Lettuce Visions

Guest blog by Olivia

Last night around midnight I realized that, if I keep paying off my med school debt at its current rate, I will be 57 when it is paid off.  I can hear my uncle Phil joking, "Hey doc, how's it going making the big bucks?" all the way from Pennsylvania.

I suppose I could have become a famous neurosurgeon.  I could have done 10 more years of residency, and paid off my loans after two days on the job.

I suppose I could have gone to Hershey med school with the dairy cows, instead of Einstein, where all the partying smart kids thought I was a little touched and left me behind when they took the express bus to Manhattan. 

I suppose Matthew and I could have continued to rent a duplex in Lewisburg, never owning a home.  Allen Roth would have been quite proud of us.  We could have raised 3 more mini-Wengers across the street from Catherman's bakery, filling their bellies with the best eclairs on the planet, while singing "I've got a mansion, just over the hilltops" after supper every night.  But I got a REALLY bad case of nesting instinct while expecting N.  I didn't care so much about how we'd pay off a mortgage when I was two weeks postpartum.

We have lived in the prairie house for over a year now.  I'm working almost fulltime.  Most of my patients are on public insurance, and better thank their lucky stars for every Democratic vote next election.  I keep dabbling in the genetic diseases of the other, not-so-Democratically voting, part of the county.   A little failure to thrive here, a few seizures there.  Add a pinch of dystonia.   A few pleas to the Big Guys for a little more sacred time...it makes a bittersweet stew if you know what I mean.

There really isn't much to throw my arms up in the air and cheer about.  Until I stumble out of the house after a day sitting in gloom puddles, to see M's latest creation.  What finesse!  What fresh home-grown spinach in the middle of November!   Note the rain-proof roof, and the wind-proof clasps.  Regard the frame built from salvaged wood!  I shout Hosanna.   Blessed be the Name of the LORD!!!  I'm going to heaven, after all.



The November Masterpeice

 

Pine needles are automatic mulch if you plant your lettuce in the right place

Our Passionate Work

The woodstove in our living room is quietly and increasingly beocming a part of the daily routine.  In spite of the warm afternoons of the past week, the winter cold is on its way.  This summer and fall, I've spared what moments I can in order to split and stack a supply of wood that rests sheltered in the barn.  I don't yet have a good sense of how much wood we can burn in one winter.  N can hardly wait to handle the splitting maul and the axe that I use to make kindling.

The essence of a good life involves sitting still long enough to hear the wind, watching the light patterns move slowly along the wall, on a cold morning in late fall.  It also involves many days when this is not possible.

Those whom we love, we despise because of our own weaknesses that are revealed.  To love fully is the ability to accept the seasonal, cyclical patterns that confront and obstacle our moments together.  The sustenance of commitment is revealed in the callused hand that works unseen.  Its touch upon soft skin an undeniable surety, our passionate work.