Archive for December, 2015

The Ball Drop Has Nothing On Me

I’ve been to Times Square. My kids and I climbed out of the subway as a wave of people threatened to carry my children down Broadway.

“Quick, grab my hand!” I managed to shout to them. My 8-year-old, Micah had a confused look on his face, while my 12-year-old gazed up at a sky-scraper-sized picture of a Victoria Secret model plastered above her head.

“Sarah, pay attention and follow me!”

Our visit lasted two days.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved it, but I wouldn’t want to live there.

Especially at New Year’s. The thought of thousands of people crowded around, invading my space, waiting  for an enormous ball to drop is frightening to me. I can’t even handle Disney on a crowded day, much less Times Square at midnight.

You couldn’t pay me enough.

Besides, I’ve discovered something better.

The first time I experienced it, I couldn’t help smiling. I stood on fresh mulch inside a metal quantum hut, gazing into a white 5 gallon bucket. Feathers faced me as I leaned against the wall. Then it happened.

The Egg Dropped.

It was a golden brown, covered with a wet substance which immediately dried. The hen shook her bottom, turned around, and promptly exited the coop to look for bugs.


Here are 5 reason I prefer the Egg Drop to the Ball Drop any day of the week.

1. You don’t have to stay up until midnight. In fact, chances are minimal that any Egg Drop would occur at that time. First, you wouldn’t be able to see it and second, chickens–or the ladies as we call them–sleep at night and wake up at dawn. I prefer that time schedule for my past-menopausal-life. Plus, Molly, my Great Pyrenees Livestock Guardian Dog, (LGD) does not take kindly to anyone or anything in the coop after dark. (And she has very big teeth.)

2. No parking problems. We tried parking when we visited the Big Apple. My friend drove around for hours until finally we found a space about the size of a glove compartment several blocks away from our destination. My capable friend parallel parked us faster than you could say Kelly and Michael. Good thing I wasn’t driving since I now live in Mayberry where people think it unnecessary to use their turn signals and no one gets upset when you sit at the light ’cause you’re changing your country western station and didn’t see it turn green.

For the Egg Drop you don’t even need a car. You can walk directly to the coop through the pasture and stand for a few minutes or even bring a lawn chair. Of course, besides mulch, there is a variety of organic matter on the floor, so don’t bring your favorite beach chair.

3. The third reason to forego the Ball Drop for the Egg Drop is to avoid the crowds. Sure, a Golden Comet “lady” might perch on your lawn chair bringing with her more organic matter and Molly the wonder dog might even lay her huge white head on your lap and stare up at you with her soulful eyes. It’s much more relaxing than a drunk singing a song in your ear to the tune of b-flat, whiskey.

4. Another reason to attend the Egg Drop is it’s free! Sure, they don’t actually charge to watch the Ball Drop, but if you want to have a Coke or adult alcoholic beverage, you’d probably have to take out a second mortgage on your own coop. Taking a cab would be a fortune, and who knows whether the Uber could get through the traffic.

5. Last and most important reason to skip the Ball Drop and attend the Egg Drop, is you can eat the egg. I’d like to see you do that with the Ball. Although I heard that the man who sings to the tune in b-flat, whiskey has tried.

Seriously, come to Peeled Poplar Farm next year and you too can experience the Egg Drop for yourself.

You can have it hard boiled, or over easy.

How I Met My Mother

Mom and Silas























I surprised my parents with my birth when Mom was pushing forty. They thought the child-rearing role was behind them with my two older sisters. The Almighty had other plans.

My memories of Mom are vague until I reached almost school-age. Even then, the pictures in my brain are foggy and mysterious. Always a sturdy woman, she towered over me. Her stomping walk resembled that of a duck–feet turned out, head erect, eyes forward–she moved so quickly my two little legs could never keep up.

No one is stronger than my mom, I thought.

I moved through the terrible teens, and managed through my twenties. After my first child was born, my parents retired from serving as officers in The Salvation Army and moved about four miles up the street from our family.

Fast forward a few years and our roles began to change. I accompanied them to doctor visits as their health declined. I checked on them and made a few of their weekly meals.

Fourteen years ago, they moved in with our family of four and it felt right.

But it was hard.

My uniquely passionate father died six years later after two leg amputations. My mother stood by him through it all–his rock–although she wasn’t as sturdy as she’d been. Her shoulders slumped, her hands didn’t work, and she walked with a cane.

It’s like I met her for the first time. Although she appeared strong, she wasn’t. She simply did what needed to be done. Caring for my dad–a full-time job–her family, and her congregation from the Salvation Army where my parents served.

Now I’m caring for her.

She’s ninety-five years old and probably doesn’t have much time to live. Through these fourteen years of caregiving, I’ve experienced a range of emotions from anger to resentment to deep sadness, even despair. But recently, when I look at my mama’s creased face, I’m filled with love and compassion and mercy.

It’s a God thing.

In fact, the similarities between how I feel about my new grandson and my mother are astounding.

The time with Silas as a baby is quickly slipping away. The time left with Mom will be over soon. Both are precious.

Both are completely dependent on someone to care for them and protect them. They each have personality traits to be discovered and encouraged.

I know I’m a writer, but I couldn’t possibly put on paper the emotions I experience with them on a daily basis.

Each evening I’m with Silas I sing a special made-up song and watch him smile and try to sing along.

Every night, I slip into Mom’s room, hold her hand and sing, All night, all day, angels watching’ over me, my Lord. All night, all day, angels watching over us. Then I pray.

She used to sing with me each night, but lately she will sing a word or two or not at all, but I know she hears.

What am I trying to say?

Solomon said it best in Ecclesiastes 3:1-2, “For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die.”

And both should be experienced and treasured to their fullest.

Happy New Year! I pray that your lives will be lived in the light of the joy of eternity.