Thirteen

It was thirteen years ago that we were pulling in our first harvests from Eden, our first high tunnel. A couple weeks ago, I wrote a blog remembering the construction of Eden at the Genuine Faux Farm and I've been reflecting on that as a major turning point for us and our farm.

I decided to pull out an image from November 20, 2010 that shows the inside of Eden on that date.  There was a whole host of green crops ready to harvest at that time.  We were well-positioned to sell fresh produce right up until Christmas that year - a year where we had come within a whisker of calling the Genuine Faux Farm a failed experiment.

This year is, of course, very different from 2010.  We opted not to plant a high tunnel full of greens for the cold season sales.  And, oddly enough, it wasn't so much because we didn't think we could grow them.  It was more the fact that we knew we would not have the time available to harvest, clean and find homes for it all.

Okay.  We probably didn't have the time to plant and care for them either.  Things have been that busy for the two of us in the off-farm professions.  Still, I find myself looking a bit wistfully at this image.

And speaking of wistful... if that even comes close to accurately describing the feeling.  There are a total of four digital images for my November 2010 folder.  Two show Eden in its full-glory of late Fall, early Winter crops.  The other two show something else that was new to us at the time.  Actually, there were two someone elses that were new to us, starting that October.

I have no idea how we got Bree and Hobnob to strike a similar pose on the same chair... at different moments, no less.  Hobnob never was one to pose for the camera.  Yet, there she is.   

As many who read the blog know, we lost the "Zoom Meeting Cat," Bree, this past year.  Hobnob preceded her sister a year before.  So, while 2010 was a year of big transitions at the Genuine Faux Farm, so too is 2023.  We both still find ourselves responding to dark piles of clothing on the bed because our brains initially supply us with the identifier "sleepy kitty" and it takes a moment to remind ourselves that their sleep is a bit deeper than a cat nap now.

A quick glance into the northwest pastures in September of 2010 shows us some turkeys.  They are kept in one section of the pasture by some fencing we would have to take down in 2012 after a spray plane applied pesticides in this area.

But, that's not quite what is getting my attention.  What's getting my attention is what's NOT in the picture.

The biggest missing item is... Crazy Maurice, the farm's Weeping Willow!  And, of course, there are other tree friends, like Blaze, the Maple and Loki, the Locust.  There's even a new permanent fence with gates and everything for the hen pasture.  

What would our 2010 selves say if they could transport into 2023 and see what things look like now?  Would they be pleased, shocked or dismayed?  Perhaps there would be parts of all three.  Of course, we'll never know for certain.  But it's interesting to even consider it.

I can say that we had some visions for this future.  That's why we have made some of the decisions and taken some of the actions that led us to this present reality.  But we can't honestly say that things turned out exactly as we expected.  After all, life is too complicated to be able to predict how thirteen years are going to treat you and the land you steward.

Missing the Office "Assistant"

It has been a little over three months now.  Three months that I have been able to sit in my office chair for virtual meetings or to write articles without interruption.  And I have to admit that I miss those interruptions.

It's true that I do not miss the struggle that was the final months of the Meeting Cat's (Bree's) life.  We had to frequently clean up messes because she had trouble holding food down and it was hard to see that life was less wonderful for her than it had been.  It was one thing to have the responsibility of making sure the Indoor Farm Supervisors were properly provided for.  It was another when they required a fair amount of special care because they weren't feeling well.  To be perfectly clear, I miss my little friend, I just don't miss the struggle that life had become.  I think that's perfectly fair as I suspect she didn't enjoy many of those same moments herself.

But, we have entered the season when the cooler weather would typically result in Bree walking into the office more frequently so she could station herself just under the desk and slightly to my right - waiting for the invitation to jump up and collect some of the warmth her human offered.  This was a trend that usually started in late September, as I started to spend a bit more time in the office than the fields.  And even once I started working for PAN, she had a tendency to seek out companionship more as we entered the Fall months and less as we moved to Spring. 

And that brings me to something I do recall.  Even though Bree wasn't feeling well, she still took comfort in the crook of an arm when she had the chance.  And she would reward the human with a soft purr, until she fell asleep for a little while - just because we were tolerating limited mobility for a time.

Were there times when I would get frustrated that she had this knack for coming and asking for attention just when I was starting to really concentrate on a project?  Of course there were.  But, she'd sit on the floor and look up at me with those big cat eyes.

You are MY human.  You cannot say no to me.  You do not want me to be sad.  Invite me up and I will not regret it.  YOU might, but I won't.

Yeah.  I often ended up regretting it either way.  If I said no, I would regret having to send her on her way without the attention she so richly deserved.  And, she was one of those cats that had a way of exuding disappointment and hurt if her request was denied.  If I said yes, I might find that I could not get the work done and I would regret that I now had even LESS time to get something done that needed doing.  After all, it is really difficult to type an article with only one hand.

But, now that she is gone, I also remember how many times we could come to an agreement where she would sleep in the crook of an arm - just so - so I could still type.  And suddenly I would realize a half hour had passed and the article was done.  And the cat was just waking up from a nap.  And the world was about as right as it could be for that moment in time.

And now it is October.  I actually felt a little bit chilly the other day as I sat at the desk to do some writing.  So, I looked down and to the right just a little bit.

And there was no cat looking back up at me.  So, I typed this blog post with two hands with no guilt and no interruptions.

And I didn't particularly like it.

Grace

 

I am going to tell you a story that starts with Bree, the Meeting Cat and Indoor Farm Supervisor.  She was also known as the "Breeling" or my "Bree L.F." (Bree Little Friend).  I am not telling this story to elicit sympathy or bring about indignation for things gone wrong.  And I certainly don't need your judgement if you feel our decisions were misguided in the first place. 

I have another purpose and I hope you'll stick with me while I get to that destination.

We let it be known, via the blog, that Bree was declining and likely reaching the end of her life.  We did our best to be kind and consider what might be the best course of action as she approached the exit door of this world.  We did our best to look at her with clear eyes when it came to assessing if she was in excessive pain and if waiting longer for the end would be more cruel than the alternative, taking her to see the vet one last time.

One of our cues was assessing how she accepted comfort.  Bree was always a cat that would seek and gladly accept comfort from her humans.  And the good news is that Bree was able to accept that comfort until the day of that appointment with the vet.  During her last few weeks I think the only sustenance she successfully took in was that comfort - because she certainly wasn't drinking much and she wasn't keeping any food down.  That comfort kept her eyes clear and she still gave us purrs and let us know that she did appreciate what we could give.

But, we knew what was coming and we wanted to provide Bree with the kindest exit we could manage for her.  She sat in a lap and received comfort for the entire trip in the car and we did everything that we thought was right - choosing the best alternatives as the options dwindled.  The intention was for a gentle exit - one we had witnessed before with Eowyn, by using the injections to bring about sleep and then an end.

I held Bree for that first shot, but things didn't go exactly as hoped.  The first shot must have hit something vital because our little cat showed extreme pain before going limp.  I suspect she was dead before the second injection was even started.  The process wasn't gentle.

And I felt as if I had let a creature who had trusted me down.

So, that's the story - now for the point of telling it:

In this world, you can do everything as best as you are able with the knowledge that you have at your disposal.  You can seek out qualified opinions and give yourself time to make the best decisions.  You can do everything as right as you possibly can.

And you can still have a result that is not a good one - even when you can't possibly see how you could have done much better.

This is why it is so important to give each other - and ourselves - grace.

We need to exercise the gift of giving grace because it is actually a rare thing to be able to successfully navigate difficult processes and decisions perfectly in the first place.  We're going to fail to observe something, or we're going to misinterpret something else, or maybe we'll just not have the energy to apply ourselves in a way we would really like to.  If things can go wrong even when you think you've done the best that can be done, what can we expect when we add in our own shortcomings?

I like to think that most of us in this world genuinely want to do the "right thing" as well as each of us is able.  Unfortunately, I also know that we're going to fail at doing the "right thing" frequently.  This should not be an excuse that we use to ignore problems or opportunities to improve.  But it should be a reminder to all of us that each of us is imperfect, and grace is necessary because it recognizes our value despite that imperfection.

If you're still with me - today's gentle reminder is to offer grace to someone who needs it.  Maybe it's you.  Perhaps it's someone else.  And be prepared to practice offering grace frequently.

Because it's actually one of the best qualities humans can have.  The ability to offer forgiveness, love, and support despite mistakes, imperfections - and results that don't go the way we had hoped and planned.

The Meeting Cat Retires

 

Bree the Meeting Cat, as she was known to my colleagues at Pesticide Action Network, has cleared her schedule and will no longer be joining me in Zoom meetings.  A couple of weeks ago, we shared that Bree was in declining health and we were doing what we reasonably could to make her comfortable.  We knew she did not have much longer in this world, but she still had a purr or two for us up until (almost) the very end.

For those persons who have seen Zoom presentations or meetings where a black tail appears on the screen (but rarely much more of the cat), this is what she looked like from the front.  And yes, she did like to crawl into a sack or a box every so often (though much less over the past half year).

We made her final vet appointment for this past Wednesday afternoon. The vet agreed that the time had come.  It was fairly obvious to me because she simply sat in my lap as we drove there, putting up no struggle - but accepting all of the skritches we were willing to give.

Here's to a good life lived.

Catering to the Kitty

Bree, also known as the "Zoom Meeting Cat," an "Indoor Farm Supervisors," and sometimes referenced as our "Bree LF" (for those that might know that CS Lewis reference), has been on our minds a lot recently.  Since her sister passed on last year, Bree has continued to get thinner.  We're pretty sure it isn't because she misses her sister as they weren't the best of friends all the time anyway.

She has become less interested in her favorite toys and she has taken to having wheezing fits.  But, she is still quite personable with us and she still purrs when we give her the skritches and attention she so richly deserves.

In any event, things were to the point that we felt a vet appointment was necessary, so I went and got the carrier. The carrier is not usually a welcomed sight because it means a trip in the car - not Bree's favorite activity. 

This time I just happened to grab the carrier that was the same one Bree and Hobnob occupied when they came home to live at the Genuine Faux Farm.  And, as I often, but don't always, do, I set the cage down with the door open so Bree could inspect it.  Usually what follows is feigned indifference followed by an attempt to leave before the human can pick her up and put her in the carrier.

This time, Bree, after checking around the perimeter, walked right in.  So, I shut the door - more than a bit surprised - and not surprised at all.

Our instincts matched Bree's.  Something was wrong and we were all at a point where we needed to get answers.

The people at the veterinarian's office were kind and listened carefully as we discussed what was going on.  Not terribly interested in food.  Low energy.  Less interested in things that had interested her before.  Even her "meows" were quieter - as if they took too much energy sometimes.  And since both Tammy and I had recently been through the process of not feeling well, we could relate and empathize.

A quick x-ray confirmed issues in the lungs.  Probably issues that will not go away.  But, the current strategy is to give her some medications (always fun with a cat) and see if it clears some things out and gives her a chance to be a bit happier for a while.  We're trying numerous other ways to entice her to eat and we're making sure she gets all of the kind words and skritches she might possibly want.

So far, catering to the kitty seems to be working.  Still not eating much.  Still not interested in playing.  But the eyes are clearer and the wheezing has become less frequent.  We'll take it.

While it is unlikely that this will result in long-term physical healing, the mental healing for the cat and for the humans has been good.  And, we're giving her that chance to discover that this is something that can clear up.  And today, she has an opportunity to enjoy a nice sun puddle on a cool day.

Now that's catering to the kitty!

Comfort

It has been almost nine months since Hobnob, one of our Indoor Supervisors, made her exit.  Bree remains as our lone Indoor Supervisor, keeping the humans in check when they are inside the farm house at the Genuine Faux Farm.

We thought, for a very brief period of time, that we might change the night-time rituals and let Bree have the "run of the house," be we backed off of that idea after experimenting.  It turns out that going to the kitchen for the night still offers comfort to our little black and white cat.  To break it is to sew concern and discord in the household.

Sometimes Bree will require "taxi service" from her human, and other times she will trot down the stairs and directly into the kitchen.  Every so often, she doesn't cooperate, but rarely enough to get us to consider changing things around.

To understand why this ritual is comforting, it might be useful to explain some of their transition to our home.

The farmhouse is large and we knew from past experience that it helps to introduce new cats to a smaller portion of the house so they can get used to that first.  The kitchen had doors we could close, access to food and water, a location for the litter box, and places we could sit to be with our new friends as they transitioned to a new world.

Hobnob and Bree were typical kittens in that they had tons of energy - bouncing around everywhere - until they didn't have energy anymore.  But, unlike some kittens we've dealt with in the past, these two wouldn't just go to sleep when they were tired.  We've watched some baby animals go from full-tilt to asleep in seconds.  Not these two.  

These tired kittens cried and would only calm down when we would pick them up and sit with them for a while.  My technique was to hold a sleepy kitten in one hand and gently and very slowly rub her back until she stopped crying.  Tammy and I tried very hard to take turns with who got which kitten in an effort to let them know that we were both "safe humans."

After a little while the bags under their eyes (just look at the picture) would become blinking, sleepy eyes.  Once they were quiet and showing signs of being moments from sleep, we would set them on the shelf that they had claimed as their spot.

Sometimes, they would be fully asleep and we would have to find a way to set them down as their heads rolled to the side.  But, usually, they were just very drowsy, soon to close their eyes the rest of the way.  There was something comforting to us when we saw them finally relaxing and being willing to trust that the world was "right enough" for them to catch a few zzzzs.

As I recalled this memory I wondered:  Is it better to be comforted or to offer comfort?

Perhaps the answer is that this is the wrong question.  There is no reason for us to worry about whether giving or receiving comfort is more valuable to us.  The real question is why we don't offer and accept comfort more often. 

Now you must excuse me, the Bree cat wants me to escort her to the kitchen for the night.  Oddly enough, I find that comforting.

Sneaky Indoor Supervisor?

 

Bree has always been a bit more nervous about how the world is going change from moment to moment than the other supervisor cats around the farm.  She is also a bit of a "princess," letting the pea take most of her attention even when there is plenty of comfortable mattress she could concentrate on.  Bree has always been an indoor supervisor, only visiting the outdoors if it for a trip to the "place that must not be named."  (that would be the vet for the uninitiated)

Bree's sister, Hobnob, left us earlier this year and that departure has certainly been a mixed blessing for our remaining indoor supervisor.  Bree certainly misses her sister simply because they had been together their whole lives.  However, the sisterly relationship was never one that Tammy and I would call loving.  So, in some ways, Bree has benefited from Hob's departure.

Still, Bree is left as the only remaining feline at the Genuine Faux Farm bearing the title "Indoor Supervisor" and the pressure can sometimes be telling.  For example, this past weekend had a fair amount of upheaval as the humans did some deeper cleaning and moving in the farm house.  It's the kind of cleaning that happens for many reasons.  If you consider that during each of the past two years the humans have taken turns at major surgeries and recoveries that might be enough to get you to understand that many things have probably been "on hold" for a while.

Places and things in the house that have been let be for the past year or two were suddenly being moved, inspected, and even taken away.  It's enough to make any self-respecting indoor supervisor have a great need for a long, uninterrupted nap later in the day on Sunday.

But, maybe I underestimate Bree?  Perhaps she feels she has done a fine job of supervising our efforts this past weekend.  Is that I smile I see on that kitty face in the picture above?  Well, if it is, I am sure she won't give me the satisfaction of confirming or denying.  Yet, I do take note that places she prefers for catnaps were cleaned off and any obstructions were removed.

Is it possible that we've been played?  I am guessing we'll never know for certain.