Fairest Love

Mrs Yeoman Farmer and I have never been much into Valentine's Day. Apart from the total over-commercialization, the whole thing seems to be a spectacularly overdone commoditization of sex and relationships. It's like those annoying eHarmony.com radio and TV ads that promise to find your "soulmate." The hype associated with V-Day promises much more than can ever be delivered in a single day. We protest this by simply opting out.

While St. Valentine may no longer be on the calendar of Catholic saints, there is an optional feast that can be celebrated today: Our Lady of Fair Love. Being in Urbana to deliver a couple of political science guest lectures today, I spent last night at the Opus Dei-run student residence just off campus at the U of I. At the Mass this morning in the house's oratory, we used the votive Mass of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, commemorating Our Lady of Fair Love. It was a wonderful, and truly fitting, way to "take back" February 14th and restore to it a sense of its true meaning.

February 14th also has other special significance for the Prelature of Opus Dei: it is the anniversary of the founding of the women's apostolate (1930s), and the Priestly Society of the Holy Cross (1940s). As a big feast day, we had flowers on the altar, the finest liturgical vessels, and all six candles burning. Like I said a moment ago, it was absolutely wonderful way to "take this day back" from the popular culture and remember the true nature of love that God intended for the human race. Not obsessing about finding chocolates, or jewelry, or restaurant reservations, or suggestive lingere. Rather, fairest love is about giving of oneself completely, for others, and Mary is the most perfect human example of that.

I'm not sure yet what time I'll make it home to Michigan tonight. Regardless, there won't be any V-Day parties. My biggest hope is that I arrive in time to help put the kids to bed. That's the kind of love MYF and I want to celebrate today.

Prayer and Penance

Here in the Diocese of Joliet, Bishop J. Peter Sartain has called for a day of prayer and penance in reparation for the massive new abortuary that Planned Parenthood will be opening in Aurora.

The proposed opening of the new clinic is a troubling development. For everyone concerned, abortion is a source of great suffering and sorrow. As Catholics, we hope in the Lord of Life. Made in his image and likeness, we know that human life is sacred. At times like this, it is important to remember that our lives are not our own. Each of us belongs to Christ, and he asks us to serve him in one another and to show particular concern for the most vulnerable among us.

As Catholics, we will stand proudly and consistently “For Life” in our diocese. Rather than collapsing in negativity, we call on all people of good will to respond with positive action. Every step we take must be peaceful.

[snip]

Please join me on Friday, September 7 in a day of prayer and penance for the promotion of a Culture of Life and an end to abortion. Pray in the manner of your choosing – perhaps attend Mass that day, pray the rosary or other favorite prayers, for the intention of an increased respect for the sacredness of life. Choose a simple penance in keeping with your health and daily duties – abstain from meat or sweets that day, or refrain from television or other entertainment. Such simple efforts on our part can be a powerful witness to our neighbors and a sign to our Heavenly Father that we love the life – the lives – he has given us.

As for our family, we will be abstaining from meat today. In addition to attending Mass this morning, I will personally be engaging in some other small food-related penances: no snacks between meals, and drinking supermarket canned coffee rather than the nice whole bean stuff I prefer. Another easy thing is to make many silent acts of atonement. These prayers don't have to be elaborate or even lengthy; my favorite is simply "miserere nobis" ("have mercy on us"). I've been trying to say it many times today, each time imagining that I'm lobbing that prayer toward the abortuary's construction site.

Why do Catholics do this sort of thing? It's a natural application of what St. Paul told the Colossians: "I find joy in the sufferings I endure for you. In my own flesh I fill up what is lacking in the sufferings of Christ for the sake of His Body, the Church" (Col. 1:24). What is lacking in the sufferings of Christ? The continuing, ongoing embrace of those sufferings by his followers --- in reparation for their own sins and the sins of others.

As St Josemaria Escriva put it:
In the Holy Mass we find the perfect opportunity to atone for our sins and the sins of all men, so as to be able to say with Saint Paul that we are completing in our flesh what is lacking in the sufferings of Christ. No one is an isolated individual in this world; no one can consider himself completely free from blame for the evil that is done on earth, which is the result of original sin and the sum total of many Personal sins. Let us love sacrifice; let us seek atonement. How? By uniting ourselves in the Mass to Christ, who is Priest and Victim. He is always the one who bears the tremendous weight of the infidelities of men — your infidelities and mine.

Today, we're seeking out a few extra little sufferings in order to do a little more to make up for the many offenses against human life being perpetrated at that new clinic. I hope you're able to join us in whatever way you can.

And With Spring...

It's time to shovel out the goat stall. Amazing how much bedding has accumulated since we cleared it out last summer. The goat kids are four weeks old now, and we want to get them and Queen Anne's Lace The Goat out of the little stall and back into the larger area that includes access to the outside. The kids are doing very well, and are bundles of energy. They really need more space, but I just haven't had time to get the larger stall ready; we wanted to get all the old bedding out, and lots of nice clean bedding down, before bringing them into it.

The solution: I've been chipping away at it, day by day, as a nice afternoon break from office work. It's remarkable how wonderful it is to take a pitchfork and drive it into that stuff; there's something about good physical labor that really helps clear one's mind at the end of a long day.

One wheelbarow load at a time, I've been taking it from the barn to my vineyard that's fairly close by. I'm averaging about 2-3 wheelbarow loads per day. I think that's the key lesson I've learned from trying combine a small farm with a small consulting practice: stop waiting for a big chunk of time before you tackle a project, and don't be afraid to do a little at a time. Bit by bit, that horrible old bedding is disappearing --- and, one row at a time, the vineyard is getting mulched. Here is Double Play, hanging out on what's left of the old bedding. Note how deep it is, and how much is still left to do.

The stuff at the bottom of the bedding is basically composted, it's so far deteriorated. Closer to the top, it's still basically rotting hay and straw. While not perfect organic compost that could be used in the garden, it makes a nice mulch for the vineyard. The composted portion provides nutrients for the soil, while the intact portion blocks weeds and absorbs rainwater. And over time, the rainwater will slowly leach additional nutrients out of the mulch and into the vineyard soil.

Shepherd Moment

This morning, I was driving past our pasture on my way home from a neighbor's. The grass is all still dead, of course, but the sheep were valiantly spread out and looking for something---anything---green. I slowed down to take in the beautiful sight. "Pastoral" was the first word that came to mind, and Beethoven music started going through my head.

And then I counted them. Eight close to the road. Coco Puff the Ram at the top of the slope (no, we haven't managed to haul him off to the meat packer yet). That makes nine. Where was number ten? Who was missing?

Maybelle? She always lambs early. Could she be off somewhere, in labor? A moment later, I spotted her with the eight ewes close to the road.

Roll call time. Two white ones, Dot and Bianca, here. Two black ones, Nera and Licorice, here. Little black one, Peoria, born way out of season last summer, here. Maybelle here. Dilemma the Ram, here. Coco Puff the Ram, up on the slope. Where's Conundrum? Oh, right there. Who does that leave? Who? Enigma, the mother of Dilemma and Conundrum. Where is she? She's never gone off and lambed this early. Is she alright?

Worried, I sped down the road and into our driveway. As I pulled in, I spotted Enigma by herself, browsing for hay at the bottom of the feeder. (The picture to the right is of her and Dilemma the Ram, last April, soon after his birth.) I smiled with relief, parked the car, and went to work.

But I couldn't stop thinking about her. Here I am, with just ten sheep, and I get all worried when one isn't accounted for --- and so relieved when I've found her. How much more concerned must God be, when we don't show up or do the things he'd been expecting us to do? How much more relieved must he be, when we return and do what he'd been hoping for us to do?

The longer we live here, the better I come to understand how deeply the agricultural parables in the Bible must have resonated with their original audience. In fact, they likely had a deep resonance for centuries. One wonderful thing about rural life is that a person has lots of opportunities to think and reflect --- even while doing and working at other things. St. Josemaria Escriva called this being "a contemplative in the middle of the street." I sure like having, for my street, a gravel road that connects Nowhere with Noplace.

But, that said, it is no less possible to be a contemplative in the middle of a bustling city. It's certainly tougher sometimes, but the "shepherd moments" can still be found all around. I sure hope you find one for yourself today, whatever street you may find yourself on.

Memento homo quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris

Remember man that you are dust, and unto dust you shall return.

With those words, we began the season of Lent this morning. Today, Ash Wednesday, is a day of fasting and abstaining from meat. Over the next forty days, we will try to increase our spirit of penance not only by giving up things that are bad for us (alcohol, candy), but also things that are good (for me, it's switching from whole bean coffee to the stuff that comes in a can). We also try to do more spiritual and corporal works of mercy, increase our almsgiving (a good use for the beer, candy, and coffee money saved), and, above all, take better care of our spiritual life and family relationships.

It's kind of strange, but I've grown to appreciate Lent a lot more since moving to the farm. Agriculture is all about following the cycles of nature and the seasons; there is a time for planting, a time for harvesting, a time for new life to be born or to hatch, a time for livestock to be butchered---and a time for everything to slow down, regroup, and take a long rest. The goats don't give milk all year. The chickens and ducks don't lay eggs all year. The grape vines go dormant. The vegetable garden goes barren and is covered with snow. All of these things happen so the animals and plants and soil can take a break from "growing on the outside" and rededicate themselves to "growing on the inside."

We humans are no different. We need a season where we step back, put aside some of the things we enjoy, and take some time to "grow on the inside." That's what we'll be doing, starting today, and starting by remembering that we are dust---no different from the dust outside in our vegetable garden, covered with snow. By putting aside the things that aren't so important, we'll hopefully get a better grasp on the things that are important---and in the process learn to rededicate ourselves all the better to those more important things.

For those who are interested in going deeper into a life of prayer this Lent, a book I've found to be extremely helpful is Volume II of In Conversation with God. There is a short chapter, divided into three sub-sections, for each day of Lent and Eastertide. The three sub-sections revolve around the day's central theme, usually drawn from that day's Mass readings. It is written with the lay person in mind, with a practical focus on how we can better live out the faith in the middle of the world. That's why I've found that the books in this series (and there are seven of them, covering the entire year) provide such excellent material for prayer: they're not written for eighteenth century cloistered nuns---they're written for us.

What many people do is spend five minutes slowly reading the first subsection, five minutes turning that material over in their heads, five minutes reading the next subsection, and so on for a half hour.

But there are no hard and fast rules. The important thing is, whatever you do this Lent, I hope you find something that helps you grow on the inside.

Home!

It's not just cats; I'm convinced that some dogs have nine lives, too. We have three dogs here on the farm: Tessa, the Great Pyrenees livestock guardian; Scooter, the Australian Shepherd/Border Collie puppy; and Tabasco, the Red Healer. Tessa and Scooter are content to hang out with the livestock; Tabasco's preference is clearly for human companionship. Her coming to join us seemed like Divine Providence: she showed up at the local animal shelter on the same day (September 12th of last year) our beloved Collie, Cassie, was struck and killed by a car. We let it be known that we were looking for a replacement, and a few days later got a call from the animal shelter that they might have a good match for us.

Tabasco and I hit it off in the foyer of the animal shelter. She was scrawny and half-starved, but there was something about her sad eyes, and her whole demeanor, that told me she was the companion dog our family had been looking for. I drove her home in my convertible, her perched on the passenger seat, and I knew we were buddies already.

Back at the farm, without any training, she immediately went to work herding the sheep and other animals. She also proved herself a remarkable "mouser". She had an real knack for sniffing out field mouse nests, digging them up, and then destroying the mice. Although she and Tessa had a few fights, she held her own and seemed to accept her position as "beta dog."

Soon, Tabasco was following me to my office each morning, and loyally curling up on my couch as I worked. When I'd get in the car or truck to go somewhere, she'd jump in and go along as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I grew to love her companionship.

And then, last November, I went to New York City for five days to work as an Election Analyst for CNN. Two days after I'd left, Tabasco disappeared. My wife and the kids were worried sick, and so was I. My wife began researching the Red Healer breed, hoping for some clue as to what Tabasco might have done. It turns out, Red Healers are fiercely loyal to a single family --- and often to a single individual within that family. There was no doubt as to who that person was in our family, and no doubt that she'd left to go look for me. As I walked the streets of New York, I imagined Tabasco coming around a corner with a "there you are, I finally found you!" look on her face.

Miraciously, on election day, Tabasco turned up at a farm a few miles away. My wife and kids retrieved her, and locked her up until I returned. We were all overjoyed. Lesson learned, we put her in a kennel when we went out of town for Christmas.

And then, this morning, without warning, she went AWOL again. At 7:50, I'd driven into town. Both she and Tessa had chased me down the driveway and into the street, but broke off after 50 feet or so. When I returned at 8:45, Tessa greeted me --- but there was no sign of Tabasco. I drove to the neighbor's farm, but she wasn't there. I drove up and down our road, to no avail. All day, I whistled and called for her. I drove all over the country, whistling and calling. No Tabasco. My heart sank. Where could she have possibly gone? Why hadn't I let her ride to town with me?

This evening, as we started saying the Rosary as a family, each of the kids offered a single intention: For Tabasco. Usually, each of them has a slew of intentions; that each of them was thinking only of the dog was almost enough to make me choke up. My wife, for her part, promised St. Anthony that if he could find Tabasco, she'd have nine Masses said in his honor. That's how much this dog had come to mean to all of us. Seeing the kids' pure and simple faith, I wondered how God could not come through for them.

Before dinner, I got out a high powered flashlight and walked a great distance up and down the hedgerow behind our property, calling and hollering. I feared perhaps she'd gotten tangled up in the underbrush, and hadn't been able to free herself. No response. I called and whistled and whistled and called, but at last went into the house. We sat down to dinner, but no one felt much like eating.

And then, after dinner, our oldest son started shouting from upstairs: He saw her through a window! I didn't believe it, but ran to the back door and threw it open. And, sure enough, there she was.

The family all made a huge fuss over her. We fed her two cans of tuna, and all the goat milk she wanted. "Don't let her out of your sight!" my wife said. Once the excitement subsided, and Tabasco had curled up on the kitchen floor, we all gathered in a semicircle and recited the "Te Deum," a traditional prayer of thanksgiving.

One of the kids asked if we could simply keep Tabasco in the house all the time from now on. No, my wife and I reminded them, every animal around here has a job to do. We don't have any animals that are purely pets, and Tabasco is no exception. She digs up mouse and rat nests, she helps herd the sheep, and she barks at predators. We'll keep a closer eye on her in the future, but she can't be a full time house dog.



This incident was a good lesson in detachment. Farm life has been very healthy for our kids, because it's taught them the distinction between animals and people. We need to take care of our animals, and our animals can be good companions, but at the end of the day we must remember that they are not people and shouldn't be confused with human beings. Until she disappeared, I'm not sure we realized just how attached we'd grown to her. Going forward, we'll have to work all the harder to keep all our animals in the proper perspective.