Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,
         Or to victory!

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour;
See approach proud Edward's power--
         Chains and slavery!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave!
Wha sae base as be a slave?
         Let him turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or freeman fa',
         Let him follow me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
         But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!--
         Let us do or die!

Scots Wha Hae by Robert Burns

At the beginning of February, we held our Scottish themed highland games First Sunday gathering in honor of Robert Burns, the renowned and romantic poet whose verse still rings out in poem and song over the ages and sings of an earlier time rife with passion, fierce loyalty, and an abiding sense of the homeland. We borrow from poets like Burns since they speak to the heart and echo many of the fundamental facets of human experience spanning the ages, and in inspiring and enkindling turns of phrase. Scottish national heroes like William Wallace, Robert the Bruce, and Bonnie Prince Charlie come to life and remind us of the natural yearning to follow a brave leader against a common foe, courageous in the face of death. May we embrace our faith and be willing to follow the Lord with like fervor! With a good number of family and friends, we cheer the men and boys while they compete in rousing feats of physical prowess, sing songs of Caledonia, love, loss, war, faith, and friendship, eat a sampling of Scottish fare like shephard's pie, rumbledethumps, and cock-a-leekie soup, and pray together that the King of Kings and His Holy Mother will shower us with roses - to wit, will grant us the graces necessary to claim the true victory, working for His glory and entering at the end of our race the glory of salvation in heaven.

As in years past we held a caber toss and rock throwing competition, with an archery tie-breaker as needed. Notably, in each weight category past winners rose again to take their prizes or to pass the laurel wreath to new victors. Mr. Verlander flipped a caber for the first time in competition, which he took as a first prize in itself! The weather was perfect, and the mood was cheerful - with weeks-old-bouncing-baby-goats delighting the guests in the moments between the rosary, feasting, games, and songs. The bonfire took the chill off once the sun began to set, and it was a joy to hear the music of instruments and lusty voices belting out songs like Bonnie Dundee or rendering with a melancholic touch Will Ye Go, Lassie. Those with any claim shared family history, names, and tartans. We touted our recently discovered Johnstone clan's motto, Numquam Non Paratus, or "never not prepared," which we laughingly admitted we are growing into. 

It is a humble but thoroughly enjoyable affair, and leaves us happy as kings (as they say) by day's end. We are privileged to welcome good-willed families to our home each month to pray and feast and play together, not least through music which endures long in the memory and shapes the days and imaginations of our children's lives. Deo gratias for the simple life, and may we be granted many more years together pursuing a life worth living!

​Make a Roof For It (Gen. 6:16)

In September our family had experienced water damage to the roof of the house when Hurricane Helene came up from Florida through the Southeast. Ours was an unusual case - our area in Georgia was not hit hard compared to other regions by far - however for us personally the storm, especially due to the heavy rains that had preceded the hurricane, brought extensive damage. 

We spent months searching out roof repair options, with a variety of contractors and roofers doing inspections and giving us estimates. We considered a variety of materials and methods and timelines. We even had a veritable Irish thatcher come for a visit! In the end, on the advice of a friend and with the great help of friends and family, we sketched out a scheme to replace the roof ourselves at Christmas. It proved good for our souls to wait (though it was hard), praying through every threatened rainfall while we protected the majority of the house with tarps. And it proved even better to take on the project ourselves instead of hiring every aspect out - though at first we thought it was crazy - as it became a sort of Amish barn raising experience that we will never forget. It is no small thing that our children will always remember how folks came out to help us put a new roof on the house, and at Christmastime! It was cold but thankfully the weather was mostly clear, even given the couple mornings of frost delay. Full days of deconstructing and constructing, hauling tools and materials up and down the ladders, and hammering, hammering, hammering - broken by the lunch bell and hot cocoa and Christmas cookie breaks in the afternoon (the girls got really proficient at making our jam-tots and gingerbreads!). The men and boys worked up above while the women and children prepped food and played and kept each other company below. It was wonderful, and the cedar-shake roof is beautiful, and we finished the main work just before an unusual-for-us January snow; we will forever be grateful!

Over the Christmas break, too, we abundantly enjoyed the homecoming and long stay of our oldest daughter and son, home from college and boarding school for the break. Not only did the roof project fill our days, but there was a hog butchering, woodshop apprentice work refinishing our home chapel altar, future Hobbit-hole root cellar work, and mulch and firewood deliveries to occupy our time. We made Christmas gifts for each other - little hand-sown felt mice, hand-drawings and painted woodcrafts, woodburned art and cross-stitched tokens. We shopped at the local antique shops for additional personal knickknacks and baubles to gift each other. The children sang and served for Midnight Mass, and the family sang carols at the church Christmas party. On Christmas Day we went over the river and through the woods - really over the interstate and through the city - to grandmother's house to celebrate; and on the way home we stopped in our old neighborhood and went door to door, caroling for some old neighbors - picking up a tradition we used to keep when we lived in town. We had our First Sunday Christmas party, bearing the cold outdoors to sing carols until we all moved in to the warmth of the fire in the hearth, cozy in feasting and conversation and filling the house with music and song long into the night. To top everything off, our goats kidded again this winter, right in the middle of a very cold front but, to our oldest daughter's delight, one of them in the early morning just minutes before she had to leave to catch a flight back to Kansas. We now have three little two week old goats bounding around - with one special one we have to bottle feed and who sleeps in a crate in the house for now - and so life is especially full in that creature-oriented way once again.

When we asked for volunteers to help us build our roof we drew from the story of the Ark, for God instructs Noah in every detail how to build the structure meant to save him and his family from the deluge through which God will exact justice for the iniquity of mankind. God gives Noah specific instructions on materials, dimensions, passengers (man and animal) and every aspect of the Ark, even down to the roof: Make a roof for it, He says. We do not claim Noah's righteousness but we do claim a right to put our faith foremost and do all with hearts seeking God's will. Our home is in the humblest way our little Ark - where we gather our loved ones, put our hands to as fitting work as we can, prayerfully begging the Lord's blessings especially through the intercession of His Mother, Holy Mary. It houses our joys, our sorrows, our successes and failures, our strife and jubilation as creatures. We picked a roof that would be worthwhile in material and construction and experience - a good and beautiful thing, even if not perfectly efficient or longest lasting (we heard much advice on better, more modern techniques). With God's blessing, it will do the job and then some; already the roof is beloved for our hand in the work and memorable for the experience and we hope God is pleased with the way that we live!

Drawing of Castle Vyvyan by Wilbur Hunt (Linda's grandfather)
​
Our family had a very full and wonderful summer together, for which we are endlessly grateful. It was a time of music, laughter, simple joys, and the good company of family and friends - the most cherished moments being those of watching the children, those magically happy siblings, spending good quality time together. One of many highlights was our foray into the small world of our local farmer's market, where not only did we enjoy the charming and homegrown offerings from vendors hailing from not very far away but in fact from very nearby - but we also set up our very own Fatima Farm table, selling once or twice a week vegetables from our summer garden and proffering our woodburned art which, to our great surprise, drew a modest amount of customers - some of whom became sort of "regulars." It was inspiring to meet and learn from some folks who have been selling what they grow for decades now, and it was inspiring to meet and share with others who are budding homesteaders just like us. Our profits are counted in experience and blessings, and so, again, we are grateful.

At summer's end, for all seasons come to an end, we had a magnificent adventure making a family pilgrimage of sorts out of our trip to take our oldest two back to college and school for the Fall. The van was packed full with things and people to be certain; there was not an inch to spare - but still it was a continuation of our time of music, laughter, simple joys and good company. Like the car trips of my childhood, we enjoyed the sights that the various states and cities and roadside vistas had to offer - many details of which are more or less recorded in our family travel notebook which has been filled with notes and sketches from our family trips since the children were very little. Destinations, routes, side-treks and snafus, funny quotes and signs and pitstops, prayers said and music listened to along the way, interesting sights, little drawings of farmland, rivers, mountains, bridges, churches, houses, animals and city skylines - a variety of these things are put down into what has become a family mainstay and much enjoyed memory book. Once we saw a camel in the Ozarks, no kidding! 

If you flip through the book you'll see, to our children's great delight, visits to my grandfather's castle in Indiana. The first time I ever visited there as a child my family drove from South Texas all the wee hours of the night through and arrived just before dawn. It was we three little girls and our older brother and Mom & Dad, very likely in the little Ford Fiesta (how it made the trip only the angels know). I doubt any child would ever forget peering out of the car windows as we approached "The Castle" - that mysterious and much-anticipated destination point after forever hours of traveling and years of imagined wonders - peering through the dark silhouettes of foreign trees that rose suddenly in the flat Indiana farmland upon a hilly and wooded winding road - with a funny feeling in one's tummy, until suddenly Dad was turning onto a steep and crunching gravel drive that wound to the right up through the trees. And then the dark castle-shaped shadow loomed before us. We clambered out of the car and, after a moment's hesitation (since, as Mom pointed out, it was so very early), our parents let us ring the bell - not a doorbell but a real bell on a rope hanging by the thick wooden door (with an intricately-faced knocker) tucked in a real stone castle. Our grandpa was not very long in opening the heavy door, which creaked and groaned a little as it should, and immediately after greeting us all and leading us in - it was all stony and dark and cool and tiered and labynthine and not like any other place we had ever seen - and we had never met my grandpa or step-grandmother before - they ushered us in and commenced to make us homemade blueberry pancakes, the smell and taste of which is a practically indelible mark upon my memory.

While our children never had the pleasure of meeting their great-grandfather, the creative genius behind this unusual hermitage hidden in the woods somewhere out there outside of small-town Indiana, they surely have a claim on a similar wonderful experience of childhood. They have raced through the stony halls, ventured into the dark dungeon, scaled up the narrow stone stairs to the tower, feasted their eyes and imaginations upon the array of weaponry, tapestries, stone and wood features, and filled their hearts with the story-book ambiance the place affords especially to a young soul. One of my older brothers and his wife took the place over from Grandpa when the time came and raised their children there (now grown) and have added rooms and a carriage house (in the spirit of Grandpa, designing all themselves and building personally by hand). A family cemetery was also begun there when my Dad died, and so he and Mom now are laid to rest on site, making the place ring all the more with memory and significance.

As September turns to October, we cherish the memories and look forward to making more, missing our oldest children who are away, anticipating their return, and dreaming of future fairytale adventures that may come. May we always maintain a natural piety, and love the good life, and desire to make wonderful things that last!

During this month of the Holy Rosary, our family has devoted much attention to our pious practices, making effort in little ways to please Our Lady - to whom we owe so much. Too many graces and goods have come into our lives we are certain by the favor of Jesus's mother, who cares for those who love her Son and who never fails when you petition her with a pure intention. It is a joy for us, now, to revisit the story of Fatima, reading it in chapters in the evenings and reliving the wonders of those incredible apparitions, learning anew the sacrificial hearts of the Fatima children, minding again the messages of dire warning and the beautiful promise of peace. Far away at school, our older children had opportunities to go on walking pilgrimages - a wonderful traditional way to do penance and pray. Here we are grateful to have a quiet retreat in which to do our small part, away from the constant fray of the world.​

One little recent joy - unrelated as it may seem to pious practices - has been rereading all of the Peter Rabbit tales aloud to the children. It is a small but wonderful thing, quickening the imagination and keeping us in touch with reality. We read for the love of good old stories, and always reap many unforeseen fruits. Delving into the charming world of Peter Rabbit immediately lends character to our farm; some days we are sure we are watching our creatures' own dramatic stories unfold, thankful their stories are also ours! The chickens, roosters, goats, and dog all often make some sort of mischief or trouble, or suddenly have a streak of humble and quiet peace (these are the best times - though so are the moments of comedic relief amidst the bustle and hardship of chores or surprise messy jobs). The birds, squirrels, rabbits, and deer make their impression on our daily life as well, displaying in their simple ways a semblance of determination, courage, sorrow, joy, or mystery somehow.

We were sad to have to forego our last gathering (after already foregoing the one previous, due to travel) as we had experienced some water damage through the roof during the hurricane that brought tremendous rainfall up through many eastern states at the end of September. Granted, what we have to fix is infinitesimal compared to others in regions of vast devastation, and so we are keeping things in perspective, grateful things aren't worse, even while we are praying for clarity regarding the right path forward. We want this house to last for our progeny, after all, and these things take some thought and time!

In the meantime, we continue to do what we can to make do with and take care of what we have, focusing on faith and family and endeavoring to live the good life. And it isn't a difficult task, since we have more than we need in the grand scheme of things. Besides, it is a favorite time of year, when the weather is cooler, the trees are ablaze with brilliant hues, and the leaves crunch underfoot as you walk and gaze up into a clear blue sky! 

We have been grateful not to have to schedule "art" into our homeschooling as it has always been a natural part of everyday life. Especially from the children's maternal grandparents and great-grandparents, a wonderful innate gift for drawing and painting, and even a little clay and woodwork has manifested for most since the earliest ages, and from both sides of the family but most directly from their father the children have blossomed with a gift for music, both singing and playing instruments. Lately, we've discovered a new and enjoyable facet for the whole family: pyrography, the art of woodburning, and are happy to say the creative outlet has already taken hold as if a long-held pasttime (though admittedly we are budding pyrographers all!). ​

The draw and appeal is easy: we use wood as a canvas, pencil for sketching out a design, figure, or scene, and then carefully employ a pen-like hot iron to burn the image into the wood. Even the aroma of the artwork is alluring, since the woodsmoke is pleasant and old-timey and the finish is natural and delicious - so far walnut oil and beeswax. 

We had anticipated that everyone would enjoy this kind of creative work but were delighted to find the ease with which the boys particularly have taken to it. We are still working up a small stock to hopefully offer for sale, but so far we've accomplished gnomes, fairy-tale-, classic children's fiction-, fable-, and folklore-images, as well as native birds. We look forward to doing holy images, such as the Sacred Heart, the Immaculate Heart, and favorite saints. Each child (and their mother too) have discovered with practice which tip is their favorite to work with, and we're all getting better with script and shading. We believe and teach that art is not merely personal expression but an expression or reflection of God's truth, goodness, and beauty - and so our inspiration comes from the masters who came before us, and of course from the Master of all. 

Otherwise our summer days so far have been filled with endless tasks outdoors and in - clearing a line for a fence, burning brush and branches, hauling stones for a wall, tending to the garden and animals, preparing for Masses and feasts, prepping for our monthly gatherings, writing letters, enjoying friends and music and food, and all encompassed in the happy feeling that only comes of having all the children under one roof for these months. May our endeavors knit us ever more closely together in the ways that matter most, and may our summer, hot though it may be, last forever! 

During this time of the year, when spring has full sprung and summer is hinted at around every corner, we have been as busy as ever with both culminating projects and the beginning of new endeavors. Full of hope are we, ever forging our life in the sacraments and in heartfelt petitions, as we realize daily that our children are growing right up under us, and there is no rest for the weary, especially when the family is trying their best to live on a little farm! 

Recently, we have progressed from full-blown consternation in the adventure of learning to milk goats to moderate manageability in the process, which is something to be grateful for. That one can say she knows how to milk a goat is no small feat - at least not now in our book. The rich and creamy liquid gold we get in return for our efforts has made the hard work worthwhile! In the same matter of many weeks, we loosely watched one of the hens sitting and then hatching eggs - though, all Jemima Puddleduck, she decided she had accomplished her task after a mere two adorable chicks were born and abandoned the rest of the enormous clutch! The family scrambled to make a make-shift incubator and, after sorting them as best we could, fervently poured all our attention to those abandoned eggs with prayers to Our Lady of the Hens and honestly feeble hopes that any would come to fruition. But, as things often go in surprises around here, we ended up with one miraculous hatch and it was a wonder to witness. After a week of warming and tending to and turning those eggs, we were on the cusp of giving up, when we heard a peep from inside one of the shells! And the next day we watched the little creature emerge. For five days more we nurtured the dear little thing - the only new sibling to make it - and learned a whole world about what chickens are like when they are first hatched and in their first days of growing up. It came when we called, and snuggled happily into our lightly cupped hands, peeking curiously out every once in a while to make sure all was well before snuggling back down again, and we all cheered when it took its first proud drink of water all by itself! These happy moments are lifetime treasured memories for us with the children, for it is in their shining eyes we get a glimpse of heaven!​

It was with trepidation that we introduced it to its mother and the other two chicks, since there was no guarantee she would accept it. Enduring fierce pecks, we tried to sneak it under her one night, and though it was a precarious thing Our Lady did not fail. In the morning we saw our little one hopping around happier than it had ever been, finally having found its proper mother and family. It will always remain special since we had to help it so and, to boot, it was born with a funny leg...the infinitesimal-seeming bandaid cast we made its infant foot did not avail...and so it will also remain in the care of Our Lady of the Hens - may it thrive!

We take the wonders we encounter seriously and do believe He made the world full wondrous, never ceasing, really - and are grateful for our small part in His beautiful end. Even as these feathered creatures are but a shadow of the intricate wonders of the life of the created human soul, it is a joy to be reminded that out of love He made us and everything that exists, that even in a fallen world He affords us moments of real happiness, and that through every trial and little consolation He is drawing us ever closer to Himself and our eternity with Him in heaven!

Non nobis, Domine, non nobis,
Sed nomini tuo da gloriam.

Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us,
but to Thy name give the glory.
​
It has been said that April is the cruelest month, and we have noticed that our St. George festival, held as closely as possible to the saint's feast on April 23rd each year, is sometimes marked by the wickedest of spring storm weather. We have fond memories from a couple of years ago when our entire party had to flee indoors in the middle of the St. George play being performed outdoors in the gazebo - on a day when we had already been dodging rain-showers to narrowly accomplish the obstacle course - the sky to the west suddenly turned black, thunder and lightning cracked everything asunder, and friends and family scooped up babies to run indoors as a torrential wall of rain came rushing across the field to devour us. It had happened at a pivotal moment in the play, so in the end it was a beautifully dramatic touch!

This year, we drove to Mass in a thunderstorm, and while we had forewarned everyone of the day's potentially poor weather and expressed our understanding for all the rain checks, we were going ahead with the gathering rain or shine. We petitioned heaven that the rain would at least cease by the time the party would begin, willing to run and play in the mud even if it was overcast and cold. What we were not expecting was that the rain would not merely cease but that the sun would come out, and that it would turn out to be one of the most beautiful days ever. All of the trees and flowers were in bloom (most of them white - a wonderful and cheerful and hopeful spring scene) and the green leaves and white blossoms shone in the sunlight, and the mud was really not so muddy. The gathering was small in number but big in joyfulness, as the happy change from rain, grey, and chill to sunny, breezy, and near-perfect affected everyone's moods. We really could not stop commenting on the unexpected good weather!​

As in years past, the St. George festival is meant to give honor to one of our favorite saints, the penultimate knight in shining armor, and all for the glory of God. We model after St. George, praying for an increase in courage to battle the daily foe that threatens all that matters most in the world, particularly the purity and innocence of our children. We lay out an obstacle course that spans the property and involves a race through the woods and creek, axe-throwing, arrow-shooting, and spear-throwing. In the final stretch runners have to carry a pine-pole-spear up the long drive and around the house to the mulch-pile finish line, thrusting their spear into the small mountain, our dragon, shouting "Christus Vincit!" Later we put on a little play of the story of St. George, and hand out blessed saint medals to the day's winners. The play always ends with the singing of Non nobis Domine, marking the theme of the day, "Not for our glory, but Yours, O Lord." 

We are grateful for good friends who join us on these occasions and for simple joys. May God's Word remain hidden in our hearts so that our days will remain so blessed, and may we continually seek and find His powerful protection against every storm!

Arise, make haste, my love, my dove, my beautiful one, and come.
For winter is now past, the rain is over and gone.
The flowers have appeared in our land, the time of pruning has come:
The voice of the turtle is found in our land:
The fig tree hath put forth her green figs: the vines in flower yield their sweet smell.
Arise, my love, my dove, my beautiful one, and come! ~ from Canticle of Canticles

He is Risen, Alleluia! We have happily arrived at the great Feast of Easter after the long and penitential season of Lent, glorying anew in the reality of our salvation through the Lord's magnificent sacrifice. Lent, the spare time of going without, of giving things up, of taking on more and growing through prayer and good works in humility and virtue is - ideally - a fruitful time not only since it draws us closer in our weakness to our Maker, but since it culminates, the great preparation that it is, in the glory of Christ's Resurrection. Today a child asked, "Do you think today was a good day?" This came after a long and glorious Easter Sunday. After a momentary thought, we decided that Easter Sunday is good no matter what - it must be, and if it seems not so in some way that must be because of human error. But it was a very good day - bursting with life and the enjoyment of good things and of course revolving around the beautiful Mass that extols and celebrates most fully the Risen Lord, the pinnacle facet of our faith. 

As well, nature sings the song of new life, with spring springing all around in all the creaturely ways - the fields and trees are green with budding life and flowers sing with the birds and humming bees. Here on Holy Saturday, despite the somber nature of the day, the sky was a beautiful and nearly piercing windswept blue, clean and clear and bright and making the perfect backdrop for wheeling martins and the high swaying branches of green-topped trees. 

The spring climate stands in contrast to the weeks building up to such Easter joy - winter felt long and cold and heightened the depravity of the penitential season - as it should be (a gift and a help, indeed) - and the last gathering before Lent was on a stormy day that tested the hearts of all of us. Our Scottish themed gathering in February (in honor of Robbie Burns) was at once a rain-out and a resounding success! Our family had begun the weekend by setting up a little canopy in our small historic town's square by the old courthouse and, with a Scottish flag hanging and our crew all decked in kilts, we regaled whoever was interested with a round of Scottish folk songs and poetry recitations. We didn't have our winning oldest children with us, but we sang and played with gusto - and one of our younger sons entertained with the diablo, a spinning wheel that is tossed on a string between two sticks held in hand and which keeps the wheel spinning (or tossing high, as the case may be). It was freezing cold and we had a great time and we earned our first dollar, placed in the open banjo case by a passing child. The next day, the weather promised to be terrible and it was, but we didn't cancel the gathering at the farm and in the end the storm created a passel of brave souls of good will who bonded with us in the cold and rain to pray and eat and toss cabers and stones in the rainy field, and then bustle into the house to gather around the fire and sing songs. It was a very good time - and in its way related to how Easter must always be good no matter what, because it is. Even when our second goat delivered her babies - she had two little bucklings - and we lost one, it was a good day. We cherished the life of a helpless little creature for thirty-six hours, doing everything we could to try to help it survive, and then had to accept that it just wasn't meant long for this world. The tiny thing wasn't a person, but it gave us an up close, intimate glimpse at God's handiwork, and it was beautiful and worth the pain of our temporarily upended little existence for that short while. We carried that experience in our hearts through Lent and continued to see God's handiwork in a new way through the ups and downs of our days, learning to give and learning to be humble and learning, most importantly, that life is short so why not do our best?

Now, though, we have two adorable bounding-growing baby goats and are beginning to try to learn how to milk their mothers (more on that another time...it is a patient and ridiculous and seemingly fruitless - though indeed in the most important ways most fruitful - labor). And, as said, the world is springing all around, we have much good work to put our hands to, and it is difficult not to simply feel hopeful. And Easter is finally arrived, and it is good, and we are filled with abundant joy and hope for certain since He is Risen, Alleluia!​