grief - lovelovemotherexpletive

Leaving the farm.

November 9, 2025 Lovelovemotherexpletive

Is it on? Is this thing on?

I sat down to write about how it felt to climb down off the tractor and to know I won’t be climbing back up. There is so much in this for me. I tried paper and pen but couldn’t bear it. The beauty the beauty. Unbearable.

It was heavy. My whole chest was physically constricted. And I know it has to be done, is being done, but I still have not come to grips. I cannot believe it.

I’ve gotten a job, a grown up job that has benefits and the same hours every day and a salary, and possibly sick days and things like that that i haven’t even considered.

And I’m starting tomorrow. And it precludes/excludes the ‘squeezing in of hours’ that my life before allowed.

And I’m in mourning. For the woman who started there, as a way to fill in the times when the kids were with their dad. It was really like that. They were young, i was always there. Always.

I started there probably seven years ago, my eldest would have been 13, and the youngest just six. It felt like a lot of money because it was farmwork and when i did it in high school, i was just paid $7 an hour, under the table. So it was way way more than that, and I would start having references again. It was a step, a little one, an it got me talking to people in the world again.

And I helped people pick out the good veggies and the farmers washed and harvested and put everything out at the beginning and away at the end of every night.

Now i harvest (only a little bit but i do.) and wash, and set up, and break down, and make the board and think about next week’s setup and keep it all stocked and i know so many of the customers intimately. And I seed the baby plants and run the plant sale and I take care of thousands of eggs and chickens per week and I drive the goddamned tractor. I’ve watched the farmer’s kid grow into a really cool girl, and i love my farmers isn’t just a bumper sticker over here.

And I worry that I’ll lose my connection to the work and the joy and pain of being outside year round. And what if my dad stops being proud of me? Or Grammie, or Joel, or Kate Crowley? Or the goddamned farmer? What if they move on like i was never there? I WAS THERE. (From heaven, three of them, because i have issues and need therapy. Always.)

And then, there is the beauty. I don’t think you know how beautiful it is out there. The dirt in a tractor tire, the lean of a fence post, the water sluicing the dirt off the carrots, the shocking color of the Swiss chard. I don’t think you know the wild variety of egg. Shells and breakage and boxes and delivering the food to people, feeding, knowing that what is happening, the exchange of energy is pure goodness. Pure.

Dirt is the way. The beginning and the end. And I WAS THERE.

What? I was.

Humanity

so.

October 6, 2024October 6, 2024 Lovelovemotherexpletive

my man is going in for coronary artery bypass tomorrow. that’s no joke, right?

Same hospital, same floor that I was on ten years ago with my father. the emotions are too many and so strange and i’ve said things out loud like, ‘when did i get married? am i fucking married again? when/how did this happen? what do i actually fucking do? what if he dies? i will fucking kill him. Can i just lie in the bed with him? ‘

no, i’m not married but boy, the love, attention and life pivot is the same, and i have been shocked to realize i’m here. Everything has been put down. Hands free.

i’ve not written a single word in two weeks. and thats not even because of hearts. sent a postcard to my ailing father-in-law but that doesn’t count.

got my mother her christmas present. it’s still in the car. hope its allright. its a giant beaded giraffe. don’t tell her.

my work people are good, if not great. and i’m lucky. but i’m an hourly worker so every time i have to go to the hospital, i’m hurting my own finances and boy, that’s a bitch and a half. don’t worry, my sister threatens to send me money all the time. which is also a bitch. (yes, i love you dearly and appreciate the kindness, anne. truly.)

Its one of those times when you look around and wonder how people are going about their daily lives. and because i’m in a serious branch of the hospital, i know there is a lot worse going on, and still, I’m in the serious branch of the hospital. very sober.

he’s okay. his spirits are good. but man, this is a fucking big deal. and I’m tired. he’s way more tired.

working 7-5 three days a week and other hours all the other days except sunday, and nights at the hospital this week plus emotional tomfoolery. i don’t feel like i’ve seen my kids this week. and its true, i haven’t. just minutes per day.

i watched my college kid play rugby yesterday. i had no idea what was going on but he got a touchdown. if its called that. my man made me go and i’m very glad i did.

I’m not complaining as much as I am sharing. just getting it out on paper so that I’ll remember it later.

Coloring page picture of a robot, scribbled over with colorful markers

Yes, this is about right.

Humanity

My youngest is 11.

November 13, 2023November 13, 2023 Lovelovemotherexpletive

I’m tired of writing facts. This is going on. That is going on. I want to write dapple and splinters of silverfish at my feet when the waters come in.

bubbles of joy and overwhelm that fizzle and steam and lift, depending on the day.

the rush of the heart against the ribcage when the tears rise, a wild irrational thrust towards escape

cold fingers typing, calloused hands barely registering on touch screens these days. i may as well have lifeless clay in digit form. but then again, i do not. there is life in this clay, and i’m in reformation mode again.

(at times anyways, because sometimes i am also too much with my couch)

the heartbreak of november is heavy with me. the light itself brings me to tears. the cry of the newly red leaf, the flutter of the gold, as they fall, food for my next year’s garden.

i feel that veil is thin, yes, and it is the grey boundaries between past and future in which i feel myself becoming a flock of birds. the neither here nor there, an inability to be present for it.

clay, sodden ground, mud and how much value do i put on a clean shoe anyhow?

there is so much going on, and nothing. and i love you, and i’ll see you soon.

-kate

Humanity

I’m good at…

February 2, 2023February 2, 2023 Lovelovemotherexpletive

What are you good at?

In my mind this week, I’ve been writing a whole post on what I’m bad at, because I’m awful at so many things. Like breakups, and shame. So bad at them, and also, the math. But I need to switch it, don’t I? Can I live like that?

I’m good at looking at things and appreciating them. the shape, the line, the light. The beauty in the minute, the large, the fantastical and the mundane.

Sometimes I am good at capturing it in type.

I’m good at being with kids, making them feel loved. I’m good at making brownies, from a box, but good at it, still.

I’m way fantastic at self-deprecation, which needs work, surely.

I’m good at making clutter, and tidying it, and letting go of things. I’m good at staring quietly off into the corner, good at making the most of a pregnant pause.

I was good at being pregnant. Feeling my rotund self amidst the madness of the rest of it.

I am good at color, filling the house with the things of whatever the season, color beyond belief. The circus-ing of things.

I am good, mostly. Though it makes my eyes well up, I think it is true. I try, I try to be right with the world, this green and blue breathing thing, full of creatures.

I am good at reading c.s. lewis, and good at ignoring the bits I don’t like.

I’m good at being stubborn. Oh yes. Another problematic one, but still, so good.

I’m good at making baked ziti. And collecting santas.

I’m good at brewing nice coffee. I’m good at growing things, tending things, nourishing things.

I’m good at piling on blankets, and wood, and sweaters. I’m good at feeding the dog, the cat and soon, the baby chicks.

I’m good at seeming to lose control and reining it back in. reeling sometimes, in all the ways, another thing I am good at.

I’m getting better at saying no. the opportunities to practice coming more often lately.

I’m good at being cozy. I’m good at needing so little, despite the ‘so much’ around me.

I’m good at dreaming. I’m good at making do.

A good ten minutes of freewriting, that’s all that was. Thank you Maddie and Pippa. We all should do a little focused action on what we are good at. We . ARE. GOOD.

-lovelove

Tag: grief

Leaving the farm.

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so.

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My youngest is 11.

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I’m good at…

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