Sentinel

I have this friend that I tend to be a little over protective of sometimes. Let me backtrack, I have been known to be over protective in general, but with this friend it tends to take on a life of its own. I usually don’t even realize it, but recently it was pointed out to me and I’ve been trying to figure out why. Why am I so protective of this friend? I’m not that over the top with my own siblings.

I think part of it is that my friend doesn’t react or resent this personality quirk as much as my siblings. But is that it? My friend is smart, generally has a good head on their shoulders, and is conscientious. But for all their smarts, every now and then my friend does something that leaves you going "why"?

A picture of a city. 

Recently my friend attended an educational conference in a large, well known city. Two days prior to the event they finally booked a hotel room that was reasonable in a mediocre part of town. Instead of dealing with traffic and parking, my friend decided to take the light rail into the city, attend the first several sessions their luggage, and then check into the hotel. And this is where our tale begins.

The first round of the conference ended, and my friend is walking to their hotel, with their luggage to check in. Along the way a friendly, homeless man asks if my friend would buy him a hamburger. My friend, who loves hamburgers, and believes in helping others, said ok and they started to walk to get a hamburger. Along the way the gentleman changed his mind and asked if my friend would give him money to get a room for the night at a hostel. Apparently the gentlemen was recently released from the hospital where he'd been staying due to some broken ribs he obtained when someone decided to go on a rampage with a hammer in the middle of the night.

The crux was the hostel was in a not so nice part of town and this chap did not want to take my friend there. My friend doesn't like to give cash, and was torn. It’s about this time I got a phone call and heard the whole story.

The agreement they came to was he’d go get a room and in 10 minutes return with a receipt and key to show he’d actually gotten a room, and left his Special K granola bar as collateral. So my friend waiting with their luggage, decided to call and share this unusual experience with me. They proceed to tell me that they were open to helping this chap because of the blessing I’d given them when they were still figuring out where to stay.  I told my friend they’re the only person I know that makes me want to not bless them. That made them laugh, we chatted a bit more and then got off the phone.

I told my mom and sisters this story and Mom in her wisdom all but shouted, if he doesn't return, “Don’t eat the granola bar.” I laughed but after considering who we were talking about, called my friend to stress this piece of wisdom, ‘causing them to laugh again.

You’d think the story was over, but no. Apparently, the chap returned, but the hostel was full and he needed to return in an hour. Next call from my friend, they’re at a park, with their luggage, hanging out with the dude and was rather at a loss of what to do.

At this point I told my friend, it was time to make their ado’s as gracefully as possible and go check into their hotel. As Mom said, because right now they're homeless too.

I think its times like these that occasionally make me over the top with my friend. Like I said they are really smart, but there are moments where their common sense seems to shut off, and they end up in scrapes that leave you going, really?

But I learned something else from this escapade. First, my friend’s guardian angel must be on overtime a lot. I can’t imagine what that time card would look like. Secondly, even in the midst of this chaos, my friend was protected. From the peace I had two nights before they got to the city, to the friendly homeless chap that had my friend’s back and didn’t let them go to an area he thought was sketchy.

It’s a reminder that my worrying, while sometimes making my friend more cautious, doesn’t change anything. Ultimately, I am not in control. That there’s Someone who’s guiding and protecting my friend way better than I ever could. Maybe in future I’ll be able to trust that; staying calmer and less likely to develop an ulcer… 

Beyond that, what else can I say; God Loves Leila.

Hotbeds: 'tis the Season

I was recently trying to explain hotbeds to a young friend of mine and realized about an hour later that I did a horrible job. So I decided an explanatory blog post might be in order. I don't know if you'll ever see this, but M, this one's for you.

Spreading Cotton Trash

For those of you who frequent this regularly, and have heard me go on about hotbeds before, you might want to skip this one. For those of you who have no clue what I'm referencing, the farmers daughter in me is delighted to 'splain.

In case you didn't catch it, it's hotbed season. A hotbed is basically a temporary greenhouse we create each year to grow the shoots for planting. Here's how it works:

First a level bed is scraped into the dirt.

Sweet Potato "Cobblestone" 

Then cotton trash is spread on the bed and covered with more dirt. This is the insulation that helps keep things humid.

Next sweet potatoes kept from the previous harvest, known as seed, are laid down. Once a bed has been laid it ends up looking like a cobblestone, or brick road and another layer of soil is applied covering the potatoes.

Finally, bent metal rods are placed over the beds and covered with plastic. On one end the plastic is covered with dirt, on the other it's held down by sandbags. This allows the bed to be opened for watering and air movement.

The tricky thing is you don't want the hotbed to get too hot or two cold. Sweet potatoes are susceptible to freezing temperatures, however if things get too hot you can actually burn the plants and that's not good either.

Inside View

Which is why mid Sunday mornings find us opening the beds. My Dad doesn't have his guys work on Sunday which means it's up to us. Some years we've had to open and close more than others. The best is when you hear, "ends and windows" because it means less work.

To uncover the hotbeds you pull the sandbags off and roll the plastic placing a sandbag on top of the rolled plastic at the each end of the bed and two in the middle. This helps keep the plastic in place if a breeze kicks up. May I just add if you roll right, you feel it in your forearms!

To close them you take the sandbags off, flip up the plastic, cross to the other side of the bed, pull the plastic down to the ground, plant your foot on it and drag a sandbag on top. Usually about mid season you only have to place a sandbag other rod.

Over the years various friends have participated in joy of opening the hotbeds. As a kid it was especially great because that meant less work. Now that there are 4 adult children hotbeds have gotten less miserable and time consuming; what use to take an hour plus now takes about 45 minutes on a slow day.

Covered Hotbed

Hotbeds are also the reason we now go to Saturday night church because no longer does my Father have to worry about when to open the beds or them frying before we can get out there. (If you're used to attending service on Sunday, you find yourself going "No church? What am I gonna do?" But that's an entirely different conversation....)

Around 11ish on a Sunday all of us kids who are in town gather to help out. Doesn't matter how old you are, or what your normal job is, Sunday's, during hotbeds, mean helping out on the farm. 'Cause that's what families do.

I'll leave you with this brilliant "Irish blessing".

May the frost never afflict your spuds. 

May the leaves of your cabbage always be free from worms.

May the crows never pick your haystack.

If you inherit a donkey, may she be in foal. 

Oh and in case you're wondering, doesn't matter he's almost 60, when it comes to covering or uncovering hotbeds, Dad hands down, kicks our butts.