Cassandra Coney has been coming by every morning this week, and we have settled into a comfortable routine more quickly than I might have imagined.
I suppose I am sensitive to the idea that I am growing too old to take care of the farm. I was just at the hardware store buying bird seed, and Amy said there was no way she was letting me carry the two 20 lb bags out to the car. I can handle it, I said, but she said no, “Maria doesn’t like you carrying heavy things by yourself.”
Cassandra also keeps an eye on me, saying she wasn’t sure about my carrying firewood into the house, “Maria will kill me if you have a heart attack,” she said, forthrightly.
I appreciate everyone’s candor, and I can’t really see me from the outside. People tend to be wary of open heart surgery patients carrying too many things, but it’s an odd reality. I shoveled tons of snow this week and raked more tons off of the roof. I have hauled firewood for two stoves all week by myself.
I took a two-mile walk this morning with the dogs and felt no discomfort of any kind. At the same time, I don’t want to deny reality, all this concern might be grounded in reason, and perhaps I should be more accepting of help. A hard thing to sort out.
When I got home from the hardware store I carried the two bags out of the car and across the back yard and into the barn. Nobody suggested that was a bad idea, and it was no sweat carrying them and pouring them into the feeders.
Cassandra and I have reached a very comfortable rhythm. I come out once in awhile to take photos. Cassandra is all business, we chat a bit and she moves impressively and efficiently through her chores. She comes into the house, cleans out the cat litter, brings a few more logs in for the stoves, and then goes to work.
She is impressive. No drama no bullshit, she has a dry sense of human and loves the dogs and other animals. I’m getting easy with this idea, even though the snow and my computer troubles have blown up half of my creative fellowship, the reason for Cassandra being here in the first place.
Raised on a farm, she knows what to do and how to do it.
But I’m still sorting things out.
Why do I need help with the chores if I can’t work on my book? It is nice to have this help in either case, the days are long and hard, doing the chores of two people, and I am tired at the end of the day. So I can use the help.
It is nice to know Cassandra will pull in every morning and help out.
I am opening up to it.