Label It

July 31, 2018

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Helena Smrcek

This gardening season I committed to labeling. I took a roll of white plastic gardening tags out of a storage cupboard and armed myself with a Sharpie. There would be no guessing if I should push a tomato cage around the thriving little plants or opt for tall poles.

Same went for peppers. No more predictions if the fruit would be sweet or spicy. During my past gardening endeavours, even simple peas presented an enigma. Once the first leaves showed up, they all looked the same, and gone was any memory of which row was Sugar Snap and which would need shelling.

As I diligently scribbled the correct names carefully copied of the seed packets I thought of my sister-in-law. Not only she has the chutzpa to run a business, be an awesome wife to my brother, and a hockey mom to two skating fanatics, but she also possesses a certain brand of rationale that I often lack.

Over the years I have been carefully observing her no-nonsense approach to life, business, and family. Where I would ponder, discuss and sometimes explode, overwhelmed with emotions, she labels things. Calmly.

Don’t misunderstand me. When our kids reach an important milestone, her eyes tear up, as she truly feels the moment, and appreciates the blessings in our lives. I watched her many times, at the edge of an arena bench, as her boys played for gold; she lived every second of the game. But even though we have known each other for over two decades she still astonishes me from time to time by uttering the simplest truths.

This one time we talked about something my daughter did for a friend, and my sister-in-law simply stated. “But that’s her. She cares for everyone.” Although I knew that, I never bothered to put a label on it, and somehow that short declaration gave the situation the validity it deserved. Once she simply stunned me with, “he adores you, and would do anything for you,” statement pertaining to my husband. It stuck with me, and I think of it often, realizing that for the trees, I sometimes miss the forest. 

me to accept the reality. A truly freeing experience.

As I pressed the tags into the soil, my mind wondered to God. He too labels things, to make our lives simpler. He calls things by their true name, things like love, forgiveness, and even sin, regardless of our rationale, current political correctness or social trend. I find great freedom in that, for often, things are not what they seem, but a correct label helps us see them for what they truly are.

Choose Joy

March 1, 2018

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Helena Smrcek

Over the years I have developed a survival strategy. As soon as the glitter of Christmas finds it’s spot back in our basement, I drag up our suitcases and pack for a getaway. Unfortunately, one week in the sun puts only a slight dent in the winter drab, and the older I get, the harder the seemingly endless days of winter are.

 So, when one of our neighbors invited me to an annual meeting of her horticultural society I jumped at the opportunity. That is, I upped my daily dose of Advil, and gingerly walked to my car, trying to ignore the yet another bad back episode.

Greeted by vivid potted plants, and a room full of gardeners, my spirit perked up. The first speaker shared her vast knowledge of soil. My heart swelled. During the coffee break I loaded my plate with home baked goodies, and reminiscent about our long-ago church get togethers. Then I chatted up everyone at my table and silently thanked God for pulling me out of my despair. These were kindred souls. 

 Finding my neighbor just before lunch wasn’t an easy task, but we did connect and had a great talk. She was kind enough not to ask about my sock-knitting project she helped me to start in early January but mentioned that she had a special daylily that I need to see later in the year.

The rest of the afternoon was hallmarked by perennial advice and raised bed presentation. As I listened, I suddenly found myself unwinding. The accumulated stress of the dreaded winter, combined with the absurdities of current news, the worries about our business, retirement, kids’ future, the cold weather pains and aches, and the simple daily stresses, collectively drained me.

I needed to get better. As retail therapy has been hailed as an instant cure for the blues, I purchased a hand-crafted bird house, and a giant hydrangea, before I left the event. On the way home, I realized I must get my joy back, find the lost creative spark, and reclaim the missing positive outlook on life. Enough of this defeatist attitude.

It took another week, a few visits to my chiropractor, and a good chat with a friend, but I took out my Easter decorations, and finally made it to church. Standing next to my daughter, who continually keeps conquering the stereotypes of the lost millennials, we sang the new, and the old; then listened to the pastor walk us thru the history of The Book.

I realized God protected His Word through time, kings and regimes, disasters and plagues, through wars and revolutions, so that we can read the Bible during these turbulent times of the 21st century. His Word is filled with timeless truth, eternal principals and ever-lasting blessings. Gratitude and quiet joy filled my heart. He is on His throne, His eyes upon us, only a prayer away. Therefore, I choose joy, regardless of the newsfeed, the rain, and my dog-chewed gardening gloves.

Life is a Fight

October 26, 2017

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Helena Smrcek

 The word had spread. Everyone knows we have a garden. I don’t mind our friends stopping by for zucchini or two, what irks me are the uninvited guests sneaking in when nobody's watching.

During our spring clean-up, our dog found a baby rabbit. When it squeaked, I made my husband to call him off. Little did I know.

Last year we lost all our berries. I blamed our chickens and netted everything I could. Unfortunately, this failed to deter Japanese beetles. I did read up about their four-week window of attack, after which they supposed to die. Perhaps I misunderstood because they stayed with me till October.

Potatoes? This year the potato bugs showed up. Burning the entire plants was a radical, yet sure method of elimination. Yeh, right.

Red color on the peach trees? Google suggested cutting off all the infected leaves. I sprayed the branches with oil of oregano mixture. After four such interventions, the trees seemed healthy. Two weeks later, the apple trees got mildew.

Midsummer, I noticed I had no corn. One lonely stalk verified, that indeed I have sown the kernels. I suspect some rodent had them for dinner before they had a chance to sprout.

The list of missing plants and produce kept growing all season. I couldn't blame all these losses on one animal, but when I spotted a chewed hole in my netting, and an empty spot where my kale used to flourish, I called over my husband and demanded action.

“Look at this,” I pointed to the mocking hole.

“The chickens did it,” he said so seriously I almost considered his suggestion.

“It’s the rabbit,” I said. “You have to catch it.”

Powered by the promise of a stew, my husband is still looking for the furry creature. I swear the thing knows. On occasion, our dog goes crazy as the bunny hops nonchalantly in front of our windows. I spotted it near the chicken coop, and among the chewed up hostas.

It’s the little foxes that spoil the wine. As the blight, bugs, and bunnies attacked my handiwork, I thought back to our days of struggle. We worked hard, yet we never seemed to get ahead.

Then a friend prayed for us, asking God for a hedge of protection. At first, I didn’t understand, but then an image came to my mind; our family standing in the midst of a tall cedar hedge. I continued to pray, and things slowly improved.

Gone are the days I shopped for groceries with a calculator in hand, and winter coats and boots were an overwhelming expense. Yet, we’re faced with new challenges each day.

Therefore, I ask our Father to place a hedge of protection around you and your loved ones. I pray that He’d protect us from the thief that comes to steal and destroy. The one who’d kill our hope. For our God is an awesome God, and we find the strength to stand in the midst of storms because we’re surrounded by His love and grace.

My Man Has a Cold

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Helena Smrcek

The winter months brought a break in our farm routines, and a vacation. Warmth, sand and sea, I felt simply spoiled. 

But two nights before we were scheduled to head back home I sneezed. I took antihistamine and went to bed. 

At breakfast the sneezing returned.

The flight home was a little trying. I popped a gum in my mouth and tried to cope with the ear ache. Who gets a cold in Mexico?

Next day I dragged myself out of bed, went to the barn, milked the goat, fed the chickens, unpacked, sorted the laundry, checked the fridge. After I dropped our daughter off at her school, I got groceries, then switched the laundry, made cheese, shoved another load into the washing machine, figured out dinner, and wished someone would blow the gloomy fog away, or at least make me a tea. 

Following morning my darling husband turned over and complained he didn’t sleep. While I set a cup of coffee in front of him, he wore a sheepish grin, then proceeded to play a recording of me—snoring.

With a triumphant glee, he turned up the volume so neither of our kids accidentally missed his clandestine achievement. I was ready to snatch the eggs and bacon, his sick and snoring wife made him, and feed his breakfast to the dogs. 

Next morning, he woke me up with a simple statement. I made him sick.

I could take it no longer. Not only I was sick for five days, and he didn’t even offer to make me tea, but instead secretly recorded me, as if he worked for the CIA, and now accused me of causing his illness? What was his problem? I got up and went to the kitchen to make me some java. 

A few moment later he joined me, and asked in a weak voice if I could make him a tea, and did I have anything he could take.

He sighed heavily. He had a headache. Where did I put the Advil? Kleenex box? Thermometer? Something for his sinuses?

I point to the HydraSense, not ready to talk. He asked how to use it. I explained in as few words as possible. My husband, who seemed to have landed from Mars only a few short minutes ago, proceeded to press the tip and sprayed the Eucalyptus all over the counter.

When I protest, he moved the operation to the sofa and started to administer his medicine. Of course he sprayed himself in the eye. I couldn't help but laugh. He froze, then joined me, tearing up, due to the burning liquid. 

To make him feel better I admitted his cold is truly much worse than mine. I filled the teapot, stirred in some honey, and grabbed his mug. He thanked me, and asked if I could make him chicken soup.

I recalled the short video explaining man-cold that landed on my Face Book page a few months ago, and suddenly I felt lonely no more. There is a sisterhood out there, that understands me.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gLj7fj-3L78