Slice of Life Tuesday

 Tuesday is here again. An opportunity to share my posts with a community of writers and readers and to comment and grow. There are some of my favorite things in life.

My slice today starts off being about baby goats. We've been waiting and waiting and waiting. The first possible due date was early May, like May 7. My daughter has been posting pregnant goat updates everyday for nearly a month. Sunday evening at feeding time, my oldest goes to fill waters for animals and suddenly calls out: "There's a kid in here!" and before we can get in there to see for ourselves, she yells, "There's another one!" We were so excited. After all that waiting. 

Yesterday we are outside, letting new-to-us bunnies play outside and eat a little grass. I look up. I see our other goat who's due to kid, and then I see the kid next to her. Then the other one! Both our does kidded within 24 hours of each other! We are so smitten! 

This morning I had the responsibility of helping get mommas on the milk stand, getting kids outside to play in the grass and later, getting them put back away. What a privilege to "have" to be responsible for these things! And we have the cutest kids ever! 

So this was how I started my day. In spite of being sore and tired from my little dog Maddie being terrified of the thunder and lightening in the night, keeping me up and forcing me to sleep in the living room, not in my bed (sadness...), it was a pretty awesome start to my day. 

baby girl... she might be a keeper!

Sweet baby boy

Ivy is a great Mom! She nudges them toward the udder, 
she keep them clean, keeps watch over them, and talks to them. 

Poppie is a pretty good mother too... she is feeding them, 
and is very protective of them, headbutting the cats and 
other kids if they get too close! I don't have as many pics of these guys yet.
They are both boys. 

To read other slices of life, click on the image. 

Why PRIDE matters to me

 Staring at the page... wondering where it all went. The ideas. I had a million and one ideas. Now I have none. I know something I want to write about, but I'm scared. Scared because sometimes when I get off on a tare I get mean. Scared because I have said this stuff before. Scared because God is telling me some things lately and they are not really pleasant. Like how the insanely high standards that I apply to everyone else in my life, need to apply to me as well. Yuck. I just read something on facebook about "tone it down" and it didn't really apply, and yet it spoke to me. I don't want to tone it down if it is something I'm passionate about. And yet I know that I listen to people who are passionate, but not assholes. 

So anyways... here goes. 

Why does PRIDE matter? 

I mean, there's a plethora of fundametalists in my life that are ready to attack. To talk about how disgusting it is and how it is an abonination to God and blah, blah, blah.... Christian Nationalists is a label that fits well here. I also hate that. I hate that so many people that I love dearly fit the Christian Nationalist sect. 

But here is why pride matters. I can't say I love these people and then mock them and shame them. With love, comes respect. Enough respect for the human being to treat them like they are intelligent and valued. Do I think everything LGBTQ+ aligns with biblical principals? Eh, maybe not. But I think that there is a LOT of my life, habits, daily routines, actions, don't "pass" on a biblical level. I know I'm covered by grace. See where I'm going? If I am covered by grace, why wouldn't my LGBTQ+ friends and family be covered as well. Well, because, if I'm honest here, in America, we skew the rules to match our white supremist system. Ouch. You know, I know that every day I experience privilege because I'm a white person. With a big vocabulary. And believe it or not, that wordist shit matters. But I digress... 

Isn't the goal of Christianity, of striving to live like Jesus asks me to, to reach other human beings and bringing them into the fold? "Love the Lord, your God with all your heart" and "Love your neighbor as yourself..." Even in the middle of a bunch of self-loathing and self-sabotage, I still "love myself" and give myself a pass for a lot of things. Behaviors. "I couldn't help it," "I didn't know better," "I'm doing the best I can with what I have to work with..." and so on. Jesus didn't ask me this. Jesus said, the greatest commandments are (paraphrasing here)... "Love God" and "Love your neighbor." Know why? Because if I do those things, actually do those things, I'll cover all those other things that God wants from me. If I love God, I'll respect him and do what he asks. If I love my neighbor, I'll accept them, even if they look, love, sound different from me. 

God loves my LGBTQ+ people. God love everyone. He is not American. And I am not his favorite. 

This is the short list as to why I celebrate PRIDE. I don't want my friends and family to think no one loves them and maybe suicide is the answer. I don't want them to think that if Christians don't love them, God doesn't love them. This weird American thing where we think we can hate and bully someone into feeling loved is beyond me. I know it didn't work on me (yes, I'm straight, but always the outcast). I didn't feel loved and I didn't feel motivated to "fit in." I just felt more outcast and more alone. I felt determined to never be like the people who tried to pressure me to be worthy of their love.

Slice of Life Tuesday: Memorial Day and Memories

Today is a Monday on a Tuesday. With yesterday being a holiday. 

Yesterday we took a moment to honor family who have passed on. My Dad, who did not pass away in combat, but who was a veteran. And my grandparents and my "real" grandma. Of course, my grandma was my real grandma, but my dad's mom died when he was 8. 8?! What a burden to carry. Or lay down, but I think mostly he carried it, tucked away deep inside his soul. 

 Anyway.... we had a quick visit to the cemetary yesterday evening and put some things on Dad's grave and visited the others. There is so much history in that cemetary. The Loewens, and Sudermans, and Hieberts, and Penners. And Leppkes. and more. But these are names that overwhelmingly fill the cemetary, and bring up memories of childhood. 

I wanted to stop and talk to Dad a little. But.... too many people. 

So I just acted like I was fine with simply decorating his grave a little and moving on. Shame on me for acting as if. But that's what my family does. We act as if we are fine when indeed, we are not. 

I remembered Dad and all the many times we went to the pond to fish on Memorial day. And times when he sacrificed his opportunity to fish in order to put the worm on the hook and take the fish off the hook and ride kids around on the 4 wheeler and prepare the fire for us to cook our hotdogs. 

Earlier in the weekend, we took part in a craft show to sell my daughter's crocheted stuffies, otherwise known as amigurumis. During this show, they played a lot of music featuring "America." America the Beautiful; the Star Spangled Banner; Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue; Proud to Be an American; and more. Many songs that made me think of my Dad, his patriotism, his love of our country and our state, and his pride in his citizenship, and probably in his service. 

Though he went into the Navy as a pacifist, and pursued things that would only involve peace, much of the community/church etc., did not appreciate that someone of a faith of pacifism served in the armed forces. We didn't really talk about his service until I was fortyish. When I became a teacher. But the American Legion did place a nice flag at his headstone and he had a lovely tribute from the Navy (?) at his funeral. They played taps, and ceremoniously gave him a flag. It was very cool. 

Memories. I'm flooded with memories. The good kind. I'm so glad there's so much to remember and so much GOOD in my dad. 

Dad's headstone. The flag was placed for his service. And we brought the rest. 

Grandpa and Grandma Suderman's headstone.

My Grandma that I never knew, this is her headstone. My Dad's mom, 
who passed away when he was a child. 

A poem of solace discovered

 This Space

Who is that? 

Chittering in the tree? 

I cannot see. 

It's not the cardinal 

or the robin

whose song I'm well familiar with.

I catch a glimpse

from the corner of my eye 

of movement on the sidewalk.

A toad.

Or maybe a frog.

I will only know for sure

if it rains a lot and I hear their song.

Currently I hear

the wind rushing through the green,

the trees, the grass, the newly headed wheat. 

I smell rain

though the sun is bright and the clouds are high.

No foretelling

of disaster to come. 

the calming drum

of the woodpecker

drilling away 

as he seeks to build his home.

Quiet chirps of all types of birds.

And always the rustling of the wind.

Calling me. 

Reminding me.

This is home.

-Carrie Horn

5/18/26

Love of Poetry

Poetry...

one of my passions;

a necessary evil,

a source of joy.

Part of daily survival 

for me.

Like rain to the crops

and hydration to my body,

poetry is a life substance. 

It inspires me

purges me

gives me  courage, strength: a voice.

A voice to shout

to whisper

to tell my story.

To rant and rage, 

to build my case. 

Poetry gives me purpose,

rights some mysterious wrong,

some feeling I can't quite touch.

Poetry gives me a voice,

reason,

a way to purge my thoughts. 

There's a beauty,

a majesty, 

a sense of certainty,

that lives in poems.

I hope the world can read

my emotion

floating 

between the lines,

in the breaths, 

the beating of my heart,

my passions....

my convictions,

my causes,

and quiet certainties. 

Poetry.... 

expressions of my soul.

-Carrie Horn

5/16/26

Open post; free verse Poetry

​Here’s what greeted me Monday morning in my plans. 

Two things I'm passionate about.... causes and poetry! 

Poetry. Free verse poetry. I mean…. How did they know I would be teaching 2nd grade this week?! Seems like maybe something is at work here that is bigger than just me. 

We spent an entire activity time planning our poems with word webs. I decided to have them focus on what they are learning about: Fighting For A Cause. The first lesson was about Susan B Anthony. 

So we carefully constructed our thoughts with her name in the middle. We decided our poem title should simply be Susan B Anthony. Then they were to use the ideas in the web to develop lines and verses.

That first day, every child wrote a prose paragraph. And followed those grammar rules to a tee.  

So the next day we talked about how the rules are different in poetry. That in some ways, there are no rules. But that poems pick up a rhythm. That you don’t have to use complete sentences, that sometimes you make your point by not using a complete sentence. 

Our Susan B. Anthony writing started to turn into poems. Some students realized fairly quickly how to structure the poem using their concept/idea/thought and then moving to the next line to move to the next thought. Some kids said, "I thought we couldn't start sentences with (this) word...." And I said, well, you aren't starting a sentence, you are just continuing your thought on a new line. And the rules are not the same in poems. "Ohhhh......" 

Some students started to pick up on the magic. Finding a rhythm. Picking up on a theme. Getting to express themselves. As I tried to explain to them about how to brainstorm and organize their ideas, I drafted a sample. 

my notes/brainstorming/main ideas

My poem about Mr. Miller's class!

There was only one student who said I did not have permission to share her poem with my poetry group. So I will honor that. But I am including a few Susan B. Anthony poems as well as a few of their free choice free verse poems.

Wolfs/Wolfs eat meat/wolfs travl in a pack.

Legos/they're so fun/they're plastic brick/
they're so fun.

Cat or my fafrit/because cats/ are cute.

Kiwi Bird; The Kiwi bird is a bird 
can't fly/the eat berrys and insects./
The Kiwi bird is fast and speedy./
Kiwi birds live in New Zealand.

And my personal favorite.... 

Ms. Horn
You are the best sub ever/you are nice/
you are cool/you live on a farm/with little dinosaurs.

Saturday thoughts in a 9-5 world

 Happy Saturday my friends. This has been a whirlwind of a week and emotional and spiritual ups and downs. Where to even begin.... 

I am in the middle of a three week sub gig. This has stirred up all sorts of things inside of me and brought some stuggles at home. I am feeling the tug of teaching like I haven't felt since I was a "teacher." I love the connections. I love feeling like I make a difference in the lives of kids. I like feeling like my life has purpose beyond the daily farm life purpose. Here is where it gets tricky. This feeling of purpose is something that lacks when I rely on nature and animals for my sense of self. BUT.... my farm life is insanely important to me and gives a different kind of purpose. It is a peaceful one. But that human connection is lacking. Sometimes I forget how important this human connection is. 

My youngest child has always faced some things that other kids don't. Ummmm.... writing about these things are raw and painful. I find it difficult to share because it means I failed. But I also believe in facing it. And I can't heal what I can't look at. 

This Punky of mine has some sort of attachment disorder. (This is diagnosed by Dr. Me... the one she's attached to). As well as some ways of thinking and processing that would most likely fall on the autism spectrum. The reason I include this has to do with her need to be understood, her need to control friendships and relationships in ways that don't work for the other person. This leads to her having fewer friends than the average person. Which circles back around to me, her main person in her life, and her best friend, her support. I can remember when she became aware that I was the only true constant in her life. That her dad was hit and miss. Mostly miss. And that there's just mom to take care of her. It was and still is a big insecurity for her. This stirs up a need to be with me and a feeling that she is alone all the time, sometimes even when we are together. The thing about that is that it's exhausting for me and it causes conflict with things that other people whose grown children live with them don't face. Like how it upsets her when I work full time. And she says things like "what about spending time with me?" To which I respond.... "You are an adult child living in my home, I should be able to work if I want (need) to". Because I don't feel like I need to check with my child before I accept a job. I don't feel like I should spend my days determining whether or not she will feel secure. But this circles around to.... Mom-guilt. All this guilt because of ways I failed my kids in the first place. I worked a lot when Punky was little. And had to leave her in care that I didn't always trust to be in her best interest. As well as being EXTREMELY human, and not always being a safe place for her myself. More mom-guilt. So do I owe her my time now in order to heal her childhood? Would that even suffice? Is there such a thing as healing? Mom-guilt. mom-guilt. mom-guilt. inner turmoil.... 

So back to other thoughts.... should I pursue a fulltime teaching gig? Reasons to do this: insurance, retirement, less financial stress, I am good at teaching... it gives me a sense of self and fulfillment. Oh, and I love being a teacher. I gain a certain prestige. Both in the community and in my own head. Reasons not to pursue this: losing my disability, less time for farm stuff, I come home exhausted every night, politics of teaching: planning to meet standards and district expectations, I don't know what my body needs or if it can actually handle teaching full-time. 

What I generally circle back to is this: I'm pretty happy being a sub, I can choose to work or not work, and this way I can give my knees (and my carpal tunnel) time to recover from working. I love working on my farm. You can't tell from driving by. Because I have limited time and limited energy to give to things like clean up, mowing, and so on. But I do. Love my chickens, ducks, goats, cats and even my damn dog. I love the sunsets (and sunrises which I seldom indulge in). I love taking a minute (or hour) to blog and think and chew on ideas and write and study the scriptures. I love this freedom that comes with my disability insurance. 

So (secretly) I know what the answer is. 

But these are thoughts and emotions swirling in my head and heart. So now I say again, Happy Saturday my friends.