"The Great Sadness"

“The Great Sadness” 

Some of you may recognize this phrase from the book The Shack by William Paul Young. The novel is about a man whose young daughter is abducted and evidence is found in a remote shack in the Oregon wilderness that she may have been brutally murdered.  The main character identifies his despair and grief as “The Great Sadness.”

Most of us have experienced or will experience our own personal Great Sadness.  Some of us more then once.  Last night some of our community went to bed knowing the Great Sadness. The rest of us woke up to it this morning.  Yesterday, Laura, one of our young mothers died in a farm accident. The online news article states that she died after falling into a grain mixer.  She leaves behind a husband, three school age sons and a young daughter.  One cannot live in a small community like ours and not be touched by grief.

It is amazing that loss of this kind is not uncommon.  Every year at least one person dies unexpectedly in our area.  I am familiar with a gentleman who died working on farm equipment when the fork lift gave way.  A dear friend of my daughter died at age 13 in an automobile accident.   It is also a common sight to see old time farmers who have lost at least one finger or leg or young guys who are para- or quadriplegic because they fell off barns or other buildings. Cancer, respiratory ailments and heart disease are common too. These are diseases secondary to the farm life style from chemical fertilizers, breathing grain dust, obesity and smoking.  Families have huge medical bills as well as the responsibility of caring for sick or dying loved ones.  Fires also bring Great Sadness. At least one farm a year in our area burns beyond salvation.  People lose everything….livestock, their belongings and their home.  This Great Sadness is overwhelming.

Then comes the “Great Healing” (this is my phrase.)  It describes the coming together to help and support of the effected family.  A few weeks ago I attended a fund raiser, “Pennies for Pam.”  Pam is a woman from my church who is battling cancer.  I could not believe the outpouring of donations.  Hundreds of people attended.   Thousands of dollars were raised. I heard that a good portion of her medical bills will be paid.   These fund raisers are common in our area.  They come in the form of dinners, auctions, and bake sales.  I saw a poster recently for a snowmobile rally.  The group holds an annual snowmobile ride. Later in the evening the riders and others will gather for music, food and entertainment.  There will be a chance to win a 2011 snowmobile and other cash prizes.  This will benefit diabetes research in the memory of a boy who died several years ago in a snowmobile accident.

I can’t imagine the number of casseroles and dinners that are made for grieving and suffering families.  Other farmers step up and do chores, milking cows, moving hay and plowing snow. Businesses donate groceries and offer discounts on furniture and clothing.  Homes open up to those who are temporarily homeless.  Pastors make house calls any time of the day or night.   I’ve come to learn that many times those who are the helpers may not even know those they are helping.  Those who give aren’t personally familiar with those they are giving to.

As common as tragedy is, I still struggle with grief and I don’t completely understand how good comes of evil.  But as my faith grows, I recognize that God is good and all powerful.  I can see the how the “Great Healing" eases the “Great Sadness.”

Prayers and condolences go to Laura’s family.

Thank you to Jan Peters.  Jan helps edit all of my blogs but this one was especially difficult for me to write. I love you Mom.

Jackie Clay

Jackie Clay is someone I care about.  My heart ached when her husband died. I rejoiced as her home neared completion. I empathize with her many roles: mother of a teenager, writer, homesteader and caregiver for her aging parents.  I admire her ability to garden, can, bake, raise goats and keep a great sense of humor.  I have never met Jackie Clay.

Ms. Clay is a writer for Backwoods Home Magazine.  She contributes a monthly article about homesteading and an “Ask Jackie” column where she answers reader’s questions from anything from processing livestock to freezing berries.  Jackie is also very frugal.

I would recommend reading Backwoods Home (BWH) to anyone interested in homesteading or even just curious about being more self sufficient.  I began my subscription about three years before we moved and continue it today. Most of the information is interesting, helpful and easy to understand.  Like many periodicals, however, there are occasions when I disagree with some of the opinions expressed and some people may be uncomfortable with the Libertarian perspective.  That being said, I give credit to BWH for much of what I have learned.

In our home “Jackie Clay” has morphed into a verb.  Two summers ago, the husband came home from town and explained, “I scored a Jackie Clay!”  Carefully, I asked him to explain.  He had gone to both Home Depot and Menards looking for supplies to rewire the old garage as he was converting it to a workshop.  While at Home Depot he came across a large collection of wood in all sizes and shapes, insulation and plywood. Because the condition of these pieces was not first quality, they were being sold at a deep discount.  The husband negotiated for the entire lot and for them to hold everything for 24 hours so he could return the next day with the trailer.  Then, he found the same situation at Menards and scored again. 

The husband returned home the next day with the truck and trailer loaded with 2x4s, 4x6s, 12 foot sheets of pressboard and plywood, Styrofoam insulation, ½ inch boards, ¾ inch boards and on and on.  Sure, some of the pieces were warped and some with huge knots but for our needs it was perfect.  A quick estimate showed we purchased this load at about 1/3 of the original cost. 

                                                           

Our second Jackie Clay came from our neighbor Gabriel.  He and his wife DeeDee were building a new home. Part of the project was getting rid of some of the older out buildings.  Gabe asked if we wanted their chicken coop. It was very run down but the husband thought he could fix it up.  It was very heavy and somewhat fragile. Gabe arranged for a local farmer to bring his tractor and drag it from his yard to ours.  Carl placed it exactly where I wanted.  Payment? A 12 pack of Old Style beer!  The coop was leaning slightly to the left but it survived the trip.

Slowly, over the next month, the husband replaced the roof with metal we found in one of our buildings, removed rotted wood and replaced it with car-siding from our first Jackie Clay and replaced the windows with a crank type purchased at the Habitat for Humanity Restore. The paint reflects the colors of the barn and work shop.  I could not believe how nice it looks.  Two fenced in yards and 20 chickens later we have a real chicken coop.  Gabe and Carl came to see the finished project and laughed.  “Ya know,” Carl said, “Chickens ain’t that smart.  They only care about scratchin’ for bugs and drinkin’ water.”  Gabe patted him on the back, “I told you they do it nice over here.”  The husband was quite proud.  I think Jackie Clay would be too.

               It appears to still be leaning to the left in this photo. When I took this picture I was standing on an embankment.

Ode to Stinging Nettle

I was hurt and angry when you lashed out at my gentle touch.  You left me shocked and in tears.  It was a very long time before I could approach you without trepidation.  I kept an eye out for you where ever I went.

Slowly, I began to look past your bitter and stinging approach. I grew immune or perhaps tolerant of your aggressive behavior and I saw the benefit of having you around.  Allowing you to grow in select areas, your beauty and benefits began to shine.  I noticed the stately monarch butterfly perch for a taste of your sweet nectar. How could I shun a resting place for such royalty?

I observed your symbiotic relationship with the strawberries as you grew tall and proud.  The insects attracted to the fruit- bearing flowers also nurtured your reproduction.  In return you provided the necessary protection from a certain hungry predator.  I respect your strength and persistence as I find you sneaking around all types of neighborhoods. Your kind are equally feisty whether in the fertile soil of the garden or the barren ground near the foundation of the house.

You give up your tender, small, green leaves with little resistance, keeping the fight for the older, more mature ones. My greed for your nourishing iron, calcium and vitamin C is kept in check as I plan for my next cup of tea or addition to my salad.  Oh, the glorious range of yellows and greens you produce when used as a dye for cotton and woolen yarn.  Even in your death I covet you, for you are a marvelous activator for my compost pile and the cycle of life and love begins again.

Photos courtesy of the internet.

Gabriel

 "Find a mentor.”

“Befriend a local who can show you the ropes.”

“Most people want to share the love and passion they have for their home town.  Find someone who can tell you the best time to plant your tomatoes and the best place to purchase a good BBQ.” 

Every book, magazine and web page I studied before moving to the country offered similar advice.  My journey would be significantly less frustrating and more productive if I had someone to help navigate the transition from my large, suburban, chain grocery store to my new, small food co-op.   Someone to let me know the fuel at Charlie’s corner gas station was just as good as BP or Shell.  I needed someone to vouch for my credibility to the close network of locals.

My someone is Gabriel.  It doesn’t go unnoticed that Gabriel is interpreter of dreams and brings good news. However, my Gabriel would be very uncomfortable being placed in the company of archangels.

The husband and I met Gabriel when we were looking at the land which became our farm. We quickly realized the property line ran from the west side of the road through to the east side and into what topographically speaking was “our land”.  The realtor’s voice faded away while he spoke of easements and rights of way and my mind was filling with visions of gardens and walking paths and baby animals of all kinds.  I snapped back to reality when I heard the husband.  “So what you’re saying is the guy across the street technically owns the land on our side of the road?”   “Uh, I guess so,” the realtor replied as he scratched his head and looked through paperwork. 

Coming from the suburb of a large city I had heard of neighbors suing one another for placing a privacy fence 12 inches over the property line. Or people fighting over who should be responsible for a dying tree touching the corners of four family’s yards.  Maybe these were sub-urban legends but did we want to take a chance? We voiced our concerns and the realtor took us to the house across the street…our only neighbor for a mile in any direction.  He knocked on the door and soon a tall, thin man dressed in blue jean overalls and flannel shirt appeared.  A toothpick dangled from his mouth.

“Gabe, how are you?” The realtor shook Gabriel’s hand.

“Pretty good Marty. How’s business?  Seen a few new signs up in Coon Valley.” (Coon Valley??? Could that really be a town name??? )

“Sorry to bother you, I’m sure the football game’s on but I wanted to introduce you to a nice couple who might be interested in the place across the street.”

(Nice couple??? Was he talking about us???)

Introductions were made and hands were shook. 

After a few minutes of pleasant chit chat, the realtor got around to the issue at hand. “Say Gabe, did you know your property line angles right down the road and across the street?”

Gabriel’s toothpick moved up and down as he thought about this.  “Huh, guess I didn’t.  Must of happened when the road was redone.” 

“Well” the husband said.  “You don’t know us and we don’t know you so we didn’t know if this was going to be a problem.”

Gabriel ‘huhhed’ again.  “I have a couple hundred acres.  Some years I go a little over (with crops) to the neighbors.  Some years he is a little over on mine.  Never worried about a few feet or even a few yards before. Don’t think I’m going to start now.”

Somewhat sheepishly we thanked Gabriel and told him we looked forward to becoming his neighbor and walked back to the car.  Wasn’t our fear part of the attitude we want to leave behind?

Gabriel is smart and well spoken.  He is quick witted and makes me laugh. He smiles easily and when he listens, you feel as if your story is the most important thing to him at that moment.  Gabriel supports his church and community. It seems his knowledge of the area is limitless. We’ve spent many nights around the bon fire drinking a beer and listening to Gabriel’s stories.  He has taught us about the heavens, pointing out the well know Big Dipper as well as many lesser known stars.  When I inquired about the closely packed smaller stars dusting a path across the night sky I thought Gabriel was pulling my leg when he informed me it was the Milky Way.  A quick check on the internet verified what he said.  The first few months we lived here, the husband and I often would ask, “What does Gabriel think about___________?”  (Fill in the blank with just about anything related to rural life.)

Over the months and years, Gabriel has become a good friend.  He would watch out for our place when were not here.  The husband and I would chuckle because in the same week end trip Gabriel would politely tell us he did not hear us arrive at one o’clock in the morning, yet he would also tell us he heard some kids drinking beer behind the silo a of couple nights before. 

Gabriel took us to pancake breakfasts at the Methodist church. He took us to soup and salad lunches at the Lutheran church and the monthly steak fry at the VFW.   At these events we couldn’t talk very much with Gabriel because everyone stopped to say hello to him and check us out, the new comers.  He always made us feel welcome and the fact that Gabriel introduced us gave us credibility.

The husband soon learned to field dress and process a deer, clean a fish and butcher a chicken.  I have learned about the effects of our winters on spring plantings, when the Orioles will be nesting and when to plant my vegetable garden.

So, if you find your self moving to an unfamiliar area, find a mentor.  Befriend someone who can show you around.  Ask your neighbors about the best place to buy gas or a good BBQ.