Day 1 post-op, and my foot is resting.
My husband and toddler pull on their boots and coats and head out the door to put chickens to bed, returning with arms full of eggs. My in-laws grab the garlic and a shovel and head out into the garden on a warm fall afternoon.
Meanwhile, I am inside, watching from the window and wishing I could follow.
And the truth of it is that this farm continues its everyday rhythms without me, even though I give all of myself to it.
For the second time this year, I am sidelined by an unexpected, unplanned surgery. On a Monday evening, just three days after finding out I needed surgery, I was notified that it was scheduled for that Friday. I had three days to prepare my house, my farm, my business, and my day job for my extended absence from it all.
Meanwhile, I still had full-time work to do.
Meanwhile, I still had a toddler who needed her routine to continue.
Meanwhile, I now had additional, unexpected pre-op appointments over an hour from my house.
I had three days to prepare, with pressure to make every moment count. Ultimately, I spent a lot of that time stressing over what I was not accomplishing.
The remaining apple harvest sat on the porch, waiting to be processed. I had fall crops to plant and summer crops to pull. I had business events I had already committed to.
I was not prepared for my life to come crashing to a stop.
I am non-weight bearing for at least the next four weeks, which is less than ideal for running a farm.
There is a sense of loss that a surgery like this causes. There is the loss of independence—in my home, on my farm, at work. I am reliant on everyone for things I would normally do myself, despite being the person who will push through everything alone.
And now I am watching projects happen from a window. I am hoping the people helping me can get all the planting done in time. I am stressed about asking people for more than what they have already given me.
Except the carrots need watering. The garlic needs fresh mulch. The poultry needs fresh water, food, and bedding.
And all the while, I sit here on the couch and long to be outside instead.
I am fortunate enough to have a tribe of people who show up for me when things get hard. My in-laws spent two days in the garden, planting everything I didn’t get to. My husband and toddler dutifully put our birds away every night.
My tribe carries the needs of the farm in my absence.
Meanwhile, life on this farm continues, even when I can’t be a part of it.