The Farmer’s Girl

Standard pine planks smothered in white paint.. amidst the collection of elements arranged to take the form of a farmhouse in pain. I am a wall. A small portion framed by a fireplace and a window that looks out to the most beautiful Sunsets over a pond and a marsh teaming with wildlife.. the sweet sounds of nature all around. My caretaker, a gentle soul, she lovingly brushed me with this fresh coat of white paint..her purpose filled every stroke. “This will make things brighter in here.” She said with a gleam in her eyes. But I saw more than the gleam. I saw the pain that lay behind it.. the gleam a flicker of the soul that begged to be set free from the burden of suffering beneath. The Farmer’s girl... not wife.. girl.. but she is a woman. More worthy than a wife. She is a beautiful, strong, confident, loyal, intelligent, just, amazing woman...a Queen... that is what I see ..and I imagine her kingdom. The one that lay outside that window. The one that she created. The blood, sweat and tears that smear her face when she comes in at summer dusk to start supper.

But he doesn’t..the Farmer. He sees the girl he created. He sees the hands that pull weeds, cook and clean, callused from work..this was a farm.. but remain soft for him at night.. that pray for him.. for them.. that cover his heart to feel it beat in hopes to heal the pain it feels. In vain. Trying to release the shackles that bind his mind. The ones he projects onto her.

4 am. The bedroom door hits the wall. The light flicks on in a fury illuminating his angry face as her sleepy eyes flash open and try not to focus on his. “Why aren’t you awake!!”

“Good morning.” She says.. No reasons. No arguments. Just Good morning. No enthusiasm. It has all drained from her. The fire that once burned so fierce. That would challenge such a rude awakening or jump out of bed eager to work, help, build, dream, love. Just a flicker now.. hoping for a strong wind on the really bad days.

“Help get my deliveries ready. I need to be gone in an hour. Then you can start your day. I’ll be home late tonight. Don’t bother with supper for me.”

“Okay.” No questions.

“You better get everything done today that I told you, while I’m gone.” As he is ready to start his trip.

“I don’t remember everything you said. Can you text me a list?” Her lips tremble. She knows this will upset him. But it’s worth the risk, rather than dealing with the fallout of not completing every task. A slew of chores mumbled out after last nights supper and a 12 pack.

“What!? Are you retarded!? You should know by now! I shouldn’t have to tell you! Or make you a list! Can you hear!? Did you even listen when I told you last night?!” His ugly words scolding her as gravel and dirt fly from the delivery van as it makes its way down the long drive way. Past the manicured landscaping, heirloom gardens, greenhouses, chicken coop and farm house. All of which comprised the tasks demanded the night before. The prison of work he bound her to in order to keep her busy while he strayed. But. Little did he know...this was her Kingdom.. Her Heaven on earth...the days he was gone. She knew what needed to be done. Her finger tips had touched every inch of this farm. Her love made the gardens grow, the flowers bloom, the floors shine and the walls bright. She was free in those moments. Free to think. Free to dream. Free to enjoy all of the things she loved so dearly.

Her request for a list was only a mere attempt at avoiding his scrutiny. She knew what the night would bring upon his return. The glazed eyes scouring for imperfection. There was no list of chores. That way the list could be altered at will. To include something never mentioned. To give reason for berating. To draw attention away from his day. To further diminish what was left of her spark.

It was a pattern. She’d grown accustomed to it. All of his trickery and horrible games. He had no clue of what her mind was capable of deciphering. Or why she indulged his behavior. To him, a work horse doesn’t think, it works because I make it, because it cannot think for itself. And that’s what she was to him, just another puppet that catered to his every need. Meticulously put in place by the puppet master. At least that’s what she let him believe. It sickened her to see the satisfaction in his eyes as he pondered his clever schemes. Always believing he was ten steps ahead of everyone. The devil coursing through his veins as he cracked his whips. But she could read him like a book. Introduction to end. She played along. Years of conditioning in the mental depths of hell.

Until that one day. The end of summer, just before harvest and the long cold winter that would follow. Gazing out on her Kingdom after a warm end of summer rain had fallen. The lush bountiful gardens ready to be harvested and preserved for the cold months, the apple trees full of fruit waiting to ripen in autumns cool air, the porch stocked with freshly cut firewood to warm the walls of the farm house as snow would fall.

Ahh...winter. My favorite time of year. The mirror that hung adjacent from me gave glimpses of the ice sickles that would cling to the roof above that window while the wind howled through the trees blowing snow. But her warmth filled the house..always a fire blazing. Sparked and tended by her hand. And the aroma of zucchini bread in the oven. Just one of her favorite uses of the gardens bounty. I loved the winters. Because she had to spend her days indoors and the Farmer was rarely there in these months. Her energy filled the house as music played while she danced her way through chores and endless winter projects. Her quest to make this old farmhouse the home she always dreamed of. Oh..and the way she adorned me for the holidays. Autumn Pumpkins, sunflowers and garlands made of leaves everywhere. Spooky little things for Halloween. And Christmas..oh how I loved Christmas... the day after Thanksgiving bins and bins of merry decorations came out and she would work for hours to place all of them just right.. an attempt to appease the inner child in her. The one that always suffered a little more this time of year, remembering the December that her mother passed away when she was only 8 years old. I often pondered how such a wounded soul could be so full of holiday spirit. I suppose it was her way of creating the warmth she so desperately needed and wanted as a child.

But, back to that day.. the day Her soul found its purpose. Why she was there. What she needed to learn. Where she was headed. And the battles that needed to be fought and won to get there. This was earth school. Master class. Graduation came with a steep price. As steam rolled off of the ground from the mixture of freshly fallen rain and the reemergence of the Sun’s golden rays, a double rainbow appeared over the garden. The most bright and beautiful double rainbow she had ever seen.. and in that moment all of it made sense. This heaven on earth that she had created ...that his tormented soul could turn into her Hell with nothing more than a glance, an utter of a word or the energy that suffocated when he walked into a room... his presence never failed to trigger the anxiety that rushed through her veins.. I could sense it...the energy..her energy. I always knew and in my quiet moments I pleaded for my thoughts to manifest a way to comfort her, to embrace her in warmth and reassure her that she was not what he projected her to be. To tell her how beautifully perfect and amazing she was...even on the days she didn’t love herself. But. I was just a wall. Yes. I stood bright and tall.. my fresh white paint trying to reflect as much light onto her as possible.. praying that she noticed the warmth I reflected for her when the sunset hit the mirror and shined its glorious warmth on me..shades of peach and crimson.. that reminded me of the fire within her. And the special days that projected hues of indigo, periwinkle and lavender.. to remind her of the purest flames that danced in her mind as she awoke from her slumber to find the strength to believe in her truth and reclaim her power ...her kingdom ...her thrown. If she could only hear my thoughts... but I was just a wall.. and still she smiled at me everyday when her feet hit the bottom of the stairs and we were face to face. Almost like she knew.. or maybe it was just the satisfaction she felt in that simple coat of paint that made me brand new again. She had a knack for fixing broken things..this she knew well... breathing life into the tormented and lifeless parts of her world. On a pursuit to end any suffering that surrounded her.

That day something was different about her...I felt it the moment she walked through the door after the days work.. a strength that she hadn’t felt in a very long while. The fire flickered in her eyes and her face was at ease.. The Farmer would be no match for what this winter had in store for him. The rebellion that arose within her. Not a harsh rebellion. A calm one. That his harshness would not overcome this time. The Lord had given her a task. A decision. A choice. One that would test her strength..endurance..faith.

On that beautiful day the rain washed her, and all that she loved, clean... She had learned her lessons. She had found her purpose. Made her choice. Trusted in herself once again after a very long season of questioning all that she was. The warrior in her screamed and her ancestors wept with pride. Her freedom...their freedom lay on the chilly horizon of the winter to come. When she would simply walk away. Relinquishing her Kingdom. Having faith in herself to build a new one. Trusting that her creator would provide. She was more than ready now. Years and years of suffering would end with her. Cycles of abuse that circulated through countless generations. And, so, the next chapter begins....