A Little Piece of LaRussell (Part 1)

Most summers it's a sauna, but this summer it's been a monsoon for people living here.
Imagine the state of Missouri.

See the little bottom left hand corner green square that reads "Jasper"? Within that square, which is called Jasper County, resides a tiny town with a population census of 114 residents, called LaRussell.

It's where I've gone every summer since I can remember. Filled with laughter from my family, open grassy fields, timber and cicadas, long hill-filled country roads with speed limits of 55, tractors and pick-up trucks, barns that smell of hay and sawdust, fence and open sky, livestock and mid-western accents that speak lingo I try to pick up on, and constant fresh home-grown produce; this is where I come to find freedom.

Freedom from a Philadelphia suburb with lots of cars and stoplights, too many people in the WaWa parking lot, and too many people in the Starbucks line, and too much to go and do and try to be on time to do it.

My Nana in the left picture is looking at something that I couldn't try to tell. Probably the bird nest hanging on the tree, or perhaps over at the bird-feeders, checking to see if they have feed in them. Or maybe she's thinking, (she's always thinking), and just looking at what was and what is now.

Dolly was the first goat my grandparents owned for me when we went to a goat sale. I had to have been about eight years, so she's almost if not, nine years old. She's the oldest goat in the herd, and is a mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, aunt, great-aunt, and she has a goatee which makes her special. She lost one of her horns awhile back, but a new one is growing in if you see that little nub on the top of her head. She's the most relaxed goat out there. 

Jack was abandoned a couple years ago and kept coming in and out of my grandparents feed store for a week or so, so they brought him home. He looks so much healthier than he was when they first saw him, and he's become quite the farm dog and a part of the family. His coat is thick and curly and like a carpet coated in a layer of dust that will never be shaken out. He'll chase the chickens and keep watch for intruders, has a loud bark when an unknown vehicle drives down the lane, but lifts his paw out and puts it into your lap, just wanting to be petted. He's a keeper.

I recently got to write a new song about a week ago while being here. There hasn't been a day that's gone by where I haven't picked up the guitar and played for awhile, and those are good days. Calluses built up from finger-picking melodies in E major and chords going from major to minor within a half step. I'll put the pick in my mouth and pick up the pen to write a line or two, and try to find a melody to the lyrics that only attempt to say what I'm feeling. 

The entirety of the song has an analogy and it's this: clenching both your fists so tightly that your fingernails drive into your palms, then slowly loosening your grip, opening your hands and turning both palms face-up.

The fear of losing everything you have, but slowly, letting go of what you claim is yours, and all that you fear, and surrendering, opening up yourself to the Lord who can take it all upon Himself because 

He cares for you.

love, caitlyn