Sowing Roots In A Mobile Home

Mother Teresa is quoted as saying that “love begins at home, and it’s not how much we do… but how much love we put in that action.”  A home is a home as long as you add a little bit of love to it. And from the sounds of it, author Sherrida Woodley has put a lot of love into the mobile home she has lived in with her family since the early 90s near Spokane, Washington.

Originally a dilapidated 70 foot trailer she nicknamed, upon viewing, “Misfit Farms” because of its colony of feral cats living in the abandoned chicken coop, the trailer had a few benefits she could see right away. It was close to a wildlife refuge and the area was in the middle of an ancient lava flow. It also had a tip-out (room extension) already in place. Although Sherrida dreamed of a double-wide home, kids, pets, farm animals and wildlife eventually came to her home to roost and now there’s been too much history for her to give it up, not that she would want to.

Her love for her home grew slowly. The rugged land, with precarious snowfalls (that have shut her in) and strong winds (that have toppled trees), but the nature is pristine. “It’s the wildness of it all,” that she loves most about her home. She can hear the birds chirping and singing daily. She can see moose and deer when she goes for a walk. One year, a squirrel stockpiled an abundance of pine cones in her back shed. When she opened the door, she found a neatly stacked and organized mountain of cones. It’s the little things that she sees in and around her home that she finds so absorbing and fulfilling. By mid-summer the outdoors becomes a kaleidoscope of colours from all the flowers. The ruggedness becomes paradise and her love.

There has been a lot of love over the years in the home that Sherrida found. Not just with her children and husband, but a neighbourhood peacock once even tried to court one of her hens. She watched as the peacock shimmered his tail feathers at the little red hen. But her hen was far too solitary, and the peacock’s love remained unrequited. Like the peacock story, there’s an underside to all this love, as there’s been loss in her home. Sherrida’s daughter died of cancer in 2010. But love is, Sherrida states, “one of the hardest critics and deepest, deepest motivators. Thank goodness for the human (and animal) heart.”

Even through her loss, Sherrida believes her home offers a magical sense of protection to her and her family. Their survival within the ruggedness of the outdoor atmosphere leads her to believe, half-jokingly, in the fairy-tale of the ’Nisses’, little beings that help to determine your fate in the area in which you reside. “Do no harm,” is the mantra and one Sherrida has followed for her love. She has never spent her time trying to tame the wilderness she sees before her. She lets it be. And in return, her home has held-up well over the years. Not one leak. Not one tree has crashed down on top of her family. The love of her home and area has given back.

Sherrida Woodley is the author of Quick Fall of Light.

 

When A Blizzard In Canada Is A Good Thing

Before Subanan became a hypnotherapist in Toronto and learned to help others with their addiction, he loved two dogs.

The first dog, Bobby, was his constant companion while a kid in Brunei. Although Subanan had a sister, Bobby was born in the same year as him and so they grew up together. But at the age of seven, opportunity struck for his parents and the family prepared to move to Canada and Bobby had to be left behind. Subanan begged and protested, but he still found himself alone, in Canada, without his best friend.  He was devastated by the loss.

As a child, not understanding circumstances and reality, he harboured animosity and lacked trust for his parents for many years because of his loss, which he held them responsible for. And by the age of 18, Subanan reluctantly admits, he was no angel. Blinded to his parents love, he felt he had to leave home. He had got his own place, albeit in government supplied housing. And he was headed down the path he didn’t want to be on. He needed to be loved unconditionally. Then he found himself a dog. And in so doing, loved something else unconditionally.

“This one’s not going to live much longer. He’s the runt and he’s sickly. We were going to put him down, but he seems to be taking a turn for the better,” the breeder told Subanan when he showed up. His cousin and him had been searching for dogs that matched the vision of what Subanan wanted.

The puppy was small and definitely malnourished; all skin and bones. Although he was an American Bulldog, his ears pointed up rather than flopping down.

“I’ll take him,” Subanan said, guaranteeing to the breeder that he was now responsible for the puppy. Discounted by the breeder for his congenial defects, Subanan could afford him. He named the puppy Blizzard because of his all white body and brown tail.

Subanan nurtured Blizzard. He researched how to heal him. He fed him a raw food diet, plus milk and eggs. At first, Blizzard was reluctant to eat—so bullied by his brothers and sisters as a puppy. But, soon he got the hang of it. And now, at the age of 11, Blizzard is far from his sickly youth, although he still has one vestige of his congenial issues: he runs sideways.

But, Blizzard has given Subanan more than the gift of laughter because of his puppy antics: he gave Subanan redemption. Without Blizzard there would be no Subanan now.  Getting a puppy made Subanan see that there was value in his own life because something depended on him to live. By connecting with another life, he could start to be good to his own. Subanan changed and began to live with respect for himself and respect for other beings, and thus strengthening his relationship with his own family.

For having done so much for him, what does Blizzard want in return? A belly rub is all he ever asks for. And apparently, Subanan is good at that too!

My Mother Saved My Life

My mother saved my life.

The first time, when I was just a baby. I had been on this earth for barely a few weeks. Those weeks had been spent eating, sleeping and well, throwing up. My parents took me to doctors but no one could figure out why I wasn’t holding my food down. I threw up on my mother a lot. She spent an inordinate amount of time those first few weeks changing her clothes, deodorant, and shampoo, as they were so worried that I might be allergic to something my mother was wearing. They tested my mother. I never seemed to throw up on anyone but her. It was 1973 and it didn’t occur to the doctors, nor my father, that the reason may be because she was the one who 99% of the time was taking care of me (along with my two older brothers, of course).

My mother brought me to her friend’s house. Her friend took one look at me and said; “that baby is grey. There’s something wrong.” I had kept loosing weight since being born. Luckily, I spent most of my days and nights sleeping (I never cried), so hadn’t burned up much energy those first few weeks. As my mother would find out later that day, I had barely digested anything since I had been alive.

My mother rushed me to the hospital in, well, let’s just say what I can only imagine to be–a high-strung panic. Her child was dying on her, and her friend was the only one who saw what she saw. Up until then, everyone blamed my mother for me throwing up all the time because as far as they were concerned there was nothing wrong with me. She might have screamed at the doctors and nurses who were there. But no one had been listening to her the past few weeks and she was now convinced her child was dying. You’d have probably screamed too.

You see, my mother had been trained as an Xray Technologist. Not a nurse, but quite close. So she was familiar with a lot of diseases. She told them that she thought I might have Pyloric Stenosis. But at the time, they didn’t agree with her as the disease is most commonly found in males, moreover, it actually affects first born males four times as often. These babies also tend to be colic and hungry.

I was the third born female and I slept most of my days and nights away.

My mother will never forget the nurse who told her that; “we’re taking her away from you because you can no longer handle your child.”

My mother left the hospital. They called her a few hours later to say that they had run some tests. It turned out that I did have Pyloric Stenosis. The went on to say that they had already booked me into the children’s hospital for immediate surgery or else I would die. They asked if my parents would like to take me over to the hospital, or have an ambulance bring me. They picked me and my IV up in the middle of a December snowstorm. My mother remembers how tiny I looked and that there were white patches, from the hospital, all over my body.

While I was growing up, I heard my mother repeat this story all the time. Especially when I wore a bikini and people asked what my scar is from. My father used to tell me after I had a row with my mother and I went to him mad at her; “You’re mother saved your life, I believed the doctors and they were wrong. Don’t ever forget, she saved your life.”

This is but one of the reasons I love my mother. Although we’ve had our differences, not once did she ever expect anything more from me towards her because she saved me life. She’ll never win an award for it, but she will always have my undying gratitude.