Crap Happens: Wallowing is Optional

The Life Romantic

People tend to have a romantic image of life on the farm, especially if they've never lived on a farm. Getting back to nature, going green, and sustainable farming are hot topics these days, and I suppose many think I'm living the dream. To me, sustainable farming means trying to sustain a good attitude while living in a nightmare. I'm joking...a little.

One evening I posted a comment on Facebook about walking home from the milk parlor through the rain. Debbie, from her warm, dry, comfortable home in Charlotte, remarked, "That sounds so romantic. You're lucky." Very funny. No matter what the movies portray, at the end of a long day there's nothing romantic about trudging home through the dark and the mud, with drops of water dripping off my nose.

My online dating experiment was undertaken with hopes of finding a man whose life I could share and who would share mine. Visions of excitement and adventure? No, not me! My dreams were all about having a meaningful relationship, a true friendship built on life's struggles and joys. Enter the farmer and the dairy farm. Enter reality.

My first trip to Weldon's place began with lunch in Mt. Airy and then a trip to the top of Pilot Mountain. Next, he introduced me to his family, his dogs, and his neighbor, Les, who was the construction coordinator for the building of the Titanic that was used on the movie set. My head was spinning. If I had any romantic thoughts, they definitely weren't about farming or anything green. The fascination had begun: Weldon is such a gentleman. What a dear family he has,and a famous neighbor.

Then we toured the farm. There stood the obligatory barn, its red paint flaked and faded long ago. Other tired buildings held lumber, empty plastic containers, or curious black and white calves. In driving over the acreage, my eyes were dismayed at big piles of junk, broken machinery, and cast-off appliances. Knobby logs and chunks of wood lay helter-skelter in open areas beside the road like remnants from a recent hurricane. My neat-freak tendencies were freaking out. Finally a few sights worthy of Norman Rockwell came into view: an old tobacco shed and smoke house (not that I knew what those monikers meant) and a wonderful log cabin dating back to the 1800s. The knots in my gut started to unwind.

And then Weldon took me to his home. He had built the rambler-style house in the '70s and,unfortunately, it didn't look like anything had been done to it since then. The nondescript paint on the siding was peeling like a bad sunburn, and the rain gutters hung at precarious angles. The inside was dark and dated and cluttered...and that's putting it nicely. Let's just say it was almost a deal-breaker. Reality was pounding on the door as I drove back to Charlotte. Those knots in my gut? Yup, they were back.

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Excuse me. There's a herd of cows meandering down the road. I'm not kidding. I'd better see if I can round them up. I'll be right back.

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Now,where was I? Ah, yes. The life romantic. Living the dream. So much for the romantic farm. Next up: Weldon.

Weldon is kind and good and funny—exactly what I was looking for in a companion. Unbeknownst to even me, I was expecting a whole lot more. Dare I say it? I hoped he'd do the manly things, like takeout the trash. That's a man's job, right? But, no. The trash is my job. In this idyllic country setting, it's not a simple matter of wheeling a big, plastic garbage bin to the curb. For one thing,our road doesn't have a curb. Instead, every other week or so I fill the car trunk with bags of trash and boxes of recyclables and take it all to the local dump/recycle center.

In my little house in Charlotte, it was up to me to keep things in good repair, or a reasonable facsimile thereof. Having a new husband, I figured I'd never need my hammer and screw drivers again. Wrong. Weldon's time is spent fixing things around the farm, not around the house. Everything I did in Charlotte to care for myself and my home I do here on the farm, and many of those tasks are multiplied by two. So much for expectations.

If a dire situation arose, I know Weldon would come through as my knight in shining armor, as long as he wasn't in the fields or under apiece of machinery or milking those blasted cows. I still have a glimmer of hope that, when he retires, Weldon will take care of the things that need doing around the house, as any knight worth his weight in shining armor would do.

My first husband often said, "Don't expect anything from anyone and you won't be disappointed." That seemed like a crazy or lazy way of looking at life. Now I'm not so sure. Great Expectations. It's a catchy name for a novel, but how does it translate to the real world? I'm still not convinced, but, like a hearty beef stew, perhaps it will be more palatable after a long, slow simmer on the back burner.

Learning to let go of my expectations is an ongoing process. I will continue to love Weldon just as he is, because he is Weldon. The overwhelming strangeness and difficulties of farm life bring the ugliness of preconceived notions and hopes to the surface. I have to be honest with myself and deal with the yuck.

Why am I talking about expectations when this chapter is supposed to be about the romance of life? I started by saying that people have a romantic view of the farm. That is to say, they have an idealized picture of what living on a farm entails. I said I'm a realist, but my hidden hopes proved me misinformed. I wanted the ideal relationship, a beautiful country home, and my every wish granted by Weldon's heroic love for me. I was expecting the life romantic.

Reality isn't always romantic—not on the farm, not in the office, not on a tropical island. Billy Graham reveals one side of romance in the following quote."The word romance, according to the dictionary, means excitement, adventure, and something extremely real. Romance should last a lifetime."

 Another definition says that romance lacks basis in fact. Life isn't always excitement and adventure. Actually, it can be downright ugly. Crap happens, so what do we do when our thoughts (and life) get stinky?

Philippians3:14 tells us to press toward the mark of the high calling of God,and Romans 8:37 says we are more than conquerors. I'm not sure what it means to be more than a conqueror, but that's how high God calls us to live. We aren't supposed to let the stuff of life,including its unfulfilled dreams and hopes, disappoint us or defeat us. Being strong and courageous, we rise above the crud. Rising above our regrets and unmet expectations precludes wallowing.

Jack Kerouac admitted, "All of life is a foreign country."This world is nice, but not the real deal—more like a way station of sorts. There's a restlessness in our wandering, a knowing that there must be something more. The perfect place I'm longing for is heaven, even though I can't envision what that really means. Hey! I couldn't even imagine what life on a farm would entail.

Some people think talk of heaven is crazy. "You're delusional. Heaven is known as Pie in the Sky, remember? It's just another way of hoping for the life romantic." But I choose to believe the promises of God. One reality is the harsh world all around us, but another reality awaits.

Billy Graham says that romance is extremely real and will last a lifetime. In fact, our romance with God will last beyond this lifetime, on and on, forever. Some day I will wake up brand new in "the life romantic" on the other side.