The True Vyne

The last two days I've spent with a dear friend near Nashville hammering out a project of intertwined calling and purpose while our seven children played games, legos, pinball, dolls, swam in the swampy pond, and romped with the goats and dogs. It's an incredible gift to have found such a kindred family and friend. We did not finish, but I have a feeling we'll have to proceed and call the thing a process rather than done anyhow.

My family and I are headed out of town for more than a week to visit grandparents, and I'll be showing Hauna the ropes of the farm chores. Thank God for Hauna! I'm nervous to share with her that the second rooster in command after the Frankenbelle's departure named Mohawk (for obvious reasons) has taken to stalking and attacking those involved in farm chores or backyard frolics. I've begun stomping in Buck's huge black farm boots, flapping my arms wildly, and running right at Mohawk to show him exactly who's rooster boss around here, but it's tiresome. Bet Hauna, didn't factor in having to strut when she agreed to take care of our pretend farm.