Fred Miller

I don’t get stressed out. But I did. . . for a little while, before returning to my normal, blissfully ignorant attitude of believing everything will work out fine. Somehow.

“It’s always darkest before the dawn,” was one of my mother Ol’ Food’s favorite sayings, and it was waking up in the middle of the night to worry about how we, and specifically I, are, am, going to get everything accomplished what we, I, need to do over the next few weeks, that sent me into a tailspin.

What urgent tasks are hanging over my, our, head, heads? Let me count the ways.

There’s the new kitchen, $12,000 worth of cabinets and that doesn’t include the granite countertop, to be delivered on June 4, by which time we must have emptied, demolished and removed the old kitchen cabinets, sink, appliances and laminate countertop.

I expect to use my chainsaw.

There’s cleaning out the barn for grandson Bob’s high school graduation party. Ever since we repaired and cleaned it up (as much as an old barn can be cleaned up) for son Worshrag’s wedding to Busy Bee in 2021, we have used it as a venue for family events: our 50th wedding anniversary, Gen. Doc’s elaborate memorial service, graduation parties and other events. In-between these occasions we fill the barn with stuff: spare appliances, books awaiting transport to Honey’s bookstore, unwanted couches and sectionals, old car tires, lumber cut on the farm, and yard-sale power tools, rugs and other items acquired or kept because someone may need them someday. Enough of these must be temporarily relocated to get at least the west end of the barn suitable for entertaining.

Since this immediate next event is for a grandson, the onus for barn cleanout is on his parents, son Seed and daughter-in-law Miss T. I have a share of that onus. There’s plenty of onus to go around.

Then there’s cultivating and planting the vegetable garden and the pumpkin fields for our fall pumpkin patch. First it got too warm too soon and I planted the garden early, then we had frost, then it got dry and hot again and now it’s rain every day. Canadian thistles have taken over one field. I spent two days just digging and tractoring out as much drying muck as possible out of our pond to fertilize, the pond which you will recall suddenly drained itself at the end of an unparalleled run of zero-degree days in late February.

And, oh, yeah, we will have to have the pond cleaned out and the dam and overflow rebuilt later this summer, but that will be something to stress about later. For now, I need to get five fields cultivated so the pumpkin patch proprietors, grandsons Lamppost Head, The 747 and The Favorite, can get them planted and make some money this fall for their college and/or trade school funds and first cars; can you believe they are almost ready to get their driver’s licenses?

I haven’t even told you about resuming cutting our winter firewood in the three-year-old tangle of tornado-downed big white oaks over on the property of my previous twin brother Bob Milner, who, just to sweeten the pot, had another giant white oak next to his house taken down last week just because its roots were pushing in his foundation. Son Seed and grandsons and I had to quit on the tornado trees last summer when we had our own giant white oak fall across our driveway, demanding to be cut up. What is it with these death-wish white oaks?

So I woke up in the middle of the night, in a sweat about how in the world was I going to get all these things done, and I told my wife that I, the never-stressed, was stressed.

Honey told son Seed and daughter Shark. Seed said don’t worry, he is about to begin a week’s vacation. He and his boys came over and resumed splitting the oaks I’ve been chainsawing at Milner’s. Shark and her boys are coming over today to help Honey and I empty and take down our old kitchen cabinets. They have always helped with whatever has to be done.

All my life I have had a knack for finding four-leaf clovers. Just the other day I told my sister Col. Peggy I seemed to have lost it. I could not remember the last one I found. Then after my stressful night I found one, picked it and put it in my wallet. Then another one while working on Bob Milner’s newly downed white oak, and put that in my wallet, too.

Feeling calm and thankful, I told my wife, “We are the luckiest people I know.” I still have to get all that stuff done, with help. No stress.