The Last Morning at The Farm

The last twenty-four hours I could say the farm was mine offered a hundred lessons. I always write at night before I go to bed, but it was afternoon when I wrote yesterday’s post. Something nudged me to get it out of the way so I could just experience the evening and enjoy the peace and quiet…uninterrupted. 

Funny.

I was propped up on my pillows as always, listening to the night sounds outside the window, when I noticed a humming noise. I walked all over the house to find it and it was coming from the furnace. I’ve heard it before without thinking anything of it, but this time it seemed louder…probably because I wasn’t writing and I was concentrating on sound. I went back upstairs and moved the thermostat slightly and in that moment, the power went out.

The old house still has the screw in fuses so, using the flashlight on my phone, I went into the kitchen to get the box of fuses and took them out on the front porch where the fuse box is. I checked every fuse and none were blown so I came back in the house. A few minutes later, I heard the neighbors across the road outside, looking around with a flashlight. I called over to them and, sure enough, it wasn’t just our house…the power was out up and down the road.

I went back inside, crawled in bed and now…it was REALLY quiet no house sounds, no reassuring hum that things are working ok…just night sounds. I had to laugh at the irony. I’m a bit of a drama queen…in all the best forms of the word. I’m a writer, so I have a certain…dramatic flair. God made sure I didn’t have any distractions that last night in the house.

The power came back on around 4:00am and I drifted in and out of sleep till the sun hit the top of the far hill across the road. I didn’t lollygag around…I had work to do. I got up and started putting things in the truck when the auctioneer called to say he needed me out of the house to show it to potential buyers. I was packed, had breakfast, and headed for home by 9:30.

Yesterday was our first hot day. Mr. FixIt was busy pressure washing the picnic table he bought for my first birthday together. We brought it home from the farm and it needed a good scrubbing. While he was busy with that, I started unpacking the truck and putting things away. As the day went on, I wasn’t feeling well. I had a suspicion I had one of those fairly common “ladies issues” that may need antibiotics, so when I was finished emptying the truck, I grabbed my purse and told Mr. FixIt I was running over to the quick care clinic in our little town.

I was hot, dirty, sweating buckets, and on the way there…I had a full blown anxiety attack. My heart was pounding. I was sure I was going to have to pull over and be sick. I could hardly stand to sit in the waiting room with my mask on because I couldn’t breathe. They called me back and weighed me and I almost fell over. I’ve crossed my boundary by nearly two pounds. My head started throbbing. I thought I’d cry. The nice lady asked me to sit on the table so she could check my blood pressure. I half-jokingly told her I was sure it was high because I was really anxious at the moment. Yeah…it was 167/100. Now I really wanted to cry. I just wanted my antibiotic and go home.

While I waited for the doctor to come in, I closed my eyes and slowed down my breathing and attempted to calm down. I knew what this was all about…I’d been working hard trying to avoid having too much time to think about things. And, grief avoided has to come out sometime. Mine chose in the truck on the way to a doctor I didn’t know.

There was a quiet tap on the door and a tiny little woman came in…young, dark hair pulled back, concern in her eyes. She introduced herself then sat down across from me in her scrubs, crossed her legs like she was preparing to meditate, folded her hands in her lap and said…softly.

“What’s troubling you today?”

Oh, empathy…it opened the floodgates and I told her how hard I’d been working and how the farm is being sold even as we speak and I couldn’t buy it because I’m too old to do the kind of work it needs and it’s not mine to begin with but it’s the home of my heart and it’s just killing me to let it go.

She handed me a wad of tissues. 

“It sounds like it’s been really stressful. Especially because it’s all happening TO you, you know? You don’t really have any control in it, do you? You’re grieving a loss as important to you as your loved ones.” 

I laughed and said, “Yeah, and I write about grief! I should learn to listen to my own words.”

She smiled. “You know then…it’s hard to face grief. But, face it now, or face it later.”

We talked for a while and it turned out I didn’t need antibiotics…I needed more fluids because I’d been working hard to avoid thinking and ended up forgetting to drink and I was pretty dehydrated. We came up with a plan that would make me feel better, and I headed home. I finally sat down in front of Mr. FixIt and unloaded and told him how upset I was. 

I took a cool shower, turned on the AC, and lay down for a nap. I had a dream. I’ve never dreamed of my Aunt Peeps before. She’s the elderly aunt that I came to the farm to help in the first place. She passed away a year ago. In my dream, I was walking through the farmhouse and she popped her head around the corner in the kitchen. She was young, her hands didn’t shake. Her hair was brown and in curlers. She was wearing her signature one-piece jump suit that she always worked in. She had a skillet in one hand, a spatula in the other and she jumped in surprise.

“Oh! It’s YOU!” Then, in her very best teacher voice, she said, “You need to just settle down, child. It’s going to be just fine!”

With that, I woke up. I reached over and picked up the phone. 8:07pm. The auction was over. My cousin Becky texted. “Did the people you really like buy the place?”

I was almost afraid to look. I told you about them in Sunday morning’s post, and I told you there was more to the story. The lovely couple came and I immediately had a good feeling about them. We shared stories about the old home places in our lives. I suggested they should try to buy the farm. They said they wanted to so they would have more room for family when they come for visits. I told them how very attached I am to the place and how I come there often to recharge and write. They said, “Well…this will work out great! You can come here whenever we aren’t needing the place. Just keep your key!” We talked about God and how He puts us in the right places at the right times. When we parted, I called after them…”Don’t forget…we’re going to pray on this!” He told me their names…I smiled and said, “Nah…from now on, you’re Frank & Beans! Everyone who ever came to this house when my grandma was alive got a nickname.” They laughed and said the name was actually quite appropriate.

I finally worked up the nerve to go look to see who had the winning bid and my heart soared! I know it’s not official till papers are signed and all, but….

Welcome to The Farm, Frank & Beans!!! I know you’re going to love it just as much as we all have!!! Now I can relax knowing “home” is not so distant from me after all and I’ve made some forever friends.

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“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.”

Romans 8:28 ESV