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Hi Everyone,
It is hard to believe that a week ago we were living in the artic! When we woke up Monday morning it was 15 degrees outside. Our worker Micah was sick so it was only the three of us to take care of everything—which meant we could take life a little slower. Mama and I were doing the breakfast dishes when Papa came in wanting to whisk us away to the pond. Everything but the center 20 feet was frozen—enough that Papa could skip rocks across it and slide pieces of wood across it. Since we enjoyed the winter wonderland a little we had a late start milking. We didn’t finish until noon, and then it took us until 3:00 to get all the milk bottled and the milking equipment washed. While we were doing the dishes an old work buddy of Papa’s showed up to visit—so we were entertained while we worked (and I didn’t mind one bit). I finished with the dishes a little after 3:00 and came inside and ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Papa took his friend out to see the Market Gardens and came inside a little before 4:00. We were supposed to go grocery shopping—but time and energy were gone and it would have to wait until another day. We rested for about an hour and then it was time to start dinner and the evening chores.
Tuesday dawned another cold day—but just in the 20’s instead of the teens. Micah was still out sick, so once again it was a slower paced day. There was more to do though and I was a little overwhelmed. There was kefir to bottle—which meant more dishes to wash. Then we had to go grocery shopping because we were out of items and we had company arriving on Wednesday. I was grateful that Mama was able to come out and help us wash some of the milking equipment. We finished up around 3:00 again—but Papa and I both were done. We grabbed a bite to eat and then we headed to town for the much needed groceries.
Sunday morning, after a very hard freeze, the hot water to the Poultry Kitchen (that we are using for our temporary Milk House at the moment) froze. Papa put a heat lamp on it and it was thawed by noon—and the heat lamp kept it from freezing the next day when the temps reached 15. When the temps dropped into the teens on Monday we were grateful to not have any house pipes freeze or bust. The gardens didn’t fare so well. I successfully watered the north Market Garden—but when I went to water the south Market Garden the filter pipe had split and water was heavily spraying all over the wall. Tuesday we successfully watered Martha’s Vineyard and the East and West Gardens—but the Cottage Garden didn’t fare so well. Papa turned on the water, but later I asked him why he didn’t turn on the Cottage Garden waters—and he told me he did. I couldn’t see any sprinklers going so I argued the point. He told me to go turn them off—so I did. Well, the big sprinkler was not on—because the pipe was shatter in many places and a big geyser was shooting up about four feet out of the pipe. The sprinklers in front of the on/off valve were going just fine—which is why Papa thought that all was well. The funny/sad part was that all the weeds in the garden got watered—but the section of the garden where I actually have something growing was what didn’t get watered due to a busted pipe. I do not know when Papa will have time to fix it either. The positive of going out to check on the water was that I found a duck stuck in the grapevines by her webbed foot. Had Papa turned it off from the outside of the garden he would have never seen her—and had the water pipe not broken the walkways would never have flooded and she wouldn’t have been swimming in the walkways to get tangled in the grapevine.
My Uncle Jerry (Mama’s brother) and Aunt Carol (his wife) came in Wednesday night to visit for a few days. I enjoyed milking with Carol Thursday and Friday mornings. Grandpa slept most of Thursday, and we spent a majority of the day in the living room putting together a puzzle on the card table beside his sofa. That night though Grandpa had a spell and we were told that he needed a hospital bed—and that he wouldn’t be leaving it again. Thankfully Grandpa was in better spirits and energy on Friday so that Uncle Jerry and Aunt Carol could have some good quality time and conversations with him. He likes to watch us color—and for a while he enjoyed coloring too. So on Friday I had him pick out a picture for me to color, and he picked out one with four butterflies and some flowers. I had been steering away from the butterfly pictures because they were a little intimidating to me—but now I had no choice. I pulled up a chair beside him and began to color. Every once in a while he would take it from me and count the butterflies: 0ne . . . two . . . three . . . four. Then he would critique my coloring. The butterflies were very beautiful—but the flowers were ugly. He didn’t like the points that came out between the flowers—so it wasn’t my fault, it was the person who drew the picture to be colored. If I had owned a White-out pen I would have erased those points—but I didn’t and I didn’t think that I would have success using White-out tape (it always outsmarts me anyway). My Aunt Carol who claims to have no artistic skills was considering giving coloring a try—until Grandpa started critiquing my coloring and she quickly changed her mind saying she didn’t care to live through the horrors of second grade again.
My Aunt and Uncle left Friday afternoon and the hospital bed arrived around 4:30. The rest of the evening was spent rearranging the living room so that the “pink elephant” as Hospice called it would look more like part of the décor—not to mention have a place to be. We played musical chairs: move this sofa there and that one here, put the recliner there, swap the computer cabinet with the printer cabinet, and then add back in all the end tables and lamps. Grandpa liked his new bed and was quite happy that he didn’t have to get up any more. Grandpa used to eat everything I fixed him—but carrots and greens. Then about a month ago all he wanted was oatmeal three times a day. Then about two weeks ago all he wanted was eggs and toast or eggs and French toast—and then about a week ago all he wanted was chocolate milk three plus times a day. So Mama made up some chocolate syrup with maple syrup and of course we had the best milk around for him to go with the chocolate syrup. Then last night Grandpa could no longer drink (or want) his chocolate milk.
This morning I woke up a little before 5:00 –or so I thought. I heard the clock chime, but Papa didn’t come in to wake me up since it was Sunday morning. So I guessed that it wasn’t 5:00. I dosed off a little and finally rolled over to check the clock—and it said 5:38. Well, we would not make it to church today. I left my room to see what was going on and found Papa still sleeping in his bed, and Mama was sound asleep on the sofa near Grandpa. I went back to bed—for I figured it must have been a rough night. Mama woke me up about 6:20 and told me that I would probably be milking the cows by myself. She had been taking care of Grandpa since 1:30 in the morning. I headed outside around 6:45 to set up for milking. Papa did his chores and then he came to help me in the milking parlor. I milked all 16 cows by myself. There will only be 15 tomorrow for I have to dry off Liberty for her six week maternity leave before she calves. I got back inside at 10:00. Grandpa still had his since of humor. He couldn’t talk very well because his false teeth no longer fit, and he couldn’t hear because his hearing aids didn’t fit right either and they squealed. Evidently when you are dying your body changes and things don’t fit as they used to. He wanted us there with him holding our hands. He still critiqued my coloring. Once when I grabbed his hand he acted like he was in a lot of pain—and then he laughed. He had fooled me. He grabbed Mama by her arm and then by her neck and pulled her down to lay on his chest and he held her and patted her head. Latter when I sat on the edge of his bed he did the same. It will be a precious memory for both of us. As the day has passed Grandpa has gone downhill more and more. My sister is here, and two of my Mama’s sisters are on their way from Tennessee as I type. We do not know how much longer we have with him—but O how grateful we are for the last four months that we have been able to spend with him and get to know him.
Serving you with Gladness,
Tiare