I’ve learned several times this winter that when you leave a hospital or a surgery, you don’t leave when you exit the building. You just bring it all to a different place.

If you are like me, the hospitalization process continues for days or weeks. First, it is simply exhausting. Nothing is more tiring than being confined to a bed or chair for days. The poor nurses have to come into my room every few hours to stab or stick me for one excellent reason or another.

And then, I was scared to death.

The partner is in just as deep as the patient. Maria was expected to drive back and forth, take care of the farm, mind her bustling fiber art studio, feed animals, clean up their mess (donkeys have devoted nurses also), and sit with their partners and bring them what they need. I get tired just thinking about it.

She did all of this with wonder, warmth, and grace, getting testy only after I was home for a while. I don’t blame her. This summer has been a wild ride.

 

We spent some time discussing what we wanted the day to be, and that’s the beautiful day we got.

We woke up early, still charged and spinning from the last few days, talked awhile, and reviewed the excitement of rushing to an emergency room and saving a toe and foot.

Then Maria got up and went out to feed the dogs and animals, and I went back into the bathroom to figure out how to clean myself without getting me or my bandaged foot wet. I went downstairs to go through mail and post a picture of me and Zinnia.

 

My first peone came today.

That’s a hat trick for me. I got dressed – this takes a while – and then we went to get breakfast at Jean’s Diner.

I got eggs over light with wheat toast and crisp potatoes. Maria got two Oat Bran pancakes, one of my favorite breakfasts at this cozy and very comfortable place.

Many people are reading my blog these days, and everywhere I go, people ask me how I am and how I am doing. I am polite and brief. I’m fine. I might need a sticker that says, “I’m fine.” I don’t blame anyone for asking me, it’s nice to be cared about, but it does make me feel old and unhealthy. Nobody asks about anything else. This stuff is never going to define me.

Three surgeries in as many months and one four-day hospitalization make them quite understandable.

We stopped at the Farmer’s Market to get some vegetables, say hello to Cindy, the goat lady, and get some of her wonderful goat chees, and I bought a beautiful pink Peone from Anne at Hickory Wind Farm, where I am getting some of my most beautiful plants for the garden bed.

Her son Kristofer was at the market; he is a master of heritage grains and oats and is bright and interesting to talk to, like his brother Matt, an artist and our farrier.

The Farmer’s Market is a place I look forward to visiting every Sunday; I’m finding the people up here with farms are some of the most exciting people I’ve ever met. I love where I live.

We came home after that.

I swore this morning that I wouldn’t take any pictures today and would rest and read. When I got the peone, that promise collapsed. Maria kindly watered my flowers since walking is still tricky for me in my surgical boot, and then she went out front with some seeds and plants to grow some wildflowers on our front lawn.

The grass out front is a foot high and quite beautiful. The songbirds love it there, as do bees, rabbits, and moles.

We are shrinking the amount of grass we grow and giving the birds and insects a break and a fighting chance of survival by letting nature do its thing. We don’t eat grass, and I don’t find it especially pretty, and it eradicates almost every kind of natural life. It’s also hard and expensive to mow.

We don’t miss it.

I was awakened from a nap by animals braying, baaahing, and barking, led by their cheerleader, Fate. It was mealtime; they were getting ticked off and let us know to let them out into the pasture to graze.

This has become a movement we are happy to join.

I took some pictures and came inside. I read, slept, and slept—time to share some work. Thanks for following along.

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Things are getting back to normal. Someone named Gretchen posted a message asking me why I am rude to my readers. I wrote back and said that if she could tell me why this was her business, I would happily answer here.

Sometimes, I actually miss the hospital. Nobody told me what to say or think there.

I added that I was taught that sticking my nose into other people’s business was rude.

She got different lessons.

Ah, it feels like home.

I’d be shocked if she could give me a good reason, but I’ll keep my word if she does.

Some Art Photos coming shortly today.