From Stephanie and Dave

If you are lucky enough to reach a “certain age,” you will find that the preponderance of your peers are widows.  Not widowers, mind you.  Widows.  The life expectancy of women is longer for a number of reasons and in married women, even longer and so, by age 86, widows outnumber widowers by a goodly number.

So it is that I now join a number of my friends in that not-so-very-rare-state.  In just these last few days, I have already received notes and letters and Facebook messages from widowed friends offering me advice . No matter the situation of my widowed friends — affluent or not, “educated” or not, married for a long time or not — there is great similarity in their advice:

From Jean: I’m so sorry to hear of Nyel’s passing. I know you will miss him every day and feel his presence as the days pass. He will always remain in your heart and his memory will be a comfort to you as the time passes. I send my love.

From Karen:  He will be in your memories forever! And you aren’t not alone for he is your angel watching over you, helping you make difficult decisions and more. Just keep putting one foot ahead of the other and close friends will help more than you know. Hugs Hugs Hugs

From Gwen: I am so sorry for you, Sydney. I lost Robert two months ago. The voyage has been intense. In his death, I was reborn. The most personal and painful experience. Be selfish of your time and your feelings. Throw yourself into this mourning so you can make peace in the end…

From Betty — Yes, there are things you’ll be needing to tell him. You’ll find yourself turning to him to comment on something. You will feel him near you physically and that will be a comfort. But embrace it and know he is there… always nearby, loving you always.

From Eric, Mike, and Paige

From Ruth C:  You will be numb for a while… that’s a good thing.  You will do well with all the details that need you, right away — sortings, documentations, the making of order.  You’re gifted at all that.  That, too, is a good thing.  Still the changeover from partnership to solo takes time to figure out.  Now you must do everything alone, do all the household planning alone, negotiate life alone without Nyel to talk things over with,  You will miss talking with him, his very presence, his essence.
Do take every bit of assistance you are offered, and ask friends to do things that would help.  They will want to help and may not know exactly how to… or even what to say.  Love will buoy you — your loved ones will be literal, real, welcome support.  You can’t practice widowhood ahead of time.  You’ll feel your way along and likely be very busy.  Sydney, dear one, take time for yourself when it all feels too much.  I’m so glad you have folks around you who will be there for you, whatever you need.

Black Angus Cattle

In the Merry, Merry Month of May we talk about the flowers that spring forth and the sunshiny weather (sometimes) and about a whole host of other things but I seldom see talk of cows!  Yes!  Cows!

Have you noticed that they are “out” — right along with the cherry blossoms and the goldenrod and all the other signs of Spring.  They are in the Shier Meadow on Sandridge Road.  They are in Goulter’s Field along the 101 cutoff.  And they are probably lots of other places, as well.

Milking

Cows!  Mostly Black Angus (I think.)  In any case, they are black, they are cows, and they remind me of my grandfather’s dairy farm, although, truth to tell, his farm was no more by the time I came along.  But it was the way of life when my mother and her siblings were growing up and sometimes I feel like I was there right along with them.

This is how my uncle Edwin Espy (1908- 1993) described Papa’s ranch:
In terms of the property involved, the ranch consisted or several interrelated elements that were scattered over about six hundred acres in an unconventional configuration. There were other properties of a different kind, chiefly marshland and a wooded hillside to the south that overlooked the bay. The land as a whole was principally of three types:
• The bay-front property, mostly meadow with some smaller wooded areas
• The “town” property, for nearby grazing, for two of the barns and for a garden
• The marsh, an extensive area of swamp and other low ground, heavily wooded or otherwise overgrown with shrubbery but providing succulent grazing for the cattle.
The buildings:
• Barns: Number 1 (the Big Barn) a half mile away; Number 2, the larger of two in town, and Number 3, right across the street from our dwelling
• An abandoned store building, used for a milk-separator operated by hand (the cream was sent to Astoria, most of the skimmed milk was for the calves and pigs; the family had whole milk and a minimum of cream)
• The Ranch House across from Barn Number 1 where, periodically Papa housed a ranch foreman
• The home itself, the repository of farm clothing, some of the tools and the milk pails, et cetera, which were washed in the kitchen
The animals;
• About fifty cattle, chiefly milk cows, but some beef stock cattle
• Sixteen horses at the maximum
• Pigs
• Chickens
• Dogs
• (Periodically a goat for the children)

Espy Ranch Foreman’s House

Apparently, the ranch was doing well enough by the time Papa entered the political arena in 1910 that he felt comfortable in signing on as a “silent partner” in the Johnson and Henry Store in Nahcotta. When the business failed a few years later and the principal owners walked away from their indebtedness, Papa felt a moral obligation to pay off the creditors. Even though it took him the next twenty years, he made good on every debt. No one in the family, save Mama, knew the cause or the extent of their privation.

I don’t know what sorts of cows Papa had — probably not Angus.  Maybe Holstein.  No matter.  A cow is a cow is a cow.  And they seem to come out in May!

It’s a great thing to have a Bonus Daughter.  A child that came into my life when she was five and I was twenty-three.  A child who spent weekends and school vacations and other times with us.  A child who called my parents “Granny and Grandpa” and who bonded with her bonus brother Charlie from the get-go — no matter that he was two years younger.

But, best of all — and most mysterious to me — Marta was a “girlie girl.”  She loved pretty clothes and glitzy jewelry and cutting edge styles from the time I met her.  No wonder she and Granny bonded — they were soulmates, though two generations apart.  Me?  Not so much.  I’ve always been the “practical” one — no ruffles, no lace, no ribbons or froo-frau.  Tailored, not glamorous.  Ivory soap, not designer cleansers in fancy-schmancy bottles.

And, yesterday here came her 2022 Mother’s Day gift to me.  OMG!  A bright red & white Ralph Lauren scarf!  A bar of lavendar soap with shea butter (which is what, exactly?)  A pair of “Famous Artist Series HOT SOX” with the Mona Lisa on them!  And a fabulous heart-ish shaped box of chocolates that Nyel and I got into right away.  Delish!

Each gift was wrapped and beribboned in gay profusion and they were all accompanied with one of Marta’s glitzy handmade signature cards!  I arranged them all around Charlie’s beautiful and fragrant Mother’s Day flowers and felt totally spoiled, indeed!

And though it has never before occurred to me before that either of our tastes have changed, I intend to bedeck and festoon myself with scarf and artsy socks, smelling deliciously of lavender and shea butter — whatever the heck THAT is!  Thanks, Roons!  I think you’ve won me over completely!