“Hi Shannon! How are you?”

Oh, my goodness.  That’s SUCH a loaded question.

I mean, my heart rate seems regular.  I think my blood pressure is normal.

Bob’s prostate cancer recovery is going well.

But I’m behind on six things on my to-do list.

And while I’m almost able to do circular breathing on my bari sax, I cannot for the LIFE of me make it work on the low notes.

And I really need to expand the market for our CSA shares.  I just haven’t done enough with that.

And I had a falling out with some good friends.  That makes me so sad.

And my oldest dog, Nikki, is becoming incontinent. 

Mom seems to be doing better since they changed her blood pressure medication.

But I really think Dad pushes too hard to get things done while the air quality is poor. 

And speaking of air quality, these Canadian forest fires are really upsetting me….I mean, the smoke is bad for everyone downwind (I’ve got such a tickle in my lungs when I breathe deeply), but oh!  Those forests!  I’ve hiked those forests!  Such a loss!

But I’ve read SO many good books this summer.  I have an amazing reading list that I really ought to share.  For a while there, it seemed so hard to find a really great read.  I mean, like, one in 10 or 20 books was worth sharing.  Lately, holy smokes.  Writers are KILLING it.  There’s AMAZING stuff out there, and it makes me so joyful to plunge into it.

But then again, I’m really struggling with my own novel.  I just can’t seem to get the tension right. 

But the girls are GREAT.  They seem to be having a terrific summer.  There’s a lot less friend/boyfriend drama this season.

And wow.  The first summer without Covid chaos.  It seems a little slower business-wise, but WOW!  Customers are nicer, the pace is nicer.  I don’t have any of the physical pain in my body this year that I endured during Covid stress – My knees feel great, my feet feel great, my energy level is great.  But whew!  Menopause!  Can hormone changes really cause that much weight gain?  I’m wondering if giving up cheese might help. 

I don’t think Dr. Scrafford, the state Vet, is really interested in any of this.  I get that.  But I can’t get asked that question without pausing to conduct a full life scan before answering.  

I know.  It’s just a pleasantry.  Dr. Scrafford is supposed to say, “How are you?”

And without thinking, I’m supposed to say “Fine, thanks.  How about yourself?”

And he’s supposed to say, “I’m doing well, thank you!”

It’s just that…well.  I’m not very good at lying.  If I SAY I’m doing well, then I ABSOLUTELY must be doing well.  

And if I’m NOT doing well, then maybe they know something that can help.  Maybe they know a good cardiologist for mom.  Or they know a prostate cancer survivor.  Or they know a good bari sax player who might be able to answer some questions for me.  Or they have deep spiritual insights that could help negotiate relationships, or parenting, or menopause. 

I never know what I might learn if I answer the question honestly.

Trouble is, I never know what the honest answer to that question even is.

Dr. Scrafford is visiting the farm this morning with our local vet as part of the annual visit for the New York State Sheep & Goat Health Assurance Program.  Each year, they come, we sit down over coffee, and we talk about the flock.  We review the grazing rotations, and protocols for any medications we might be using.  We talk about any new diseases we might have seen, and learn from the vets treatment protocols that might help.  

Actually, it’s like a big HOW ARE YOU for the farm.

Saoirse and Ula attend these annual meetings.  They work with the flock every day, and they show up armed and ready.  The vets aren’t the only ones who get to ask the questions.  Saoirse and Ula bank up their queries, wait for the annual meeting with the vets, then pepper them with their worries and concerns.

This year, they want to know about the ewe they lost this spring.  She had two extremely large lambs who died in utero.  They were positioned in such a way that neither Ula nor Pop Pop could get them out without losing the mother.  In May, it was traumatic.  We were all reduced to tears, seeking comfort from a batch of Jack’s chocolate chip cookies down at the cafe kitchen.  

Now, a few months later, they want to know everything that could have been done to prevent the problem, and everything they could have done better during the crisis moment.  They are giving the vets play-by-plays of maneuvers they tried.  They are asking about the condition of the ewe.  They are asking if the breeding ram might have been at fault.  

Dad stays quiet and lets the girls take charge.  This is their opportunity to grab information, to have someone different teach them something.  The vets review some techniques, talk to the girls about using different lubricant, and then try to move on to the next item on the agenda.  Saoirse and Ula flow with the conversation, then, a few minutes later, pull it back to the ewe they lost.  They’re NOT finished with their questions.  They feel as though there is a problem with what they’re doing, that there is more they need to understand.  No one on the farm ever saw a birth go that badly.  No one ever wants to see it again.  

And the vets understand that.  But finally, after telling the girls everything they can, Dr. Scrafford turns to Dad.  “Jim, what’s your lambing death rate?”

“Every year we usually fall between four and seven percent,” he says.

The vets sit with that for a minute.

“So how many lambs were born on the farm this year?” He asks.

“107,” Mom tells him.

“And how many deaths?”

“Seven,” Dad says.  He relays the pathology of each one. 

“So you have at least a 93 percent success rate?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Scrafford leans back in his chair and stares intently at the girls.  He’s put his finger on the problem.  “That means you’re doing really well,” he says.  “Vets see all the problems.  Farmers should only call vets when things are extremely unusual.  And at least 93 percent of the time, you are having no problems.  That’s excellent.”

I watch them sit with that for a while, considering.  Yes, there was a monumental failure.  But 93 percent of what happened was successful.

Oh, those poor girls, I realize.  They are so much like their mother. 

I can get thirteen emails from readers who like my work.  But one piece of hate mail and I think I’ve failed as a writer.  That’s 93 percent success.

I can have thirteen great friends, but one falling out suggests to me that I am a horrible human.   That’s 93 percent success.

When I used to teach math, I remember having at least one student who hated my class for every 13 who loved it and learned like crazy.  And I would worry about being a lousy teacher.  Even with the 93 percent success rate. 

We can have thirteen things going great on the farm:  good workers, pastures in great shape, positive cash flow with all bills paid, the herd in good health, the pace just right for our energy levels, the freezers are working, the roof over the cafe isn’t leaking, the stream bank is holding strong through all the rain we’ve been having, the customers have been happier this year, our family is healthy, no one seems intent on shooting up our business this year, there’s plenty of access to meat processing, and use of the honor store is increasing.  But one month where sales figures seem off, and I worry we’re driving the whole business into the ground. But in truth, that’s 93 percent success.

And suddenly, my perspective changes.  For certain, the 7 percent failure rate has value.  That failure rate is what gets us to learn and grow.  Saoirse and Ula develop better skills for handling problematic deliveries.  I strengthen my position as a writer, or learn more about my self as a person.  We identify areas in the farm where we can change things up and do better.

But it’s the 93 percent that really matters.

It’s the 93 percent that reminds me that I can be in a place of gratitude.  And when someone says to me, “Hi Shannon, how are you?”

I can answer with statistical accuracy without even needing to do a full body and life scan.  “I’m 93 percent fabulous!”

 

Did you enjoy this?

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And that’s a really important thing to do, because all of this— the podcast, the blog, the novels and books and the creative recharging that happens over fall and winter—   are a result of the support of my patrons on Patreon.  And this week I’d like to send a shout out to my patrons Jennifer Hannah & Jennifer Fliegelman.  Thank you, folks!  I couldn’t do it without you!