Life...

Most nights I think about not having a glass of wine; most nights I end up pouring a glass of claret and often a second. It is one way of slowing the thinking process, slowing the heart beat and ultimately relaxing into a warm, happy place where life moves a little slower, the noises are a little duller and my responses are a little softer.
In my world, I have learnt this is a good way to end the day. I doubt I am alone in my strategies to get through and I suspect many people have more than a drink or two, and I've decided this is ok. Rebuilding a farm, working full-time, studying, managing the affairs of a demented relative and worrying about our very large brood, can fill up a person's day. Lately, I have watched Daryl work himself to exhaustion, gallantly trying complete numerous farm projects and support me as I try to help transform and keep the farm flourishing. I have watched him battling to reign in his own emotions as he tries to reconcile his reality, with the infinite hope we all have as parents. The frustration, the hurt, the disappointment  he feels is worked through with a shovel, shotgun and a lot of sweat. I manage by writing, reading and generally escaping in words. For two people who seem to have such differing coping mechanisms we are well matched. We share common ideals and goals, we share a dream invested in this land, and we hope for a future filled with our ever growing family and friends.

Unbreakable bonds

Farming, for those that have never experienced it, can seem like an endless list of jobs, never ending tasks that need fixing and 24 hour responsibilities for the welfare of animals. They are right, but there is also the satisfaction of achievement, of being close to nature and forming bonds with our stock and pets. There is the sense of space, freedom and a million stars twinkling down at you on a clear night. It never gets tiring. These are the same stars that used to look down on my parents. They ran this farm for more than 30 years, poorly towards the end but stubbornly attempted to hang on to it, regardless. They no longer see the twinkling stars. Next month will be four years since my mother died and my father doesn't remember what day of the week it is, or who I am on any given day. While we did not share a positive parental relationship, I cannot help but feel empathy for him in his current state and some days I think I understand my mum better, these days, than I ever did growing up. I suspect she suffered some serious mental health issues and my brother and I paid the price for it. My father, absent and distant during our formative years, has returned to this state thanks to a stroke impairing his cognitive function and exacerbating the Alzheimers Dementia that had already invaded his brain. He will spend his last days contending with declining physical health and reducing cognitive function. Health care staff will make him as comfortable as possible, keep him fed and cleaned and medicated. I will make the decisions effecting every aspect of his remaining life. My

Quite the team

husband supports me as I do this. We are a good team.
The wine does not dissolve any of the disappointment, solve any of the challenges or wipe away memories, but it does symbolise celebration and enjoyment of life. So here is a toast to all that life offers. May the stars keep twinkling above you and remind you that each day is a gift.

Until next time,

N