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| Some fun on the farm with Andy |
Andy came into my life when I
needed him. In 2005, we had both embarked upon vocational transitions. A
writer, I had no machinery to develop a lavender farm. A builder retired to
handyman, Andy had a tractor, et al.
Hannah Stevens, an agricultural agent, connected us
through Michigan State University’s program, “Tilling the Soil of Opportunity.”
Although Andy was an excellent tiller, he attended the session prior to mine to see what he could learn. Hannah
saw our necessities as opportunities to benefit one another. I am forever
grateful.
Often overwhelmed with planning and hosting lavender
festivals, Andy’s confident spirit calmed me as we walked the lay of the land.
We determined where to till the next lavender field and build structures to
best shelter my guests and please the eye.
My handyman fell ill when it came time to build our
pavilion, so my husband and I hired a local company. On his feet again, Andy and his son finished
the interior of the pavilion’s gift shop and installed shelves in the storage
area where we dried lavender bundles. I observed how Andy made the most of money,
materials, and space.
He reminded me of Uncle Herm when he worked—slow and sure mechanical minds and
movements. Haste makes waste. Unlike Uncle Herm, Andy walked with a clip. The farm
and I were happy to see his smiling face and handcrafted toolbox.
At the
conclusion of our 2008 festival, Andy helped me correct my farm plan from a one-weekend
festival with hundreds of people to my original dream: u-pick lavender with weekend
workshops about growing lavender and the sustainable lifestyle.
Andy
built our darling hen house, gifted me with his own “A Guide to Raising
Chickens” by Gail Damerow. Ever the gentleman, he said, “Hens urinate in their droppings.”
I’d never noticed. Upon the later occasion of making soup of our hens, Andy
came to lead this rite of passage.
It’s been a year since my brother-by-heart left us.
I managed to find an electrician several months ago, but most our outsourced household
improvements go undone. The reliable electricians are booked. Now, why
can’t people find work?
Last
week, our Andersen sliding door jammed when a piece of broken removable grid fell
between the kitchen doors. One repair estimate was $325; another company
offered on site estimates only.
Heck,
I wasn’t throwing away $325. We had paint to buy for the guest bath and
bedroom, and a painter to pay. (Thank God for Cheryl. My husband and I are
pathetic painters.)
I
brooded over that jammed door, wondered what Andy would do. Where was my
confidence? Didn’t I see a technician remove the framework and door when we replaced other windows years ago?
Dear
Reader, I spent three hours with a screwdriver, removed the framework, lifted
the door with what strength I had. Wood hit the floor. I vacuumed the
tracks and washed the windows before I replaced the framework.
“Who
fixed the door?” my husband asked.
“Andy,”
I replied.
