We Struggle Together
Late September, 2022
This past weekend, we officially opened Helping Friendly Farm to six families with autistic children. It was magical! The smiles, laughter, and wonderment were contagious. The weather was beautiful, the goats were well behaved sweethearts, and the feedback was amazing enough to give me chills.
Later that day when my husband and I sat down to recap the day’s events, I asked him if he remembered the first time I told him that I wanted to open a therapeutic farm. His memory was hazy, so I reminded him that it was in the airport on the way home to California in 2018. We were waiting at the gate, discussing whether or not we should move back East, when I told him about my plan for a farm with goats, gardens, and a sensory barn. He was skeptical, as I had zero experience running a business. He told me that if I was really serious, I should write a sample press release to bring the idea to life. I spent a good portion of the six hour plane ride hashing out what I would want a reporter to say about my fictional farm. In the three plus years that followed, I learned to write a business plan, create a budget, make a pitch deck, form an executive summary, incorporate, become a 501(c)(3), and fundraise. But, it all started with that press release on the plane ride.
As we reminisced about HFF origins, we wondered about what that old press release said. How on-point was I four years later, now that we had opened? When I ran a search on my phone under “press release,” I didn’t find anything in my notes; instead, I found it in my sent emails. The subject read: My fake press release for the business I want to start. The recipient wasn’t my husband. When I saw to whom I had sent the email, my heart both soared and dropped. I had sent it to our dear friend, Mike. Mike, or Hippie, as we called him, was my husband’s friend from boarding school. The moment I met him twenty-five years ago, we became instant buddies. He was one of my favorite people. I loved going to concerts with him and we saw upwards of 100 shows together. He loved our kids, our dogs, our family dinners. He’d laugh and call us “the Todd and Jess Show” whenever he’d notice my husband and me getting on each other’s nerves (I feel it’s important to note that he always took my side…) He had the biggest smile, a caring heart, and dirty fingernails. Mike was the only person we knew who lived on an actual commune. When we visited him there, we ran with wild boar, ate under the stars, swam in ponds, and made fires to heat bath water. He was pragmatic and knew a lot about a lot, especially agriculture and construction. Of course I had written to Mike.
From the very beginning, Mike was involved with Helping Friendly Farm. It was he who helped me with the first iteration of the budget, he who conspired with me to convince my husband that the property on Creamery Road was perfect for us. Mike flew to New Hope for our home inspection and then wired some of our electric after we moved. He worked with our arborist to plan the orchard we planted. He was one of my biggest cheerleaders.
Six months after we moved to New Hope, the world shut down with COVID. A few months later, we received a call that Mike had died. Struggling with depression and alcohol during quarantine, he lost a battle we didn’t know he was fighting. He didn’t intentionally end his life, but that was of little solace to those of us who loved him. We were devastated. How could he be gone? How did we not know he was fighting demons?
That first six months of COVID was rough for everyone, some more than others. Online school was not easy and social connections suffered. A friend’s mother died from COVID. Others we knew were hospitalized. Our kids were infected at some point early on, battling brain inflammation and miserable treatments as a result. So why hadn’t I reached out to Mike knowing he lived alone? Why couldn’t we commiserate? I can beat myself up about this forever, but instead I choose to learn from it. Now, when I feel down, I try to think, “Who else feels badly at this moment? I am not the only one.” If I happen to think of someone, I call and/or text them. We are social creatures. We should struggle together.
Mike’s mom came to visit us the year after he died and gave us some of his ashes. A few weeks ago, we planted two apple trees and sprinkled his ashes deep in the holes we dug. They reside on the farm in “Mike’s Grove” and will nourish people with fruit long after we are gone. So, Hippie is with us. He lives on through trees, through songs, through long forgotten emails.
I was stricken when seeing Mike’s name on the receiving end of that email. It reminded me of how we never really know what someone is going through at any given time. All we can do is ask. The families who visited Helping Friendly Farm this past week were full of joy as they connected with the environment, the animals, and to each other. That doesn’t take away from any of their days and nights that are filled with worry or despair. It just makes the good times sweeter. It is awesome in the truest sense of the word to see HFF in action, connecting people and bringing happiness to families. Mike would be so proud.