Tag Archives: spiritual journeys

Embracing Resilience: Life Lessons from Dandelions

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Welcome back to a little calmer week in the Mitton Household. Perhaps calmer, but no less busy. Unfortunately, the weather didn’t cooperate with all we wanted to accomplish this past weekend, but here we are nonetheless. It has certainly been a wet, dismal few days. And here we are back on a Tuesday post! Back on track (at least for now! lol) Last week, we decided to sit with a little theme on “The Humble Dandelion”. Consequently, we’ll jump right in with my thoughts: Dandelions are seemingly very resilient!

Despite the rainy weather, we did get a little break in the clouds on Sunday… just enough for me to plant a few pots of annuals in our otherwise full front garden. The hubby cut the grass. As I sauntered down the side steps of the porch, I was struck by two things: One, a huge dandelion with about 4 blooms growing out of the gravel of the paving stones, and two, how many dandelions were back after cutting the lawn! Resistant and resilient!

I’ve heard it said that grass lawns started as a sign of wealth. Pick a non useful, time consuming -to- grow crop, like grass, and flood your front lawn with it to prove yourself worthy to the neighbours. Who came up with that plan? We should have just let the wildflowers and weeds alone and filled our yards with colour… the yellow dandelions are there anyway! And they even grow in the poorest soil (in my case gravel!) of the side pathway. In abundance! I haven’t pulled it out yet… just because. Just because it’s showing me that yup, I am here and here with a vengeance!

And since we’re using A.I. why not generate an image…this is not my path… and dandelions have leaves too! 🙂

Let’s explore it a bit more, shall we? Admittedly, A.I. generated some interesting thoughts on the “resilience of dandelions”, so, although not my own thoughts, they accompanied my musings so well, I thought I’d share. We already talked about their persistence. Those little blooms can get mowed under and still pop back up, seemingly unharmed. They can withstand the harsh environments! Dandelions are certainly adaptable. Perfectly manicured lawns are dotted with them occasionally when the owners slip up, and open fields, rocks, hills and my gravel pathway see the spring returns of the weed. They’ll grow anywhere!

I suppose blooming in adversity and taking root in difficult places coincide – demonstrating their ability to adapt to harsh environments, they easily overcome adversity. Plus, dandelions seemingly have the ability to find solutions to said adversity, and bloom and grow even in challenging situations. Persistence. Perseverance. Adaptability. Do you see where I am going here? Of course you do. Obviously, we can take a little lesson from the God-given weeds. The humble yellow flower.

Take chances. Make mistakes and get mowed under, but rise to the challenge and pop up again, unfazed. Our environments should not dictate how we bloom for Jesus. The rocky soil may be tough, but we can do it. Do you work or play in a “ungodly” place? Do you hear the words and struggle to remain holy in an unholy environment? If God can give the little dandelion a place to bloom and flourish every spring, then He certainly has plans for you to “bloom where you are planted”!

Photo by photokip.com on Pexels.com

It’s a simple concept. Perhaps even a Sunday School lesson, not one fit for an internet blog post, but if A.I. can pump it out, then I suppose it is worth thinking about at least! So, go ahead. Pluck that weed out of your pathway, but pause and think about how it survived there in the first place. God helped that little seed float on its way. Perhaps blown in the wind by some little puff from a toddler delighting in the parade of white seed parachuted away by a huff! Then it floated and settled not where it was comfortable or easy, but where it was rocky and harsh. Yet, it survived and thrived! Now go out and do the same, my friend, do the same!

Understanding Chicken Integration: A Beginner’s Guide (or Not)

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It’s been a couple of years since we moved out to Itsnotta Farm from the big city. We haven’t done much except maintain the property to the best of our ability… and add a few creatures. We’ve learned a lot. A lot. Mostly through trial and error. You tube has helped. A few folks have helped as well. Still, I’m not sure we’ve totally adapted. The youngest has made a few more friends. She’s settled in, but still doesn’t want to go to school. Admittedly, I don’t think that has anything to do with the actual school and its people. More than likely, that’s because of the early pick up time of the school bus. We’re still commuting back to visit and “be entertained” with stuff with a greater population. We love the porch and the pool, but the hubby just can’t bring himself to spend holidays here. A stay-cation with building projects would never suffice. Oh, he’s got a riding tractor and work pants now (which he looks super cute in!) but he still needs an “out”. That’s okay, I guess.

My newest batch of chick birds are now a week and a half old. To me, they have grown faster than my last flock, and seem much more mature. Or is it that I am more relaxed? Like a second time mom, I worry less and have let them tough it out alone more. I am trying to “imprint” with them… treats and time. This group is shy though. Or maybe I am expecting too much? Newborns (newly hatched?) don’t really have a routine at a week and a half. Your barely surviving at that stage. Huh. Perhaps I am asking to much for them to be bonded already.

A week and a Half…. and still learning!

Bonded or not, the chicks will soon have to meet the other ladies. And then start the great “integration process”. I’m reading up on it. Chickens are harsh. They’ll pick on the little ones if they seem to be a threat. Heck, they still pick on each other! I’m afraid it’s going to be a challenge. One more thing to learn out here in the brutal countryside. LOL.

And so my muse of the week: How does true integration work? Time? A useless goal? Not worth the effort? Does it take generations for it to really work, or do we just learn to fake it enough to tolerate each other? Integration is defined as:

“the action or process of successfully joining or mixing with a different group of people”

I suppose inanimate objects can be successfully joined for a purpose, like co-ordinating a fabulous outfit properly, but I suspect we are talking about people here and not a string of pearls. I’d venture a guess people are even harder than chickens, too. And so here we are. Learning to integrate. Perhaps many of you have had way more experience in this practice than I have. Moving to a rural neighbourhood is not like moving countries, or learning new languages, foods, cultures or the like. Or sure, there are similarities. Country folk have their own “culture” and style. Co-op feed stores are a great place to see this. Aisles of feed and bags of fertilizer and crop stuff… let alone the horse stuff. It’s a whole new world and lingo. And frankly, it scares me. But, I’m learning. I know what I know now and can ask for that.

Photo by Thirdman on Pexels.com: It’s a fine science this “integration”!

Perhaps one of the biggest hurdles in “integration” is at church. And that’s sad, really. Church should be the one place where everyone feels welcome. Have you ever been to a service where you didn’t know when to stand, sit, speak, cry, laugh or eat? Why do we make up rules? Who makes the rules? I get it. There is a “culture”. You learn the lingo, you hang with like minded folks, you gravitate to people who think and act the same way as you. Our new church is big. Two services big. We’re finding it hard to connect. Our old, little church was like family. This is like going to an extended reunion. They are still family, but distant cousins, not brothers and sisters yet.

Furthermore, there is that part of the integrating definition that says “successfully joining” together. When does that happen? How do you know? Will it just “hit” someday that yup, we’ve made it? We have infiltrated the “enemy lines” and have become one of them. Then, like any good spy, you fall in love and compromise any mission of take down. You become part of the flock.

Like all good muses here on mittonmusings, very little gets solved. It’s just a thing I’ve been thinking about. There’s no 12 step program to being a part of a new community, a new job, a new church, a new school, or a new flock. It takes time, some squabbles, some apologies and some trying again. Do you think Jesus’ band of misfits were a well-oiled machine? Unlikely. He did say to try to get along with everyone (Romans 12) as much as you are able. And to leave all the judging to Him. That’s not part of the job! It won’t happen at a week and a half. It might not happen in a year. Or more. A pecking order will have to get sorted out, but soon everyone will be roosting together like birds of a feather. At least that’s the goal.

Sounds of a Silent Saturday

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Welcome back, my friends. Apologies for skipping out last week… just wasn’t there. It was Easter and I was certainly musing, but I didn’t get a chance to sit down at the computer to write about it. So it’s going to overflow into this week. It’s my blog, I’m allowed. It’s been an eventful week this week too … two words: baby chicks! Therefore, I am a little late in posting. But: it’s my blog, I’m allowed.

Okay. Here we go. I want to invite you in to the middle of the night at my old farmhouse. I have very few neighbours. It’s not the big city. We have one streetlight, so that permeates the absolute darkness of, let’s say, three o’clock in the morning. I’m lying in bed awake, as some women of my age do, listening. The chubby dog takes up half the space I have allocated myself and I pull the remaining covers up over my shoulders. It’s chilly, but that’s okay. The dog snorts. I hear myself and the hubby breathing. My eyes are closed and block out the streetlight. I listen again.

Photo by Kseniya Budko on Pexels.com

During the day, our old farmhouse creeks and we hear the wind outside. Our neighbouring cows are loud most of the time. The occasional car, truck or farm vehicle zoom past our front yard and kick up the dust – the dog barks at the slower traffic. Up until recently, Morris our rooster could be heard. (It’s a myth that roosters only crow in the mornings. That crazy bird yelled all the time at us!) However, I’m sad to report he’s been missing now for a few weeks. I’d like to think he was heroic and was “taken” fighting the whole time to protect his ladies. Even our buddy down the road commented he hadn’t heard him lately and kinda misses him. Enough about that sad event. Moving on.

Back to three o’clock in the morning and the snoring dog. Imagine you hear a gurgling like a giant belch emanating from some underwater jelly-bellied monster. That monster happens to be the sump pump located in the basement, directly underneath our master bedroom. It belches several times throughout the day and night. Earlier in the spring it followed a constant sound of rushing water as the spring melt emptied and got flushed back out by the sump pump. I’ve learned to appreciate the sound of the it, because it means my basement isn’t flooding. Like the sound of generators running constantly during our ice storm a few weeks ago. Thankfully, those have stopped now, and we are back to a general quiet.

Listen again. Hushed breathing. The cat jumps down from something upstairs with a soft thud. My new baby chick birds finally rustle. I listen to hear them as I’ve only had them a few days (yeah!) and I’m still at the new momma “please don’t die” stage. Somebody peeps very softly, and I say a prayer of thanks for signs of life in the middle of the night. They settle back down in their living room home with the soft red light of the heat lamp. Silence again. Gurgle belch. Hushed breathing. The furnace clicks on briefly, with a rush of pilot light flame. Otherwise it is pretty quiet here.

I’m a week behind in this muse, but I’ve been thinking about it since a comment I heard Easter weekend. You’ve heard of “good Friday”. You may have heard of “celebration Sunday” or “Easter Sunday” or even “resurrection day”, but this year, for the first time ever, I heard someone use the term “silent Saturday”. The day between Jesus’ death on “good Friday” and rising again on the third day… the day when all was absolutely silent. Apparently, I am late to the party on this concept, for google has lots to say about silent Saturday. Not so silent on the internet. Well fine. It was a new thought for me. And so, I share it with you!

One imagines Jesus, stone cold in a dark tomb. Obviously, corpses don’t say much. God the father did a lot of “talking” on Friday, but no signs and wonders happen to be recorded on the day in between. Jesus’ followers have probably gathered, but may be hiding out, keeping a low profile. It seems like it really was a “silent Saturday”. And it seems, with some reflection on my part, and the internet sparking my thoughts, a day of quiet reflection should totally be a part of the Easter story! Life is difficult. There will be hard days. Yet, life is also beautiful, and there will be many a day filled with joy and celebration. And we often need a few silent Saturdays, to balance it all out. To question why God seems to have abandoned us. Why He seems like He is not answering our prayers. Then to reflect on His faithfulness, and draw strength for the next step. Like me listening for signs of life at three in the morning, thankful that things are still “okay so far”.

So, thanks to that friend that happened to mention this phrase to me last week… it ignited a muse that’s spanned a week! Was it news to you? Even if it wasn’t and you knew this lingo way before me, I hope it’s been a good reminder to you, to appreciate a bit of silence. May you take the opportunity to hear the gurgle belch of a good sump pump and appreciate all you have. Be blessed, beloveds.