
03/09/2025
Near 80, Yankee tough, she stiffened when I placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m OK”.
She had called asking me to stop by. We had recently provided assistance for her horse. He died and was buried a week ago. Now, she felt unable to face the barn. “His stall’s a mess. He died there. I need to clean it, but I can’t go in the barn”.
I walked to the barn, found her wheelbarrow, began to clean. Glancing up, there she was. Misty eyes peering into the stall. “He always was a messy eater”. We finished the stall together and as I dumped manure, she slowly approached the back door. Opened it a crack. Opened it wider. Stood with tears streaming.
My hand on her shoulder, we gazed out in silence. “He’s buried there under that apple tree. He always loved that tree.” I said nothing. “Funny, it wasn’t like this when my husband died. I made myself keep on. But seems now I can’t. My horse was all that was left”.
With a wave, she signaled I should leave. Her back silhouetted against the barn door as I drove away.
She called a few days later. “Maybe next spring I could visit your farm.” I smiled. She inspires me; I can only hope for resilience like hers.
“I’m OK”. And she is. Even when she’s not.