December Morning Dawn

The lavender sky spreads and stretches over rolling pastures and forests of trees.

Along the railroad tracks the mist lightly rolls as dawn awakes

Golden sun rises and the air is ever cool in the December morning breeze

Deer move along the tracks with motions swift on crisp winter grass.

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Here at cozy home the dawn wakes me without clock as the lavender clouds drift by

Outside my window a new day begins of promise and light

No window coverings block my view of the large trees and the colored western sky

I mutter silent prayers of gratitude and breathe deeply.

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‘Tis too easy to get caught up in past affairs and travesties, harsh pain and mire

‘Tis too easy to become obsessed with what one still desires

But in this moment, my Dear ones out there, be the heart and smile that you would admire

Let not any negative word or thought escape to the world.

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Focus, Dears, on what is real and light and bright and sweet, upon blessings, and present here

See beauty in all things big and small, from children to birdsong,

Speak in tomes of love and forgiveness and inspire those that are near, for joy they hear

For your spirit’s light this Yule tide season can be very bright.

 

The Autumn Golden Light

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The light filters golden beneath the woolen sky

Illuminating Autumn’s radiance through leaves of brilliance

Maddening shorter days and nights

I know winter is yet to come

Still, that filtered golden light glows

and magnifies the beauty of Fall

and I am hopelessly in love with it all

As the trees loosen their cloaks of crimson and gold

walking in fallen leaves enchants and delights

and fairies dancing in the golden light.20171103_092253

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It’s Halloween!

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I walked to the mailbox and found inside a letter.  It was from my dear friend, Pat, who sent us a Halloween greeting.  I love her poems and wanted to share it with you!

It’s Halloween

It’s Halloween!  It’s Halloween!

The moon is full and bright

and we shall see what can’t be seen

on any other night.

 

Skeletons and ghosts and ghouls

Grinning goblins fighting duels

Werewolves rising from their tombs

Witches on their magic brooms.

 

In masks and gowns

We haunt the streets

and knock on doors

for trick or treats.

 

Tonight we are

the King and Queen

for oh tonight

It’s Halloween!

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The Milk Maid
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Third Eye Blind

Tonight we will light a fire in the wood stove and add a few chairs for wandering souls.  Make a warm meal and pour a pumpkin beer.  We will fill a bowl with chocolates for the neighborhood ghouls.  And enjoy Halloween in our new home.

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Shimmer the Genie

Wishing you all a fun filled Halloween, a sweet Samhain, and a happy New Year.

Whispers of Autumn

 

fallEven without a calendar

without a clock on the wall

I would know it’s Autumn

I can feel that it is Fall.

 

Perhaps the filter of the light

smoky golden rosy glow

I hear geese coming back

the birds surely know.

 

Slight coolness in its changing breath

such odd stillness in the air

Blue watercolor sky

Tree and moss finery fair.

 

And rich, bold oil painting colors

sweep the landscape with a brush

Wood smoke scents crystal nights

Oh, white winter do not rush.

 

Yes, I would know that it were Fall

sans note or clock or mirror

Lulling whispers in air

say autumn has settled here.

A New Year

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I feel the earth beneath my feet

breathing

Breathing through cracks in the pavement

breaking the asphalt like a too tight corset

pulsating life

A breathing mother

I stand upon her breast amongst the prairie grasses

and through her gentle rise and fall

I breathe in a new year full of promise and life.

Blessings to you all for a bright, beautiful 2017. Happy New Year.

 

After the Rain

 

free-after-rain-wallpaper-1An early summer rain fell in nourishing streams all night.

Sweet smelling morning, the sunshine struggles to come on bright.

Listless sleeping clouds shift and moan in their heavy weight.

They’ll be moving out at their slow encompassing rate.

Birds are already singing their tunes of glory be,

as they flit around and praise summer from tree to tree.

Garden crops will come alive with water in their little feet,

and flowers tumble forward greeting each bumble bee they meet.

A hummingbird comes to my window buzzing in the air.

I do believe this summertime will be so ever fair.

(It has been a year since we learned that a rented farm would again be the end of our plans.  This time we would lose almost everything and would embark on quite a journey.  We made it through one of the hardest times in our lives and came out still together and happy, dreaming of our own farm this time, and embracing a summer of new memories.  Happy Summer, y’all, thanks for supporting us this last year and for following along!-Katie)

The Great Novelist

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My first attempts at writing fiction were as a pre-teen, huddled in my room with a spiral notebook and pen, scribbling away.  Two chapters of strained dialogue and always two girls in southern belle dresses and absolutely no plot, I would grow bored and go outside to play.

Freshmen year in high school I was writing a book about a girl who finds a baby.  The baby’s name is Emily (all my characters were named Emily) and the mother was of course in a southern belle gown and the first two chapters were only dialogue of some sort and my dear teacher said, “Why don’t you write about something you know.”  Something clicked and for twenty eight years hence that is what I write.  And write it well, I believe.  But in my heart I wish I could write a stunning, beautifully choreographed novel.

I am not entirely sure that I could write fiction.  A novel seems preposterous in the creation of worlds and dialogue and characters.  For just in life, I am chained to the truth.  The characters would end up being exact replicas of those in my real life and so at the beginning of said novel I would have to say “all characters are the imagination of the author and any resemblance is purely coincidental (sorry mom)” and the whole plot would read strangely like my blog, and somehow everyone would be wearing southern belle gowns.  I do believe I may be a firm non-fiction writer.  Fabulous, but oh I do wish I could dream up a scape of world complete with whimsy and easy dialogue and characters to remember.  I shall wait patiently for the idea to land upon me.  In the meantime I am dreaming up my next non-fiction farm book…complete with everyone wearing aprons.

The Writer

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I know how the memoir will read, it will be filled with humorous stories that make the reader laugh out loud, and ones that make the reader’s breath catch and tears well, and ones that make the reader cheer, and want to visit our new farm.  It cannot be written yet.  Next year with full intention and intense motivation we will purchase our forever farm.  It will likely be in town, in the small town we have lived in and loved and have our shop in.  Then the circle for this writer will be complete.  I will use my favorite writing techniques, foreshadowing, flashback, and will provide the reader through plenty of laughs and can’t set the book down moments, a true vision of farming and homesteading and will be an entertaining text book of novel-like prose, from our first farm to our present.

Elizabeth Gilbert, one of my favorite authors, wrote that she is a writer and she must write or she will die.  I nearly jumped off the couch upon reading it, “YES!”  That is how I feel.  In my darkest moments I considered never writing again, quitting this blog, living a private life, but no, I am a writer.

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There is no privacy here, folks.  One on one I speak openly and embracingly.  More than two people and I am introverted and Doug does all the talking.  But on paper and with keys I am an outgoing and open friend, farmer, homesteader, mother, lover, grandmother, ex-model, future farmsteader, chef, hard worker, plant healer, coffee loving teacher of all things I know.

Writing, the very thing I threatened to quit, is the very thing that got me through.  I write so that I will not die.

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I encourage you, my dear readers, that if you even love to write a little bit, start a blog.  It will increase your life and how you live it.  WordPress has free blogsites.  I can’t wait to read what you write.

National Poetry Month (poetry contest and win one of my books!)

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April is National Poetry Month.  I have always been pulled in by rhyming sounds, expressions in A-B-A-B form, and with eloquent words.  How a Maya Angelo poem can break your heart or a Robert Frost can transport you to another time.  Into Emily Dickinson’s world and nod knowingly at one of Mary Oliver’s beautiful notes.  The prose, the cadence, the way that poetry takes on emotion and vivid imagery in just a few lines or in a drawn out sonnet.  I love that it doesn’t have to rhyme.  It can be a sentence.  It is a piece of one’s heart transferred to paper in a whim of bravery.

ink well

I am holding a poetry contest.  No pressure, as of course like art, poetry creates itself and there is absolutely no right or wrong way to write poetry.  Just write a sentence, or a rhyme, or a sonnet.  Respond here, or on facebook (facebook.com/pumpkinhollowfarm) or by email (katie@pumpkinhollowfarm.net).  Homeschooling mamas, have your children enter, you enter, if you have never written poetry, enter, let the expression free!  I am offering a free book of your choice that I have written to the winner.  The winner is the one that stirs my soul.  Open March 31st-April 15th.

Here are two of mine I would like to share…

The first one is a tale of many young women.  I am friends with a great many amazing young people and sometimes their struggles can overtake.

starry night

A child in the dark lets out a shrill cry

she is lost within her spirit

but she doesn’t know why.

Growing up too fast

lovers that don’t last

        a piece of her gone

ending life’s song.

Now as she connects with herself

    with her Source

and lays in a hospital bed

through this course

and as she gathers strength

and refills her lamp for light

perhaps she will see the dawn

through the starry night.

And a more happy one…

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Maryjane, the beautiful child that came to be.

I knew her immediate and she had a piece of me.

Our hearts were connected and I love her more and more.

My life awakens as she walks through the door.

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Now, it’s your turn!

 

 

Snowfall

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Across shallows and brooks

the snow falls driftlessly down

laying thickly over pines and rooftops in town.

Winter softens into spring

but today her cold gaze

diligently waters the ground, a frozen blanket lays.

A perk for bulbs who will hobble forth

quench the thirst of trees and the new growth

the bitter cold will not wane

Oh, why couldn’t Mother Earth just send rain?