TRANS-FARM-ATION...

Beauty saves. Beauty heals. Beauty motivates. Beauty unites. Beauty returns us to our origins and here lies the ultimate acts of saving, of healing, of overcoming.

-Matthew Fox-

(Neighboring Farm)

Pointing northward with each humming roll of the tires against the tarry asphalt I now make the weekly trek up to the farm. The first few times the singing of the tires was a soulful sorrow filled sound that accompanied the lump in my throat. I dreaded the trip, and yet, I let the tune carry me mile after mile to the place I least wanted to be.(Hay barn and tractor shed nestled in buttercup covered field at our farm)

Those first few times were the worst. I either put on an armor of anger or buckled under the weight of my grief spilling tears upon the thirsty red clay drive, unable to even enter the house. In subsequent visits I tried putting on a brave face and shielding myself with a protective cover of busyness, cleaning and repairing at a frenzied pace. And still the sadness lingered, whispering memories through the wind blown hay fields, rustlings and longings for what used to be.

(Golden windswept hay in the back hayfield at the farm)

As this second springtime of her passing arrived I began to sit up and take notice of the changing landscape. The humming tune of the tires began to take on a happier note with each new bloom that sprouted from the earth, especially those in her own garden, planted by her own hands. Roses, Peony's, and plump purple Iris, evidence that she was here and that a part of her still lives on.(My grandmothers roses, peony's, and iris at the farm)

Somehow this last visit was like a cloudy haze lifting off the distant mountains as the tires hummed with a happy tune of anticipation. The sorrow and lingering sadness had begun to evaporate like the morning mist.(Distant mountains behind the farm house)

I didn't feel quite so little and lost without her physical presence. I felt sheltered by its nearness in my heart. (Wild brown bunny in the field)

There was no blur or prickle of tears behind my eyes. (Thistle just beginning to bloom by the roadside at the farm)

Nor was there the thorny presence of grief. Somehow, without my notice, I had begun to grow beyond the matted tangle of emotions, and in spite of them, blossom above it all.(Wayward thistle patch in the hay field at the farm)

The first fruits of loss and grief were slowly passing with each rotation of the tire, with each hummed note, with each visit, without my notice.(First fruits on the peach, grapevines, and apple tree at the farm)

I no longer feel like I am drowning in despair. (Pond at the farm)

Life is teaming to the surface.(Reeds and water lilies on the pond)

Desolation has turned into trans-farm-ation.(Old barn down the road from the farm)

This beautiful farm that I find myself in possession of is filled with healing transforming powers where green growing things have been a restorative balm to my aching soul. A gift from both the Creator and the one who so closely nurtured me here on earth.(Sweet green grass on the pond bank at the farm)

A gift that the casual onlooker would not, could not see, because it was an internal healing that could not be penetrated by the most discerning of stares.

(A neighbors cow and calf)

It is a gift of healing inside the heart that has allowed me to bury my sorrow deeply into the beauty of the land that greets me at the end of the ribbon-ed road that ties me to her. I am now able to graze on the goodness of the past without the bittersweet sorrow. (Horse grazing by the roadside)

I can lift my head and gaze into the future...(Horse gazing across the roadside fence)

Where I am anticipating the sweet tomorrows that promise to be as fragrant and abundant as the sweet purple clover of the fields.(Sweet purple clover covering both fields and roadside on the way to the farm)

Where I remember that " She loves me!" still... (Wild daisies in the hay fields of the farm)

The shadows of grief have dissipated and softened like the fading day sky... (The tucking in of the day over the farm)

Softly tinted peachy pink tones of pain are all that remain. Sweet new memories and brighter days are a promise on the horizon as I soar above the shadows cast by her passing. I rejoice in the blessing of our two lives touching.(Bird soaring over the shadowy back hay field)

I don't know what tune the tires will sing as I point myself northward for the next trip but I hope that I hear in it the sweet throaty hum of her voice as so oft heard in the past... " In the sweet by and by; we shall meet on that beautiful shore..." For now, the farm is that beautiful shore, where my spirit sorrows no more. I sigh from the blessing of rest from the grief. To my bountiful Father above I offer a tribute of praise for the glorious gift of my grandmothers love and the sweet trans-farm-ation that will hallow the rest of my days.

For what do you give praise?

Blessings,
Miss Sandy

P.S. Sorry I have been away so much this week. I have had some writing to catch up on and was in the zone to get a good bit of it done. I am feeling so much better with my energy returning. I hope to spend the weekend in the studio to finish settling in. I hope you all have a wonderful weekend!