Monday, June 18, 2018

Monday Journals




June 5, 2018

I walked with the purpose of finding the Jerseys who had not come down from the “back forty” all day.  As is my habit, I moved forward glancing first at what was directly in front of me and then scanning ahead for wildlife.  There is almost always something to see when I walk and if I am quiet and observant, then sometimes I can watch for a while or even get a photo.  I had barely started the walk when I noticed a group of Tom turkeys feeding on the bank.  I stopped and watched them a few minutes and then proceeded up the bank towards the grove of trees surrounding the springs.  I continued to glance down and then scan the horizon but right in front of me where I had just glanced a tiny fawn jumped up and ran so quickly that I barely caught a glimpse.  The spotted baby had startled me and my heart was pounding.  I immediately thought about how badly I must have frightened the poor, little thing and felt terrible about that.  I hoped that the fawn would not go too far and would be easily reunited with its mother when she returned.  I marveled at the instinct that took that tiny baby to the trees and undergrowth and then caused it to be perfectly still.  Straining my eyes, I could not tell where it had hidden itself and I was glad.  For, if I could not spot the baby, then hopefully neither would a predator.  I thought about the little one for a long time and prayed it would make it back to momma.  Later, when an adult tearing down our fences and eating our crops, I will be frustrated, but no matter how destructive they might be, I still wish them no harm.  In Staunton, the deer destroy the crops which is our livelihood.  The farmers, including Mike, can get special permits under certain conditions to harvest the deer that are destroying the crops.  I understand and I never try to stop Mike when he needs to get a permit and control the deer population, but he has learned to tell me what he is doing when he goes out so that I can cover my ears to the sound of the gunshot. 

I decided to make my walk a dual-purpose event to find the cattle and check the fence line for damage at the same time.  Walking the fence line takes more time than simply just finding the cows, but I had not done it in a few days.  The grass is so high now with not enough cattle on the acreage to keep it eaten down.  Walking in it was extremely difficult.  I figured I would find the cows in the shade and I think I actually startled the first one I came upon.  Not being able to see any better than I could through the tall grass, the un-named heifer jumped when she realized I was there.  The others stood still but stretched their necks upward to see what was coming through the tall grass.  Satisfied the cattle were well, I moved on to continue checking the fence line.  The first section was all open pasture but the last section is wooded.  Somewhere along the cool, shaded path, as I walked alone the built-up frustration and sadness of grandma’s situation came to the surface.  It was there in the woods, like so many times in my life, that I poured out my heart and held nothing back.  I thought the gut wrenching sobs would never stop and the breaking of my heart was familiar and I recognized it as grief.  It is not just death that causes us to grieve.  Grief is the sadness we feel over loss and that comes in many forms.  By the time I made it back to the house, I had tucked the grief away and cleared my eyes focusing again on what was right in front of me both literally and figuratively.

I had been alone since early morning and the day had been spent putting things in order not only around the house but also in my head.  After many weeks of having various family members staying with us, everyone has gone and there is a calm, stillness.  In the years we have been married, Mike and I have spent very few nights apart, but I chose to “stay behind” this time while he went to Staunton/Verona to catch up on some farming responsibilities.  I needed some time to catch up on some things and to feel like I was not being torn between two places every few days.  Most of all, I just needed the alone time.  As much as I love having my family around me, alone time is an absolute necessity for me for mental clarity and to rejuvenate.  The nights that I have spent away from Mike from time to time have always been because I was away staying with my grandmother or on occasion, visiting my best friend.  Last week he was away overnight when he went to get his mom for our get-together, but I had Alissa and the Little Girls here with me.  This week I will be here in Laurel Fork completely by myself and while I miss Mike, I am happy to have this quiet time. 

June 6, 2018

We are close enough to the road and there is enough traffic during the day that I don’t feel isolated. (If I have one regret about this place, it is that we are close to a well-traveled road.  The traffic is almost nonexistent past dark, but during the day, folks use it to go from one rural community to another and to connect to Highway 58).   I can hear our newest neighbor, who bought three acres that adjoins our property, mowing his lawn and running the weed eater as well.  I can’t see him through the trees, but I can hear the loud machinery.  When I want total isolation, I just walk out the back door and head for the “back forty”.  The cows had come down to the house area and I didn’t need to hike up the hill to check on them, but I wanted to walk and I desired the views from the top.  The tall grass makes the climb difficult, but it is so worth the effort once I reach the top.  With low humidity, the views of Buffalo Mountain were sharp.  The clouds were very white in a blue sky and for several minutes, after I caught up with the Jersey herd, we just walked along together.  There’s something so peaceful about cows standing up to their shoulders in swaying grass, slowly ambling along at their own pace, while making the soft, rhythmic, munching sounds they make as they graze.  Being with cattle who are so accustomed to people that they never question my presence is, to me, a gift. 

I was able to accomplish much yesterday.  While I miss Mike, I don’t mind being alone and I am very focused.  I had all of grandma’s bills to pay, our bills, and paperwork for our booths (at the antique malls) all of which I had been negligent to keep current.  It took me until noon to catch up on paperwork and then I spent the rest of the day outside.  We have plants and shrubbery planted all the way around the house which needed weeding.  We also have a row of hostas along the steps to the guest cabin that needed weeding.  I carefully looked under each one to make sure that snakes were not hiding in the cool shade of the hosta plants before I reached under to begin pulling weeds.  I am not afraid of snakes and value their place in nature, but I also don’t want to be bit by one when just a little forethought can prevent an accident.  I love hosta plants and I don’t take for granted the environment in which they flourish under the shade of the old Maple tree.  Our home in Staunton, while complete with breathtaking views of the Blueridge and Allegheny mountains, had been long ago mostly cleared of trees so that we could have open hay fields and pasture.  I love the trees, the woods, and the habitat they provide for different species of plants and animals.  I will always be backwoods, mountain type of  girl who still has Alaskan wilderness running through her veins.  Mike, on the other hand, will always default to the mindset of conventional farming in the valley.   I am glad that here we can compromise more with our ideals.  Clear cutting is not wise in this area, as the mountainous land will erode.  We hope to plant more trees on some areas that we are going to fence off to help protect it from eroding.  Still, we have different opinions.  Mike says often, “I would like to take that tree out” and is met with my response, “I don’t want that tree cut down”.  There are times when I have come to see things his way, for instance, when I have seen some of these huge trees fall to the ground and see the destruction they would cause if they fell on the house or outbuildings.  We have removed a few, huge, dead trees that were potentially dangerous.  Mostly though, I hold firmly to letting the trees be.  They are full of life and while they can’t share their stories with words we can understand, still they whisper hints to me of the past and fill my mind with wonder.   

June 7, 2018

After so much rain, the weather has just been glorious the past few days.  Temperatures highs in the upper 70’s with lows in the high 50’s at night makes for perfect days and good sleeping at night.  For the first two nights that Mike has been away, I have slept better than I have slept in a long, long time.  I never got up to use the bathroom and if my hip hurt, then I was so tired that I didn’t even realize it.  Letting go of all the stress that comes with putting others first and caring for them for a few days along with substantial physical labor and exercise was enough to take the edge off and allow me to sleep well.  I think too, the fact that we were not eating so late had something to do with it.  Mike never wants to eat until dark I the summer and I prefer to have my meals over with early.  If I had my way, we would eat two big meals:  one around 9 or 10 am and another around 4 or 5 pm.  I have felt indulgently, selfish the last few days being on my own schedule and it has been nice.  Without any distractions, anyone to pick up after, or anyone to feed, I have been able to accomplish a lot.  I feel like I am caught up (at least here in Laurel Fork) for the first time in ages.  The beautiful weather has been perfect for hanging clothes on the line and it is nice to not have to use the dryer.  I enjoy hanging clothes and the smell of the freshly aired clothes can’t be duplicated by a dryer sheet.  (Yes, I know, those things are toxic.)  I actually left the property yesterday and drove to Vesta, Virginia (about 20 minutes away) to check out a store there called Poor Farmers where a local family has taken a produce business and turned it into quite the place.  They have local bands on Sundays for bluegrass music and sell everything from produce, to antiques, to novelty items in their large store.  They have a sister store in Meadows of Dan, which is closer to me, but I thought maybe they would have cheaper produce in Vesta.  Turns out they had very little in the way of produce at this point, but I did pick up a head of local cabbage.  The cabbage grown here in the mountains is delicious.  I am hoping we can plants some in the fall.  We planted cabbage in the Valley but none here.  Since the store in Vesta was a bust, I stopped on my way back at the store in Meadows of Dan.  They had some dried, colored, butter beans there and I bought a pound of those.  I had never had the colored butter beans until moving to Laurel Fork when a lady at church prepared them.  There was a little boy behind the counter with his grandmother and I started talking to him, as I always do with children.  After we chatted a while, he said to me “I like you.”  I replied with, “I like you too!”  He was three years old with big, blue eyes and a good conversationalist.  He wanted to come home with me and I told him that we couldn’t do that, but I would come back to visit him at the store.  I just love little children and they are so responsive when we just treat them like the Little People that they are.  In contrast, when I stopped at the dollar store, there was some sort of domestic issue being supervised by the Sherriff’s department.  A young teenage girl was crying and a smaller boy was looking on with emotion showing in his eyes.  A woman that could easily fit the description of a meth user was saying a lot of things to the children and an older man (presumably their guardian) was making level comments that she needed to stop talking and start changing her life.  They were holding up the line and the attendant asked me to move to the next register to pay for my things.  The situation was a pitiful one, with the teenage girl in dirty clothes and that resigned look of doing what it takes to get through life on her face as they finally made their way out the door.  I sat in my truck to make a phone call because that is a place where I can get decent cell phone service, and after about ten minutes when I got off the phone, I noticed the deputy still stood beside the woman’s truck talking to her.  The deputy himself so young that I doubted he had been dealing with these types of situations very long.  He seemed resigned and yet not overly authoritative with the situation.  He seemed to have a heart and appeared to want to help the situation rather than just be done with it.  The contrast between the little boy at the produce store in Meadows of Dan and this situation at the Dollar Store was stark.  I could not let go of either image in my mind:  the little boy filled with curiosity, light, and laughter and the children whose eyes were filled with pain, resignation and yet a little bit of hope that some day things might be better. 

I decided to try to use a video conference feature to try to talk to the grands since they were all together for the afternoon.  Alissa had gone to Harrisonburg to stay with the twins while Kristin went to a doctor’s appointment.  Rory just stared at me trying to figure out how Tita could be live on momma’s phone.  Hudson said “hello” and then went to lie down on the couch.  Analia and Ella talked to me the most and had lots to tell me about their time together.  It was good to see their sweet faces but my interne service caused the response time to delayed which was somewhat distracting. 

Since the blueberry festival is coming up in about ten days at church, I thought I better get started making cakes.  I volunteered to make three cakes for the event.  It had been forever since I had made a pound cake but I was happy when it slipped from the bunt pan in perfect form.  I just hope it tastes as good as it looks. 

I intentionally waited until late evening to walk the “back forty” and check on the cattle.  I had hoped to be able to catch some good photos of the sunset, but alas, that is hard to do even from the top of our property.  The sun sets behind another, higher ridge, and we just don’t get the beautiful sunrise and sunsets that we are accustomed to in the valley.  Yet, it was a gorgeous walk.  I spent time with the cows who were at the spring, and then I walked on up the hill.  I heard a dear blow and then saw it running along the edge of the woods.  At the top of the hill, looking over the tall grass, I saw the ears and eyes of a doe looking at me briefly before she turned and hid herself.  Later, as night fell, and I walked back down to the “holler” I heard the distinct cry of a fawn.  The cows, who had joined me, heard it too and their heads and ears went up in concern.   I hoped the little one was with it’s momma and safe.  I hoped the children I had seen today at the Dollar store were safe as well. 

June 8, 2018

3 am and Mike said to me “You sleep better when I am not here.”  I laughed because for three nights I slept like a baby while he was gone.  He got in around 10 pm last night and I was so very glad to see him.  Nothing like a hug and kiss from your partner after an absence.  The time away from each other was productive for both of us and I truly needed the time to be alone and un- wind a bit.  While others might unwind by relaxing, that has never been my style.  I need and want to be active.  Yesterday, I was on the phone a good bit regarding grandma.  I also spent a good bit of time with tears running down my face.  For so long I have known that she has dementia and I have done all that I knew to do to get help but no one would listen to me.  Yesterday, after all this time, the doctor at the rehabilitation center/nursing home gave her an evaluation that left no doubt that not only is she suffering from dementia, but she is in advanced stages and the disease is progressing rapidly.  Part of me was relieved that a medical professional finally acknowledged what I have known for three years and my brother and I have suspected for four or five.  The other part of me is dealing with anger.  I know that anger is a part of the grief process and will try to give it space without dwelling there too long.  I just can’t stop crying.  On several occasions I took grandma to her family doctor where she would appear poised and confident.  Instead of really looking at the facts, the doctors would dismiss us and talk about what good health my grandmother has pysically, never giving me any support for her failing mind.  The first time I took her and we talked to the doctor about her memory problems, when the report came back from the doctor with the words “memory loss” on the paperwork, Grandma took herself down to the doctor’s office and made a huge scene, demanding that the paperwork be changed.  At that time, I had been concerned because she was leaving the stove and oven on after cooking, and I was afraid she was going to burn the house down and cause herself bodily harm.  The doctor called me at home in Virginia in a very agitated and accusatory state and basically told me off for bringing her to him in the first place.  Everywhere I turned, I was met with disbelief, accusations and resistance from those who had limited experience with Nan.  Somewhere during that time frame is when her finances fell apart.  She had been spending large sums of money while managing her own accounts after my grandfather passed away.  Once she got herself into a financial deficit and was bouncing checks, instead of telling her family, she told a friend who set her up with a “secret” bank account, using Nan’s pastor and her church to funnel the money to Nan and instructing Nan and the Pastor of the church not to tell anyone.  In Nan’s confused state of mind, she was easily influenced by people who didn’t have a clue what was really going on in her life.  The rumors and accusations that came from that situation resulted in people saying horrible things about my brother and I, including that we had stolen her money, and that we didn’t’ care enough about her to make sure she received the financial help that she needed.  What those people didn’t understand (or maybe they did and someone was looking for a way to use her to funnel money into the church) is that her mind was slipping greatly at that point.  Always able to keep up outward appearance, Nan’s dementia was hard for people to see unless they were very close to her.  As the disease continued, Nan began to react very stubbornly towards my efforts to help her.  Managing her money was extremely difficult because I had no legal grounds to take over officially and I was always trying to gently guide her in the right directions.  I paid the bills, but she still was able to withdraw money and often her spending left me wondering how I would manage.  There were times when Mike and I covered for her by investing our own money into her care.  Nan has a comfortable monthly income with her social security (she worked outside the home for many years) and with my grandpa’s retirement money.  My grandpa left her debt free with a comfortable home and car.  She should have been set for life.  Instead of seeing our struggles in trying to help someone losing their ability to reason, or understanding the difficulties and pain we were all going through, time and time again small town gossipers and people who didn’t know the whole story would assume (and often voice) that we grandchildren were despicable and either didn’t care for our grandmother properly or we were out and out taking advantage of her.  If they could have seen our hearts and our struggles to give grandma what she needed and to protect her dignity, that she so desperately strove to hold onto, they would have understood that we were doing all we could.  Our hands were tied legally and medically and we did the best we could under the circumstances.  I sought assistance from the Veteran’s administration to try to get more money so that we could have another care person come in to Grandma’s home, knowing that she was needing more and more attention as her anxiety increased and her memory failed in the last year.  In order for us to proceed with that, we had to have a doctor’s report stating that she needed assistance.  Twice, we went to the doctor who talked to her, remarked how healthy she was, took her words which were often in error (not because she was intentionally lying but because in her mind things were the way they use to be) and would not give us the information on the report we needed to proceed with getting additional care for her.  Going to another doctor was out of the question.  She stubbornly refused to go anywhere but to “her” doctor.  Again, and again, we ran into road blocks that kept us from getting an official diagnosis or even anyone to take us seriously.  Always perfectly poised, gracious, and sociable, folks could not see that behind the scenes she was falling apart and there was nothing the family could do about it.  I had tried to convince her to come and stay with me.  She refused.  At one point, we had tried to get her to go to assisted living and she refused.  As I write this, I don’t want anyone reading it, now or later, to think that Jimmy or I ever considered Nan’s care a burden.  Nan could not ever be a burden.  This woman who gave of herself so unselfishly and loved unconditionally and who probably had the greatest influence of anyone any my life could never be a burden.  The burden lies in being unable to completely protect her and provide for her in a way that brings her complete comfort and peace.  At first, I did not understand that there was to be no comfort and peace.  As her mind as deteriorated, it is the classic character strength of restfulness, trust, and peace that she has lost.  It has been said that many times when people suffer from dementia, they show characteristics that are exactly opposite of the character traits they have exhibited all their life.  In my Nan’s case, that holds true.  Yesterday, based on her own observations, observations from the staff, and a cognitive test, the doctor diagnosed Nan as having dementia and being in advanced stages with a rapid acceleration of decline.  My head and heart want to scream out the injustice that it took this long to get someone’s attention and a diagnosis.  I am hurt.  I am angry.  And, I am relieved.  I am relieved that someone can see it other than just those family members closest to Nan.  I am relieved that when all of the small, southern town gossipers and the people in far away places who want to point fingers at the family open their mouths and point their fingers that I have a doctor that says that I was right all along.  But, in the end, my justification is filled with the stinging, hurtful reality that we are not going back to what was before and the road ahead of us is only filled with more pain.  The doctor explained to Jimmy that typically, at this stage of dementia, it is easy to recognize as folks have lost touch with social skills and personal care but she said for some reason, Nan has held onto those things while losing so many others.  The doctor voiced what I have seen all along by stating that Nan’s ability to present herself as “together” has made her diagnosis very difficult until it was in such a late stage.  There is so much that I want to say about that as well, but my heart won’t even go there right now.  All I can say for now is that daily I am working on myself to let go of the need to appear perfect or together in all aspects of my life.  Perhaps, that is why I allow myself to be so vulnerable in my blog. 

Yesterday, with all of this running through my head, I pushed my body.  That is how I often deal with loss, with grief, with disappointment.  I was determined that I would tackle the lawn so that Mike would not have to deal with it when he returned.  We have a push mower and our yard is not easy to mow, being moderately inclined to downright mountainous.  During the hottest part of the day, I fought the mower that didn’t’ want to start (there’s something wrong with it and it leaks gas through the primer button).  I was so irritated when I couldn’t get it going, but after I let it sit a while (I had flooded it) and came back to it, I got it going.  I pushed so fast and so hard that when finally stopped for a break, I realized that I had overheated myself.  For a few minutes, I felt like I was going to pass out, but after rehydrating and resting, I was fine.  The rest of the yard, I forced myself to take at a slower pace.  When I was finished, it felt good to be able to look out and see something that I had a little bit of control over when most of life seems so out of control. 

After mowing the lawn, I tackled the house.  It was in pretty good shape but I ran a Swiffer over the floors and adjusted a few things to my liking.  Again, exercising control over the things I could control when life seems overwhelming.  So, while I was at it, why not bake a cake from scratch with a recipe I had never tried before?  Typically, I am a “fly by the seat of my pants” cook who with hap hazard flair dumps what looks like the right amount instead of measuring correctly.  I add ingredients and leave them out at whim.  I rarely make the something the same way twice.  But yesterday, I researched an original recipe for pound cake.  I read about the history and then I looked up all the tips and hints for doing it right.  I measured my ingredients correctly and accurately.  I gave my eggs and butter the proper amount of time to be room temperature.  I controlled every aspect of making that cake and the results turned out beautifully.  Again, I just needed the structure and that feeling of being able to accomplish something when my world felt like it was falling apart. 

Then, hot, sweaty and exhausted already, I decided to take an evening hike up to the top of the “back forty” while my cake cooled.  I told myself I needed to find my cows, as they had not come down all day.  I did notice as I walked, that I am building strength.  My heart is not racing as much and I don’t have to stop to catch my breath like when I first started climbing these hills.  Things don’t hurt as much now when I walk and my endurance is greater.  I know from experience that dealing with grief is like that as well.  At first, it is so exhausting.  The heart pounds, breathing is hard, and it feels like all strength is gone.  The difficulty doesn’t’ lessen with time, but the endurance grows stronger and just like climbing these Appalachian Mountains, there are things to be seen from the top, even through the tears.. 

June 10, 2018

With no solidified plans yet for Friday, I asked Mike what his plans were for the day.  He replied that since I had taken care of the lawn, that he could work on fencing which ongoing as we try to divide up separate paddocks.  Then he asked me if I wanted to go to Boone’s Mill to the Foothills Produce Auction.  We had been talking about checking it for some time.  We knew that it was very small and nothing compared to the produce auctions we where we use to buy and sell in the Valley at Dayton, Virginia.  We were curious and it seemed like a good time to satisfy our curiosity.  We remarked that we could also go by the Ford dealership and find out about the recall on our Ford Edge.  We had received a letter in the mail stating that the driver’s side airbags were faulty on our vehicle and that they were advising the vehicles not be driven until parts became available to replace the airbag.   It was decided and we rushed around to drive the almost hour and a half to the produce auction.  When the Foothills produce auction was in the conception stage, delegates from the Amish community had visited the Mennonite run produce auction in the Valley one day while we were there.  We remembered their visit and not surprised to see things set up very similar to the auction we were used to, however, very small in comparison.  Where the Dayton auction will run for hours, the Foothills auction was over in less than an hour.  The Amish folks were very friendly, all of them speaking to us and welcoming us.  We had a nice visit and while we have no plans to get back into produce, we could see some potential there if we did ever have a surplus and want to sell.  From there we went into Roanoke to the Ford dealership.  The lady who helped us was the most efficient employee I have encountered in a long time.  Within minutes she had verified the recall on our vehicle, submitted the paperwork to Ford, received the confirmation from Ford that they were putting us in a rental car, and then ordered the rental car from Enterprise.  She said it would be about an hour and a half before the car was ready, so we went to Aldi’s to buy a few groceries and the grabbed a bite to eat.  Because there are so many recalls, we were instructed to take our Ford Edge home and park it, driving the rental car until the parts come in and our car can be repaired.  They said it could be months.  Mike drove the rental home and I drove the Edge.  We tried to take the Blueridge Parkway out of Roanoke but that section was closed for construction.  Instead, we went back to Boone’s Mill and took the backroads home.  It was a gorgeous drive and a beautiful day  This past week we were blessed with amazing weather.  I drove with the sunroof open, enjoying the air and the sunshine.  Friday and Saturday I was on the phone a lot regarding my grandmother.  Her confusion, anxiety, and inability to remember things are causing so many issues for her and making it very difficult for the staff to keep her safe.  My cousin that has been caring for her for well over a year continues to go to the rehab facility and spend days with her, giving her personal attention and one on one care.  However, when my cousin leaves, Nan gets agitated and struggles.  Things get more and more difficult for her.  Everyone seems to be at a loss as to how to help her.  Friday afternoon and evening Mike and I worked around the house.  I put zucchini in the freezer, slicing, blanching, blotting it dry and then freezing it.  I also had a small amount of rhubarb that I canned.  I didn’t have much but I am trying to can as much as I can not only to conserve freezer space, but also because the canned goods keep for longer periods of time.  I remembered that I had bought a small, enamel canner, even smaller than a pint-sized canner on a shelf lot at an auction.  It is the right size for about seven jelly jars.  I only had enough rhubarb, once it was cooked, to fill two-pint jars but with the small canner, I could do that more efficiently than using a larger sized canner.  The canner didn’t have a rack in the bottom, but I had a small rack that fit it perfectly, hanging with my vintage kitchen items as a display piece on the beam that divides the working area from the eat-in area of our farm kitchen.  It was fun to be able to use those vintage items and put them to use while at the same time being able to can even a small portion without feeling like I was wasting too much energy to do so.  I wish I had a little more rhubarb and could have done at least four pints.  I think that’s what the little canner will hold of the pint jars. 

Saturday morning, Mike wanted to go to an auction.  I couldn’t get off the phone as things continued to need attention with grandma.  Jimmy gets all the calls from the doctors and nurses but he is good to call me immediately, let me know what is going on, and together we make decisions that need to be made.  Sometimes, there is nothing to do but stay updated on the latest development.  It seems that every day brings new challenges and more tears.  The doctor at the nursing home/rehab has been very good and she shared that she went through a similar experience with a close family member.  It was comforting to know that she understands on a personal level as well as on a professional level. 

We enjoyed the auction and bought a few things.  It was hard for me to remember that we had a small vehicle and that the rental just wasn’t going to hold large items.  I got some great deals on some wicker tables for our front porch and a wicker planter.  I also got an adorable, painted, old chair for the front porch.  Those four items for only $8.  I also got four, clean, nice totes with clamp down lids for $4 and a shelf tiered shelf that we will use for displaying items in one of our booths for $6.  However, getting all those items into a small car ended up being quite a challenge.  We arranged and re-arranged until we got everything inside and then we headed home.  About the time we got home, the sky opened up and it poured down rain.  The official weather station report says that we got close to 1.5 inches in about 30 minutes time.  It was still raining when we parked the car, but I jumped out and ran into the house, only to find that water was coming through the ceiling in our bedroom.  Mike and I tried to trace the water for a good ten minutes or more and finally Mike was pretty sure that it was coming from the dormer window on the second floor and running down, then dripping into our bedroom.  First Mike and then I stood with the screen up and our body from the waste up hanging out the upstairs window trying to find the leak.  Mike found where the caulking had been damaged when the new gutters were installed and we are relatively certain that repairing that will take care of the leak.  The angle of the rain and the driving wind had caused a situation where the water hit the window at such angle that the damaged caulking leaked.  Seems like an easy fix and no lasting damage was done. 

We are a week away from the Blueberry Festival at church, and DOT has decided that they are going to shut down our road for repairs for the week leading up the festival.  Since we are not sure if we will be able to get in and out, especially with a big trailer, Mike wanted to get the hay trailer up to the church.  The musicians are going to use the trailer as a stage for the Festival.  Mike and a friend from church got the trailer moved and set in place for next week and it felt good not to have to worry about that later.  Then, Mike and Allan went back to Allan’s house to pick blueberries for the festival.  I remained at home to get some things done knowing I had a busy week ahead of me and having a lot on my plate regarding grandma. 

June 14, 2018

I’ve been pretty dedicated to getting something put in my journal and transferred to my blog each week, but I wasn’t able to post last week’s entries.  We just had too much going on and I have been negligent to keep up with my journal the last few days.  Grandma’s situation has continued to worsen and I felt like I needed to just drop everything and head to Georgia, which we did on Sunday morning.  We made it to the Rehab facility by late afternoon and stayed with Nan until visitor’s hours had ended.  Today is Thursday and we are heading back to Laurel Fork.  The last few days have been a balancing act between “taking care of business” and sitting with grandma.  I had warned about Grandma’s decline but even when one has head knowledge about the facts, seeing things in person is a real eye opener.  I knew that grandma was having difficulty on answering the phone and talking now but I didn’t realize how much she was struggling with just every day activities.  Most of the time I was there, I fed Nan.  It wasn’t that she absolutely could not feed herself, but she struggled using her utensils and would eat more if I fed her.  She got frustrated trying to feed herself.  Nan is struggling to carry on conversations and formulate her thoughts into words.  Finding Nan struggling so much made it clear to us that we would not be able to care for her properly at home.  Her safety is our biggest concern.  Unable to even turn over in the bed by herself, get up by herself, go to the bathroom by herself, etc. we knew that caring for her would require 24 hour a day assistance by experienced staff.  The decisions we had to make as a family were extremely difficult.  Nan did recognize us, but most of the time was in another place mentally.  The emotional challenge of “losing” someone this way is heartbreaking.  Everyday I left the center, I was emotionally exhausted.  Grandma is suffering and there is nothing we can do about it.  That is the hardest part.  Unless someone has walked in the shoes of the family who has tried to care for a loved one with dementia, there is no way they can understand.  I never would have imagined that we would be dealing with some of the behavioral changes that we have encountered.  I am still not able to put into words the experience of this last week, in part because I am unable to wrap my mind around all that has transpired in what seems like such a short amount of time, although with hindsight, I can see that we have been leading up to this new reality for a very long time.  There were so many things that happened, not only with Nan, but with other patients in the facilities where Nan has been staying that need to be written down but finding ways to share those stories and respect the privacy and dignity of those involved is difficult.  People need to know.  Everyone needs to spend a week of concentrated effort in a facility that provides care for the elderly.  Everyone needs to spend a few days walking the halls and trying to live in the world of someone with dementia.  At some point, those stories will come out and I will share them, but today isn’t the day.  My heart hurts too much.

June 17, 2018

Mike and I spent over 20 hours at the nursing home with Nan from Sunday evening until Thursday morning.  Every minute was spent trying to keep her as comfortable as possible and peaceful, but her anxiety levels are so high that we were unable to bring her much apparent comfort.  Thursday evening after an uneventful trip.  We arrived home early enough that we were able to get a few things done outside before dark.  The cows and chickens were happy to see us, but had done well in our absence.  A friend had come by to check on things while we were gone.  They had our road closed to traffic the days we were absent, as DOT put in a culvert just up the road from us but they had pulled out by the time we got home.  I was worried that we would have difficulty getting back to our house and thankful that wasn’t the case.  I was glad that our time away coincided with the construction so that we didn’t have to listen to the heavy equipment and have our peace disturbed by all the construction taking place.  Friday morning Mike and I tried to catch up on things around the house.  Around 11 am we made our way to our friend’s house to pick blueberries. The church had planned a Blueberry Festival and we had told everyone that we would help.  It was a rather warm day, especially picking in the middle of the day, but we were thankful for sunshine.  We picked for a while and then went to the church where several other people assembled as well to work on setting up tents and shelters for the event.  I think the crew put in about five hours and worked at a steady pace.  Several of the women worked inside getting things ready in the kitchen for food preparation.  I headed outside to help set up the shelters.  There was a large shelter that had not been used in 20 years.  There were no instructions with it and some of the men went to work trying to figure it out.  While they did that, I grabbed a couple of the pop-up canopies and started setting them up on the wagon we were using as a stage for the band.  Mike came along and helped me finish up, as it works best with two people.  We pulled several shade tents from boxes where pieces had been mixed up (and some missing) when the shelters had last been stored away twenty years ago.  Four men went to work on one and I went to work on another by myself.  The men were struggling.   I sat looking at the instructions for a while, separated my pieces into piles, and started trying to work the puzzle.  I got to a certain point while following the instructions and then an elderly man came along and sat down in the shade close to me and asked me for the instructions.  He would project his voice towards me, while looking at the instructions and pointing with his cane, telling me what to do.  I don’t know that his presence was a great help in figuring out what to do, but we sure did have a lot of fun doing it.  Normally very quiet and sullen when I see him at church, he was animated and teasing me.  It was a great time to let him know how valuable he is and to get to know him a little better.  Towards the end, when I was almost finished constructing the shelter, Mike came by and we got the last few pieces together and the tarp on the frame.  The men putting up the other ten were still struggling and my elderly friend laughed and pointed out that I had put up my tent almost single handed while four men were still struggling to get their tent in place.  He was a hoot. 

After finishing up what we could do at the church, Mike and I headed home having a couple of hours of daylight left.  Daylight is important to a farmer and never before have we spent our days spent inside of nursing homes or putting up tents for a church event.  Our lives truly are different now and while we struggle to get the farming done between caring for family members (whether they are the elderly or the Little People), we are blessed to be at a point in our life where we can arrange to do so.  These things are important and time and time again I am reminded of the brevity of life.  One can’t just spend all their time “getting ahead”.  Sometimes we have to let some of the things go that we once deemed so important so that we can have the time to do the things that truly are important.  Mike made the best of the rest of the summer light, working right up until dark building fence.  I had been asked to make blueberry jam for the festival and made a double batch, finishing up with clean up and getting in bed around 11 pm. 

We were up early Saturday morning, Mike heading back to work on the fence while I tried to catch up on laundry and a few household chores as well as gather together what we needed to take to the Blueberry Festival.  We left about 10:30 to help finish setting up.  If we had custom ordered the weather, it could not have been better.  After so much rain recently, the sun was shining and the view of Buffalo Mountain couldn’t be beat.  I don’t know if there is a prettier setting in Virginia than that little, rock church with the view there of the mountain.  The somewhat recent and unexpected passing of one of our church members left his children with an estate to manage and they graciously donated a good many items to the church for a yard sale table.  The items were in excellent condition and boxed.  I had helped a friend price them the night before and was given the task of setting up the yard sale booth and managing it for the day.  I had brought my old cash box from our produce selling days and put my tables over by the craft table.  Being towards the front of the church and close to the parking lot along the main path to get to the food booth, I had a lot of folks stopping just to chat.  While I am typically not a chatter, I am able to put my introversion into remission for short periods of time and I love people enough that when “forced” to interact, I find plenty of reason to be thankful that I step out of my comfort zone from time to time.  We didn’t know how many people to expect.  I believe the largest attendance the church every had for their festivals in the past was close to 500.  Since nothing had been done for twenty years since they had the last Strawberry Festival, it was hard to tell if we would have anyone show up or if we would have a crowd.  In the end, everything went smoothly and I think our close to 200 guests had a good time.  The Blue Grass band was top notch and our piano player from the church, Cynthia, did a great job when the band took a break.  The quality of the crafts, baked goods, and other items donated to the church was excellent.  After expenses, I am not sure how much money we made to donate to charity as we have not got that figured out yet, but the main goal was to provide opportunity for a spirit of community and there is not doubt that goal was met.  Working together with friends and family of church members, our little group of less than 30 active attendees pulled off an event that left our guests smiling and hoping we will do it again.  The community knows that the little mountain church established in 1929 is still there and that love for our neighbors regardless of church affiliation (or lack thereof) is still characteristic ninety years later.  This is what drew me to this church in the beginning and being a part of this outreach was a blessing.  It was hard work and some of my senior friends in the church made me so proud of them as they worked even when they were hot and tired serving others.  Ms. Anna who is 96 years old contributed as much as anybody (maybe more) to the craft booth with her exquisite sewing skills and then spent over three hours in the hot sun helping to sell.  So many others, somewhere between Ms. Anna’s age and the young children selling local honey, worked without complaint in the hot sun until we were finished and everything was put away.  It was a good day and I am thankful that Mike and I got to be a part of it.  And, Mike?  Well, he ended up in the food service line under the supervision of one of the senior women who expected a lot from him and worked his tail off!  He was glad to get home and go back to building fence, but he did say he felt it was a good day and he was glad that we were able to help.  I think it was good for him to see how much work it is to host such an event.  So many times, when we have smaller events at home where I do all of the work, he doesn’t have any reference to understand how much it takes to serve a large group of people.  I think he has a new appreciation. 

June 18, 2014

I’ve been watching a little wren build a nest.  She is a vivacious little bird who decided to move into a bird house that I temporarily sat on the porch railing.  I had no intention of leaving it there, but when Ms. Wren saw it and promptly started to move in, I decided to leave it.  I have enjoyed very much watching her bring in large twigs and maneuver them expertly pull them into the small hole of an entrance and weave them with other material into a nest.  Mr. Wren as been obvious with his presence and his intentions, frequently calling outside her door alternating between almost scolding chirps and melodious songs, often spreading his wings and dancing around while he sings in hopes of luring Ms. Wren from her nest making.  Watching the birds has been a small pleasure in the midst of a hard couple of weeks.  I am happy to have the distraction, especially since our fledgling Phoebes have flown their nest.    The Eastern Wild Turkey feeding in the meadow all day long, the spotted fawn nursing their mothers, the sound of the water rushing down the stream outside our window, the peeping of the frogs, and the Jersey cows grazing in the fields: these are a few of my favorite things, and some of the things that bring peace to my soul reminding me that above all else, life is good.  Life is hard, but life is good.  As I watch “my” little wrens, I am reminded of the elderly folks who are trapped within their own bodies, unable to leave the facility which provides for their care and how so many of them watch from their room windows to see the birds at the feeders. 



“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -



And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -



I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me. ~ Emily Dickinson