Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Wednesday Evening

Today after milking and eating a nice omelet for breakfast Patrick and I tackled a few sheep to inject them with some medicine for parasites. Yesterday I ordered shearing equipment, so we will treat the rest of the flock when we attempt to shear them next week.

After working on the sheep, Patrick and I moved round bales of hay from the field into the barn. I was thankful to have a tractor for that job. The bales must weigh half a ton. They are nicely tucked in the dry barn, waiting to fill their role in the cold, dark days of winter.

The girls took care of laundry because they didn't feel like going outdoors in the humid heat. Thomas shoveled out a sidewalk by the basement door for me. I swept out the basement and gave it a bleach bath. We weed-eated, we cleaned out a feed closet.

Lots of little tasks that added up to a lot of hard work. A few people dropped in to pick up their milk shares.

At some point, I was going through the junk that Patrick pulled out of the feed closet off our back door. There was a big trash can filled up with shoes that Philip had stashed at some point when he was cleaning up. Out of sight, out of mind. I found missing Sunday shoes for little girls, now two sizes too small. Snow boots from three years ago. Ice skates. Leaky rubber boots. Ratty tennis shoes. Sandals for little girls. More work boots.

I felt a moment of aggravation, wondering why Philip would clean up by stashing. Then I came across his work shoes. Purchased a few years ago from Goodwill. Kind of ratty when he bought them, but he wore them all the time. I picked them up to throw in the contractor trash bag and started to weep.

Out of the clear blue sky. I wasn't even sad. I felt happy to get some tasks taken care of.

Cried and cried and cried and cried. Sobbed and stroked the old worn out shoes. Missed him.

We decided to save the shoes.

Not in the house or in the old trash can in the storage closet, but tucked out in the tractor shed in the tool area. Looking at those shoes makes me think of how hard working Philip was. How he loved to be frugal and to serve us. How good he was to us.

The kids didn't freak out to see me weep. They were matter of fact and compassionate. And even though they didn't cry, they were happy that I didn't throw away Philip's old shoes.

I did throw away all the leaky rubber boots and the too small sunday shoes, the snow shoes and the ratty tennis shoes. It feels great to see a cleaned out feed closet with dog food in the big old trash can instead of mismatched shoes. How bizarre that seeing a pair of shoes would make me weep.

By the way, the evening is cooler, but not cool. Feels like the end of July. Boy am I thankful to live in our moderate valley. Could be worse. The moon is waxing, larger than half. There was a rainbow around it this evening and I saw it hanging over the ridge to the south, behind the house. We had a couple of sprinkles today but no major rain.

Must go to bed. Bakery operates tomorrow.


Snappy Di said...

When my father passed away 10 years ago, my step-mom took his favorite, worn looking, cowboy boots and placed them in her bedroom with a lovely arrangement of silk flowers in them. There they sat for a few years and would comfort her whenever she looked at them. The boots just said so much as to who the man was that wore them.

Sending a hug your way today,

Jeff said...

I'm not at all surprised about your reaction to seeing Philip's shoes. One day, you may dispose of them and then again, you may keep them forever. It's O.K., whatever you do. What would life be like without items that remind us of the most important people in our lives? Memories only go so far.