Thanksgiving is always kind of a shock to me. For the past few months I’ve only seen the farm by headlamp. And here it is, in broad day light. Winter always feels like that. A journey into the dark, with a few glimpses of sun, till spring, when imperceptibly at first, but eventually there will be light (when I am home) and things will begin to move again. It’s hard to not feel a little darker this year. And that has me looking for the sun just that much harder.
A few months ago, I learned that a cousin, several years older than myself, and in the Midwest, had been diagnosed with lung cancer. Quite a shock that was. Not just a friend’s parent (not that it’s any easier) but family. Then about two weeks later I learned of another close friend, who while trying to get a GI issue diagnosed was found to have multi organ cancer. She is a good friend, who was a big part of our lives while we worried through the birth of our first child, and for many years after. She’s a wife, and mother to two boys (one of them our Godson’s), and will be celebrating her 40th birthday before the end of the year (sorry gal, I couldn’t help dropping the ‘age bomb’). To kick here when she was down, midway thru Chemo, she had a tear in her GI tract, and there were some scary words about possible outcomes. She’s out of the ICU, but not the woods. Yet. Then just a short time ago, I learned of another mother of two, who’s family has been client’s of mine, she has had a tumor found internally, near her ear. And we are waiting to hear more.
The winter is also a great time to be reminded of all that you didn’t get done during the year. Pump house with heat lamp to hold the hose reel so you can fill animal watering troughs (in freezing weather). The barn still needs paint (seriously?), the loafing shed didn’t get the rebuild it needed, and the coop is still at 80%. There are several loads of things that need to get moved into the new tool shed (and that needs to get set up). And that’s just a few things from the ‘short list’.
So it feels like a dark time. Looking for the sun. And often when I see it it’s a bit of a shock. And I am thankful for it. Most often I see it in my children, and my wife. Some times in relationships around me. And it gives me hope.
Looking across our creek last winter. Right now I can hear salmon working their way upstream while I gather wood in wood shed.