This week I have a family history story on my mind. (I have a Bible one on my mind too, but that one needs to wobble around in my head a bit longer before I can put it into words.) Speaking of words... this story is about a friendship that lasted many years, yet the young ladies never spoke a word to each other. 

My great-great grandma, Harriet Melinda Nixon was born in Ontario, Canada in 1858. As the ninth of ten children, she had a wonderful childhood. Her favorite place to play was in the chicken house down by the creek. She played with the glass eggs her Dad had placed in the nests to encourage the chickens to lay eggs in the correct spot. Little Hattie loved to set up house in the hen house. She brought her little tin cups and a small blanket and set up a nice table to serve her baby dolls tea. Mint growing down by the creek was perfect for making tea. 

One day a visitor stopped by her little house. He motioned to the tea and little Hattie nodded and smiled. She moved her dolly off of the stool and he sat and drank the tea. She gave him a biscuit from her apron pocket and refilled the little tin cup. He smiled his thanks and left. She wasn't scared. Her Mama often served their neighbors. The kitchen was always open. I guess it was a different world back then.

However, it wasn't long, and the man with long black hair was back. This time a shy little girl, who looked just like him, peaked out from behind him. He turned and walked away, leaving the children to stare at each other for a few minutes. 

Hattie handed the girl a biscuit and pointed to the little makeshift table. The girls played all afternoon with their baby dolls and busily picked tea leaves and made more tea and giggled as they played. It was so fun. All summer Hattie played in the hen house and often her little friend would join her. Their baby dolls napped together in one of the nests while the girls walked hand-in-hand to the creek to cool off.

One day Hattie's friend seemed sad. She was trying to tell her something. Finally Hattie realized it was time for their summertime neighbors to move south. The girls hugged and cried. The little brown-eyed girl held out her precious baby doll to Hattie. The little blue-eyed girl (or maybe green-eyed, she was Irish) accepted the gift. She picked up her dear little cornhusk dolly and handed it to her friend. The girls hugged again and Hattie's best friend left. 

Hattie's little friend never visited her in that chicken house again. Eventually the Nixon family migrated to the USA, or maybe Harriet migrated after she married a handsome farm boy from the USA named John Stratton. They settled in the hills of Missouri. I guess they probably lived in a log cabin, or maybe even a sod house. One day in late fall (I believe it would have been about November 1878), John left Hattie to care for the little farm while he took a trip to St. Joseph, Mo, nearly 20 miles away, for supplies. He would be gone three days. Mrs. Stratton was a woman now. She would be fine. She smiled as she waved to the wagon as it faded into the distance. She wiped a tear away. "It must be the dust." she thought. It was silly to cry. Alone in the tiny house, with no neighbors in sight, Mrs. Stratton looked for things to keep herself busy. Dear John would be home soon. Three days wasn't long. She busied herself getting ready for the little life growing inside her belly. She made a little bed next to their own. This time her baby wouldn't have to sleep in a nest of straw. She laughed as she remembered her hen house turned play house! She sewed tiny blankets and knitted little socks. It was early to make a bed. The baby wouldn't come until the spring, but it gave her something to do. The next morning she noticed the wind picking up as she did the morning chores. Was a storm coming? She knew how to prepare, and soon everything was ready for whatever nature might throw at them. Hopefully it wasn't going to be a tornado! She was scared to be without John. She may be a grown woman of 20, but as the ninth child in her family, she had never really been alone, not until now.

She lit a lamp and bolted the door shut and sat down to do some knitting. It got darker and darker outside. Then, it was all white. A blizzard? "Oh dear! I hope John has made it to St. Joseph. I hope he stayed in town and hasn't tried to head home." She began to pray, silently at first, but as the wind howled she prayed even louder! 

Suddenly there was a thump at the door. Was it a branch? An animal? She didn't go to the door at first, but then she heard something that sounded like crying. She unbolted the door and saw a mound of what looked like a blanket in front of her door. "It's a woman!" she realized as she began to pull her into the house. 

The young, native woman was weak and sweating with fever. She handed Mrs. Stratton a tiny bundle and collapsed onto the floor. The baby opened it's mouth to cry, but nothing came out. She laid the baby in the tiny bed and helped the woman into her bed. Then she got busy making broth. For a few days Harriet nursed her patients faithfully. The tiny baby got stronger every day. Harriet carefully brushed the woman's long black hair. She dozed in her chair in between cooking and tending to her guests. Hattie had never been so tired. One night she made herself a bed on the floor and fell fast asleep. When she woke up it was very quiet. The wind had stopped howling. The sun was out. She blinked her eyes. Something else was different too. She jumped to her feet! The baby was gone! The woman was gone. Her bed was made perfectly and in the baby's bed lay a little something. She walked towards the bundle, warm sunlight streaming through their one window. She picked up the little something and gasped. It was a little corncob doll. Some say that all corncob dolls look alike. Some say there is no way that could have been the same person who Hattie played with all those years ago. How could a Native American from Canada be in Missouri? Some say I am remembering the story my Grandma told me completely wrong and that I actually read it in Little House on the Prairie, or some other book written about that time period.

Maybe they are right. I do have an imaginative memory. But, I love this story and I do hope that it is true. I hope it happened many times 150 years ago. I hope it happened in my ancestor's house and Laura's and even your ancestor's home! More than that I hope it continues happening now. What is "it"? It is people from completely different cultures showing kindness and hospitality to other humans. It is people not being afraid to open the door and sit down at the same table and share our favorite and best with total strangers.

We have many family stories of those long ago days and the friendships made with neighbors who lived very differently from each other. DNA results and the census records can't seem to explain why my little blond haired boy's skin turns brown in the summer, or why my little Song Bird was born with straight black hair and a love for Native American things. Ancestry tells me we are Scandinavian, or British, oh, there is a little Swiss, maybe that's it. Or, maybe, just maybe, a young man and a young woman fell in love and they didn't tell the government. Maybe the everyday, average person lived differently than the history books and media of the time tell us. Maybe, most people, were able to live harmoniously. 

Want to know a little theory I recently heard about why Sodom was destroyed? (I just can't write a story without including at least a mention of scripture. 😉) It is said that it was because they were not kind. Perhaps that seems naïve because we all can list off quite a handful of wicked crimes committed by the people of that time and place. But, maybe the theory is correct that neglecting to be kind was the beginning of the cry that rose clear to heaven. Living to please one's self, is the opposite of kindness, is it not? Only Lot opened his doors to the strangers. The townspeople were angry that he would do such a thing! 

Sometimes I wonder if it is more dangerous now than it was then, you know, to open my door, to be friends with someone who doesn't speak my language. Sometimes it seems like Sodom outside my door, and just like the angels firmly showed Lot, there is a time to shut them out and protect your own family, not throw them to the wolves. But, the advice on how to treat others may be simpler than I realized: "Be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you." Ephesians 4:32 KJV

May God bless you in this journey we call life.

Where's the Fruit?

 I started writing this blog a week ago. Scribbled out on a scrap piece of paper as I waited for my son to finish his mowing job. Monday was the day I planned to type it out, but I found myself mowing instead. Why was I mowing when there are four perfectly capable men on this property who would have gladly mowed the lawn? I had dishes to do and laundry to fold and a garden to weed, yet mowing is how I decided to spend my evening. I told myself it was because mowing is more satisfying than my other chores. Dishes and laundry never seem to be done. But, after I get done mowing I can admire the smooth lawn for days! But, then, as I finished my last round on the mower in the dim light of dusk, I remembered what I had planned to do Monday evening: Write this blog!

 I know I am not the only writer who struggles with procrastination. But, why do we? Especially when we love writing so much? I'm not sure, but I think it may be because there is a finality to typing my thoughts out. Once I hit "publish" this idea will be solidified. Monday evening it was still fluid. Flowing in and out of my mind as I mowed around the trees and down the little hills, choosing what to cut short and what to leave long. In fact, I may not even use my notes from last week after all. 

So much has happened since last Thursday.

But, this blog isn't about what has happened since Thursday (at least I don't think it will be). It is about another Feast Day that is coming up this weekend. Some know it as "Shavuot", but most of you know it by the Christian name of "Pentecost". 

Do you remember Passover?   ~ 50 days ago. 

We remembered the ancient Israelites becoming free from the bondage of slavery. We remembered the sacrifice our Savior paid to rescue us from the bondage of sin. Some of us ate unleavened bread. 

The climate where I live is usually still cold and wet at Passover time and this year was no exception. The branches on the deciduous trees were bare and brown. It was hard for me to tell which trees were dead and which ones were just resting. But now, everything is alive. I have watched the miraculous explosion of life in the plants and animals around me. Trees that seemed dead at Passover time are now leafed out and covered with singing birds and humming bees. New flowers have bloomed each week since then.

If the Feast Days are a picture of our walk with Christ I imagine Passover time portraying a new believer. They might not look all that different at first. At least not on the outside. But something new IS alive inside of them. Growth is happening.

Did you know God commanded His people to do something between Passover and Pentecost? Leviticus 23: 15 & 16 describe it. We are to COUNT! Each evening we count by ones. Each week we count by sevens. Until we have reached seven weeks or forty-nine days. The next day, day fifty, is Pentecost. (I hope I have that right.)

Pentecost is the anniversary of Israel receiving the written law. Exodus 19 begins this story. It is also the anniversary of the followers of Christ receiving the Holy Spirit.  This story is in Acts chapter 2. The law was written on hearts along with the power of God to do what He says.

One of the first years I celebrated Shavuot/Pentecost I called my aunt in Israel. I was confused. Somehow, when I started counting, as I watched the trees explode into lush, green masses of life, I presumed I would see fruit by Pentecost. But, here I was, staring at my cherry tree and seeing nothing but green. No red, pink, or even yellow. 

"There isn't fruit here in Israel either," she said. "That's why it is called firstfruits." I didn't even try to figure that one out. I had no first ripe anything to bring to the table. But, this year, surrounded by very much alive everything, my mouth watering for the berries that should be ripe any day now, I wondered what spiritual lesson is in all this.

Do we expect spiritual fruit to be manifested in our lives, or in the lives of those around us, without the indwelling of the Holy Spirit? 

Without the POWER from ON HIGH, we cannot reach our full potential. 

May God bless you with a fresh anointing of Ruach HaKodesh, His Holy Spirit, this weekend. And, may we all bear much fruit this summer.

3 Important Plants for Beginning Foragers to Avoid

The last time I wrote about plants I wrote about three edible plants for beginners. If you are feeling the urge to go out and nibble weeds, you must also educate yourself on what to avoid. Today I am going to tell you about 3 common, yet poisonous plants: Buttercup, Yew, and the infamous, deadly Hemlock (Hint: It is NOT a tree!)

Buttercup

One of the things I love the most about living in the country is the wildflowers. When I first moved out here I was a newlywed. We had our own little house with our very own, empty flowerbeds. I excitedly requested buttercup starts from a neighbor and planted them right next to our doorstep. I have always loved buttercups and thought they would be a lovely addition to our yard. My husband wasn't as pleased as I thought he would be, and now, 22 years later, I understand why. I have come to realize that buttercups are not as innocent as their name and appearance suggest.

Those delicate, shiny petals look so inviting, but, dear one, they are oh so deceptive. If the horrible taste doesn't convince you to spit it out, you will soon be rewarded with painful blisters on your tongue, and, if swallowed, pain throughout your digestive system.

If you decide to eat more than a nibble you probably won't die. But, you may wish you were dead instead of laying in a hospital bed experiencing unpleasant symptoms and procedures.

Yeah, the sweet little buttercup is not a friend when it comes to looking for sustenance. 

Yew

Next comes the beautiful Yew. This small, evergreen was quite possibly growing in your grandparents' front yard. It has attractive red berries that many children grow up nibbling, oblivious to the harm they are protected from by not chewing their food. Most children will either spit out the seed or swallow it whole, which is fine. If they were to chew a few seeds, needles, or even bark (kids do strange things sometimes), they would start feeling nauseous and may experience changes in their heart rate. 

Yew wood is said to be the most poisonous wood of any tree. The needles are poisonous also, but it would take eating a couple handfuls of pokey needles to kill a person. 

In spite of the toxicity of this tree, it is rare for someone to die by eating Yew. 

There are many edible berries and also many large evergreen trees whose needles and even inner bark CAN be eaten. 

So, please, remember: Don't Chew Yew!

Hemlock

The third plant is poison hemlock. It still exists and is just as deadly as it was 1,000 years ago. It has spread to many regions of our beautiful world. 

Poison hemlock is a plant, not a tree. There is a tree with the word hemlock in the name. It is not poisonous.

This plant is why I have yet to forage any plant that resembles parsley or carrot, no matter how much it looks or smells like the plants in my garden. 

It has a round stem, splattered with red blotches as if to warn any passerby of its intent. The foliage is feathery and lush, kind of like a carrot. The flowers are lacey and delicate like Queen Anne's Lace. Do not touch. Steer clear. This beautiful plant is deceptive and cruel. I don't think I need to go into detail about the harm it can cause. 

Hemlock used to be a rare plant but now grows all over Europe, North America, and even parts of Asia. Why anyone introduced it to the Americas I have no idea, but it has spread to every state as of this writing. 😡

I believe there is a purpose for every created thing, so I am sure there must be a reason for each one of these plants. But, the purpose is most definitely not for human consumption! 

If you plan on foraging for edibles, please make sure you have thoroughly researched the plants on your property. If you aren't absolutely sure of a plant's identification, steer clear of it! There are plants that can give you rashes, or even kill you. 

I purposely am not sharing pictures of the plants that I am discussing. My hope is that you will do your own research! Buy a plant identification book for your area, or find someone local who can point out edible plants.

Even plants that are not poisonous can seem that way if you are allergic to them. So, always proceed with caution when you are exploring.

Have fun in the sun exploring God's creation! 😄

What an Old White Man Taught me About Compassion

In today's culture, there are many stories of people who have been mistreated by those close to them. Stories on my Facebook newsfeed tell of friends learning to stand up for themselves against bullies. We applaud them and pray for those who are trapped in abusive relationships. We look for resources to help those mistreated. But, a couple weeks ago I heard a conversation that ended completely differently than I had come to expect on Facebook.

Someone brought up a confrontational subject. 

Someone else teased.

And, suddenly it was war!!!

The teasing turned quickly to anger followed by threats.

How often have we seen this play out on social media? Soon there is a mob mentality, with everyone voicing their opinions, people blocking others, and reporting posts.

But, this time the comments stopped abruptly after only two people commented. Within two hours the post disappeared. I knew family or friends of the author had helped calm the situation. 

I know the author. I know this person is often angry and says things that are hurtful. But, I also know this person is very much loved. And, he/she is not dangerous. 

I wrote to the other person in the conversation, who had been verbally attacked. My heart hurt for the older gentleman. He didn't deserve to be treated this way. 

But, he wasn't nursing hurt wounds. He didn't sound defeated. 

He said, "I love him!"

He didn't say it was okay, but he acknowledged his part in the flare-up (though from my perspective he was innocent). He bore no grudge against his lifelong friend. 

I, being a woman of many words, continued jabbering about how I just don't understand. And, even though a person has brain injuries, disabilities, or trauma, that is no excuse to treat people like that!

He said, "We had a wonderful childhood. We grew up like brothers. I love him and his family." 

He explained that, while the church community he grew up in didn't get everything right, they were a close and supportive family. As he grew he realized that their tribe (a modern-day term, not his wording) was not perfect. In fact, not one human in all of scripture (except for Jesus) was without flaws. Some had very glaring faults! No one got everything completely right.

He told me that the Body of Christ is made up of many diverse, flawed people from all denominations and walks of life.

Then, he said, "Forgiveness is a crucial key to us Christians!" 

I have heard that statement before. In fact, I have a shirt somewhere that says, "Forgiveness is key." But, somehow the word crucial made it more than a good saying. Not just a truth that would help us live a more meaningful life, but necessary for survival in the Kingdom of God!

I'm not old and wise yet. I still lash out in anger when I feel I am not being heard. I don't think I have ever reacted correctly in a stressful situation. So, who am I to judge someone who is also flawed- like me?

As a mom, I have been treated badly. I've been bitten, thrown up on, slapped in the face, and stepped on. Not to mention kicked in the ribs! But, none of those things made me block my precious babies from my life. 

Why not?

Because my love for them was greater than the pain inflicted by my little one!

I understood the maturity level of a preborn infant or even a toddler. And, most of the time... well, some of the time anyway, I chose to handle the situation with maturity and grace. But to show that grace to someone who is older and should know better?!

Well, am I ever shown grace and mercy when I don't deserve it?

I loved the little sermon. I have been pondering it for over a week. This is part of why I didn't write a blog post last week: I was still digesting this lesson, and I guess I still am. I don't think I will fully grasp it until I am an old white woman, or maybe even not until I am made new in the Kingdom of God.

My wise friend shared Ephesians 4:13 with me:

"..until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God, as we mature to the full measure of the stature of Christ."

I will end with something else he said:

 "We are all imperfect children of the perfect God."

[Please note that I am definitely NOT suggesting criminals, like domestic violence perpetrators, be shown mercy and grace. God was very clear about telling His people to protect themselves from certain people, and not show them mercy.]

3 Easy Plants to Forage for Beginners

 Hello everyone!

I have been fighting a cold so I have been home more. This means I have more time to research one of my favorite interests:  Foraging Wild Edibles. 

When I first started foraging, an older neighbor lady advised me to learn one new plant a year. That is a goal even an expert procrastinator like me can achieve! So, for nearly two decades, I focused on one plant a year. 

Our grocery budget and the prices at our local supermarket are not exactly compatible these days making foraging more than just a hobby. It seems many other people, all across the world, are in the same boat, or even worse off.

Here are some helpful questions to get us started.

Why Forage

Maybe this isn't the first question I asked when I decided to start learning about useful plants, but it probably should have been. In fact, it wasn't until THIS year that I really examined the why.

All these years I imagined a future day when we would have to escape into the woods and survive solely on the food God provides for us. I imagined our little family living like the natives used to and me cooking over a campfire.

But, reality usually doesn't end up bringing us to the extreme places our minds imagine. The REAL reason most people forage is not to completely live on ONLY foraged food. Foraged wild food supplements our diet.

I remember one of my many wise aunts showing me a mallow leaf and explaining how this little plant saved lives during WW2 because it is packed with nutrients. Most people had some food, but Mallow gave them the vitamins they needed. Mallow is a rather small weed. To be realistic, they probably only ate maybe one leaf a day. Many survival advisors say to include vitamins in emergency supply kits! Mallow is one of nature's vitamins.

Many dark green little herbs we usually trample with our feet can be very beneficial to us, and not just in survival situations. 

So, this year I switched my why from gaining enough knowledge to survive solely on foraged food (I didn't consciously have this as my why, but looking back that is what I was thinking.) to supplementing our diet with vitamin-packed herbs that Our Creator has provided for us right outside my back door.

Supplementing is so much simpler. Besides, most foraged foods, in my yard anyway, are much more "flavorful" than my palate finds enjoyable. Frankly, they don't taste good! 😝

Now that I have finally figured out my why is: to supplement my diet, then we are ready for the next question: What? 

What to forage

Foraging can be scary. In fact, if you aren't the least bit scared, maybe I could be bold enough to say... you shouldn't be foraging! While I believe that EVERYTHING God created has a purpose, not every green plant was created for us to eat handfuls of raw! In fact, there are a few plants that can actually kill a person! (Which, if our why is to help us survive, would be contradictory to our goal, to say the least!) 

This is probably the most important question of all, and the focus of this article. 

Start with plants that you already have some knowledge about. Plants that are easy to identify and do not have any poisonous look-alikes. And, plants that are readily available in your area (they aren't protected or rare.)

Guess what? There are 3 types of plants that most likely fit this category no matter where you live. 

1.    GRASSES - I don't know about the Arctic or the desert regions of our world, but, I think grasses grow pretty much everywhere, and, guess what? They are edible!  I think pretty much everyone can feel pretty confident in identifying grass. There are hundreds of varieties of grasses from wheat, down to the green stuff that we mow in our yards. And, none of them are going to kill you! Unless, of course, you are allergic to them, which brings me to an important rule to remember: When trying a "new to you" plant, nibble it and wait.
2.  DANDELIONS - I looked this up for this article, and yes, dandelions can be found growing nearly everywhere. There are many varieties of this common weed, including some that are not yellow! And, they are all edible. The whole plant! (Except the stem is not really palatable.) I couldn't find any poisonous look-alikes. This reminds me of another foraging rule: Always double-check a plant's ID. For children and beginners, this looks like showing the plant to someone who knows to be sure. Don't be embarrassed to ask.
   CLOVER- Thanks to the Irish, I think everyone knows what clovers look like. I'm not sure if these grow in dryer climates, but I know there are a lot of varieties and all of them are edible. The flowers, the leaves, the stems! They don't have much of a root, but they are also fine to eat if you can figure out how to. Again, don't be shy about making sure your little friend is really a clover. It must have smooth (not jagged) leaves. Even some plants that look similar are edible, including Wood Sorrel! 😋(I guess I need to think of a third rule now... hmmm.... oh, I know, Responsible Harvesting!) When harvesting what the Creator has provided for us, remember not to be greedy. Other creatures, including honeybees, rely on plants for their survival. Also, if you want to forage next year, allow some of the flowers to go to seed. Consider leaving the roots also. Moderation in all things......which somehow, (maybe my train of thought isn't as chaotic as I presumed) brings me to the next question: How?
   
   
   

How to Forage

If you are absolutely sure that you have correctly identified the plant, and you have taste-tested it to make absolutely sure your body can handle it, it is time for the fun part: harvest and prepare to eat what you have found. 

Look at where the plant is growing and how much of it you have. It is usually wise to not completely harvest the whole crop. 

Foraging is not picking a whole wheelbarrow full of plants. It is usually a small basket. Just enough to dry for tea. Or, maybe a handful to throw in the juicer to add to a smoothie, or mix with eggs for a healthy breakfast. 

Humans are not grazing livestock. We do not have several stomachs. Therefore, our digestive system isn't able to handle us chowing down on GRASS raw, by the handful. There are two parts of the grass your tummy will enjoy. The first part is the light-colored, juicy part of the grass down near the root. Young grass is also more palatable.  How do we prepare it? Think about "wheatgrass." If you aren't familiar with it, look it up! 💁  The young grass is prepared by juicing it! Juicing it breaks it down so we can digest it easier. The second part of the grass that is useful to humans is, of course, the seeds. Wheat, barley, and even lawn grass seed can be soaked, sprouted, or dried and ground for flour.

Many foraged plants are not as bland as the diet we are used to. In other words: They might taste bitter! Use them as you would an herb or spice. Add it to a pot of soup. Dry the leaves and flowers for tea! 

Some ways to enjoy them are: 

 Nibble on them fresh. 

This looks like picking a clover flower, gently pulling out a petal, and sucking out the nectar. Or, pulling one blade of grass and chewing on the soft white part, swallowing the juice, and spitting out the pulp. Or, picking a dandelion flower and eating only the soft yellow petals on a warm summer day. (I mean, you may eat the green part too, but it is pretty bitter.)

Dry them for tea.

Clover flowers and leaves make yummy tea. Don't dry dandelion flowers though, they will turn to white fluff balls!

Cook them. 

Water is a very powerful substance. You can steam, or boil, your foraged plant to make it more palatable. Add it to soups, omelets, or even some casseroles. Use your own judgment! 

Juice If you throw a handful of foraged plants in a juicer, the juicer will remove the hard-to-digest pulp for you and leave you with a vitamin-rich liquid. Don't forget to add apples, or something similar to make your juice yummy as well as healthy and easy to digest! 

                             

Have Fun Foraging

So, go outside and look around. My guess is you have at least one of these plants growing somewhere near you. This reminds me of another foraging rule: Beware of environmental contaminants.  If the plants have been sprayed with poison, or if the soil is contaminated, even edible plants can make you sick. Please assess the safety of the area you plan to forage.

Foraging teaches a beautiful truth: God provides for His children! 

I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread. Psalm 37: 25 KJV

Grandpa Kelly's Life Lesson

 Today I am going to go off track a bit and share a family story.

My father-in-law, Art, was the favorite grandson of a grumpy old man he called, Grandpa Kelly. He wasn't his biological grandpa, but he was his real grandpa because he was married to his grandma, but I can't tell you how that all went because every time I ask him to explain it to me, I get more confused. So, "Grandpa Kelly" it is!

Well, Grandpa Kelly wasn't a good Christian man. He was an old wild west man. He lived in a time and space where a common life motto was: "Every man for himself." He worked hard, played hard, and loved hard.

When Art was a teenager he often ran down the road to Grandpa Kelly's farm to help him with whatever project he was working on. The old man had worked in the woods when he was younger and still woke up early and worked hard all day.

One summer Art worked all week painting a fence along the driveway. Art enjoyed the work and Grandpa Kelly enjoyed the company. Art didn't expect a payment, but sometimes Grandpa Kelly would pay him something for his work, so he decided to ask:

"Grandpa." Art began "Can you pay me $2? I want to go to the show with my cousins."

"If you want money, you have to earn it, son."

"I've been working on the fence for you all week!"

"That was a favor. I never promised you money. Go clean the chicken house out and I'll pay you the $2."

It didn't matter that Art had worked all summer for him. But, Art didn't hold a grudge against him. He loved the old tightwad just the same. He cleaned out the barn, earned the $2, and was soon on his way to town.

If Grandpa Kelly needed something, he paid cash. It didn't matter if it was land, a tractor, or a new truck. He'd pull out a pile of green bills and pay the full amount on the spot. 

As Grandpa Kelly got older, he moved into town and only came out to the farm to visit once in a while. One day, when Art and Grandpa were alone, Grandpa Kelly got a smirk on his face. "There's gonna be a surprise when I die," he said, looking right at young Art. Art didn't know how to answer that. "Okay, Grandpa," he said and didn't think about that conversation again for quite some time.

A few months later Grandpa Kelly passed away and the family congregated as is common when a relative dies. Young Art walked into the room and all eyes were on him. "You knew him best!", "Did he tell YOU anything?" Grandpa Kelly's kids and grandkids quizzed.

"What do you mean?" Art asked.

"Everything is gone!" someone said. "His bank account is empty. Anything of worth is gone." "The tractors and trucks are gone." "Only the farm is left and the old shack."

Art paused a moment and suddenly remembered the strange conversation from a few months back. He leaned his head back and began to laugh.

"What's so funny!" his step-cousins demanded. "Where is the money?" his uncles asked.

"I don't know." Art admitted. "All I know is Grandpa Kelly said there was going to be a surprise, so I guess this is it!" With that, he walked out the door and drove home. Leaving the bickering relatives to figure this out on their own.

Some people wonder if the money is hidden on the old farm somewhere. Some think he willed it to the pretty young lady who kept his books. But, when I hear stories of this oldtimer, I picture an old man, on his last visit to the old farm, sitting next to a roaring fire. He smiles as he takes a sip from his canteen. He pulls out a stack of money from his coat pocket. $100 dollar bills. One by one he throws them into the fire and laughs each time the flames lick them up. No one is going to frivolously spend the money he worked so hard to save. Hard work didn't hurt him and it won't hurt them either.

I had the privilege of visiting with an elderly lady from the same generation as Grandpa Kelly. She told of marrying young. Two teenagers in love. No money to speak of. Just enough to buy a buckboard and a horse. They would work together logging. One tree at a time. She would drive the horse, and he would saw down the tree. She would hook the log up to the buckboard and haul it away while her sweetheart started on the next tree. By the time of her death, her family owned land all over the Pacific Northwest. She lived in a beautiful cabin built by her husband and son back "before the mountain blew." (Mt. Saint Helens, 1980) She had traveled all over the world on expensive trips, yet lived simply. As I talked with her, I could imagine Grandpa Kelly. I could see him laughing. And, I heard the lesson. But, I didn't laugh. 

Somehow, I suppose, I am a child of my generation too. I wonder what a life like that is worth. Working from sunup to sundown, accumulating wealth, land, and whatever money can buy. And for some reason, I remember another story of an old man and a barn and plenty. That man didn't even get to enjoy all that he had stored up. 

What is it all worth? All of that, that they accumulated? What does it help at the end? 

Neither Grandpa Kelly nor the lady I visited seemed happy. They were harsh and grumpy. But, their needs were met. Or, were they? What does a human really need?

Maybe learning from previous generations isn't about trying to emulate them. It's not to recreate the "good old days." Maybe it is to show us something more. As my parents always told me, "Learn from our mistakes and do better."

I think I'm going to go read Ecclesiastes again.

Have a wonderful week and let me know what previous generations have taught you about life.