Nothing to Dread

 

I absolutely dreaded the thought of it. Winter had been extremely difficult so far this year and now the local weather man was forecasting several more days of frigid temperatures. We had already had one week of single digit and below zero temps and now we were going to have to deal with it again. UGH! We had had lots of snow in December during which both my husband and I had been ill the entire month. It had made shoveling and other winter tasks that much more difficult. I was not ready for more cold.

During the first cold spell, I had worried incessantly about my 28 year old mare. She had a good thick winter coat, and good weight, but her age caused me to wonder if she would be able to withstand that degree of cold. I have never blanketed her, not really trusting that is the best thing. That old debate among equestrians will probably never be resolved. I am of the mind, that as she gets older, I will probably have to do that; but I didn’t have a blanket for her this year and I have wanted to hold off, if she was doing well without one.

But anyway, with the most recent forecast of the weather, I knew I needed to get out to the barn and make things as comfortable for her as possible. That was what I was dreading this morning. I looked at the forecast again, and knew the temps would be dropping as we moved further into the day. I had almost waited too long. So I swallowed my last bit of coffee and bundled up in my work coat and leather gloves to go get the job done. As I headed out the door, I could feel the wind strongly blowing and I knew I made the right decision to not wait a moment longer. It was not going to get any warmer as we moved further into the day, which would typically be the norm. 

It was a beautiful day with clear blue skies and the sun was glistening on the mountains. Juliee was frisky and happy to see me. She was following me around like a little puppy dog as she so often does. I would have to give her a bit of grain to keep her distracted so she wouldn’t be in my way. Hmmm, no wonder she pesters me. She has this old gray “mare” trained well.

I got busy at my job of cleaning out the old pine shavings in her stall. I love it every morning when I go out to feed and I see shavings stuck to her coat, because then I know she has been resting in her stall. I brush them off feeling pleased that she has been comfortable for the night. This is a relatively new thing for us...Oh, not the shavings. I do that every winter. But that she is actually using them is new. I suspect this is due to her age and she is more inclined to stay in on winter nights now than she was in the past.

As I worked, I found myself more and more happy to be exactly where I was, doing what I was doing. I absolutely love hanging out in our barn. I try to absorb the feel, the aromas, and I relive each and every memory that the barn experience brings back to me. It just feels so good to be doing good things for your critters. It still amazes me how much contentment it brings hearing the munch of hay, or watching a splash of the water as my horse tests it before she takes a drink. I love the joy it brings to be outside in our amazing surroundings as I shovel pine shavings and poop! YES! I love it.

I once said to a friend, “I hope I get to shovel manure forever.” “Why???” she had exclaimed, crinkling her face and looking at me like I was nuts. She didn’t get it. I thought it was simple to understand. For one, it meant I had a horse. Two, I would still be able to physically care for that horse. And absorb all the joy that care brings. It would mean I am still alive and so was my horse!

Juliee and I had finally reached a great set-up. I feed her in one barn and have dry warm shavings in the other. I have little to no manure in the barn where she now sleeps. But I do like to put in dry shavings, periodically and that is what I need to do today. Not sure which one of us figured out this is the best solution. But this barn is where she goes when she wants to be out of the rain, snow or cold...and to sleep.

As I worked, I tried to pay attention where any wind might blow through and I found means to block it. This horse was going to be as warm as I could keep her when 0 degrees hit us tonight. With everything ready, it was time for the new dry shavings. They were still in my car. And I was thankful I had thought to start it to defrost windows, so I could easily drive the shavings over. As I opened the gate, I saw a hinge was loose from the weight of the snow, I guess. Spring job for hubby, I noted to myself. But I love this old gate… It just feels so…farm like and nostalgic.

As I spread the shavings, satisfaction filled my soul. Sorry. I don’t mean to sound dramatic at such a mundane task. But it isn’t mundane to me. It is the aspect of taking good care of something you love. Doing the right thing. Working hard in inclement weather. I wasn’t even cold in this old barn. Maybe she wouldn’t be either.

It didn’t take me long; maybe 90 minutes or so. And I found myself wondering why in the heck do I ever think I dread this! What in the world would I be doing if I lived in town and didn’t have acreage. That is the thing to dread. This is something that keeps me alive. 

The Things That Call Us Home; II - The Golden Chain

He was my grandma’s favorite grandson. And that is perfectly OK. He was my mama’s favorite nephew. And that’s understandable, too. He was the first of my generation in my mom's family. And I think it is no surprise if we all loved him best and are not afraid to say it...because he was, after all, the first born child of my mom's three siblings, as well as her self.

He was a lot like our grandpa; strong yet quiet, with all the characteristics a Norwegian heritage brings. He was a private individual and modest, with not even an iota of pride in the negative connotation of that word. But he was like our grandma too. He sparkled when he told a story, or relayed a memory from his youth. He loved it all. And he laughed only sometimes; but when he did, it was honest and real. I am sure he was like his dad, too; though I never had the opportunity to know his dad, since he and his mother (my mom’s sister) divorced when they were young.

The grandparents’ extra love for this grandson was not so very surprising. They had a huge part in his upbringing. He spoke more of them, than he did anyone else. Likewise for my grandma when she was alive. We could actually breathe in and feel our grandma’s love for this firstborn grandson. It was so exceptionally deep. She exuded pride when she spoke of him. We could feel it and it would warm us all.

I remember as a child looking up to this older cousin of mine. He played with us and made us laugh. He loved deeply and we knew it; he didn’t have to say it. As a child, I bragged to my friends of his strong, honorable character and spoke of him with pride when he went off to college.

I remember years later, (decades, actually) my mom and him walking across the yard of my childhood home. Hand in hand they sauntered, as Mama led him over to see the new little tree I had given her, and which my dad had planted along the fence line – A Golden Chain. It was a start from my own tree. The effort to share that tree is probably what had killed the tree in my own yard, by taking too many shoots from it at once. I had given away many of those shoots, but Mama’s was the only transplant that survived. I always said, that I didn’t kill my tree. I simply moved it to a different yard. Mom was so proud of that little tree. It brought her so much joy. And she loved sharing it with her “favorite nephew”. He happily shared in the joy that day with his “dear old aunt”. I captured that image in my mind, in that moment, never to let it go. 

He was so proud of my dad. I loved it when he shared those stories. The two had a special bond. He told me many times that Daddy taught him much of what he knew about firearms and shooting; the thing that became, for my cousin, a life long necessary skill, hobby and love.

Years later in life, he and I shared a love of reading and we often discussed the books we had both read. We had many conversations about the state of our nation and the concerns we both held. I often wondered if he learned that from my dad, too. I never asked where he came by his point of view. I should have...that, and a whole lot more.

I got the news yesterday of his passing. I didn’t think it would happen. I knew he was sick, but I simply believed it would all be OK. I thought we would soon be meeting him for lunch in the town we both loved. I thought we would be making a summer trip to finally bring to fruition all those plans we had discussed – of four wheeling in the beautiful countryside they lived; of a family reunion; and pitching a tent in their yard; a plan of taking our son and daughter-in-law to see their beautiful home.

I failed once again in all the things I should have done.

I should have been there on Christmas Day. I should have been there when he went home. I should have recorded him telling stories on video, or tape. I should have written down all the stories and knowledge he had. It is mostly gone forever now. We will remember some of it. We will pass it on. But it is no longer a first-hand eye witness account expressed with all the love that he exuded for whom he remembered and spoke.

I want to go “up home” today. This is one of the things that calls me "home". My husband is not as agreeable to that today, as he was last time. It is wrong timing, I suppose. Perhaps it should have been yesterday; or in the days before now. Perhaps there will be a need tomorrow and we will go. Life gets in the way of life sometimes, or we are restricted in some manner not always through any fault of our own. Sometimes circumstances, or even the unknowable simply leads to the unintentional, but not for lack of caring.... 

Maybe a long time ago in the holding of a hand, or the joy of a moment shared together, a seed is planted and a root established and grabbed hold of somewhere along the way. Maybe it isn't always apparent, but maybe there is a shoot, a living root like Mama's Golden Chain that is the only one to survive, left to live somewhere in a heart. Even though everything seems to be lost, perhaps nonetheless a part of it - a link, a connection - has survived. Something to grab hold in ones darkest hours.

What I do know is God provides and makes a way when we ask...it isn’t always where we can see it, or in the place we think it should be. But rather, maybe it is a root that remains because someone planted with love which allowed it to live from somewhere within; to be grasped at just the right time...a bit like reaching for and holding onto someone's hand to lead the way to see the Golden Chain.

I choose to believe that. 

Many Moons Ago

Many, many moons ago, I enjoyed trying feeble attempts at poetry. Recently, I came across some of the poems that I had written in my younger years. Not saying any of them are great poetry. But the older I get, I do like the essence of them which I tried so diligently to capture.  I guess the older I get, the less I am ashamed to share. I thought I would add them here...just because.

DAYS GONE BY

Sometimes I miss the meadowlark's call;

Or early morning days of an "Indian Fall".

Sometimes I miss the snowy, pine trees;

Or the soft touch of a quiet, meadow breeze.

Now and again I'd just like to be

Sitting 'neath a branch of the old maple tree.

And now and again I find I miss

The guitar and song of my oldest sis.

Once in a while I'd like to go back 

And give Kel' a ride on the Schwinn bike rack.

Or go for a ride on our Gypsy Jo;

Up through the wood and to the pipeline we'd go.

I could go for a root beer or two

With the world's best brother and quarterback too.

I wouldn't mind seeing Dad flying low;

Under the wires and over crops he'd go.

And if I could just go back in time,

Mom would tuck me in bed with a nursery rhyme.

Grandmas and Grandpas; Mom's rhubarb pie

I miss the laugher and fun of these days gone by.

As I grow older I seem to find

There's a bond with home that's of the strongest kind.

Tonight I'll thank God for this family so dear;

And all the fond mem'ries of year after year.

I'll write a letter, make a phone call or two,

Just to say, "I'm missing all of you."

When Life Returns to Normal

 "When Life Returns to Normal"....does it? Ever? What's normal?

Life is ever changing. The only Constant is Jesus.

Certainly true in my case. And we carry on.