The Slow and Steady Kind of Hope

Today, I worked a little and then took a break in the middle of the day to clean the chicken coop. It is so overdue for a cleaning. My poor chickens. The coop is so beautiful now, but I let it go too long before a good clean.

October 2026 was life changing. In the middle of it, I would have said that it changed my life for the worse. But, on Sunday, I felt it ease up, and ever since I have been reflecting deeply on last month.

The month started with a visit from a dear friend I grew up with as a child. We both survived some rough upbringings in a small community that pretended to be kind but could be very cruel under the surface. In high school, I admired her greatly because she was one of the coolest girls, and she was always kind to me, even though I am more introverted and was definitely pretty awkward in high school. Then, even though we had a little age gap, we ended up at the same university in Texas at the same time. We took many classes together. My favorite was summer French sequence we took together by accident. We were glad to see each other in the class. We sat by each other, and she, because she’s all bright and shiny as a human, made French class so much fun. After graduation, we stayed in touch a bit, but then life happened. We both got divorces, got remarried, had more children. I didn’t see her for about 25 years. But her work sent her to Boston, and she wrote and asked if we could get together. I said, “That is a must.” We had a profound visit, and it was so good to connect with someone who has known other versions of me and loves all of them.

We were worried a bit about my friend getting our family sick since she had to travel, and we have terribly damaged immune systems, but we did not get sick from her. Ironically, while she was still here, my son picked up a cold from his girlfriend. And, around here, colds make you relive COVID symptoms. It’s like having the worst flu of your life every time you catch a cold. It is maddening. It is depressing.

My son was sick for almost the entire month of October. I was barely getting over a COVID crash from some work stress in September, and I was so scared of getting the cold. I could see my son was very, very sick. He crashed hard, and I knew, if I crashed, there was going to be trouble.

You see, Ron, my husband, started having some kind of immune system issue in September, the man who used to have an immune system like Superman, and he was unable to move his hands at all. He could not help with the house or the farm. Thankfully, the garden was mostly done, and the only things we had left to process were pears and apples, but it was hard to lose him as a worker because we have a lot of animals right now, many awaiting processing.

It was so important that I not get sick that I started eating vitamin C like it was candy. I didn’t know if it would save me, but it was the only thing I knew to do besides drink elderberry syrup, which I did. But then we were out, and since I was taking care of every living creature–both human animal and other animals–I didn’t have time to make more. Of course, I got sick.

To top it off, the day I started feeling sick finally, I also had a kidney stone. Apparently, if you take a lot of vitamin C and also are not drinking enough water, you can get kidney stones. It’s not for sure that this caused this, but I am going to say that I wish I had taken the time to research more about the consequences of eating vitamin C like candy for like 10 days straight. It was stupid of me, but truly, when you have long COVID or any other kind of autoimmune issues, getting sick gives you freaking PTSD. I was terrified, especially given the situation. That kind of fear makes you act irrationally, I have found.

I went down hard with the sickness. At the same time, I was dealing with the pain of the kidney stone. At the same time, Ron was making some progress but still couldn’t do much, so I had to keep going despite being sick. I had to keep working at my job because I am an online teacher, and it is not easy to leave your students in the middle of a semester. It takes work to leave work, so there was that. And Betty, our kitty, got sick with crystals in her bladder and had to go to the vet. And, Samhain, our little mouse, got very, very sick, and our vet said they don’t see small mammals. And I had to go to the doctor because pain from the kidney stone was so bad. I had almost no voice from being so sick and had such a hard time at the doctor. And I had to take my son to the doctor because he got so sick one night he couldn’t stand. And Ron was able to take himself to the doctor on a better day, but after that declined rapidly. And we waited on the results from all the tests on him. And he still didn’t have any medicine. His doctor prescribed some meds, but so far, no one knows what is wrong with him.

And my son got better enough by the end of the month to be on television–twice–for his music. Because, somehow, in the middle of all of this, my son manages play that cello and is starting to get some attention for it. For the first program, the television station came to our house. I had to clean this house like I have never cleaned it before. I was late on my grades for work that day. I had a bad dream I got fired from my job.

One night, I was outside at the very back of our property closing up the meat birds for the night and bringing in the feed, and I felt so alone out there in the dark. I felt so scared that I couldn’t keep going like this. I looked at the ducks, who had gone wild as a flock because of one new duck (I hope I can tell you that story later), and I wished for help. I came to deeply understand that Ron and I were going to have to downsize or specialize our farm/homestead in some way, that things have changed. I have no idea what that looks like yet, but it hit me hard that night that this much work is just too risky to our health at this point. My heart felt so, so heavy.

And then, out of the dark, I saw Boudicca’s fluffy white face, old and beautiful, coming toward me, and she came up to me nudging me to pet her, which, of course, I did. And I put the chicken feed down, and I hugged her and I cried and cried, but like the good cry, not the bad cry. I was so thankful she knew I needed some help. She stayed with me as I finished the rest of the night chores.

And then I decided it might be okay to ask for more help.

And the help came–and kept coming.

Our neighbor made us so much delicious food, and she and her daughter picked the last of the garden for us and cleaned out the garden. Our neighbor even made a beautiful, giant salad from our garden that we were able to eat on for days. Her daughter made candied peppers from our peppers and shared them with us. They were so good. Another neighbor made us some fire cider. My son’s girlfriend came to help and was the one who took me to the doctor the day I finally went. I forgot my wallet, so she paid for my visit and my medicine.

I felt so much kindness and love and hope that I was changed as a human by it. Ron was also being changed. He can never ask for help. Ever. He also felt the kindness and love, and he says now that he had no idea I could do what I did. He has always been a kind, respectful human, and I am thankful to be married to him. Now, however, after dealing with his own anguish and pain while also learning there are those who love him enough to help him when he needs it, he totally has Dalai Lama vibes.

I was just starting to process what all happened to our family, and I felt a lot of my worries for the world start to fade. I felt this slow and steady kind of hope growing inside of me. The other night, I had an epiphany that, one day, maybe not in my lifetime, but sooner rather that later because the earth is forcing our hand, kids are going to be surprised that we ever got electricity from fossil fuels–just like I can’t imagine a time when everything ran on whale oil. It used to bother me a bit that this may not happen in my lifetime, but it didn’t. I just felt hopeful that humans as a species will surely see this. I felt hope that humans are going to survive the obstacles we are currently facing, and I have come to this place where I believe that is what is important. I wish to see it, but just knowing it will come is enough now. Having that kind of hope is really helpful to me as a human.

I ended the month by traveling to beautiful midcoast Maine to see a dear friend I try to see at least once a year. We have the deep conversations, like meaning of life kind of stuff, most of the time. She has wrestled for many years about whether or not she wanted to have children. On my visit, she told me she is having a baby, that she and her husband decided to become parents. Unlike so many of her peers, she got pregnant quickly and without fertility treatment, and she was grateful for that. In all the years I have known her, I have never seen her so happy.

On my long drive home, my mind went to an apocalyptic movie I saw a long time ago about a future where everyone was infertile. In the story, the main character had to help a woman who was pregnant because it was such a miracle that a baby was going to be born. I can’t remember most of the movie, but I remember the baby is born, and the world understands the miracle and has hope.

My friend’s baby is a boy and is due around my birthday next year. I realized this means, around my birthday next year, I will get to hold a little baby. I haven’t held a little baby since my son was a baby seventeen years ago. I am very excited about this. I do not want grandchildren any time soon, but I will be very, very happy to get to hold a little baby. I am going to whisper into his ear all the wisdom I have, just in case it helps him later.

Then, of course, yesterday happened. The election. I figured it was mostly going to shift, but I had no idea that a seismic shift was coming. I know we have a long way to go. I know much still hangs in the balance.

But, friends, I feel a slow and steady kind of hope starting to really take hold.

photo credit: Esteban Albasa, Unsplash