Finding out I can't save you?

Dear Blog Reader;

I hope this finds you doing well.  I am fine; better than fine. The world after a long bike ride is very good. The only problem that I can see right now is that my usual 15 mile workout seems a little anticlimactic.  I have gone to the web and found 2 or 3 organized century rides this summer and fall, that I plan on entering. I may have a problem.

We have just passed the Ides of May. This means that we are within a fortnight of Grace and Chris' wedding on June 1. Since the wedding is planned for the wedding meadow under the great oak tree on our farm, every day several sets of eyes will be glued to the tv. In four days, The Weather Channel 10 day forecast will be our oracle; the portent of dreams fulfilled or plan B. Will it be dry enough? What do scattered showers mean? Does 30% mean 30% of Indiana will get rain or that this valley just north of Ingalls has a 30% or being wet in a fortnight. What do you think?

During the bike ride, yours truly wrote about the transformative affects of a long bike ride. Not to be too melodramatic, but I had another transformative event in my life this past week. This event that showed me so much about my person was brought about thanks to Pam, or as I affectionately call her, "that crazy lady."

Pam swept into my life on Thursday evening. Dusk was nearing. I had my bike and was just mounting up out at the barn. Looking toward the house, I saw someone knock on the door. Our barn is located 100 yards from the house. I could have quietly mounted my steed and coasted down the drive to the crazy free zone. I would have finished my 15 mile ride in peace and quiet.  I would have missed a conversation that lasted 2 hours and evening turned to dusk, turned to night.

For those of you know me, I do not do 2 hour conversation. Some evidence exists that conversation is my kryptonite. 20 minutes and a graph of the lengths of conversations i have had shows the bell curve is definitely starting to flatten out. Granted, a two hour conversation is taking too much credit for my part in our inner play. Two hours is testament to the earth shifting force of Pam's convictions, and to her flat out crazy.

I hollered "can I help you?" She turned suddenly and immediately started establishing my bonafides. "Are you the organic farmer?" "I am sorry. We gave that up 6 years ago. Sorry you came out. We have nothing to sell."  It appears that the big grain farmers north of Anderson had not gotten the memo and turned this crazy woman on that weirdo organic guy down by Ingalls. Pam was not deterred by my obvious lack of credibility. She marched 99 5/6th yards to get into my personal space. It is a good thing that I was on the bike. I could keep the front tire between us; giving me a bit of cushion. Even now I am amazed at her perceptive abilities. I was standing there astride my bike in full bike kit; the shorts, the shoes, the fingerless gloves, the helmet. She spoke to me the entire two hours never acknowledging that I intended to ride my bike. I believe that she was oblivious until 2 hours later all hope of a mind clearing bike ride was gone. I finally dismounted and she said "oh, I kept you from your bike ride."
Yes, you did keep me from my ride, Pam.

I am a bit reticent about calling Pam crazy. That moniker does trivialize the obvious grief that she carried onto our farm and plopped down in front of my bike creating an insurmountable obstacle for Thursday's ride. She lives in a world consumed by grief; a father who had passed stricken with cancer, a mother who is currently surviving cancer, and a circle of fellow travelers who suffer varied maladies. In the end, grief had consumed her and left her in a delirium, searching for answers.

She had come looking for a Messiah. Looking for the person who could change the course of world-wide agriculture with his secret farming techniques. How disappointing it must have been to find me; a person who after 10 years of stealing the labor of his family had given up? For whatever reason; knowledge, fevor, ability, fertility, zone 5 weather, I could not make a living farming. I turned the farming over to a row crop operation that utilizes a cornucopia of modern farming practices. I had sold out. I had succumbed to the greedy capitalist life style. For Pam, I had become the problem.

Three times, during our 2 hours together she broke down in tears and said "I am so disappointed. I had hoped so much that you had the answers and you don't." She was right. I do not have the answers she was looking for. I often find myself to be a disappointment to others. In my brief snippets of conversation, I tried to explain economics, yields, what society actually values, what she values. I wasn't very successful. I was most disappointed to find out that public schools were a failure 30 years ago. She had no framework to understand Genetically Modified Organizms. The idea of genes and how they control the functions and production of our cells were completely beyond her, and 30 years later education continues to provide a framework to understand the societal complexities.

Our topics were widely varied and confusing.  She spoke of GMO's, Bt, DDT, cow poop, people poop, prostate cancer, lung cancer, liver cancer, thyroid cancer, iodine, nuclear medicine and morality. I further confused her with atrazine, anhydrous ammonia, gene splicing, Roger's theory on economic and societal stability, Roger's theories of risk analysis by those living in nursing homes.

I tried all of my persuasive skills; active listening, sarcasm, hyperbole, logic, emotion, apology. Finally, after wearing down and watching her cry in despair from my lack of messianic attribute, I listened to Pam try to make one more emotional plea. "Did your father die of cancer?"

"No he died from injuries suffered in a farming accident." "My father-in-law passed from a cancer probably attributed to chemical exposure."
"Really, what did you wife do about it?"

"Actually, it was quite beautiful. Bev spent a lot of the time left with her dad getting to know him more deeply; making connections before it was too late."

"No!  What did she do after he died? Did she advocate against farm chemicals?"

Hoping that I could salvage a ride, I snapped with sarcasm. "No, she did none of that. She simply grieved and let him go. Obviously from you tone, you are morally superior to her. That must be a disappointment also." It was.

Even that didn't make her mad. I had another half an hour before I could detach from Pam. Why was she here? How could she live with the grief that consumed her? How myopic had that grief made her?

In the end? In the end, I have no idea what just happened. She came looking for answers that I could not provide, or answers she didn't want. I am not a guru. I could not help. I am not her messiah.

Take care

Roger