The things that happen
July 1, 2015

Interesting the things that happen when we’re waiting for things to happen.  That wheel of life continues to turn even when it feels as if our own circumstance has come to a standstill.

As our family gathers, Dad Wuehrmann fades and rallies; we steel ourselves and then laugh when he comes up with his impish smile - the one that has charmed so many during his 92 years. 

Chris’ sister, Kyle, arrived from her northern home and his brother, John, got in from Colorado yesterday.  Since his nephew left for a week away, Chris and I have been staying at the house, but will now go back to sleeping at the trailer with days at Mom & Dad’s.

Maintenance, Petey, folk art . . .

In the meantime, Chris is on the roof working at devoiding the gutters of a massed accumulation of matted leaf matter, and dealing with various other house maintenance chores. . .

. . . . and Petey compassionately and ably tends to Dad twice every day, while the Hospice nurse comes in daily.  We take turns feeding and doing whatever needs doing.

Conversation proceeds apace as Petey works; in the process, we have shared life stories.  As a result, I have begun doing some genealogy research for Petey and she has reciprocated with the gift of two of her amazing dolls.

I had been admiring one of the creations, Rudy, who was gifted to Mom - and was glad to learn the story behind him.  Petey, with her sister and friends, have been featured in newspaper and magazine articles as the Tryon doll makers: “Born from cloth and a dream”.

Their wonderful creations and story can be seen online at: http://dollmakersoftryon.blogspot.com.

According to their blog site - The Tryon Doll Maker Project emerged in the community’s “historic African-American community when several single mothers and their families banded together to confront hard economic times with needles, spools of thread and scraps of fabric. These mothers, grandmothers, children, and grandchildren, struggling with poverty, turned to what others discarded and found handfuls of inspiration.”

Landscape archaeology . . .

Chris coined a new term that seemed apropos to our endeavors in whacking away at the foliage overtaking Mom & Dad's property: "landscape archaeology", aptly describing how we continually uncovered previously unseen statuary that had been consumed by greenery and received its first exposure to sunlight in quite a spell.

Portions of the home place are untamed and thickly wooded, only a slight step more open than other properties in the neighborhood.

A short walk down the road made us feel as if we were in the wilderness instead of right in town.  One deserted cabin was scarcely visible through the bamboo that transforms itself into an impenetrable wall if left unchecked.

We were astounded that kudzu had been left to run rampant over a modern house.  It will be only a short while before the structure will be completely engulfed, bringing a permanence to its abandonment.

Chapel . . .

Our neighborhood stroll took us past the Episcopal church that we have driven by a zillion times.  Our slower pace, though, allowed us to see the small sign that indicated a chapel open for prayer and meditation.  What a lovely idea, thought I, so in we went for respite from concern and activity.  The sanctuary cloaked us in peace, and the stained glass windows lent a rich hue to the atmosphere.

 Blueberries a'comin' . . .

Mom's blueberry vines are loaded down with fruit, at the barest beginning of the ripening process.

She urges us to keep a close eye on the patch, always anxious to utilize that crop in many of her delectable baked creations.  We are on the cusp of Mom & Dad's 69th anniversary; they were married the month I was born . . . and that's quite a while ago.

Back at the ranch . . .

During a short stop back at the trailer, while Chris checked his eyelids for holes, I walked around the RV park to work off some tension and savor the sights.