May 16, 2018
I’ve always been the kind of person that handles extreme
situations fairly well. I used to work
for Liberty University in Lynchburg, Virginia.
(While I tend to disassociate myself with Liberty now, at the time I was
a single mom and desperately needed the job) I worked for the University police
department. I started out working mostly
dispatch but I had to have all the same courses at the security guards and
police officers. Because I was a woman
(and they only had a couple of women working for the department) and because I
took the courses to become an EMT, they often had me work as an armed security
guard instead of dispatching. (Anyone
that knows me now, knows that I came to align myself with pacifism as a matter
of conscience, but at that time I carried a gun 24 hour a day and was paid to
do so for 8-16 hours a day, often pulling double shifts at the University
Police Department.) During that time, I
was often in situations that were potentially dangerous or that required quick
and deliberate thinking on my part.
Other times in my life that were particularly stressful included,
my first marriage. Later in my life,
though things were great with my second marriage and peaceful between Mike and
I, I faced the stress of the loss of my son and the court proceedings and
sentencing of the young man whose actions either directly caused or aided in my
son’s death. I also learned that full
time farming brings with it many stresses.
Stress seems to have been a theme of my life.
All of us as humans face a tremendous amount of stress, and
while my experiences are uniquely mine, I am not an isolated example of a
person who has dealt with extreme stress. Stress is a part of life for all of
humankind. Over the last eighteen
months, Mike and I have done a lot to eliminate many of our external stressors,
realizing that we are getting older and life is short. On the other hand, we have made choices that
have proven stressful, such as the choice to move three hours away from Staunton
and yet returning weekly to care for the children and to farm there. The restfulness of our place in Laurel Fork
was a good balance for us but I don’t think I realized until the very end just
how stressful the frequent trips back and forth were on us. The last few weeks have seemed brutal and I
am weary and I feel like the soldier who has fought hard for a cause and when
the end is near is so weary that she wonders if she can make it. Although we no longer have to be in Staunton
every Monday to watch the Little Girls, other family responsibilities and
farming responsibilities have meant we have continued to make the trip weekly.
There is the recent injury for my grandma which has been a
huge stress. Initially I met the stress
of her situation with deliberate determination and the strength that comes from
knowing one has a difficult task to face.
Now with the details that face us and the decisions that have to be made
I feel like I want to have a good cry and then sleep forever, but that hasn’t happened
yet. The hardest part is grandma’s
confusion which results in her not understanding why she has to stay in
rehabilitation right now, why she can’t walk on her foot, and why she can’t
just go home. This results in discussion
between us in which I patiently explain to her again the necessity of her stay
at the rehabilitation center at the nursing home. Because we have two different people who are
family members working with her there, we know that she is getting great
care. We know that during the day she is
socializing, engaging in activities and conversations, and doing well. We also know that at night as her
“sundowners” kicks in that she gets frantic, irrational, and is miserable
making things difficult for herself and for the staff. This isn’t something new. For several years now, she has barricaded
herself in her house as night falls, pushing chairs and heavy furniture against
the doors, drawing up the shades tight, watching her Gaither tapes until she
manages to fall asleep for a few hours, and then getting up and pacing the
floors frantically for hours from around 2 am until daylight. We know this because she would tell me that
she was getting up, that she was unable to decipher the time, and that her
nights were miserable. We mentioned this
to her family doctor on several occasions and he gave her an anxiety med, but
she would not take it on a regular basis.
The last couple of times Mike and I visited, we saw how it had
progressed. She would come into our room
multiple times during the night, yelling at us to get up, telling us we were
going to be late, or just simply barging in and staring at us like she was
trying to figure out who we were and why we were there. It was heartbreaking to watch her frantically
running the hall, taking showers every morning at 2 am, fretting and exhausting
herself to the point that when daylight finally came she would fall asleep in
the recliner. In the day time, she was perfectly
able to carry on delightful conversations with others, loved to socialize, and
was perfectly poised. Her manner leaves
those who don’t see her actions at home feeling that the family is over
reacting about her condition. Unable to
even convince her family doctor that she needed more than just a small dose of
anxiety meds (which she didn’t take) and that she needed full time assistance,
I could not get the doctor to sign off on the fact that she needed someone to
stay with her at night. Without his
diagnosis of such, I could not follow through with the next phase of paperwork needed
to apply for assistance with the Veterans Administration. I never said a word to the hospital staff or
the nurses at rehabilitation about Nan’s evening anxiety issues and it turns
out I didn’t have to. Within 24 hours of
her injury the hospital was calling Jimmy and I to try to calm her down. At the rehabilitation center, they have been
able to observe her pattern for almost a month now. In less than a week’s time of her being
there, the doctor said there was no way he would release her to go home without
24 hour a day care. What all of this
translates into for her grandchildren is that Nan, in her confusion, feels like
she is being held hostage by people who are doing nothing to help her get
better and she calls and wants us to remove her from the situation. I just keep explaining to her the reasons she
has to be in rehabilitation and reminding her how important it is for her to
stay off of her broken ankle until they release her to put more weight on it and
begin the next phase of therapy. Jimmy
and I talked again last night and currently there is nothing I can there to
make things any better for anyone and my assistance on location is going to be
needed at a later date, so I am waiting to visit. Alissa and the Little Girls are going down
this weekend and will spend some time there, visiting her in the rehab
center. I am hoping that Alissa’s visit
will perk her up a bit. In the meantime,
the medical professionals have said that Nan is extremely healthy physically
and they have never seen someone her age on so few medications and in such good
condition. For this reason, they feel
that if she has a secure and safe environment where she can get the assistance
that she needs for the areas where she lacks mental clarity, she can go on
living a fairly independent life. They
feel that an assisted living facility is the best option for her and we are
looking into that option. The doctor
said there is no reason why her ankle won’t heal completely and why she won’t
get back her full mobility. Nan’s helper
has been preparing her meals for her, cleaning house, assisting with laundry
(although Nan insists on doing that herself because she is so particular about
how it is done), transporting her to appointments, etc. She has been unable to do that for herself
for a while now. An assisted living
facility would provide her with that amount of care 24 hours a day 7 day a week
while still providing her with her own space and the ability to make
independent decisions about what she wants to do throughout the day. I have found myself at a place where the
decisions that must be made feel heavy but Jimmy and I feel Nan’s safety and we
realize that we can not personally provide her with that level of safety and
care. If we are able to get the
financing, assisted living feels like the best option for her. The accusations from others, non-family
members, who want to judge and criticize, have already begun and where I might
have wanted to defend our decisions to others in the past, I realize there are
people in the world who are just looking for “a cause” and/or a reason to
criticize and judge. I continue to
remind myself that another’s perceptions and reactions reflect on them, and not
on us.
May 17, 2018
I’m in the car, on a Thursday, riding in the back seat as we
travel to Staunton. We have had Mike’s
mom with us since Sunday and it has been a good visit. We have not done anything especially exciting
or special, but Mike and I kicked back so that we could spend time Treva. Mike’s mom has visited us previously on
several different occasions and it seemed like we were so busy and so
stressed. This time we wanted to make
sure that we slowed down and gave her time.
This week, today in fact, marks the anniversary of the passing of Mike’s
dad. I am sure it is on the mind of all
of the family. I am glad that Treva
could be with us this week and perhaps the change of atmosphere for her was
helpful at this time. We laughed
multiple times over the fact that all we seemed to do was eat and collect
plants. When we were not eating meals at
home, we were out traveling to various produce stands and green houses and
looking for the best deals on plants for the garden while catching a bite to
eat on the road. We always grow far more
than we need, which is why we always end up with enough produce above and
beyond what we can personally use and end up having it to sell. Mike’s mom had asked him to plant a garden at
her house like he always does and he did so, planting far more than we need
more than likely, but still not as much as in years past. We have our large raised bed in Laurel Fork
full, and we have strawberry plants that are going to dictate another raised
bed on our next trip to Laurel Fork. For
myself, I have been collecting herbs and planting them in containers. At one point, we went to Ararat, Virginia
because we had heard advertised on the radio a large company that had over 30
greenhouses and was open for retail and wholesale buyers. We were quite disappointed as the place was
too big, understaffed, and under new management who didn’t seem to be doing all
that well at managing the business.
However, down the road, we found another smaller green house and then
down the road from there an even smaller one.
That is where we bought plants.
The folks were personable and the plants more than reasonably
priced. We made a mental note to support
them in the future. We went from there
into Mt. Airy and Mike shopped for a pair of work boots with his mom while I
used the reliable cell phone service to participate in a conference call with
the medical staff at the nursing home.
Unable to hear well due to everyone walking in and out of the mall, I
found a spot in the corner and sat on the floor, phone to my ear, with pen and
paper in front of me to take notes. It
was good to hear that grandma’s leg is healing well and that during the day,
she is upbeat and enjoys the company of those around her, while participating
in activities. I had that information
from my cousins who are with her and observe her there, but hearing the medical
staff say it as well was encouraging.
Evenings and night are hard on her and the staff is looking for ways to
help curb her anxiety.
Monday was a very nice day for us in Laurel Fork and we did
spend most of Monday working around the house.
Mike worked on some fence and did some other outdoor work. I stayed around the house so that I could
visit with Treva as I did a few things.
While we had a beautiful day, back at the farm in Staunton/Verona the
weather hit with a vengeance. Alissa called
us to tell us that we should have someone check fences and check Treva’s house
for damage due to the frightening, high winds and hail the fell in the
area. Alissa was driving and had to pull
over, along with everyone else out on the roads. Word from Mike’s nephew and a friend was that
while the storm was very bad and damaging in many areas, Mike’s mom’s place was
spared any serious damage. While there
was evidently a good many limbs in the yard, some trash blown into the fence
line, and some damage to one of the sheds, the damage at the farm was really
minimal. There was no damage sustained
at our place either, but we talked to a neighbor who said about 30 trees along
his fence line went down just like dominoes.
A local bank lost their roof and a number of people dealt with flooding
in their homes. We were told that the
horrible storm came out of the east and then a while later, a similar storm in
intensity came out of the west. It must
have been truly frightening for those who went through the storms.
Currently, as we
drive down the interstate, the traffic is going about 20 miles per hour and the
rain is pounding the vehicles. The
Staunton/ Verona area is slated to get another several inches of rain in the
next few days on top of the 3 plus inches of rain that they already
received. Back in Laurel Fork, on the
other hand, we have had a slow, steady, soaking rain with short periods of time
when the sun came out.
(My days have all run together and my writing seems to be
taking the same path. My mind is jumping
back and forth between events and days and my writing is following suit. Rather than sort it out, I am just going to write.
)
On Tuesday when we went to Ararat and then Mt. Airy, we
stopped at a café we had been intending to check out for quite some time. It was called The Olympia Family
Restaurant. It had the feel of an old-fashioned
diner, not so much by the way it looked, but by the atmosphere. There was a bar that faced the kitchen which
was open so that customers could see the meals prepared. One got their own seat and a waitress
promptly appeared to serve drinks. The
menu was simple: American cuisine/Southern cooking. It was hard not to enjoy the place. The waitress wasn’t overly friendly (she was
too busy) but was pleasant. The cooks in the kitchen, however, were joking,
laughing, and singing along to the radio that was playing 80’s tunes. Their
“good time” was infectious and by the response from the obvious “regulars” that
must be the norm. There was an older
gentleman, perhaps Hispanic, who was cleaning off the tables. I swear the man never stopped smiling. Every time I looked at him, he was
smiling. He smiled when he was standing
waiting for a table to clear and he smiled as he cleared the tables. The portions were big and were good, although
not anything exceptional, but the atmosphere was just so pleasant that I would
go back again and again. I thought about
how a pleasant attitude can set the tone.
That’s not a huge revelation to anyone but seeing so many people work in
harmony together with a great attitude, was really pretty cool and unusual
anymore.
While we were eating our food, I could hear the men in the
booth behind us discussing cattle trailers, making hay and other aspects of
farming. I didn’t pay much attention
until their conversation turned to bulls.
The one gentleman was agreeing with the other as he told his story about
someone working with him who was petting a bull on the head. This gentleman went on to explain how he
expressed his disapproval in no uncertain terms and told the man that the
quickest way to turn a bull mean was to make a pet out of him. I smiled to myself, for this is a topic I
have preached on my blog and online forums.
Bulls are not intended to be pets and need to have a flight zone or need
to be wary enough of humans that they don’t want to get close. By making a bull familiar with humans, one is
creating an atmosphere for a potentially dangerous encounter. These men were old timers with common sense
and that was evident by their conversation.
I didn’t turn around and look at them but sneaked a peak on my way out
the door when we left to see the worn but pleasant faces of two men aged by the
sun and weather finishing off their meal.
Mike’s mom remarked when we left the restaurant about how
friendly and courteous folks were in SW Virginia and North Carolina. We had to agree. It seems the folks we encounter do take more
time to smile, to speak, and are more conscientious about their manners. It is refreshing in a world that seems to
have gone mad.
Speaking of friendly, we have been watching as a man on a
bike rides past our house each evening now that the weather is nice. Mike was working down by the road and Treva
and I had walked down to be with him as he finished up when the man on the bike
came into view. He pulled into our
driveway and pleasantly began a conversation.
It didn’t take him too long to let us know that he was the preacher at
the church closest to our home. It also
didn’t take him long to explain that they were “undenominational” in name but
adhered to King James Version only translation of the Bible and that they used
Baptist literature. I smiled politely
and bit my tongue. He was a nice man and
he was not pushy. His tone was truly
conversational and polite and he showed genuine interest in us as neighbors and
not just as recruits for his church. He
is, in fact, a neighbor whose family just sold the piece of property that butts
up to one side of our property. A man in
his sixties, has lived in the area all his life. I recognized him as a link to be able to tell
us a little bit about the property and the history of our place. We have received conflicting information from
people about the place and the original farm.
This gentleman confirmed what I had pieced together from research that
the portion of the farm we own was just part of a larger farm that was divided
up among family members over time. As I
suspected, the original house is the one on Hereford Road that borders one side
of our property. The house, neglected
and falling down, appears to me to have been built in the 1800’s. Beside that house is a large dairy barn that
is falling down. The property is grown
up and neglected. Next to it, on a small
tract of land is a single man who lives in a house trailer. He keeps his place very neat and is a quiet
and reserved neighbor it seems. Across
from him is another small tract with a recreational camper/trailer sitting on
it. That land was being used only a few
weeks out of the summer until recently when someone bought it and is now living
in it full time. All of the property
described and more was evidently part of the original farm. Our home, according to the deed, was built in
1930. I have looked at the census for
1940 and it appears that the aging parents as well as multiple adult children
used the same address for the census. Really,
the neighbor didn’t add much to what I hadn’t already heard other than the fact
that he stated “The Jackson family was considered rich by the locals. They owned a store and a large farm and were
able to do just about anything they wanted.”
When I questioned him further about the property and activities that
went on there where we lived, he said, “They lived a very self-sufficient,
sustainable lifestyle with dairy cows, chickens, and a large garden.” I had been told by someone else that Mrs.
Jackson sold eggs, milk, and her canned vegetables. In the 1940 census, I found the father and
several family members listed simply as farmers. No mention of a store but if they did own the
store, then perhaps that is where some of the eggs, milk and produce were
sold. I don’t know. From what I can piece together, it seems
maybe one of the female ancestors along the line married and with her went the
portion of the farm that had the Grade A dairy (that is now falling down). The old, wooden barn that we own and recently
refurbished, was set up to milk six cows in stanchions. The set up indicates to me that the family
who lived at our address either sold their milk locally to the community or
they were a Grade B dairy whose milk was used to make cheese. Of course, I have no conclusive evidence of
any of this and as I stated, I get conflicting reports and have not met anyone
who definitively can piece together the history for me. Remarkably, there is very little information
I can trace online. I talked to a woman
who moved to the area a few years back who had told me about an old, Victorian
house that was torn down when the new Dollar General was built in Laurel Fork just
a couple of years ago. According to the
neighbor that house belonged to some of the Jackson family and the store sat
right along the road in front of where the old bank stands. So, the Dollar General, which is a mile and a
half from our property sits in very close proximity to where we were told the
old store used to sit. Our neighbor is
the youngest of multiple siblings and he said he would ask his older brothers
and sisters to see if they could remember more than he was able to recall. I was drawn to our property in part because I
could sense and see that the folks who owned it had set it up to be very self
sufficient and given thought to things that others of that era either
overlooked or did not have the finances to address. The house is modest by all standards but
would have been very comfortable and new in the 1930’s. Thought was given to functionality with a
large cellar in the basement and a separate, downstairs “canning kitchen” and
laundry room. The room needs a major
overhaul to be usable as a canning kitchen again, but once we have completed
other necessary projects, I would like to turn my attention to that room and
restore it. Right now, it is simply
houses my washer and dryer, some old appliances that need to be carried to the
county dump, and a large, piece of equipment that I had to research to figure
out what it was. Turns out, it was used
to press sheets, table cloths, and seams in pants legs. We were also told that Mrs. Jackson took in
laundry for folks. It seems, if the
Jacksons were in fact “well to do” for the area, they must have earned every
penny with their hard work. The water to
the house is still a spring fed gravity system but someone else told us that at
one point the water was piped in to the basement and ran continually. I was a little doubtful of this (and the
source) until I heard someone else speaking of a similar type system in their
grandmother’s house where the water ran continually into the sink and down the
drain. Cold, fresh water was then
available all the time with this simple method of delivery.
May 21, 2018
I’ve been really struggling to pull my thoughts together
this week to write. I have just been too
distracted, in part I think because we have no routine yet, and in part because
we have been with family so much that I didn’t feel I could take the time to go
off by myself and write. Over the
winter, we had fallen into a predictable routine and I had a lot of quiet time
in which I could write. Now with the
business of spring, lots of visit from and with family members, and no
established routine, I am finding it difficult to quiet my thoughts and
organize them. I have had so many things
I wanted to write about this past week and was excited to do so but getting it
down has been difficult. After another
fast trip to Staunton to take Mike’s mom home after her visit, arriving
Thursday evening and returning on Friday afternoon, we are trying to settle
back in with just the two of us. I had
so much to do during the 24 hours we were there, that it feels like I barely
saw the Little Girls. Analia was in a
wedding and was involved in a rehearsal and then the wedding itself, so they
were in and out as well. While I am
happy that all the grandchildren are now with their mommas for the summer, I do
miss them. While I am happy not to have
the responsibility for so much of their care, I am missing my Little
People. I’m not wistfully wanting to “go
back” to the way things were. I am happy
to move forward, but still, I miss them.
Life is like that, isn’t it?
Both in Staunton and in Laurel Fork we have been
experiencing periods of heavy rain. It
has been most difficult to get anything accomplished outdoors due to the
weather. When it isn’t raining, it has
been really too wet to do what we need to do.
Mike has hay he would like to make in Staunton. He is waiting for an opportunity to have a
few days of dry weather to do that. He
also needs to plant his soy beans but the ground is too wet. In Laurel Fork, we have been unable to work
on the perimeter fence because of the weather.
Mike did get a second box made for a raised bed for strawberries. I have been able to work towards getting
caught up on some things indoors that have been neglected.
One thing I have been happy about the last few days is the return
of the wildlife now that the contractors for DOT have stopped working on the
road. Our pair of resident geese now
have other adult geese who have moved into the area with them. The turkeys had made themselves scarce but we
are seeing multiple sightings of different turkeys, hens coming off their nests
to eat, Toms strutting or eating calmly in the fields and then walking through
our yard. We have not seen a lot of deer
in our yard or across the road in the meadow, but I am actually happy about that
right now. I figure about the time we
have produce in the garden, they will show up and eat it. I love the deer but I don’t love it when they
eat our garden. And, the Heron that
feeds from the streams on our property and in the meadow across the road has
returned.
We have been unable to be at our church for several weeks
and have attended with Alissa instead.
While it was so nice to visit with friends in Staunton, I really missed
our church in Laurel Fork. It was so
good to be back yesterday. The church is
planning a Blueberry Festival in June, a resurgence of an event they had back
in the 90’s for about ten years. They
actually had a strawberry festival in previous years, but since one of the
church members grows blueberries and is donating them, the decision was made to
begin again with the festival and this time use blueberries. I am actually excited to be involved in this
event. It will be a great time to be
involved in the community and the proceeds will go to support local
charities. After church and the festival
meeting, we came home to a house that smelled of roast beef and I threw
together the rest of our lunch: mashed
potatoes, fresh asparagus and a salad. We
had homemade banana ice cream made from our Jersey milk for dessert. I am so glad to be able to milk Promise now
without fear of her getting milk fever.
(Shar’s milk is still not creamy white and contains a lot of blood. I have never had a cow go do this long with
blood in the milk, but there is nothing to be concerned about as she does not
have mastitis, it is just taking a lot of time to get her cleared.)
Mike got out the old 1966 Ford Truck and I washed off the
dust from it sitting in the garage for a year, and we took it out for a
drive. I had forgotten how it is when we
drive the old truck. People strain their
necks to get a look and most everyone waves.
As we passed one man out in his yard, he yelled “yeah”! The attendant at
the gas station was all smiles as she talked about how much she liked our
truck. The more reserved folks will nod
an acknowledgement as they pass. It’s
fun to get the old truck out and it is something that we did not do last summer
for various reasons. I am not sure what
it is about getting the old truck out of storage and putting it on the road that
makes us (and others) smile. Perhaps it
is the nostalgia of a time long since removed, a time when the technology we
have today was still fantasy and life seemed simple. Perhaps it is the idea that something old has
“survived” when so many things from the past are just memories. Maybe it is because just the truck itself
causes us to slow down, to be deliberate, and to notice those around us, and
create an atmosphere for connection.
Whatever the reason, driving that old truck brings those “feel good”
moments for us and for many we with whom with come in contact. Driving along the Blue Ridge Parkway in our
old Ford, the windows down, the outdoor
air blowing our hair, and the scents of spring teasing our senses, we are firmly
grounded in the present with one foot in the past and an eye for the
future. It doesn't get much better than that.