December 3, 2021
The daytime temperatures have been much more pleasant the past few
days, and my walks with Buddy have been refreshing. My routine with Buddy is the perfect excuse
for me to spend alone time soaking up my natural surroundings. There are days I feel lazy and don’t want to
walk, but after we have made it up the steepest of the inclines on our mountain
property, I am always happy to be outdoors no matter how hot or cold. We walk
in the evening, when possible, so that when we are making our way back to the
house, the sun is just setting. (This is
a strategical move so that I don’t have to make an extra trip back outside to
shut the chickens in their house for the night.) With our home deep in the hollow, we can see
neither sunrise nor sunset from our windows there. After I have Buddy back to the yard, and have
the chickens secured, I toss Princess and Dot some hay. They are currently separated from the rest of
the herd. Princess must remain away from
the bull and Dot is good company for her. Besides, Dot’s calf is extra tiny,
and I would worry about him having access to the big pastures so far away from
the barn. Often, this time of night, I
see the resident Belted King Fisher perched and looking one last time for
something to eat before dark. The Great
Blue Heron also is often seen lifting from the water’s edge and drifting toward
the meadow before he goes to his nest for safety. Starting at dusk and lasting
until early morning, I often hear the sounds of screech owls, but not nearly as
often do I hear a hoot owl. It was pure
joy to hear the hooting call of the Barred Owl coming from a stand of mature
hardwoods one evening this week.
Once indoors with complete darkness surrounding our home (no neighborhood
lights or outdoor floodlights, only a few cheap solar lights that help us find
the house from the barn in the evenings, but soon lose their strength and fade
away) we wind down and settle in for a rest. Rarely do I push myself to
complete additional tasks once night has fallen and we are indoors. Mike and I both seem to be in great health,
but there is certainly a difference in how “50 something” and “60 something”
year old humans feel at the end of the day than when we were in our 30’s and 40’s. I’m so thankful for the life we lead that sets
the stage for us to push our bodies physically and to eat foods free of
additives and preservatives. I think it
has made a difference. However, where I
use to be able to push through to 9 or 10 pm, I am now ready to end my day
around 4 pm when a deep exhaustion usually hits me and the aching in my joints
gets harder to ignore. I typically begin
my day between 3 and 4 am (although sometimes I sleep in as late as 6 pm if I
am especially tired). The morning is
when I am brightest, my mind is clearest, and I am filled with hopes and dreams
for the day. My brother laughs knowing
how as a teenager I hated mornings and did everything I could to stay in bed as
long as possible. I now treasure the
early morning, the stillness, and a slow start to the day. My eagerness for life and the hopes and
dreams I have for the day propel me forward and have given me the strength to
face the personal losses I have faced. Everyone
lives with grief in their own way and my way has been to find as much of life
as I can to hold onto and live fully while carrying in my heart my deep love
for those whom I have lost. My husband
often comments that I am “killing myself” with work but what he doesn’t
understand is that without it, I would drown in my own grief. Finding the balance between working myself to
exhaustion and being healthy has been the challenge. Slowing down after a 12-hour day and not
stretching it into 18 is necessary, not only because I just get too tired (and
hurt too much) to do what I use to do, but also because mentally and
emotionally it is healthier for me give space to the things that are in my
heart and mind rather than to fill every waking moment with the distraction of
work.
December 4, 2021
This week has been busy with extra-curricular activities. The routine of daily life has been squeezed
in among other activities, and that always makes me a little more addled. Social
interactions rejuvenate and revitalize my Sweetheart, while they completely
exhaust me. It has been a difficult
balancing act for the two of us over the last 17 years we have spent together,
but I realized recently that I have selfishly submerged myself into the cocoon that
I was able to create during the Covid lockdowns. It is time that I try to push
myself to do things with Mike away from the farm other than church twice a
month and an occasional shopping spree every 4-6 weeks typically. Mike has made frequent trips back and forth
to Staunton, interacted with friends and family there, and has been much more
socialized than I over the last year to year and half. But with hay season over, trips to Staunton
slowing down, and winter setting in, the stimulation of additional activities is
welcome for him. Monday, he made a trip
to South Carolina and back, to move a trailer load of merchandise for a friend. On Wednesday and Thursday, we had some of Mike’s
family visiting. Mike and his sister
were working together on a mutual project, and his Mom and I visited indoors,
kept the meals on the table, and ran some errands. Saturday, Mike wanted to attend an auction. One of the ladies from our favorite auction company
called and said they were having their first live auction in almost two years. Even though we no longer rent a booth and
sell antiques and vintage items, we went out of curiosity (and for
socialization). We arrived a few minutes
late and found a seat on the back row apart from others. I am observer when I am in a large group, and
I was aware that people seemed in their own little space, not really
interacting a lot with one another other than an occasional “hello” thrown out
from time to time. Everyone seemed to be
making a conscious effort to remain somewhat socially distanced. I saw some
familiar faces of some elderly people and I was glad to know that they were
still with us, still interested in life, still involved, even if we were all in
our own little space. Even an introvert
such as I can see how the past two years has influenced all of us. We are all different than before Covid. Even those who tried so hard not to change,
who fought against the mandates, who vocally and physically rebelled, who said
they would never do anything different than they always have, are different
because of it all.
I also observed the fervency of the buyers. Keep people away from
something they love for close to two years and watch them lose their minds when
given the opportunity to participate once again. No one seemed to care how much money they
were spending. Sure, inflation has hit
every area of our lives, but who would have thought that antiques, vintage
items, and yard sale quality merchandise would increase so much for the buyer
in the last two years? I was glad that
we no longer needed to buy the merchandise and stock a booth.
After being in a large room with that many people and that much
noise, I almost felt panicked by the time we arrived home. I think it was a
combination of sensory overload and the realization that a whole week had
passed in which I had intended to prepare for our grandkids visit and had
accomplished nothing of which I had set out to do. With so many extra activities and the regular
farm chores, I had not had time to do anything to work towards what is going to
be an early Christmas for us. Although
we try to keep things simple for the holidays, there’s still so much to do to create
the setting for our time together. I
promised myself that I would just do what I can do and try not to worry about
what doesn’t get accomplished. However,
I know myself, and the coming days will be days in which I push myself to do
all that I can do to make our first Christmas back together with all the grandkids
present at one time, as traditional as possible.
December 5, 2021
Up early and trying to figure out how to get as much accomplished
as possible to make up for lost time this past week, I had the milking machine together
and was pushing Mike to help me carry it to the barn much earlier than usual: milking,
then clean up, then church. After church
we went in search for a tree. I typically
wait as close to Christmas as possible before I decorate and put up a live tree,
but with the kids coming and our celebrating earlier this year, it has to be
done now. The tree farm closest to our
house closed last year and has not reopened this year. They say there’s a shortage of trees. Another farm shut down one of their
locations. I called multiple tree farms
yesterday and they were overwhelmed, only open on the weekends, shutting down
early because they had already sold out for the year, and their prices had
skyrocketed. I searched for a small pine
on our property that might work for what we call “A Charlie Brown Christmas
Tree”. Mike looked as well. While we have huge, towering, older pines, they
are thick, and the smaller trees can’t grow in their shadow. The fee trees along the edges are still too
small and scraggly to use. My husband
began threatening to cut down a small pine on the edge of the road somewhere,
only half joking, and I envisioned an arrest due to defacing public property or
trespassing on private land. We bantered
back and forth for 24 hours with him sort of teasing me but getting more
serious about it all the time. At church
he was collecting friends who agreed with him that paying $50 dollars or more
for a tree that would only soon die was ridiculous (a point with which I agreed
as well) and that finding a Charlie Brown tree on the side of the road somewhere
was a better idea (an idea that left me imagining the worst-case scenario and
trying to find the balance between laughing at his antics and panic that he
might do it). As we visited with a dear
friend after church, she offered to let Mike cut a small pine off her property.
On the way back to our house, we took the long way so that he could scope out
the pines. He walked through the edge of
the woods and found a few he thought would be suitable and I promised to change
shoes and come back with him to get one.
First, we had to get fuel for our truck that was on empty and to get
fuel means we had to go out of our way even further before heading back to the
house. When we pulled in at the little
country store and gas station, there were some gorgeous Frasier Fir trees, just
the right size, leaning up against the building and a sign, “Local Trees for
Sale”. I just knew the price on them
would be prohibitive, but I really wanted such a compact tree so that I could
use my vintage Christmas ornaments which I had not had out since our youngest
grandchild was born over three years ago.
I started jumping with joy when I realized I could get a six-foot tree
for thirty-four dollars instead of the almost sixty dollars I had been quoted
elsewhere. With Christmas tree and a box
of Granny Smith apples from the Country Store in the back of our truck, a
little of my anxiety eased. We took the
long way home on some Virginia side roads where we have to creep along the edge
of the ditch when we meet an oncoming car because the roads are only wide
enough for one vehicle. Riding the
backroads is probably our favorite pastime and we lose ourselves intentionally
just so we can be surprised when we finally recognize the way home.
A meal of hamburgers and fried apples gave us the energy we needed
to tackle setting up the tree. I got the
lights strung and the dogs fed and then took Buddy on his evening walk, checked
fence lines, counted the cattle, shut the momma cows, calves and bull into the
lot closest to the barn for safety, gathered the eggs, locked up the chicken
house, fed hay to Dottie and Princess who don’t have a self-feeder, and got the
little dogs tucked into their beds for the night. There was the weekly, Sunday call to my
parents, a video chat with some of the grandkids, and finally I got my
decorations on the tree and part of the presents moved from the upstairs
bedroom where Mike and I had slept amongst them this past week when we moved
from our own room for a night, so his mom didn’t have to climb the stairs to
the spare bedrooms.
The coming week will be busy to the point of exhaustion with
cooking and cleaning and preparation to fill this small house to the brim with the
smiling faces of our precious children and grandchildren. We will video chat with our son in Thailand on
that day that we are all gathered, and our hearts will ache that he can’t be
with us, bound by travel restrictions that have kept him away from us now for
two years. In addition, we will carry
our love for Josh in our hearts, missing him as much now as we ever have and
wishing we could see his smile, hug and kiss him one more time. Holidays always accentuate the loss of a
loved one.
December 6, 2021
I have been in tune this year more to the loss of others. Of course, my heart still aches for the loss
of my son. It always will. Moments of intense grief still squeeze out of
my eyes without warning, and a physical pain still courses through my chest
when least expected, reminding me that my heart will remain broken as long as I
live. But, after thirteen years of
living with such grief, it is no longer a shock to me. I think knowing what is coming during the
holidays, the anticipation of it, and the knowledge that I have somehow
survived thirteen years (by God’s grace) gives me a strength I didn’t have in
earlier years. I am just so aware
this year of the pain of others who have lost loved ones and especially those
who will face this first holiday season without someone who means everything to
them. I struggle for words to
offer comfort, knowing this is something that each person has to face on their
own terms, in their own way. The ripping
of the heart, the torment of the mind, the intensity of the love a bereaved person
must face alone, even when surrounded by others who care, doesn’t seem humanly
possible to bear. But somehow, we bear
it and continue to find meaning in life, pouring ourselves into those who
remain, while wishing we could still physically touch those who are gone from
us. There’s a type of salvation in being able to find joy among the sorrow and
being brave enough to allow that joy to have its place even with a broken
heart. Embracing life, no matter how falteringly, allows
those from which we are separated, a continued presence in this world. A part
of them lives on in us. Aged grief
becomes as much part of our being as any physical characteristic that might
describe us. If I were to have one word
of comfort for those who are early in their grief it would be that the pain
will not lesson, but the shock of it will ease over time: our thoughts become
less of a fight, less a torment, and more a gentle reflection of the love we
shared.