Learning a New Way

Growing up with our parents, you might have thought that "help" was a four letter word. For different reasons both parents’ households were private, self-sufficient islands where Meredith and I were supported and loved. But rarely did we ever have friends over, nor did we witness our parents socialize, host, or attend gatherings. Dad would occasionally throw a party at the farm for a big life event - but it was rare … and special. Service providers or helping trades were never seen or heard from. Few people were allowed in and even fewer were permitted to help with anything.

As kids living on the farm we were constantly tasked with chores and projects, and that, coupled with our dad’s industriousness, kept the property a well-oiled machine for many years. Even after Meredith and I had left for college and started our adult lives, things chugged along as they had. Dad was always building, tinkering, mowing, chainsawing, and sometimes “holding down the sofa." We grew up with this “normal” and we assumed it was the way of things. There are probably a lot of folks out there just like our parents: folks who cling to self-reliance and see it as a point of pride that they don’t rely on anyone, and are certainly not a burden.

From growing our own pumpkins, to preserving our own food and managing our own land, self-reliance was modeled for us from a very young age.

This hyper-independence seemed to work … until it didn’t. The nightmare we faced when Dad got sick in 2021 was one that had been brewing for decades. There was no one to call. No one to rely on. Meredith and I found ourselves in hospitals and care facilities, scrambling to write notes, make plans, and pay bills; we were forced to trust those around us. We had no choice but to ask for help. Dad’s illness was our first exercise in accepting and receiving help. We spent our days with Dad, and our nights at the Victorian with the birds, mice, and carbon monoxide. Our sweet neighbor would sometimes bring a tasty treat to lift our spirits. Nurses and care professionals helped us shoulder our emotional burdens. Extended family convened and chipped in where they could. But ultimately, Meredith and I were alone. Again.

As sisters, we were praised for being a “power team” and lauded for our ability to “do it all” while we cared for our dying father, continued our teaching careers remotely, and managed to keep the family properties from being absorbed back into the earth. But this way of life was absolutely not sustainable.

Then things began to shift. Dad had been saying he wanted to come over (leave the care facility) for lunch at the Victorian. We knew we had to make this happen, but the house was unfit, and basically inaccessible for him in his state. We needed to fix the front walk so that he could safely visit. In my brainstorming, I recalled a name that had been said with reverence by our mother for many years: Doodle. Years ago, I remember Mom watching Doodle work through our kitchen window with tears in her eyes. She was so relieved to have help, and to have the money to ask for help, with our drainfield. I looked him up, and Doodle is still digging! I gave him a call and he came the next day to tear up the hazardous walk. Doodle was our gateway drug. We were getting help. And it felt so strangely scary but exhilarating.

Summer 2021: A perilous walkway. Doodle and his crew save the day! We build a safe walk for Dad to come visit.

We began calling in more and more help with our properties and letting more and more people in. We have met so many incredible folks along this journey. But as we are learning to ask for help, we have also gotten burned a few times. We were brazenly scammed by an unwell mason, who finished one chimney and disappeared with the money for the next one. Our barn was ransacked, and thieves stole thousands of dollars worth of farm equipment (possibly trades we had invited to the property, according to the sheriff’s deputy). But that is just a small fraction of the wonderful people we have let in. If you are open, you might get hurt every once in a while. And if you are closed off you might avoid some of the bad, but you sure as hell will miss out on all of the good. We are learning to stay open, but trust our gut when it comes to who we let in. We know we can’t do this all on our own, and we don’t want to. We are finding our people. We are breaking the cycle of isolation. We are building community and learning that "help" is not a bad word.

A welcome mural was painted on the barn, only to then have to add a "no trespassing" sign and a gate a few months later.