This is a draft that Ruth had not published, she intended to but did not get to do so.

On four-twenty 2017, I was taking a walk in a park with a friend. We were whining mightily about Trump [I blame him for all of this and for everything else, too] when suddenly I started slurring my words very badly. Then I collapsed onto the dirt trail. Millions? billions? of neurons in my brain were dying at that moment.

I awoke in the ER with doctors hovering over me asking me ad nauseum to perform tests like counting and asking if I felt a doc’s pokes all over with a cold pointy metal instrument, I did. I think I transitioned right there from always feeling too hot all the time feeling too cold.

Later, I read in my med recs that the doc pinched my left leg and I reacted but I didn’t react when he pinched my left arm. I am hemiplegic[half the body paralyzed] on my left side. I can “walk” now with a quad cane but it’s going to take a long time before I have a normal gait.I’m going to do it tho, I have to get back on hiking trails, my passion. My left arm and hand remain paralyzed, but I’m still working on them.

I had an ischemic stroke[resulting from a blood clot in the brain starving neurons of oxygen]  I had a blood clot in my middle cerebral artery][ischemic versus hemorrhagic stroke which result from a bleed in the brain, like,e. g. a burst aneurysm ], unleashing a blood flood drowning neurons but  in mycase the doctors couldn’t find the clot on my MRI or CAT scan, so they decided not to give me the miracle drug, tPA, which is a powerful clot buster and rescues all those dying neurons

That was because a small bleed showed up on the MRI where I have a brain anomaly called a cavernous malformation which is basically a cluster of veins. It is susceptible to bleeding. The doctors worried that the drug might cause another much more serious bleed there.

OK, Fair enough. tPA is a powerful blood thinner. I keep wondering tho what I’d be like now if I’d had the drug. The one benefit of the stroke was the gratitude I felt for and joy I felt from all my fantastic friends, feeling the love pour into me. I was in the ICU about two weeks then transferred to the IRU [In-patient Rehabilitation Unit] where I stayed a month and had the best therapists I’ve had on this recovery journey, my PT Physical Therapist[responsible for the leg and foot] had me up and walking right away, Even now I can hardly believe that. I felt my left leg was paralyzed. I couldn’t move it at all or wiggle my toes. I had 3 hrs of therapy a day there 5 days a week.

The first sign that my leg would recover is that after hours of trying, I managed to lift my left foot very slightly off the bed. Such euphoria!

Kevin hacked my room’s TV and put ROKU on it. At first, I thought great, I’ll catch up on House of Cards but I couldn’t understand it so I gave up on that. I think one of the cruelest parts of the stroke was how it affected my mind at first. Everything was unclear and confusing, loud sounds were unbearable. Life was like looking out a filthy windshield and trying to drive. Horrible.

And, of course, I was terrified at the dawning realization that I had completely lost the use of my left hand and arm, and had serious problems affecting the use of my leg, thus seriously affecting almost all the activities that make me me, first and foremost hiking, working on and  making my house and garden beautiful, and having dinner parties. I could no longer do English cryptic crossword puzzles. Which pre-stroke, I was doing on a daily basis. So frustrating. I couldn’t do my multiplication tables or remember my address or phone number. It was horrid and depressing and scary as hell.

My speech wasn’t badly affected, thank you stroke deities in the ether. I can’t imagine what it would be like not to be able to communicate. A lot of stroke victims forget how to talk or everything they say comes out as mush, this is called aphasia. Apparently, friends had massive difficulty understanding me at first and I had an hour a day of speech therapy MtF. I couldn’t even hold my head up off the pillow.

I also had OT 5 times a week, Occupational Therapy, daily living skills, like dressing and showering, cooking and cleaning. I’ve learned how to put on my bra with only one hand! it involves the use of an essential tool, a plastic closure clip for say a bag of potato chips. OTs also focuses on rehabilitation of the arm and hand.

Another problem I had was that I couldn’t swallow food or liquids, at all, I had minor surgery for the installation of a feeding tube. The wretched experience of “eating” this way led me later when I got home to get a Physician’s Order ( A  POLST), an order for paramedics that if I’m unable to eat or breathe, I cannot be intubated for any reason. Not another tube pour moi, if I am dropping the body, let it drop. I do not want to go thru that again. I’m so grateful Kevin understands this and concurs.

My beloved son, Jake, and daughter-in-law, Logan, were living in Antigua, Guatemala, where Kevin and I had been visiting them just 3 days before the stroke. Jake and Logan decided to move back to the Monterey area where Kevin and I are so fortunate to live. Jake grew up in Carmel Valley. He got a very good job in nearby Aptos where he and Logan found their first home to buy.

Welcome to the world of mortgages and the Joys of Home Ownership!!! It’s a lovely little house in a mountainous Redwood area of Aptos. Jake and Logan drove from Antigua to Maine, with their one-eyed rescued kitty, Meowsers.

Then they drove from Sag Harbor, New York with kitty in tow again to Monterey. Ever the great raconteur, Jake keeps us laughing with all his stories, what great material he’s amassed from these international road trips, a lot of customs, animals, bizarre experiences.

Later.

BTW don’t credit me for saying I was stroked. I got that from Ram Dass in the wonderful film “Fierce Grace” in which he describes what it was and is like to have been stroked.

Categories: Environment, Family, Friends, Hiking, Memories
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Alain left for a week of vacation and Anna told me that her much younger friend Ferdinand – he’s 80 –  was going to take her to the field. When I finally figured out that he was only dropping her off to work all alone, I decided to drag my sorry ass out of bed early (6:00 a.m.) and go pick her up myself and work with her. Kevin was gone for the entire month, so it would be just us two gals. It was so much fun! I got to her house around 6:15 and first we had a big breakfast of tartines (bread and jam) et beaucoup de café. Then we hopped in their camionette – which I got to drive – and headed off to le champ.

As soon as we arrived, she started giving me orders, and I followed them. I was, in effect, her slave. She was like a general commanding an army: she surveils the field,  sees what needs to be done, and she just gets to it. As she says, “Le travail est le travail.”

Our first day together began with irrigation. They have an ever-changing web of plastic pipes that connect to a big water pump. You can connect, disconnect, and reconnect the pipes, to direct them into to troughs they’ve dug that parallel the long rows of plants. The water shoots out the pipe and flows alongside the row. You can regulate how far the water goes by damming the trough with a couple shovel-fulls of dirt, or releasing a previous dam.

If she doesn’t have a sure-fire way of doing something, she improvises.  Anna wanted to irrigate four rows of sunflowers from the top of the rows all at once, but it was set up to irrigate one row at a time. She instructed me to connect what she called “a peasant’s pipe” – a soft rubber tube – to the hard plastic tube. Then she had me cut four holes out of the soft tube as it ran along the top of the rows, et voila! The new system worked perfectly. She cried out, “C’est mon chef-d’oeuvre!” (my masterpiece). I have never seen her so happy as she was that day in the field.

And I was pretty heureuse myself because my next “task” was to pick raspberries. A lot of them didn’t make it to the basket. J’adore les framboises!

Categories: Environment, Farming, Friends, Memories, Provence
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Alain called us yesterday to say he had a barquette of strawberries for us – the first of the season. I took a picture of what was left of them after breakfast today.

My son, Jake, gave me a book for Christmas last year – Bringing It to the Table, a compilation of essays by Wendall Berry. Berry has been writing fiction, poetry, and essays – as well as farming a hillside in his native Kentucky with his wife – for over forty years. I had never read his work before, but his ideas about food, its production, and its consumption seem to encapsulate everything I’ve been thinking and learning about food, especially since moving to France nearly five years ago. As I ate the delicious utterly fresh little strawberries this morning in a dish of yoghurt that Kevin had made, I thought of these words by Berry, “A significant part of the pleasure of eating is in one’s accurate consciousness of the lives and the world from which food comes.”

It is so true. With each bite of these strawberries, we are fully conscious that they were planted by Anna and Alain in their nearby field, were grown with no pesticides, and that we even had the chance to help them along ourselves by weeding and cleaning up the row of little plants. And that consciousness has definitely deepened our appreciation, enjoyment, and confidence in this bounty.

Ruth

Categories: Farming, Friends, Provence, Uncategorized
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“A calanque (from the Corsican word of preindoeuropean origin calanca (plural calanche) meaning ‘inlet’) is a geologic formation in the form of a deep valley with steep sides, typically of limestone, in part submerged by the sea. It can be considered a Mediterranean fjord … The best known examples of this formation can be found in the Massif des Calanques in the Bouche de Rhone département of France.”  Woohoo! The “Mouth of the Rhone” is the department we just happen to live in!

We went to Les Calanques a week ago today, and it is the perfect time of year to visit there – before the tourist mobs and the too-hot-for-hiking weather arrive. Last Friday was a magnificent Spring day – warm but not too warm, with a lovely breeze, clear blue skies, and wild flowers blooming wherever they could grab hold. You can think of Les Calanques as fingers outstretched from the “palm” of the mainland between Marseille and Cassis. When I was standing on one finger, I couldn’t wait to get to the next, but the hiking wasn’t easy. The entire area is extremely rocky, and you have to climb up then down each Calanque to reach the next. The views make the hiking easier, though, with the rock and the pines and, when you add the clear ink blue and turquoise water into your viewscape, well, it’s just one of the most beautiful places in the world. Plus, the hiking and rock climbing opportunities are boundless. We hiked there with our friends, Larry (American) and Martine (French), their niece Iris (French), and Karil (American). We picnicked at a refuge we reached on one of Les Calanques, and Larry told us that he had stayed there for a month in 1967. He had to hike out to Cassis once a week to get food and drinking water, and to shower in a local hotel, and during the days he would free climb the sheer rock cliffs. This, he said, was before it – and Cassis – became hot tourist spots. It must’ve been so wonderful back then, because it’s still pretty sweet now. (More photos here.)

Ruth

Categories: Environment, Friends, Hiking, Provence
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… I wonder where dem boidies is. Dem boids is on dem wings. Ain’t that absoid? Dem wings is on dem boids!  (Alas, just missed The Beat Generation.)

I’m a little slow, comme d’hab, with keeping up with the blog, but here goes. We went to work in Anna’s field – for the first time this year – on March 27th. I wanted to record a photo of the field with the date, to keep track of its changes over the growing season. We met Alain in the field – while Anna stayed at home and prepared a big lunch for her hungry laborers (Kevin, Alain, and me) – and we weeded and generally cleaned up a big long row of strawberries (fraises). After a long cold wet winter, it was nice to get back outside and, especially, on to the farm.

Ruth

Categories: Environment, Farming, Friends, Provence, Uncategorized
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We’ve become great friends with two remarkable “agriculteurs” – farmers – here in Barbentane. Anna is a Force of Nature – a tiny 87 year old ball of fire, originally from northern Italy, who’s lived in Barbentane for almost sixty years. Except to sleep (briefly) at night and to faire une sieste every afternoon, she never stops working. She rises between 4:30 and 5:00 every morning and starts cooking. First she bakes a cake to share with the endless stream of visiting friends and purchasers of her produce. Then she cooks vegetables that are past their prime for les ‘poo-lay’ (les poules, the chickens, which in French sounds like ‘pool’ but not with Anna’s undiminished adorable Italian accent). Before 7:00 am, she heads down to her large champ (field) near the Rhone, about a 5 minute’s drive away, with Alain. He’s originally from the area around Bourges in central France, in his 70’s, and lives in Anna’s big house on the floor above. Over the years, he’s worked many fields in Barbentane and has been working Anna’s ever since her husband, Romeo, died years ago.

Together they work the field every day of the year. In summertime, the air is cool and fresh when they arrive. By 10:00, though, the sun is starting to simmer and reaches a full boil shortly thereafter. I know this because this summer Kevin and I have been working in the field occasionally with Anna and Alain. The thought of Anna bending over and working away in the Provençal heat is worrying, so we wanted to help out with all the endless chores that must be done at this time of year. We love hanging out with these two, who don’t speak a word of English, and – being frustrated gardeners with no growing land of our own – we’re thrilled to be working a real patch of ground in this region, renowned  throughout millenia for producing exquisite fruits and vegetables.

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Categories: Environment, Friends, Provence
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