James’ family came to visit today. His sister had flown from Arkansas to Ohio where his brother lives and the two of them had traveled to Michigan together, picked up their mom across the state and then they all drove here to see us. We had a very nice visit together, but true of everything right now, there were moments where we all struggled due to the circumstances. His mom has survived the death of two husbands and the loss of one of her children already. His sister, whom he sees annually, left knowing she might not get the chance to hug her brother again. His brother, who took all of this on himself to make happen, wishes he could do far more to help his little brother. And James, exhausted long before he should have been, tried to keep his game face on and join in the usual familial antics, but wasn’t able to fool anyone. Our hearts all ached for him.

His mom wanted to see the garden and we happily obliged, knowing how many times we talked with her and Henry about what was working and what was not each year. She was amazed at the peaches growing down the lane and we promised to pick some to send home with her. There were several everbearing strawberries waiting for her arrival in the garden. The tomato plants have grown a foot in the last week and are overshooting their supports, much to her delight. While there are weeds aplenty, she was only focused on all the things that were growing and the abundance the garden contained; we smelled the basil, admired the carrots and even spotted the start of a pumpkin growing. We showed off the grapevines, abundant with fruit and talked about the gamble of gardening and how you just never know what will grow or how well. She left for home a few hours later with eggs, peaches and a belly full from cobbler made with our first ever homegrown peaches.

Tonight, despite an afternoon nap, James headed to bed early, in need of extra rest. I left Trudy in the house and went to collect eggs, noticing how green the farm looks with all the rain we’ve had. I rounded the corner to the coop when movement caught my eye. A doe and her two fawns were racing across in front of me. She and I both froze in our tracks and stood watching each other. The fawns raced into the woods, but the doe took a step towards me and stood for a good long glance before snorting and snuffing and racing after her precious babes. I smiled and treasured the encounter, savoring the motherly moment shared with something wild.

Inside the coop, I had hens and eggs waiting for me. My broody hen clucked quietly to me as I removed her once again from the nest and shoo’d her out the door. I filled the feed tubes and collected a bounty of eggs all while Gabby, my aptly named hen clucked and clucked at me, before latching the door for the night and heading back to the house. On the porch, Charlotte lay curled up on a chair, content as a cat can be to watch the rainy evening in front of her.

While we pray daily, hourly, for miracles, today I was reminded of the small beauties and blessings that surround us. Family, a home, a bounty of flowers, fruits and vegetables as well as creatures of all kinds filled our hearts day today. We will both sleep well tonight knowing that we are surrounded by beauty and love and the blessings of a summer afternoon spent together.

“What were you laughing about?”

Our house doesn’t lend itself to privacy. Not that my conversation was a secret, I just felt badly when I crawled into bed later and worried I had kept James awake.

“So many things,” I replied. “You know how conversations with Jacob are.”

He knows exactly what I mean. It isn’t just one thing, or one topic. Jacob just has a way of phrasing things or of relating to a topic that makes us smile and often laugh out loud. He is articulate, smart, well-read and yet self-aware enough to be able to good-naturedly poke fun at himself and life in very appropriate but hysterical ways. Conversations with the kid always do my heart good and tonight was no exception.

Jacob can discuss any topic well, he can disagree respectfully, he can communicate not only what he thinks but also how he feels and he demonstrates compassion beyond his years. He is also able, quite accurately and somewhat deftly, to relate a recent Star Trek episode he had watched with something I philosophically mentioned during the conversation. And I am certain he felt my smirk when he described himself as having been a “good student growing up.” True, if you add in all the frustrations that his teenage self put me through to get to that point. This, is my child.

For all the ways that the world feels wrong and hard and backwards and evil and forsaken and corrupt and perhaps even despairing right now, talking with Jacob gives me immeasurable hope. I hope he always knows, deep in his soul what a blessing he is.

The frogs are quiet tonight. Instead of the loud chorus that pulses during the first part of July, we are down to just a couple throaty croaks out back. It always humors me this time of year to hear the few remaining hopefuls out in the marsh. I liken it to the people at a bar during last call – still hoping to maybe, just maybe find a mate before closing. The bats are flying in the twilight and I can hear a quiet chorus of what sounds like cicadas in the woods. The house itself is dark. Except for the glow of the monitor, the only light is what is left of the day outside, leaving the world in black shadows and outlines.

James has gone to bed. His energy from last week and the week before seems to be waning; he is up later each morning and heads to bed sooner at night. He has even gone back to taking naps the last couple of days. There are other symptoms of some concern, ones his doctor has already prescribed some new medications to help with and some we will talk about more with her next week at our appointment.

This rollercoaster of hope and optimism followed by fear and concern seems like the general map of what is to come. This may be as sure of footing as we will ever feel we have and we are doing our best to help each other navigate this new landscape.

We have been sorting. Both of our families are coming for visits and some part of me thought it would be easier to go through some things now, to ensure they get into the right hands, but easier is a misnomer for sure. Nothing is easy. The process is certainly an emotional one for James, but it leaves many of the same questions for me – How do you detach your feelings from tangible mementos? We have boxes and boxes and china cabinets and closets and hope chests and trunks full of memories from our journeys through this world and yet, what becomes of them when we are gone? They do not hold meaning to anyone else. This process of letting go is emotionally draining, mentally crippling at times and heartbreaking at others.

As I sit here in this hour of twilight, knowing I cannot stop nor slow down the impending darkness, I struggle to find stability traversing this shifting road we are on. And yet, I am reminded by the frogs and the bats and the wind in the trees, that this is all part of the cycle. I am reminded to not hold too tightly to the tangible things of my life, but instead to hold fiercely onto the people, places and creatures that I have loved in this life, for it is that love, that will remain. Long after I am gone, after all my closets have been emptied, all my boxes sorted, all my belongings distributed to charity or even the trash, long after all my mementos have lost their significance, it is the love we have given into this world that will remain.

I am blessed by that reminder. I am blessed to have the love of those who came before me still within me. I am blessed to have the strength of that love within me.

James and I enjoy traveling the most when there is a only a rough itinerary, with very few pre-determined times or places. Beyond the doctor appointments in Ann Arbor that served as the launching point for our travels, we had only a general sequence of places and events for our mini-vacation for the days following, which is how we came to find ourselves in Lexington, Michigan with time on our hands.

We had spent the morning in James’ hometown, sampling doughnuts from the bakery, driving past all the homes he had lived in, circling the school parking lots as he reminisced about his days there, driving past the baseball fields he played on and stopping in to one of the more significant places he had worked during that time. James had been to the nearby town of Lexington many times growing up, but in addition to the sentimental value it held for him, he drove there thinking I might enjoy walking the pier on Lake Huron like we do sometimes on the west side of the state near our home. In addition to the restaurants James could remember from his childhood, Lexington also has a small but thriving downtown area with a handful of cute shops – just the type of places I enjoy strolling around and browsing through on beautiful summer days. And so we found ourselves milling about in perfect seventy degree weather, under nearly cloudless blue skies, bopping into this store and that, as we walked down the street towards the lake.

The pier itself was perhaps the most beautiful one I had ever seen, even in its simplicity. Built up with boulders on either side, the pier extended out and away from land, forming a crescent-shaped cove in which boats were docked. The sight from shore was beautiful, but once out on the pier the expanse was breathtaking, with nothing but deep blue water as far as our eyes could see. What we love about being near great bodies of water is never the beach or being in the sand, however. What we love about the water is the sound of the waves, and, in addition to the view, this pier was also one of the best I had ever been on for the sound. We stopped to watch a couple of freighters way off in the distance and then I climbed out onto one of the boulders and sat down with James joining me in silence.

The water below and right in front of us was the truest turquoise I have seen this side of a box of Crayolas, but not far out from the pier it turned into a deep yet bright blue, giving easy evidence for why the bridge by our hotel was called the “Blue Water Bridge.”

Sitting out on the rocks, we both were reminded of our trip to Maine several years ago. That was the first time we had heard waves on rocks together and we had enjoyed it as much then as we were now. With absolutely no where to be for hours, we lingered right there, savoring every piece of the moment – the warmth of the summer sun, the cooling effect of the breeze off the water, the smell of fresh but deep water, the sight of boats so far on the horizon they appeared blue or grey and with little to reference them against, they seemed hardly to move at all. But for both of us, overwhelmingly, we savored the sound the most. Steady, rhythmic, soothing- waves upon waves upon waves. A sound as eternal as time.

Just two days prior, we had been reminded by James’ oncologist of the limitations this disease dictates for us, and of the increasingly finite number of days that are perhaps left for us to share together. But here, on this rock, under the afternoon sun, with nothing but vast water in front of us and the crashing waves at our feet, time didn’t just slow, it seemed to just stop. There was nothing more to the world, no worries, no stress, no sorrow, no disease, nothing but peacefulness and joy. We aren’t beach people, but if I could live on a lake where that sound existed every day I would readily have signed the papers still sitting on that rock.

We did eventually leave the rocks, of course. We moved no more than a hundred yards to a table on the patio of a restaurant where we had delicious seafood and soaked in as much of that same panoramic view as we could. Over the next couple of days, we spent time near or around Lake Huron and the St. Clair River, but nothing came close to the peacefulness we savored that day on the pier in Lexington.

A few weeks ago, James and I had a very sudden realization that I was done with school and we were in between treatments and within 24 hours we had the car packed and we were headed south to Tennessee to see Dad and Judy. Our intention was to stay several days and hit an appointment at U of M on our way home but we didn’t make it several days. The trip was more than James could handle and we only realized that once we made the 10 1/2 hour drive and he was in bed nearly the entire time we were there. He really tried to be social, but he was in incredible pain and he was completely exhausted and so we left earlier than we had planned and made the difficult journey back home where he could get slightly more comfortable and sleep without guilt.

The most recent scans were discouraging at best. Tumor growth and spread, which made the decision to stop immunotherapy and switch to BRAF inhibitors easier – at least as far as wanting to suppress symptoms was concerned – but incredibly difficult when you know that immunotherapy is a way to get more years (when it works) and the inhibitors can only buy us months at best. But we knew James needed pain and symptom relief and to get that we had to use a treatment that was going to effectively shrink the tumors, even if that treatment didn’t have the longevity of the other.

We saw improvement almost immediately. Within just a few days he had his energy back and within a week he was eating almost normal meals. We took advantage of the change and headed to the east side of Michigan to visit friends and family and his hometown.

While the trip only lasted three and a half days, it felt like weeks of pure bliss and delight. We crossed over to Canada to see relatives and had a wonderful afternoon talking, reminiscing and laughing together. We spent a day in his hometown, pointing out places and talking about childhood memories. We capped off that great day with friends that were so instrumental to James’ early adulthood – people I felt an instant connection to despite never having personally met before. We spent time around the lakes and rivers, we spent time eating amazing food, we spent time just sitting on a balcony watching the freighters go by. And we capped off our trip with good friends who filled our hearts with such support, encouragement and laughter! We got to enjoy the company of children and of friends that last a lifetime.

We returned home to peaches nearly ripened on the trees, to fresh zucchini, a handful of blueberries and raspberries and a thriving garden after much-needed rain. Best of all, we returned home with plans to see more family in the coming weeks, including another trip to the water in August where we will spend more time watching boats, laughing and eating amazing food with amazing company.

We are learning to live in the moment and to expect nothing from tomorrow. We are learning to say what is on our hearts and minds and to make sure the people we love know how deeply we care about them. We are learning to do more than just sit, relax, and breathe together – we are learning to savor – for these are the moments we want to store in our hearts.

We know this energy and health won’t last forever. We will continue to pray that it does, but we will also listen to his oncologist and to the data and science behind this disease and we will continue to prepare for that inevitability. But, we will also take as much time out of every single day to find, celebrate and savor joy. To everyone we saw along our trip this past week, a deep and heartfelt thank you – for all that you mean to James and because of that, for all that you mean to me. Your love is deep and generous and unconditional and that is such a blessing to us both.

Trudy went with me to water the garden. We could have been weeding. We could have been mowing. We could have been weed-whipping. We could have been doing a hundred productive things to shorten our to do list but Trudy sat and I thought it looked like a good idea, so I sat as well. She was right. Sitting was good.

We got up every twenty minutes to switch the water – James’ PVC watering system in the garden is to be admired and appreciated – but otherwise, Trudy and I just sat.

From our vantage point we could see parts of the pond. We could see a fraction of the pasture, but it’s where the cows happened to be, so we watched them. We could see the garden and we could hear the birds singing all around us.

We sat. For about an hour. Until the garden was well-watered and Trudy was getting fidgety and we decided we’d better get back to the house and make sure James took his next dose of meds. But for that hour I tried to just be still. I tried to just know. I tried to just let everything fade away but the here and now. And I was blessed by that stillness.

For people fighting Stage 4 melanoma, we are not sun people in the least. As a fair-skinned redhead (is that redundant?) I only own SPF 50 or higher and we use it anytime we are outside for any length of time. Our ideal vacation is the mountains, never the beach and we would both much rather lay in a hammock under huge shade trees than in a lounge chair poolside.

That said, when I asked what he wanted to do today, James said, “Let’s go for a drive. I’m not sure exactly where we are going, but I see water in my future.” Fortunately for us, we live near a great big lake. And within an hour of his proclamation, he had his toes in the water.

We’ve been to Lake Michigan numerous times. We have never once taken beach chairs and sat in the sun. We have never take a boat out and we have never donned bathing suits and gone into the water. But the lake still has tremendous appeal. It is remarkably ocean-like (minus the salt and sharks) and has the same eternal sense to it that I find in an ocean.

We walked the pier, took a few photos, people watched and then walked back to the car and headed to our favorite restaurant. I teased several times that I wasn’t sure who the man was beside me, but it wasn’t the husband I was used to during the last couple of months. He felt good enough to walk further than he has in a long time. He had enough energy and pain suppression that he was funny and he was not just out of bed, not just out of the house, but he was very nearly knee deep in nature. If I thought the walk last night did our souls good, today was several rungs up the ladder.

He let me drive on the way back and he crashed the moment we got back to the house and was out for the night, but for four or five hours today, he wasn’t just awake, he wasn’t just aware, he was alive. A not-so-small blessing indeed.

An evening stroll around the property is a common occurrence three seasons out of the year; common at least before this year. But last night James felt up to the task and so we headed out the door with a very excited dog, a drink in my hand and a walking stick in his. Our pace might have been even slower than usual, but it felt wonderfully normal, which does both of us good.

Our oncologist had said that these new treatment drugs tend to have an immediate impact, with small but steady improvement happening quickly. Being able to walk to and from the garden confirmed her experience and made us even more optimistic about the days and weeks to come.

We hadn’t walked far when we both spotted an unusual leaf on a sapling just off the driveway. James reminded me of the app I have that identifies plant life (“Seek”) and it very quickly identified our t-shirt shaped leaves as those of a tulip tree. It had been years since I had been up close to a tulip tree and I was so excited about finding one on our property! We talked about clearing some brush out from around it so it might stand out a little more and have more room to grow. We made a note to do more investigating and planning later on.

As we walked by the pasture, we talked about our mixed feelings about rehoming the cows. We know they are beyond my capabilities and will eventually be beyond James’ and we want to make sure they go to a place like ours – to be enjoyed and loved. We have a farm of exactly that sort that is interested and wants them closer to the end of the year, which is closer to when we might be ready to see them go – if we can ever be ready for such a thing. We briefly mentioned talking with the girls across the street who are amazing breeders of all kinds of beautiful creatures, to see if they might be interested in using the pastures. But that’s a conversation for another day far down the road.

As we turned the corner we found ourselves in mulberry heaven. The trees are abundant with fruit and it is ripe and ready to be picked – if we wanted to. We have never been big mulberry fans – James even tasted a couple again just to be sure we weren’t wrong on our previous impressions – so we just marvel at all the berries and keep right on walking. It won’t be too long, however, until the black raspberries are ready and those we do get excited about.

The garden needed some water so while we ran the sprinklers, we both wandered up and down the rows checking in on all the veggies. Our June-bearing strawberry plants have all but called it quits for the year. There were just enough for a small snack, not enough to carry back to the house. Peas are coming along nicely. I can’t really explain why I love growing peas so much; there isn’t much bang for your buck, but I love to see them climb and grow and I love to sit in the yard and shell them when they are ready.

I had a few flowers starting to bloom, so I cut a few to take to the house. I trimmed off the blooms on the rhubarb, picked three stalks of asparagus and wondered once again what the strange gourd is growing in the asparagus patch. The leaves don’t look quite like our pumpkin or zucchini leaves, so we will just have to wait and see what blooms! There was basil galore to pick; my second harvest already. I got excited about using the new dehydrator that Jacob got me to dry the basil.

Before leaving to head back to the house, I stopped to cut some wild daisies growing near the pond. Soon there will be Queen Anne’s lace growing there, but for now, we still had lots of daisies to enjoy. I added those to my fresh cut flowers from the garden, the blooms reminding me of the wildflower arrangements my sister had for her wedding thirty years ago. This time walking past the mulberry trees we spotted elderflowers growing nearby. They were gorgeous and huge and really captivated our attention.

On our return trip up the drive to the house, we stopped by the orchard and admired all the peaches we have growing – a first for us for sure. We have maybe a dozen apples on one tree so we will just have to see what becomes of them. But the biggest excitement of the night was when James spotted one ripe tart cherry on my little Charlie Brown style cherry tree. I’m not sure how the birds hadn’t spotted it already, but after cheering wildly for our first ever cherry and taking a celebratory picture, I plucked it right off the tree and ate it. I didn’t even offer to share it with James, which was incredibly rude and selfish of me. I would never have done that with the peaches or apples, but the little cherry tree was something I had wanted and so the first ripe fruit seemed rightfully mine. Hopefully he won’t hold a grudge.

James was ready for a seat when we returned to the house, but we were both impressed with his ability to go all the way down to the garden and back. I collected six eggs from the coop, gently taking Della out of the nesting box once again – my silly, broody hen.

It was no small thing to walk with my husband tonight. It is no small thing to stroll hand in hand looking at all the things we have built from dreams and created with love and forged together. From the house to the barn to the coop to the garden and every thing along the way, we love our creatures and our property. Back at the house, I arranged the flowers on the counter, knowing how fleeting their beauty is. The basil is in the new dehydrator and the eggs are in the fridge. Charlotte will be ready to go out hunting soon and Trudy and The Mister are both ready to sleep. A beautiful walk completed, it’s time for bed.

Goodnight, Someday Farm.

It will come as a shock to absolutely no one when I say that James does a lot around here. I mean, a LOT. Since many stores were on his route home from work and because he had the opportunity with his work schedule to be at the stores mid-day and not on busy weekends, he did almost all of the errands for our household. I expressed my gratitude regularly for the groceries that just “magically” appeared in the cabinets and for the chicken feed that just “magically” appeared in the garage and for the oil changes that just “magically” happened while I was at work, but I’m not sure words of gratitude could ever be enough.

To help as I transition into unfamiliar roles of Chief Lawn Mower and Chief Errand Runner, I now have pictures in my phone of the brand of dog food we buy for Trudy, which hitch we use for which trailer, and of how to hoist the lawn mower up with the tractor so I can detangle whatever I ran over (hypothetically, of course, not that it might have been a doormat by the barn) from the blades. He still answers every text I send while I am learning the ropes as I ask where we usually buy this or that, or even in what aisle at Meijer can I possibly find the Craisins. He is ever patient and helpful.

But sometimes pictures and texts just aren’t enough. Like when James was showing me how to disconnect the water to just the dishwasher in the case (God forbid) I have to replace the dishwasher again (for the fourth time since we moved here). Or when he showed me how to start the zero turn mower – these kinds of things need a video.

And so it is that I have started a folder of videos on my phone of my beloved teaching me how to do the myriad of things that he does around here. And yes, before you even ask, each and every one is absolutely heart-wrenching to make. But I would rather have him teach me all of these things than to have anyone else try to show me later.

Which is why, last night, he made a video on how to cut chicken wings apart. He was showing me how to cut the “wing” from the “ding”. I’m honestly not sure I could ever do it on my own as it really grosses me out, but I really do love wings, no, I love the “ding” it would seem, so he agreed to make a video so I would know how to do it should I ever decide to. And he was super funny and had to explain why some people use a knife, but why he uses scissors and then he used his own arm to tell me what part of the wing was which, and well, it was just very typical, funny, James.

And at the end of the video, as I make him do for all the videos, he tells me he loves me. And of that, I have no doubt. For who else could stand in the kitchen, knowing all the reasons for why we are making these videos and still find a way to be funny about it? Only James.

I was in my car, in line at the drive-through when I noticed the SUV and RV parked at the back of the lot. A grandfather and his three grandchildren came around from behind the RV with a dog on a leash. There were children’s bikes on a rack on the back of the RV and I started to imagine the week these kids were having with their grandparents, on a vacation without Mom and Dad.

While I continued to wait my turn, Grandma came out of the restaurant with bags in her hand, obviously having gone inside to get their orders. She had several bags, but only one drink and I chuckled at what I imagined had taken place – surely cheaper to drink the water or drinks they had in their own cooler than to buy more than one at the restaurant.

I pulled up and ordered my food and was waiting to pay for it when I saw Grandma returning to the restaurant with her long receipt in hand and I laughed out loud. Her expression told the whole story. Something was clearly wrong with their order and she was bound to set it right. As I collected my meal and drove home I offered up a quick prayer for those three hungry children who probably just wanted to eat and get on with the drive.

Later, I was in the grocery store, waiting my turn at the self-checkout lane when I saw a woman stop scanning her items and open up the weekly printed flyer, I presume to check a price. Again, I shook my head as I approached the register and started scanning my own items, never once looking at the screen to make sure the price was correct (in all honestly, I only had a vague notion of what each item cost, so even looking up at the screen would have done me little good in terms of checking the pricing as it rang up).

All of this reminded me of the take-out meal we had with my dad and Judy while we were in TN. We initially thought the restaurant had forgotten to include part of our order, at which point my dad was eager to call and let them know so they could credit James’ debit card for the error, but upon further investigation, we found the restaurant had actually given us everything we had ordered and had included a bowl of chicken gumbo, which we had not ordered. My dad was still ready to call to let the restaurant know this error, “in case the people who were missing their gumbo called,” he explained.

It occurred to me driving home from running errands today, that we are in big trouble. We have only so many years left of this elder generation being around to correct all the mistakes that are happening around us. Whether it’s wrong take-out orders, or grocery store prices that don’t ring up correctly, it is this older generation that currently voices these mistakes and holds people and businesses accountable for the errors. Left up to my generation, well, we aren’t going to see quality control like that.

If James and I get fast food and discover ten miles down the road (or even in the parking lot) that the order isn’t complete, we just shrug, make some comment about getting what we paid for and we make do. And as I’ve mentioned above, I would never notice unless it was extremely glaring that a price rang up differently than advertised – I have to correct that statement – I wouldn’t even know what it was advertised for – so a price would have to just be absolutely staggeringly wrong for me to even notice. Like the time at the nursery when the woman rang up nine flats of perennials instead of just nine perennials. That was a huge mistake. I caught that one. But if the grapes rang up at $2.99 a pound instead of $2.49? I’d have no clue. (Man, if my dad had any idea how I calculate a tip in a restaurant he would lose his mind!)

So, to this older generation, I have to say thank you. You are probably the only reason that the rest of us aren’t being hoodwinked on a more regular basis. Thank you for the hours you spend on the phone letting customer service representatives know about the errors they are making. Thank you for drawing attention to the food orders that were doled out incorrectly. And thank you for price checking to make sure grocery stores don’t just run away with an extra $.50 for grapes.

For the businesses out there, all I can say is be patient. In twenty years you will be left with just us and we don’t have the energy or concern to argue or spend time on these things. There will come a day when you won’t have to worry about someone (ahem, Dad) showing up at your branch office with your most recent mailing in hand letting you know all the ways it was infuriatingly wrong. Quality control. It’s just going to be so hard to come by.