I feel nothing.  However, when someone talks to me about the loss or shows care in words and more so in deeds, I lose my composure.  Yes, it is a terrible loss.  No, it’s not the end of the world.  Maybe it’s time to make a change in direction.  I thought Sawmyl Synders Farm would be my life’s work.  I thought I could die in the field with my expanding animal charge and a lovable livestock guardian dog named Syndee.  But now…not.  I believed it would never be possible to flood like this and so I built and expanded and dreamed without limitation.  Now that I know, I will not build anymore, nor will I expand this reality.  And as for dreams…

Maybe this was as good as it could get.  Thirty dozen eggs a week for sale.  Three goats that turned into a hobby and not a business.  One Thanksgiving and one Christmas with my own homegrown turkeys for a meal.  A large investment on a small property with, now, no future.  Now, no hope.  Now, no next.  At the age of 67 I am not prepared to put more money and years into something that may be carried away on fast brown water.  With good health, bad luck and a mentality that defies logic at every opportunity, I wish to do something but something that can be done by me.  Something that will last me the rest of my conscious life.  Some day, I’ll find a way, to make my natural tendencies pay;}  Sublimation?

But what of the others?  Tita Vee?  Friends and Neighbors?  Saint Isidore?  JC/PCS/Ray/Fran?  They will be there and remain in my life but in another wonderful relationship.  Of course, for Vee, it will surely be enhanced.  All my children, of course, they are the world, along with their children.  What do you think Mother Nature is thinking about me now?

Mother Nature does her thing and you don’t want to get in her way.  Her regard for mankind appears to be as apathetic as my apparent regard for this loss.  The fateful thing about her, Mother Nature, is that she only speaks to you in the present.  As for the past, there is no discussing it with her, and as for the future, she expects that you remember the past.  But she will talk to you now.  She will tell you that every vulnerability will eventually be tested and every measure of her is merely a guess at her strength and predictability.  Only when you sit in your pit of ashes – stripped of everything – can you imagine what homage she requires.  But there is no payment, other than respect, that she will accept.  The ancient idea of making sacrifices to Nature to persuade her to spare you, now makes so much sense to a modern man scarred by her hand.  That one must bring the firstlings of his flock and their fat portions and give it to Mother Nature out of regard, this I would do – if there were any left.

Whatever path I take, it must be one which expresses regard for Mother Nature for the rest of my life.  That path may be in a mode that is far removed from contact with her but a mode that brings others closer to her.  She has tried to teach us, all of us, that every event will eventually take the path of least resistance.  I must find that path for myself for my remaining years.  Every ascent has a descent in its future, and this flood is the descent for me now.  I must ascend on a path I can better control.  A path with an ascent that I am more naturally adapted.  I must evaluate my life and its seasons and identify where I am.  In what season of my life am I now?  In what season of my retirement am I now?  In what season of my understanding am I now?