We’ve been hearing about it for months; now it comes to us. There is so much heavy rain (more coming) around here that the water is seeping up into the house’s foundations. The foundation is strong, and there is no mold or damage. But we will have to work hard to keep it that way, and we will almost surely need a new water pump shortly, if not today.

For us, a great empathy (and anxiety) boost. We are feeling what so many people are feeling. While the politicians play games with one another, we are living our very real lives.

Our water pump is in crisis, making death sounds, and water is coming up into the basement from below. We have been advised to lay down plastic covering all over the basement floor to prevent foundation damage and mold.

This is old news to many of you, new disruptive, disturbing, and expensive for us. In the years we’ve lived here, we have never had this problem. Our house is up on a small hill with an excellent and strong foundation. I shudder to think about what so many of our neighbors are experiencing. We are lucky. We need a heavy plastic floor covering and perhaps a dehumidifier for now.

The Spring and Summer have offered us a lot in the way of trouble; our beloved old farmhouse first saw a rotting toof, the heavy rains have turned our pastures into mud blogs, and our streams into floods. They have wiped out the Ed Gulley Memorial Bridge and threatened the basement and water system. There are storms every single day here now.

Throw in a few surgeries and many hospital bills, and the picture comes into focus. Now too much rain.

We are learning a lot about ourselves. We feel fortunate to be together, where we are, and do what we do. Life happens again and again. I think that’s why they named it “life.”

In challenging times we created difficult and resourceful people. Maria will be cutting and laying down plastic in the basement all day. I ordered a new water pump, but it doesn’t come for a week. We are hoping this one hangs on.

Maria thrives on challenges like this. I won’t lie; she loves nothing more than working on her art, but she also loves being resourceful and working hard physically.  She loves our farm and farmhouse and takes great pleasure in caring for it.

Last night she was out tossing firewood (photo to come.). Right now, she’s hauling old firewood, a mound of ancient artifacts, boxes, animal crates, cat holders, and junk out of the basement.

This is upsetting for me. I am proud and sensitive, as men can be. I should be helping, but I can’t. This asks me, as other storms have,  to embrace the idea of radical acceptance, something I say I believe in, but now I am practicing more than ever.

This morning, handyman Mike Conklin left after giving us the bad news; I told Maria that we needed to talk. Tell me honestly, I said, if I come down into the basement to help you, can I help, or will I be in the way? Maria, sensitive and thoughtful, paused – she hates to hurt my feelings – and said, “Honestly, there isn’t much you can do to help. There will be a lot of bending over, hauling things outside, scraping, and clearing out the floor in the basement. I would be worried about you and don’t think you can help.”

So that was a loud and clear “no.”

Bitter pills for anyone, many or women, who live in a partnership founded partly on mutual support. I’m doing well for a 75 (soon to be 76) year old, but there are many things that I can’t do, especially as a farm. I know, I did all of those things alone for at least six years.

I thanked Maria for telling me the truth. I do appreciate that. It would be worse to be bumbling around and getting in her way. She knows what to do and is more than willing to do it.

It does take away from her artwork, and that stings me. I wish I could do more, but I can’t, that’s my reality, grace is my intention.

I will do what I am good at – sharing the experience in words and photos, offering her honest and moral support, shopping, preparing lunch,  running to the hardware store if necessary, and showing my gratitude and appreciation. And maybe also pray for the water pump to get heard, the sound of the old one (not very old) is freaking me out.

“A blessing of these years is that they call us to go deep into ourselves to discover everything we are. Right now.” – Joan Chittister, The Gift Of Years.