Ten good years!

Today marks Jason and I's 10th wedding anniversary. One decade together, and hopefully many more to come. We have spent it at home - the place that houses so many of our hopes and dreams for this next decade together. And we have spent it as a family. I continue to be addicted to picking lamb's quarter in large quantities to freeze and Jason worked hard breaking the sod and preparing the next garden bed where we hope to plant tomatoes tomorrow. Kali chattered and "helped" occasionally. She was a bit unsure of going out initially when she saw the 4-5 foot black snake crossing our front walk and then I discovered another one sunning itself on the dirt bank above the walk. I can tell I'm going to need to be a good example on this one, so we went out together and looked at it up close for awhile - familiarity will hopefully breed comfort for the ladies of this family.

These markers (anniversaries, not black snakes) in our family life often take my thoughts to Nora. As much as today has been beautiful, her absence is felt. Kali got her garden clothes on and came out to me saying, "Today I'm wearing Nora things...Nora shorts and a Nora t-shirt, they are both orange." She is on our minds a lot. And this morning at breakfast, it seemed that Kali was a bit more pensive as we talked about the annivesary of her death and various ways we might like to commemorate that and remember her together.

This afternoon, Kali and I went for a walk to check the mail and the cows and the horses. On our way home one of the cows in the pasture had blood all over its face. It looked gruesome, to be honest. I felt like I had to do something. It didn't seem overly concerned with its predicament but it was a lot of blood and it felt cruel to not at least try to let the farmer know about it. I had to make a few phone calls to find the owner of the cows in that pasture and was finally on the phone with Sharon, a very sweet woman that we see occasionally driving in her pick up truck to one of the fields where they raise cattle. We've stopped and talked just a handful of times in the almost 4 years we have lived in Keezletown.

I learned that they had recently dehorned some of the cows. She would go check on it, but assumed that it must have just rubbed it on something and got it bleeding again. Clearly she was much calmer about it than I was, as I tried to describe how horrible it looked (I won't get graphic here).

When there was nothing more to say about the cows, she paused and said, "I don't know if this is okay to ask, but I know the last time we talked you were expecting a baby and were a bit concerned about how the pregnancy was going...did everything turn out okay?" It wasn't long before both of us were crying on the phone. It was about the sweetest, most heartfelt gesture of care I have experienced for some time - a near stranger showing how much she has wondered and worried about our family. She noticed that she wasn't seeing us much on the road and then noticed that I was never out walking with the new baby when she did see me out. She thought maybe she had seen me with a baby once but wasn't sure. She told me how she worried that something had happened and had hoped that things were okay. I couldn't helped but soak up the chance to tell her a little about Nora, as she seemed genuinely interested. She recently became a grandma (just before Nora was born). It was one of those unexpected, beautiful, authentic human interactions. I think the tears were as much from that as anything. Yet they also came from being reminded, in such a short span of time, of the many emotions associated with anticipating Nora's birth, her life, her death and how we find ourselves getting into rhythms once again, but without her.