Heart Attack Snow, and some things you just can't know

 

   You've heard of the term "heart attack snow", right?  That's what we got about a foot of during Wednesday night's storm.....that wet heavy stuff  that soaks through your jacket five minutes out and feels like each shovelfull weighs a ton.

     Power, cable and internet was just restored a few hours ago on our road, and some folks are still waiting for it. Days without power is a scary thing when it's cold outside and there are trees and wires down on roads, bad enough that some folks are still trapped in their driveway or at the end of their street, not able to get out, heaven forbid there were an emergency.  

      We lost about 7 or eight trees on the property, mostly in the cedar and pine groves on either side of the house.  I hate when that happens - they are like old friends, these trees.    The "giving tree".. my beloved ancient half hollow pear that lives in the mini horses paddock has lost a large limb.  I don't know how much more insult that poor tree can take.  With every storm I look up toward that tree on the hill and hope it's still intact. 

 

 The Egg Plant below, covered in blasted snow.  You can see some of the trees bent over behind it.. four down on that side. 

 The girls looked bewildered yesterday when I let them out  and their coop yard was a muddy mess.

     You see those bewildered looks above?   They were making little half hearted and sometimes raised pitch clucks.   If it's in the chicken dictionary, WTF is what they were probably saying. 

  This morning, my favorite girl child came over bright and early. We ate blueberry pancakes and headed out into the barnyard -  K mucked out the stalls while I cleaned up the coop and chicken yard.

     With grapes and spinach leaves to pick on and the sun shining bright upon melting snow, the girls quickly concluded all was right with their world once again. 

     The boys are out in the groves today clearing up all the broken trees.  Temps are supposed to drop tonight, say a little prayer for all those still without power.  

   Once farm chores were done for me and the girlchild, I called Dad at the nursing home to let him know I hadn't forgot him and asked if he needed anything at the store... 

Two Things! he said...  Milkbones for the dog  and candy for the girls!   So I did our shopping and his. 

   When I arrived, he was playing cards in the rec room with one of his buddies. They looked very serious about the game in hand, coffee and danish at the ready.    I love seeing that.  While some (including me) cringe at the idea of living in a nursing home, for my father it  has been a blessing.  They take better care of him now than he ever did for himself.   While he was alone most of the time before moving there, he is in the constant presence of people, both friends and staff who are very, very kind to him now.  

     The milkbones are for a  therapy dog golden retriever who visits three times a week with his owner.  The dog knows Dad will have a treat for him, so as soon as he walks in the front entrance, he first checks Dad's usual hang out at the front lobby, and if he's not there he tugs toward his room just down the hall about 30 feet.  He knows where the  man-of-the-treats "lives"... and it thrills Dad to no end.  Since this has become a regular thing, I thought...    I'll see your box of milkbones  and raise you a bag of Bacon strips.    So I brought both.  You'd have thought it was Christmas morning. 

     The candy bowl on his dresser  is kept stocked with tootsie rolls , T's favorite! (my dad's favorte! nurse) , smarties and wrapped chocolates that reflect the nearest holiday - today we filled it with Russell Stover foil covered eggs, you know the ones).  Dad loves attention, so he also loves to wear Tee shirts that say something funny.   The last one I brought him said Politically Incorrect.   Because Dad.   Today I stopped at the Bong Shop on route 1 just across the street from him.. yep, it's a bong shop and holy hell does it smell like one... and picked up this tee for  him to wear in this month of St. Patty's day. 

      He's now in his second year of living at the home.  I can't express exactly how emotionally draining that time was for all of us - his third heart attack, his further decline - the continued struggle with what was or wasn't our relationship -  that ugly decision to sell his home and move him to that place.  It turned out to be a blessing, anything but the curse it felt like at the time.    His new life is a classic example of  this simple truth -  it's all what you make of it.  While I didn't think he had it in him, I sold him short in this way.  He's doing just fine.   

Till soon, friends -