Twisted ankle in a hole. For millionth time. Looking out when I should a been looking down. I lay there awhile waiting for the endorphins to kick in. Then I got up and attempted to walk it off. The ankle wasn’t what I needed them to kick in for. I was headed downhill on a patch of inch and a half limestone gravel. I tried to tuck and roll. The hole was a spin out spot in the gravel. I think. I don’t know it’s filled back in now. I was done before the endorphins kicked all the way in. Once they had I headed on down to the creek to rotate the pastures. The herd was getting antsy. I was back up to the house before the endorphins started wearing off. And the blood stopped flowing from the two biggest gashes on my left arm. It was evening climbing into bed before I noticed the hip injury. A nice deep bruise about the size of a gravel stone. Sticks and stones will hurt your bones if you fall on them.
As a farmer I think of fall application of anhydrous ammonia when I read my title for this post. Or some N-P-K blend worked into the soil for next years small grains crop. But as a blogger It’s a continuation of Ns started with Guard N. I had mentioned it before on the old CoCreator’s Blog on which I cut my internet teeth. But maybe not in exactly the same manner as this time. Fallen (Fall N) is what we are. Fall N is who we are. If not yet eventually. For it’s always an event when we fall. After our first few steps as a child. After our last few steps as an ancient. Spread the word. Gather the troops. We may have to help them with the last six feet. Never a pleasant task but always a good idea. With any luck at all you’ll only be forced to go through it once per corpse. Such a cold uncaring word corpse. But such it is once essentless. It’s just a cold hard corpse. As my son used to say. “It’s just a ride.”
My mother’s ride took a tumble a month or so ago. She fractured too many bones to stay home and heal. But she’s bouncing back strong and I’m sure she’s going to be back home again. It’s her second fall this year. She fared much better than her brother’s wife who fell the same day. Being my godmother I felt obligated to go to her wake. Even if I wasn’t ready. I haven’t been able to go to a funeral since my son “fell” four years ago this week. I went to help pray her through but don’t think I offered one prayer. Once the eyes opened up and rained I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. All it took was one look at her corpse. Like my son she looked so much like herself. It wasn’t that way for Dad. He looked like someone else. He fell five years ago this week in his hospital room. He smashed his head and we thought he was getting better by that Christmas. But by St. Patty’s day we were having his funeral. Park N his ride.