My New Position
For the last few years I’ve called myself Ms. Backup Farmer, happily puttering in the background while Melissa has taken the helm as Primary Farmer. For the next few days, however, I have been promoted to Primary Farmer.
It’s all because I had a birthday party yesterday. It was a lovely party and our house was filled with people we love. The afternoon flowed with food and soda and wine and conversation. Mid-party we pushed back the furniture, everyone found a place to sit or stand, then our friend Mary H, a professional belly dancer, took the ‘stage.’ (SEE PHOTO ABOVE.)
Mary dazzled us with her dancing, her smile, and her amazing teal costume with gold dangly beads that shimmied whenever she did. However, I ending up wishing I’d hit the wine a little harder before the dancing because at the end of her performance, she pulled the ‘birthday girl’ up off the sofa and made me dance with her. (SEE KNEE IN PHOTO ABOVE.) While I have a belly, I am no belly dancer. As Inigo Montoya said to Max the Miracle Maker in The Princess Bride, “Humiliations galore!” Thank goodness we have the ability to crop photos.
My friends took pity on me, and soon the living room was writhing with women as Mary gave an impromptu lesson in belly dancing.
Fast forward to later, when Melissa was outside seeing off departing guests. She was looking back at them, but her feet were moving forward. Bad combination. She tripped on our limestone sidewalk and went flying. Luckily her fall was broken by her forehead, and a finger on her left hand.
We’d had three doctors at the party: a family doctor (who’d just left), a Ph.D. specializing in geology/forest hydrology, and a pediatric oncologist. While the geology specialist could have told us much about the limestone that had split open Melissa’s forehead, it wasn’t going to help with the bleeding.
Friends helped Melissa into the stuffed chair in our bedroom. The pediatric oncologist sprang into action, and rattled off a list of what she needed. When I appeared a few minutes later with everything, found either in our medicine cabinet or our vet supplies, Dr. Cindy was amazed. Melissa smiled weakly. “I get hurt a lot.”
After applying a butterfly bandage to the patient’s head, Dr. Cindy was cleaning and bandaging Melissa’s finger when the patient asked, “Does this mean I can’t do chores for a few weeks?” Cindy looked at me, and wisely didn’t answer.
After everyone left an hour later, I began to worry Melissa might need stitches in her forehead, or at least something to bring the edges of the skin closer together. So a few minutes later we were at the family doctor’s house with Melissa stretched out on the kitchen counter, having her forehead glued together with some sort of derma-stuff.
While Dr. John was looking at the finger, Melissa asked, “Does this mean I can’t do chores for a few weeks?”
I threw up my hands. “Alright, already. I’ll do chores.”
So I’m now Primary Farmer, at least for a few days. Melissa is a little nervous, but she has nothing to worry about. I understand my job. It’s kind of a rush. The animals need me! Nothing stands between our animals and certain death but me! I control the fates and destinies of 50 sheep, 3 llamas, a steer, 3 ducks, 45 chickens, and 10 peacocks! I can do whatever I want! I’m in charge! I rule!
I just hope my new position doesn’t go to my head.