Practical Beauty

She had to chuckle when she thought about flowers. She knew she was kind of a weird one. What woman doesn't really like flowers? She couldn't remember how many times she had admired other folk's flowerbeds, with all the varieties of colors, shapes and smells. Every other woman she knew would go all weak in the knees if they were gifted a bouquet. Not her though, why did people think that something that is only going to wilt and die and transform into a disgusting pile of goo made a good gift? Nasty! As for flowerbeds or potted plants, why would she dedicate all that time tending to something that just smelled good and looked pretty? Most of them weren't edible & if they were, they didn't taste very good and certainly wouldn't make a very satisfying meal! She preferred to just admire them from afar, she certainly had no desire to actually own them. Perhaps she was just too practical.

Sweet peas would always make her stop in her tracks. She couldn't help but pause and breathe deeply that sweet aroma. It transported her back through time to a peaceful sanctuary. She'd recall Grandma's garden, where the sweet peas covered the front fence and crawled over the trellis. They stretched their colorful tendrils up the south side of Grandma's house, too, covering all of the windows to keep the rays of the afternoon sun from heating up the house. That sweet aroma overwhelmed all of the other senses before you even rounded the corner of the house and saw them, in all of their pastel glory. The smell would forever be connected to the best days of her childhood.

The funny thing was, she planted marigolds in amongst her vegetables every year. Yellow and orange were her least favorite colors and she found the smell of them rather nauseating, even if others found them to be pleasant. Those bright little petals earned every bit of space and TLC they needed to thrive though. Marigolds were the guardians of her ever precious vegetables. She knew she wasn't the only one that found their perfume repelling. They kept away insects, rodents and deer, but most importantly, her goats showed no interest in the garden as long as there were marigolds in bloom.

Those gaudy little flowers had a very important job. Without them her family could very well go hungry. They helped keep the peace in the house, too. She was the only one in the family that truly loved the goats. Sure, her husband had benefited from their milk, he'd been so much healthier since he'd started drinking it. The girls enjoyed the babies for the first few weeks, but after that they were just a pain. The goats had a special knack for getting into trouble.

For her though, the goats were so much more. When she bought the first she'd had no intention of keeping them past the fall. They'd been purchased as companions for an orphan calf and she really didn't see any use for them once the calf was to be sold. The old nanny was miserable and mean and producing far more milk than her single kid could possibly drink. That meant she had to be milked, twice a day or risk mastitis. The woman had been instructed by the previous owner to just punch the poor old goat in the head if she misbehaved. She was too soft to even dream of doing something like that. She could sense that the old goat had been abused and beaten all of her life and she knew that the old girl was probably more scared than mean. She could relate, she'd been there too.

The woman was green as grass to this farm life and her husband worked long hours away. So she had to teach herself how to rope the old goat and how to milk. The old goat was less than patient and the woman carried melon size bruises for months as a result of their struggles, but not once did she hit the old goat. Instead she'd murmur softly and gently stroke her. Tears rolled silently from her eyes when the old goat flinched at even the gentlest touch. It had taken months, but when it came time to ship the calf, the old goat had become at least compliant enough to tolerate being milked. Having come so far the woman simply couldn't let the old goat go on to an uncertain future. At least on her farm, she new the old girl could live out the rest of her days safe from harm at the hands of another human.

The calf had been raised partially supplemented with milk from the old nanny and he'd grown just as well as any other calf in the herd. The aches and pains that the farmer had suffered from for decades eased with a daily cup of goat's milk and so it was decided the goats were worth the time and feed they would require. A few more were added to the herd over time, to make sure there would be plenty of milk for any orphan calves to come. The woman learned to make cheese, yogurt and soap. She even canned milk to have on hand in case an emergency arose and the goat's were dry. The goats had taken her back through time and pushed her to take up skills that had been all but lost by society.

Years later, her father passed away, after many months of being consumed by cancer. She had spent most of those months by his side and on the day that he drew his last breath, she felt lost. Her world had revolved around Dad this past year and it was all she could do to summon the strength to stand. People started coming, somber and sad. It all felt surreal. None of them had actually sat, day by day, watching him be consumed by disease and yet they expected her to comfort and console them. No one noticed the gaping emptiness that was consuming her. She slid silently out to the milking barn, sat down on the milking stand and sobbed.

The old goat had never moved beyond compliance. She knew that at milking time she had to jump on the milking stand for relief and had always just done what she needed to. She never stuck around for extra treats or pets and wouldn't be caught dead approaching a person. But on this saddest of mornings, she poked her head into the barn and saw the woman sitting there. The old goat approached, cautiously, and pressed her forehead into the woman's chest and just stood there stock still. The woman could feel the old goat trying to take her pain and she sobbed even harder as she hugged the old girl and the goat actually moved in closer. It seemed she sat there for hours finally connected to the old goat, who took her pain and then somehow replaced it with the steel resolve to stand up and face whatever lay ahead.

When she stepped out of the barn and into the bright, warm sunlight the rest of the herd was there waiting. They moved in close nudging and nibbling at her, begging for her attention. In this moment, with the old goat leaning at her hip, she connected. For the first time in all the years since she had fallen in love with the farmer, she finally fell in love with the farm. She was grounded, connected to this place and these animals. They had breathed the life back into her and given her the steel resolve to pick herself up from her grief and sadness and just keep going. She had a purpose and everything she would ever need was right here.

So, to keep the peace in her house and family she would plant and lovingly tend the marigolds, keeping the goats out of trouble and off of everybody else's radar.