Hickory Nut Gap Farm

Yesterday we ventured out to Hickory Nut Gap Farm, about 20 minutes outside the city. It was a beautiful place to take Myles in appreciation of fall settling into the mountains. The leaves were flaming and diving all around us, and Myles got the chance to commune with chickens, pigs, cows, ponies, and goats. We hit the pumpkin patch and picked out 3 nice ones. Perhaps the highlight for Myles was that he got the chance to sit on a dirty tractor and pretend to drive it. Do you see satisfaction written all over that face? Oh, and we also bought apples. Empire, winesap, granny smith, jonagold, and cameo. This afternoon, Myles will wake up from his nap to the smell of a big ole batch of applesauce on the stove. I do love the fall.

Of course it's a love-hate relationship this year, and I think that may be a persistent theme. I love the beauty of these crisp days, but I hate it too because I can no longer enjoy them with my dad. I've got an internal debate going about the appropriateness of processing my grief openly through this venue. We created this blog to keep loved ones in the loop during my pregnancy and the construction of our house, and then to post proud pictures of our beautiful, beloved son. I'm more of an introvert by nature and putting some of my innermost thoughts out into cyber space seems a little strange to me. On the other hand, I know that many of you genuinely want to know how we are. More importantly, I learned from my dad's example with his Caring Bridge posts, what a difference it can make when others have the opportunity to glean some wisdom from the difficult journey of a family member or friend.

If this blog seems like a downer, it's because life is that way sometimes...it has its ups and downs and there's no need to conceal that. In fact, it wouldn't be an authentic reflection of our lives if we didn't record some of that here.

So I thought today that I would post a little reflection that I wrote when I was on a flight from Asheville to Boston a few weeks ago. I had intended to include this in my remarks at my dad's funeral, but then left my journal at home. So here it is:

"I will never forget the presence of mind he had on Tuesday. His spirit was absolutely radiant--that kind of peace that comes when you look death in the eye and accept that it's coming for you. That kind of peace that comes when you let go of the beloved things (not the trite, unimportant stuff, but the beloved things) that your heart loved and see it as nothing by a freedom road to God. Depleted as his body is, my dad possesses an other-worldly luminance that you see only on the faces of those who have one foot planted here with you and another foot in the world that is to come. And I'll never forget what he said. He said, 'At some point, you have to look beyond the sorrow and suffering and see the beauty of it all.'"

Three friends have birthed babies within a few weeks of my dad's death (two before, and one the week after), and last night we had a chance to meet little Zeke, born to our friends Amy, Paul, and their daughter Hazel. The boy has some cheeks on him. It was really something to hold his little body close and know that life is still chugging along. So we, too, will continue to plod forward with each new day, sometimes loving it and sometimes hating it.