A PAUSE

A PAUSE

There has been a pause in this blog, but certainly not a pause in writing. 

I have written long and unpublishable things, rants really - spoiled child dissertations about rights and unfairness and love and letting go.  When sorting out is hard, you don’t go public.  You wait until chaff is blowing towards the trees and you’ve cleaned up a little, cleared your throat, and washed your face. 



CHRISTMAS CARDS

When my youngest son was 9, in the middle of the Christmas rush, he left our kitchen filled with the soft hum of Christmas music, and quietly walked outside.  When I couldn't find him I panicked.  When I found him and heard him, the panic was just beginning.  He had locked himself inside of our minivan and wailed to me he wouldn’t come out because he hated his life and wanted to die, specifically freeze to death.  Of course, I easily extracted him from the van (I had keys), but it would be years before the sorting out of depression, anxiety and autism was in a state where we could address it, talk about it, understand it, live peaceably next to it and stop blaming “it” for taking our son’s intended life from us.

The outgoing Christmas cards never went out that year.  Then, like now, too much sorting out.  The outgoing Christmas cards haven’t made it out since, but not so with this blog.  Thankfully, this sorting is a fraction less complex.

TRANSITION
The current sorting started last Summer a little before the Wholesaler I sold produce to folded their business up into a tidy chain of words: "we will be closing as of September 11th."  Slightly before that my very level headed and loving husband announced that he didn't want the farm any longer.  He wanted to get rid of the animals, sell it all off and live like “normal” people do.  

a Storm Approaches

So I gasped for air.  Over and over.  Gasping and grasping sorting out the tug of war.  Not even sure what the prize was should I win.  If we stay, then he is unhappy which ultimately makes me unhappy.  If we go, everything about who I am is stripped down and I will have to spend my days clean and dressed appropriately, smelling like the “normal” people. 

A TRUCE  
He conceded that we could stay until the youngest son graduated, if I would agree that there would be no additional animals to the farm.  We agreed to stop farming by attrition.  In the hopeful corner of my mind, we get to stay here, but outwardly I am lobbying for buying a 5 acre lot and building a “farmette” so we can keep the animals we have until they die, but live in a lower maintenance house.  If that should ever come to fruition, I plan to lobby for only 3 chickens and 2 dairy goats. It's my 5 year plan, and my tenacious mate is prepared for the battle.  After 24 years of marriage, the man knows me and the hopes I harbor.  He absolutely doesn't want to build a house and wants to live on a lake or river.  Negotiations continue….

This is Whisper's Negotiation Face

THERE IS PEACE

I'm not angry anymore.  Truly, this life of dirt and eggs and fruit and vegetable production is no longer sustainable.  It takes 2 people to build any kind of family life and if one person is unfulfilled, then the whole schmear is unsustainable.  A farm needs at least 2 and maybe 10 people who are invested up to their armpits in order to thrive.

Rose Hips drying

Making Grape Juice

Neck Pumpkins for Pumpkin Pie
Enough for an Army really! 

Roasting Tomatoes for Sauce

THANKFULNESS 

Each day, the rising and setting sun, is so new as if I see it for both the first and the last time.  Each day, I ready this place for the eventual real estate sign at the end of the driveway and our journey to a sustainable life.  Each day I count the crows, moos, and baas and mehs and store them in the corners and folds of my mind.  I hear the opening line of "Out of Africa".  That breathy exhilirating whisper, "I had a farm in Africa."  “I have a farm in Virginia” continues to fill my soul.

The Fab Five Teenage Chicks Check Out the New Windows

Replacing the Old Broken Windows With Old Unbroken Windows

Residing the Barn, Step 1: Tear down

My Sweet Husband

LUCKY

All in all, I am living "the dream", and fixing up this old place for sale is part of it.  Someone else will get to make a fresh start of it.  I imagine a young couple with ambition and strength building upon the foundation we laid just as we built on the foundation that the Hills, the originators of this farm laid.  I had hoped to grow old here, maybe die in the same bedroom that Mrs. Hill died in, roam the house as a ghost like Mr. and Mrs. Hill do, and bounce blessings off of the walls like their gentle apparitions continue to do.  But perhaps, that is someone else's destiny, and mine is to figure out how to become civilized again.

UNTIL
Until then,

I will grow

and harvest

and cry

and laugh

and dress funny

and smell like dirt and manure

and pound nails

and prepare for something a little more mainstream and maybe a little easier on my bones and heart. 

And I will love my husband for his honesty, and for the gift of these 13 years here and the gift of having my dearest friend as my partner these 26 years.  Above all, I will remain steadfastly thankful for every favor God showers on my expectant heart. 

Goodness!

Passion Flower (May Pop)

Palms up to Catch Every Good and Perfect Gift