Friday’s Quotes for the Chicks
“You taught me how to whistle so that now I can whistle my own tune. “
Michael Powell
It’s been a rough week. We’ve had a massive snowstorm cancelling school once again (which always throws off the flock rhythm prompting everyone to ask over and over, what day is it?) and which also re-invited bitter cold into our days. We’re back under the blankets in the evenings while we read books or watch a pointless re-run on TV sitting as close as we can to the electric heater. Kids are voluntarily going to bed a tad earlier, stunned into inactivity by the dips and dark this winter is constantly offering.
“See you tomorrow, mom.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow.”
And of course, this is the week that could have been. My son lost control of his car when he hit a patch of ice on a highway bridge while coming home late at night.
He shouldn’t have been out in that weather.
I sure wasn’t.
But he has a job where he works directly with people who reside at a rehabilitation center. Sometimes your job dictates your behavior. People in need do not stop needing just because bad weather arrives.
And so we sent him to his work that evening with our family car, a tough and sturdy Ford Expedition that has spent many years safely ferrying our kids to and from vacations, activities and friends’ houses.
“Keep it in 4-wheel and go slowly,” I cautioned him. “Text me when you arrive. Text me when you leave. Be careful.”
But even a large, heavy car is no match for a sheet of pure ice.
The car spun, it smashed into a guard railing on the front passenger side with enough force to bend the entire front end. Buckled and whining, the driver door no longer opens – a protest of solidarity.
The SUV spun around from the impact and then hit its back end against another guardrail. There was nothing anyone could have done. It was out of control, on a mission of its own – only coming to a stop when lack of motivation and piled snow forced it to.
The car is a complete loss. You can’t unbend what has been so violently twisted.
But here’s the amazing part. My son walked away unscratched, nothing hurts, his back is not aching, he doesn’t even have a sore neck. Our family car did its job and it did it well. Even until its last moment, that Expedition continued to take care of our family.
I have nothing but respect and gratitude.
Even though he’s safe, my son has been shaken to the bone. When you are a young adult, bad things happen to other people. Accidents are for people who don’t pay attention. They don’t happen to good people who are returning from a job where you’ve been helping others. They don’t happen when you are obeying speed limits and when you’re in your parent’s car – the very same car that brought you and your sisters up to Storyland summer after summer.
But that’s the thing about accidents. They do happen and they happen to anyone. There is no rhyme or reason to this. Accidents are.
And sometimes that means that they happen to you.
Realizing that is a part of growing up. It doesn’t mean that you have to be afraid of life going forward, it simply means that you have to be prepared. Do your best, try your hardest, and with a dash of luck, things just might work out.
My son was lucky. Our entire family was lucky.
And because he was driving a solid-as-a-tank car, because it was in 4-Wheel drive and he was watching his speed, and because a power far greater than him decided “not today,” now when he returns from work late at night and checks in with a “Hi mom, I’m home.”
I can, with complete confidence and relief, reply back to him:
“Okay, see you tomorrow.”
Have a good weekend, all. Give your flock members a hug.
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Wendy Thomas writes about the lessons learned while raising children and chickens in New Hampshire. Contact her at [email protected]
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