I was taught as a child not to look as we passed an accident on the road, not because it was something I should not see but because it would be intruding on someone else's pain. In a catastrophic event such as 9/11 or the massacre in Connecticut yesterday, it seems almost imperative to sit and watch and cry in a vain attempt to share the burden of sorrow in the only way I can. I met Tree Guy and Son Two with tears when they came to clean the chimney around noon. They had not seen the news, and it swept two grown men off their feet.
The house was so cold we could see our breath, so the guys did what they had come to do, and also fixed a downstairs door that had recently obstinately refused to close. Tree Guy had ordered the Pakistani mulberry trees (tall, with large fruit, he tells me), but they will not be delivered until June. June!
Waving goodbye with one hand, I gathered firewood with the other and rushed in to light the wood stove. It seemed to take forever and by afternoon I was desperate for human contact and warmth. I called my single neighbor Debbie and after the last barn chores we went to The Pub for a hot meal. Bangers and mash was comfort food and I was in good company. The stove had done its job by the time I got home. It was a good ending to a difficult day.