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