January 2, 2022
Last night, right at dusk, I stood along the fence just out from
the barn. To my back, Princess and Mary
Ann (two of our cows) were letting me know they had not received their expected
supper. For a minute, I turned and tried
to scratch Princess behind the ears, but she was perturbed that I was stalling and
wasn’t interested in any loving expression on my part that delayed her part of
the hay. I turned back around and
watched the rest of the dairy cows making their way up the steep bank to the
hay that Mike had dropped for them. My
eyes instinctively lifted higher, to the top of the hill and then to the sky. The scene looked surreal, with clouds being
pushed quickly out of sight by winds much too warm for the first day of January.
The disappearing clouds were immediately replaced by more clouds while the scene
repeated itself indefinitely. Off to my
left I could hear the desperate cries of some small mammal that had been caught
by sharp paws and was most likely being ripped apart by even sharper teeth. A fox,
coyote or maybe even the feral cat I had seen slinking down the path had jumped
some unsuspecting creature and was intent on destroying it. I pushed aside the unpleasant
sounds of one life destroying another, an act forgiven as preservation instinct
and part of the so-called circle of life (which perhaps should be labeled the
circle of death). Perhaps it should have felt eerie and ominous but that wasn’t
my impression. The squeals of the poor
captured creature stopped and all I could hear was the sound of the wind in my
ears. Maybe I was just emotionally numb.
It’s been a hard week. My mind seeking peace, I thought how there was no
place I would rather be, even after the hard week when nothing seemed right,
than right there in that moment with those fast-moving clouds rolling past my
eyes and an impatient, senior cow literally breathing down my neck.
All too soon I had to tear myself away from the scene before me,
and get back to work. After all, Princess was not going to be distracted until she
got her bit of hay. My stomach has been
in knots all week with uncertainty of so many things. It would be nice if I were one of those people
who could learn to lay my burdens aside, but I internalize everything and when
I am like this, the competing thoughts inside my head keep me awake at night
even when my body collapses with exhaustion.
No matter how many years one has worked to let go of trauma and learn a
new response to certain triggers, the old habits of coping will raise their
ugly heads and must be beat back into submission once again. The anxiety will settle, the peace will
return, but it will take time and work and frankly, some days I just feel old
and tired.
“Out there” beyond our farm
and in the world at large it feels as if some universal puppet master has taken
strange delight in pitting a cast of characters against one another. Then sitting back with a bag of popcorn, he
casually watches the cast destroying each other. Occasionally when the scene starts to calm
and the characters seem to want to find ways to love one another, the evil one pulls
a string. A new twist on an old scene
drops in the background, and the confused characters begin blaming one another for
their inability to follow the same script.
I don’t want to participate in the show. This week especially, I just want to draw the
curtains and pretend like a world outside of the farm doesn’t exist. It does,
however, and by our very nature, even the most introverted among us will wither
and fade if we do not give ourselves over to the sacrificial love of others,
casting aside our doubts, fears, insecurities, and the self-preservation
instincts that cause us to want to widen the moat around our castles and pull
up the draw bridge. That doesn’t mean my
involvement has to look like another’s. My
attempts to love a world that seems intent on self-destruction doesn’t have to
be grand. There’s a place for that and
perhaps at some point in time I might have even had a small part in something
that seemed earth shaking in its magnanimity. Not now. Perhaps that’s ok. Maybe in the reaching out to another to offer
grace, encouragement, a listening ear, or to just sit in silence holding
someone’s hand is all that is required of us at times.
I can hear someone saying this:
“She’s not helping.”
“She’s self-absorbed.”
“She should be doing more for her family, for her church, for her
community, for the world at large.”
“She should be more outgoing.”
“She should be more giving.”
Perhaps this is true. Or
maybe, the small efforts, the smile that is offered when the heart is breaking,
the lowering of the draw bridge and the stepping outside of one’s comfort zone briefly
to offer a hand to another desperate soul before quickly retreating again is all
that’s required when one is trying to piece together their own broken heart.
January 3, 2022
The weather, as unsettled as my current state of mind. After a week of spring like temperatures, the
grass turning greener, a few dandelions blooming on the sheltered edges, the
kale and lettuce growing by inches in the fall garden, and the resident turkeys
gathering in large groups with Tom’s parading like it’s mating season, the steady
rain is to change over to snow as the temperature rapidly drops this morning. The sudden change seems cruel. I walked in short sleeves yesterday and today
I will pull out the long johns to wear beneath my overalls when I go to the
barn.
It’s a new week, a new year, and some unwritten rule says we are
supposed to review the past year and set goals for the year ahead. I’m keeping the same goals I had last year
which was to read and write more than the previous year. Not an earthshaking goal but an attainable
one. I am pleased with how I pushed
myself last year to read outside my favorite genre and to explore subjects that
made me think outside my self-imposed box.
Even though I struggled with my writing last year, coming to a complete shutdown
with a novel I started after writing 10,000 words, I feel like I have made progress. I have come full circle to online journaling
once again, I have become more aware in my writing process, and in the last few
days I have written the first draft of what I hope will be, if only for my
grandchildren, my first published, illustrated children’s book. It will take a lot of work for it to reach its
final form as the process is new to me and I feel like I am struggling alone in
the dark. I have much to learn, but
getting it in print, if only for my family, is a goal for 2022.
My goals are not grand and glorious. Read more, write more, try not to grow to
cynical in a world of evil puppet masters, and don’t give up on love.