The Mission
Anna G. Joujan
© Copyright 2022 by Anna G. Joujan
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The Mission Anna G. Joujan © Copyright 2022 by Anna G. Joujan
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When we first moved in, our elderly neighbor brought me a housewarming gift. I was touched by her thoughtfulness, though I have yet to use the cheery, flower-patterned oven mitt (the burn scars on my hands tell on me for my haste in grabbing for the dish towel rather than taking the time to put on a mitt). Over the years, she took to summoning Peter for various needs around her property, as she lived alone. He was always, as he is, happy to help. Then things took a downturn, with dementia settling in on her. It began with a hollered accusation of letting our goats get into her yard. It was at first annoying, but harmless. But soon it became distressing for my kindhearted husband, when she began calling the police with accusations that he had been breaking in and stealing random items, such as her canning jars, or the sweet peppers she had left sitting on her countertop. The police would show up, do a perfunctory interrogation, and then apologize for having to go through the motions, bidding us a good day.
We began trying to steer as far away from her as we could – a rather difficult endeavor, considering her home is a stone’s throw away from our own. I grew resentful while Peter grew downtrodden.
New neighbors moved in across the street a couple years ago. They began gradually increasing their animal population. The large flock of chickens grew to around 30, though we lost count as they roamed freely around the neighborhood, depositing their “free range eggs” in all matter of unexpected little nooks and crannies (we collect a daily handful from the dilapidated doghouse that has sat vacant next to our porch since we moved in).
A few months ago, Peter discovered chickens in his garden, scratching up his new seedlings with proud clucks. He shooed them away, only to discover that it was their new happy place. This was not ok with Farmer Pete. He set up a fence. They weaseled their way through it. He thought harder.
And then the most unexpected thing happened. He was scooping poop in the goat shed when he heard a loud holler. “Peter!” He turned around. Again, “Peter!” He then recognized Virginia’s voice and began to look for a place to run and hide. Until he heard more hollering. “Peter! Chickens! Your garden!”
He looked at the garden and saw that, sure enough, the chickens were there, scratching away. He grabbed his rake and ran, leaping over the fence like a gazelle. The chickens fled.
He then glanced over at Virginia’s house to see her hanging over the rail of her porch, waving her fist in the air in a combination of rage and triumph— rage against the chickens and triumph at Peter’s victory. Virginia has found her new purpose in life.
It has now become routine to us, to hear a hollering guard-neighbor alerting us to danger. We are one in the mission.
Postscript:
Virginia recently died. So in sharing this story about her, my hope is that all of you who did not get the chance to know her can know that one like her existed in this world, and that she was able to end her 95 years of life still living on madly her own, independent and fiery, as she had lived the entirety of her life.
When
I arrived home
from work the evening before she died, she was sitting on her porch.
I caught her eye as I waved a friendly greeting. I’d like to think
that she recognized the fond farewell that I was unwittingly giving
her.
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