Much of my life was spent trying to conform…to not be too loud, too big, too much. To fit into the mold of who I (and others whose opinions I valued over my own) thought I should be. I was a doctor’s wife. I was supposed to fit in, entertain, volunteer. I converted to Judaism. I smiled, a lot. I had a perky voice. I did the best I could. And still, things unraveled, my marriage fell apart, and it darned near killed me.
Filicide. It’s something we don’t want to talk about…something we don’t understand. How could a mother kill her own children? It’s beyond our comprehension. How can someone be pushed so far that they would break like that? It goes against every grain. Yet, it happens.
There was a tragedy in West Virginia last week. A woman shot her two young children, then herself. The little boy was hanging on by a thread last I heard. The little girl and the mom are gone. I just learned last night that not one, but both children have/had special needs. I don’t know what they’re challenges are/were, but I do know what it’s like to grow up in a family with a special needs child. My brother was born with cerebral palsy and mild mental impairment. I will never forget the day the doctor gave Mom the prognosis. They told her he would never live a normal life. He wouldn’t drive or be able to take care of himself or hold a real job. She was devastated. Add to that a troubled marriage and it’s no wonder she suffered from migraines, anxiety, and depression.
We awoke to the sound of rain gently falling on the tin roof yesterday. What a welcome sound. Something else grabbed my attention. It was stuffy and still in the bedroom. I picked up my phone to check the temperature. No wifi. The power was out so the fan was off. This happens frequently here at the farm. I keep thinking I’ll get a generator but haven’t yet.
It’s going to rain today…thank God. We haven’t had measurable precipitation in a month and its dreadfully dry. Since yesterday was such a gorgeous day, chores were put on the back burner yet again and we went gallivanting all over three counties. Our first stop was to finally get some pictures of these magnificent long horned cattle. Seems there’s a wealthy oil man in our county who likes them so he bought himself some. I believe these are a cross between longhorn and the watusi. I must say, you do a double take when you drive down a two-lane blacktop in West Virginia and come across these big boys! I had an uncle who had white-faced cattle simply because he liked looking at them through the window when he ate breakfast…so, I get it.
It took two days to empty TOW-Wanda, clean her up, and winterize. It took an hour to empty both pickups, twice, into my itty bitty farm house. It took forty-five minutes to make pancakes, eggs, bacon and coffee yesterday morning. It took me approximately two minutes to convince Mr. FixIt to take me on a ride in the country instead of sorting through all that stuff and putting it away. Two minutes. Not bad!
There’s no quicker way to lose your inner compass than through the experience of grief. God built us to numb down so we don’t experience the loss in one gulp. I remember the first year. I was so numb from the neck up. I didn’t fully grasp what had happened to my world until the second year. THAT was the year of pain for me because I “woke up” and he was still gone. I didn’t know where to turn. I literally didn’t know which end was up. I couldn’t make intelligent choices. I couldn’t see further than today…maybe even this hour. It was terribly disconcerting to me to feel so out of control. It was terribly comforting to me when you all started writing back with things like “Yes! That’s me!” and “OMGosh! You’re in my head! How did you know?”
“It’s part of the camping experience!” This is the justifying battle cry of the die hard camper when it comes to the subject of campfires. But I have a distinct love-hate relationship with them. I love the crackling of the wood and the shower of sparks you get when you throw another log on. I love the welcome blast of heat when the night air has chilled me to the bone. I love splitting wood and the satisfaction of seeing a plentiful stack ready for a long winter. I burned wood as my primary source of heat for four long, cold Colorado winters and I cut, hauled, split, and stacked wood for four long, hot summers. I love a wood fire. I love a wood burning stove with a pot of stew bubbling on top in a cast iron Dutch oven.
When my youngest was little, there were certain words she had trouble pronouncing. Me being a wordy, I had to correct her. We once were in the sewing center. She was crawling around and pulled herself up on the chair and babbled something. I asked her to slow down and enunciate so I could understand her. And she did. We never spoke baby talk to her. She would have called this a “capetiller”. There were mazagines" and “hopistol”. “Ambliance” and “swanich”. These are wonderful memories.
Hanging up the camper for the season is always so sad but TOW-Wanda will stay at the farm with me for a little while longer. I’ll need to clean her out really well and winterize her. We’re still up in the air about travel plans for February and March so I need to have her ready to face freezing weather.
Yesterday was glorious. The Girl Campers gathered midweek at Beaver Creek State Park in Lisbon, Ohio and stayed through the weekend. A lot of time was spent around the campfire talking, laughing, and bonding. Hugs were plentiful as many broke camp yesterday and headed home. We had more gals in tents this year. We had a couple of gals who had minivans set up with beds in them which I found intriguing. It got really cold the last couple of nights (down into the 30’s!) so these gals are hardy souls! As Janine Pettit says… Girl Campers…we go places and we do things!"
I went to church camp when I was thirteen. I remember having a wonderful time but I don’t quite remember what we did. My camping excursion this week has seriously felt like BEING at camp. This State Park (which I will name Monday) has the best naturalist. He organized a fly fishing class yesterday afternoon. Five of us went and had a grand time. One gal caught a little fish and was so excited. We were excited FOR her. We didn’t have waders. I had rubber rain boots and I promptly filled them by stepping in too deep. So I just kept on going and waded in up to my hips. I didn’t catch anything but it didn’t matter.