As Farm Women Age

Farm women face a tough decision when they age and their vitality ebbs: stick it out in the country or move to town. Mary Ellen Flory, who died last February at the age of 92, was one who stuck it out to the end. Her obituary includes this poignant sentence, “Waking up a widow at 41 years old, cows to milk, crops to harvest, wood to chop and boys to raise she was heard to say, ‘we are not quitting, we are going right on" and she did…’”

Mrs. Flory eventually turned the dairy over to one of her sons, and moved into a brick ranch-style house that was built especially for her just half a mile away. Her dairy and farming days over, she turned to baking bread and rolls to sell at the Lawrence Farmer’s Market, where she was a familiar tiny figure in her German Baptist cap and dress worn with a practical pair of Nikes. Mrs. Flory drove her goods to market in her own car to the end.

Not all of us have Mrs. Flory’s fortitude and determination. I, for one, sometimes envision myself in a tidy little ranch house in town. Then my heart begins to ache and I cannot imagine life without the scenes of Paradise all around me.

If someone were to read this journal she might conclude that I am physically involved in planting and harvesting the garden, taking care of the chickens, and tending the woodstove. Actually I participate with Dennis in making decisions about the garden and chickens, but I’m no longer able to do the work. Rheumatoid arthritis coupled with old age has changed me from a doer to an observer. I still cook and bake and sew a little, but this year I haven’t even started seedling tomatoes and peppers to be transplanted into the garden because my hip has gone bad and I can’t get to the basement plant nursery.

Dennis, almost seventy, is still going strong. All the hard work now falls to him. I just follow him around with my camera, documenting his work. Yesterday he planted potatoes.

As long as this good man can carry on I won’t have to give up living in the country. I’d love to be like Mrs. Flory, staying in place to the very end.

Copyright 2014 by Shirley Domer