The Old Pump House

Last week we destroyed one of the farms enduring landmarks.  Just steps from my back door (like really, only four or five steps) stood a five foot tall hill of concrete covered with dirt.  I'm sure it was originally built as a bomb shelter in the 1950's, a dome shaped mound about ten feet across with a flight of steps leading down to the small room, sealed with a slanted wooden door.  Our kids loved rolling, sledding, or just running down the sloped sides.  The German Shepherd, Boomer, would sit on the top and survey his kingdom (and stare in the kitchen window to send mind signals that it was dinner time).  The top of the hill was so thinly covered with dirt that the only thing that would grow there was weeds, which had to be trimmed with a weed-eater because it was too steep for the lawn mower.   A few hardy, but sparse, flowers decorated the old rocks piled around the base on one side.  Mostly it just looked neglected, which it usually was.

For years this concrete shelter housed the pump that provided water for the house from the walled up well just behind it that was the farm's cistern and water supply.  This cistern held about 2000 gallons when full.  Ideally, this water would be supplied from rains that fell on the roof and were collected by a gutter system.  In the winter our water always tasted of smoke from the fireplace.  In the summer I tried not to think about the large, green frog that my daughter insisted she had seen swimming in the cistern.  During the dry times we would haul water from town to replace the ever dwindling supply.  With cattle to water in the barn and two teen-agers, the man who hauled our water became a frequent visitor.

We have now had city water for several years and the old pump finally quit so I can't even use it to water the flowers any more.  So we decided to knock the hump in so I can have a yard outside my back door.  Surprisingly it wasn't easy to decide to do.  So many children and dogs have played happily on the hill that it was a defining feature of a trip to the farm.  It also was a symbol of the past when bombs were a new threat and having water in the house worth having a hill at the back door.

When my parents moved from the farm to town when I was three, my mother declared in no uncertain terms, that she would not move back to the farm until she had all the conveniences of town.  Running water and electricity!  While things have certainly improved since then, after years of living in town, we were a little unprepared for the adventure of living on a small cistern.  Our children, then 7 and 10, had never known anything but the luxury of plenty of water and a secure electrical supply.  Things you don't take for granted living on a farm.

We all lived with one eye on the water level of the cistern.  Someone was always lugging the heavy, metal lid off to run a tape measure down to see how many feet we had left.  Then we'd hurry to the house to call for a load of water.  Even with constant checking it occasionally happened that we would run out of water. 

One time stands out in my memory.  It was a Friday night in the summer.  The kids had been helping around the farm all day and had arrived for supper to be greeted with the news that we were out of water.  The water man had been called but it was a dry time and he was so busy that he couldn't get to us until the next morning.  My daughter looked at me in horror.  "No-o-o-o!" she wailed.  "I've got a party tonight and I stink like a barn!!!"  "It'll be fine",  I soothed.  "You can just freshen up and put on some perfume and no one will be the wiser."  With a look of stark disbelief at my insensitivity, she stalked up the stairs to her room.

A few minutes later she clattered down again.  Thinking she was heading out to sulk, I let her pass in silence.  I glanced out the kitchen window a little later to observe her returning from the barn carrying a five gallon bucket.  She disappeared into the shop and re-emerged carrying a length of rope.  She marched over to the cistern, drug the top off, and proceeded to tie her rope to the bucket.  She then dropped the bucket down into the cistern until she reached the reservoir of water below the intake valve for the pump.  Soon she was straining on the rope and pulling as hard as she could.  Now, let me tell you, water is heavy.  Even not full, that was a heavy load to haul up.  I was turning to hunt her dad or brother to help when she gave a last heave and grabbed the bucket bale.  With a look of satisfaction she hauled her precious bucket of water in to the bathroom.

She appeared after a time, fresh, pretty and party-ready, smelling sweetly of clean skin and soap. 

Never underestimate the determination of a teen-ager going to a party! 

Depression

Today the news has been full of the untimely death of Robin Williams.  A man remembered for his ability to make us laugh, even while pulling at our heartstrings.  He was an illustration of humor at its best.  He was viewed as gregarious, outgoing, friendly and, yes, funny.  Yesterday, the word filtered out that he had taken his own life after years of battling depression. 

The thought of depression and this funny, endearing man just didn't seem right.

I, like most of the world, for a long time thought that depression was a state of mind and all you had to do was think positive.  Oh, if only that were the case.

Then I got a taste of the wormy apple myself.

Like most people my life has been filled with ups and downs.  Depression isn't caused by miserable lives.  Some wonderful lives are filled with people that hurt. My daughter's wreck reduced us all to a bundle of terrified nerves but I wasn't depressed.  My bout with cancer scared the living daylights out of me, but I wasn't depressed.  (Although my medical team kept telling me that I shouldn't hide it.  It was normal.)  I truly just didn't feel depression or deep anxiety.

I sailed along, totally unaware of what depression does to you.

Then, my doctor, who is constantly trying to keep me in optimum health, decided that I really needed to take medication for my gradually increasing cholesterol.  Reluctantly, I agreed. 

I began to find that things were getting harder.  Decisions that I had made easily in weeks past concerning the care of Hubby's mother, became difficult and stressful. Just cooking and caring for my house became a never-ending chore.  I worried about everything.  My sleep was broken by periods of lying in bed and chasing useless worries.  I laughed less and cried more.  I began avoiding people and looking for excuses to stay home.  I struggled to get through every day.  Nothing was fun.

We went on an annual trip with dear friends to enjoy the mountains.  I was amazed by the sheer effort it took to be part of the group.  I don't think I was a complete wet blanket, but I was working as hard as I could at being interested in my surroundings, laughing at the teasing, responding to conversation, and showing, even moderate, enthusiasm.  It was exhausting.....and depressing.

We returned home to find workmen had arrived to do some much needed siding repair.  I knew most of the workers and in times before I would have spent a portion of their work time standing in the yard "shooting the breeze" with them...and generally slowing them down.  I realized, with horror, that now I was literally running from room to room, praying they wouldn't see me through the windows and want to talk to me.  All I could think about was being in my bed with the curtains pulled tight. 

"Whoa!! This is so not me!"  I remember the thought just struck me, "You have something seriously wrong with you!"  I went to the computer and looked up my symptoms and there it was clearly spelled out....depression.  But how?  Why? What had changed?

Then I remembered the little innocuous pill that millions take safely for cholesterol.  I searched for side-affects and there it was under the heading of Very Rare but Extremely Serious. Depression.  I was experiencing a reaction to the chemical changes happening in my body.  Exactly like a rash from an allergic reaction or dizziness, nausea, constipation, diarrhea, etc. that is listed on your information sheets with your medications.  It was physical....not something I could control.

I quit taking the pill.  In three days I was out playing with the grandchildren in the yard and enjoying life again.  Life was good again.

For me it was simple.  For many others it is a disease not a side-affect.  It is medically treatable, but like so many diseases, some respond better to treatment than others.  My heart goes out to those who suffer this invisible illness.  I will never forget the nightmare of being trapped in a world without color or hope. I discovered you can't make up your mind and just be happy.  I understand, what before I only vaguely sensed.  This is a physical disease not a lack of determination.  I hope I have learned compassion and empathy for those who struggle to get through every day---regardless of how flawlessly they are acting the part of a healthy person--they are hurting and ill.

 
                                                    * * * * * * *

(About my medication.  Statins are one of the wonder drugs of our era.  99.9% of the people take them with wonderful results and no side affects.  I was one of the very rare ones to react to this particular statin.  I responded positively, with no ill effects, to a simple change in medication.  Please!  Be aware of what medications you take and alert for potential problems.  Then talk to your doctor.)

Garden Bounty

A friend once responded to the question of why she didn't have a garden with this:  "I can see no reason on earth to do all that work.  If it is a bad year you plow, disc, plant, weed, till, water, pray and pick in the 100 degree heat for a handful of pitiful vegetables.  Which, by the way, you could buy in the grocery for a lot less cost.  In a good year you have to barricade your gate to keep from being buried under all the leftover vegetables your neighbors are determined to off-load onto you.  So I just wait for the good years."

She has a point.

This year has been a good garden year for most things.  (No beans but that is a whole different story.)  Out daily forays into the garden have yielded buckets of tender yellow squash, long green cucumbers, fat purple eggplants, green peppers, onions, cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, corn and tomatoes.  The problem is that while we enjoy each of these, the two of us can only eat so many.  I love eggplant parmesan, but that takes one eggplant and will last for three or four meals.  My garden is producing six to eight at a time.  You see my problem.  After a while you just get overwhelmed by all these lovely fresh veggies. 

I had been sending them home with my son until I overheard his wife at a party commenting to a friend that every time she came into the kitchen the "garden fairy" had dumped a load of vegetables on her counter.  She didn't sound excited. I decided that maybe I needed to back off on the sacks of veggies I was sneaking into the truck.

It comes to the point that you are like the Easter bunny leaving surprises for your friends and neighbors on their porch swings, in their flower pots, behind their doors, or stashed neatly by their walks.  Anything to get rid of the outpouring of produce from your lovingly tended garden.

One year I grew almost a quarter of an acre of strawberries.  (We didn't know how many plants came in a bundle and ordered way too many bundles.  Rather than "waste" them we planted each one. )  That spring I picked strawberries and we ate them until everyone developed a rash, froze them until the freezer was full, made jam that we still have left, and gave them to friends.  We were picking so many (you can't let them waste!!) that I was in danger of running out of friends.  I began to notice that no one would answer my knocks even though I was sure they were home.  If I called ahead they were suddenly leaving town for an extended trip and couldn't handle any strawberries.  I began roving through the town looking for folks unlucky enough to be siting on their porches and unable to escape my bounty.  If that failed I stooped to looking for unlocked cars and loading up the back seats with fragrant fruit.

I was in real danger of becoming a social outcast when the season finally ended. 

When that bed finally died out we've never had another one.

However, beware,  I do have a bumper crop of tomatoes.......