But I don't have the time, nor the people to properly Wake my dear friends. Instead I have been working in my garden. Canning and drying, and prepping for my fall garden. My hands are blistered, sore, and stiff. My tail bone bruised, as I still can't crawl.
In a way, I feel like I am punishing myself, rather than honoring anyone. Yet as I lay at night, listening to bull frogs croak, cicadas hum, and a lonely wolf howl, I know that this is the best way I can work through my grief, and find peace. My mind, however, is still in turmoil. And I apologize to those I should have contacted personally.
Death is common on a homestead. Yet we never grow use to it. We mourn over our livestock, but we never expect to mourn over the homesteader. To us, they are immortal. They must be. We love them, we are proud of them, we are astounded by them. To lose one of our own isn't merely difficult, it feels twisted and demented.
The last few days I have had wonderful conversations with fellow homesteaders. Our stories of how these people have touched our lives, the joy and frustrations they wrought, the profound idiocy we found ourselves in, has help us with our Wake. We cry, we laugh, we tattle on our deceased. The stories of their lives will continue on not only through blogs, but through us.
If you have a story of Sci you wish to share, to help us all celebrate the amazing life she lead, feel free to comment or email me.
My other friend is not known. He was a brilliant story teller, and an accomplished man. He showed me that you are never too old to live Rock and Roll. And I miss him greatly.