The past few weeks have been a blitz of activity.  Two very special people Jerry and I met on our travels to professional conferences in California and Canada came to visit.  Both brought hearts brimming with love and concern for our Ranchers, and heads simply bursting with ideas.

A week ago this evening, Daniela and her friend Nora arrived.  Daniela is a geriatric social worker in Oregon and we met her, of all places, on a ferry from Seattle to Vancouver.

Daniela has a son with autism, so we had things to talk about right away.  One thing led to another and she told me of her background in Czech and Polish folk art, most especially the elaborate wax-resist eggs that are famous around the world. 

Not leaving anything to chance, Daniela brought all her supplies, from the dye to the eggs to the wheat for weaving and her paper cut-out examples--and not forgetting the vinegar, the wax, the styli--all in a large suitcase!

On Friday we spent a day with our Ranchers exploring these beautiful crafts.  Rebekah exclaimed as she drew on her first egg with the wax stylus, "I'm making an egg!  I'm making an egg!" 

Rebekah's first egg

When she saw the magic unfold as the wax was melted off and the colors she'd laid down appeared, she shouted for joy.  "I want to do another one!"

All in all, the workshop was a great success, and about half the Ranchers participated.

Then this week on Tuesday, Cantor Steve arrived from southern Cal.  We'd met at the FReD Conference of parents wanting to build a farm or Ranch for their children with autism.  Cantor Steve believes that spirituality is the neglected step-child when it comes to the disability community.

"I can't believe anyone in the world would be happy with the idea that everybody and everything they do comes at you with the intent of fixing what's wrong with you!  How would we like that?  Why don't we work with their interests and talents?"

As a result, Cantor Steve has undertaken to prepare young men for their bar mitzvah ceremony.  Ungovernable boys have settled down under his tutelage and learned the tenets of their faith.

"One boy," he said, "had some fairly disturbing ideas he would talk about.  We would discuss how the things he said he wanted to do did not fit with the actions of a good Jewish man, that they are things that are against our rules.  Over the course of our work together, he completely reversed his focus.  He became very interested in asserting his rightful place in his faith community."

As one young man's mother said, "Our son will always have the day of his bar mitzvah to remember.  We couldn't believe the change in him, what he accomplished, how Cantor Steve got him to settle down and do the work."

So, naturally I wanted to take advantage of Cantor's presence, and invited him to help with Bible study this morning.  We've taken on the Ten Commandments, or as we refer to them, the "Ten Rules for Living."  Cantor Steve and I had been talking about the parting of the Red Sea, and he'd told me about the midrash explanation that a man named Nachshon, with the pursuing hordes of Pharoah's army approaching from behind, and facing the Red Sea in front, stepped out in faith into the water.

Cantor Steve tells the story of Nachson

As Nachshon advanced into the sea, the water level rose to his waist, then to his shoulders, and finally covered his face and head.  At that point God ordered the waters to part, responding to Nachson's faith, and all the people followed.

Sorry, Moses.

Praying for Joys and Concerns

During Bible study we talked, had a prayer circle, sang songs, and acted out Nachshon's courageous act.  As Cantor and I reported to Jerry later, it was a regular Texas country interfaith revival!  All that was missing was the tent.

As to why Cantor Steve came to visit in the first place, that's easy.  He envisions helping parents of kids with special needs, like us, build that home in the garden like Down Home Ranch.

Like Nachshon, he's prepared to take that leap of faith, follow his dream, and hope the money will follow.  He's divested himself of home and possessions, and will soon move onto borrowed land in a modest mobile home.

Hmmmm, something about that story reminds me of a couple with a wee girl with Down syndrome, who moved into a little mobile home in the middle of nowhere and named it "The Mustard Seed."

And lived happily ever after.

Kevin Patrick Tracy, 1949-2011

Kevin Patrick Tracy was born January 14, 1949 in Freeport, IL.  His father's first cousin was the famed actor Spencer Tracy who was an enduring and caring presence in the family’s life.

Kevin died December 1, 2011, following a grueling four-month battle for his life. His sister Colleen fought right along beside him through it all.

I first met Kevin when he worked at the ARC of Texas, coordinating the Advocates Program for adults with mental disabilities served by the ARC.  Kevin organized conferences and trainings statewide, published a newsletter that went out to people with intellectual disabilities all over the state, and was widely recognized for his dedication to his work.

Jerry was working under the auspices of the ARC in the early 90s, administering a grant project and got to know Kevin as a colleague.

The day before Thanksgiving of ‘92, as Jerry was closing his office to come home for the four-day break, he asked Kevin casually what his plans were for Thanksgiving. Kevin said he figured he’d pick up something at the grocery store and watch the games on TV. Jerry insisted he join us in our little mobile home at the Ranch (actually at that point it was the Ranch.)

Kevin showed up a few hours before dinner, thoughtful gift in hand. I made sure he had a nice take-away meal from the leftovers and he left before the sun went down.

He returned for Christmas, and Easter, and then we all began to say, “Kevin, we can’t eat turkey without you.”

Kevin evidenced a baffling disability at an early age, serious enough that he was placed in St. Colletta’s School for Exceptional Children, which is where Rosemary Kennedy lived, and one of the most respected options for children and young adults with intellectual disabilities at the time. Cousin Spence was instrumental in making this happen.

As for the nature of the disability, I myself quickly diagnosed Asperger’s syndrome, or what we nowadays refer to as high-functioning autism, or autism spectrum.

Whatever, Kevin was far more than a diagnosis.  He was bright, verbal, and read novels, biographies and histories avidly. For reasons we never quite figured out, he was a great fan of the British royal family, and could do a deadpan imitation of Elizabeth II that was “spot on,” as they say.

In fact, since we had no family in common, the royal family became our own surrogate collection of wayward relatives, about whom we gossiped and clucked all during the 90s, as the House of Windsor provided endless fodder.  I recall that Kevin loved to quote QE II's summation of one year as her annus horribilus.

After leaving St. Coletta’s, Kevin relocated to Arizona where he took a position running the state Advocates program. From there he came to Austin and continued his work.

During our holidays we were occasionally joined by “The Fair Colleen,” Kevin’s sister, who lives in Florida, and our circle was expanded. This was especially comforting in the odd years of Christmas, when our daughters and families spend Christmas with their in-laws.

Once while working for the Texas ARC, Kevin and Jerry attended a conference in Buffalo, New York. After hours they were driving around and discovered that a the presentation of Handel’s Messiah would be performed that evening at the cathedral, featuring boy sopranos from King’s College, Oxford, which they attended and talked about for weeks to come.

Kevin’s love for the Catholic Church was profound and genuine and when Jerry converted to Catholicism in the mid-90s Kevin became his sponsor.  He faithfully showed up for the weekly “scrutinies” and proudly stood with his hand on Jerry's shoulder as he was received into the Church.  Likewise Kevin stood as witness as we were married in the church some weeks later.

Kevin rather unkindly contrasted his church’s choir (St. Louis, Austin) with our own little effort, which I headed up as best I could (Sacred Heart, Elgin). He was very proud of his church, and happy when we made it ours as well.

In due time, Kevin decided to leave the ARC, and went to work for Travis County MHMR. Unfortunately, the work climate there was quite different from the supportive environment of the ARC.

Kevin had been long plagued with asthma, complicated by stress and anxiety, which he endured in abundance while working at the agency, and he suffered financial set-backs during this time which didn’t help. Finally, he left his position there for health reasons.

In the years following, Kevin's life became fraught with financial uncertainty and employment difficulties.  We and other old friends tried to help out, but the situation was tricky. Kevin was his own man, and our advice was neither entirely welcome nor often heeded. His physical difficulties by now included diabetes. A crushing blow came when he lost his house and he and housemate Bobby had to move to an apartment.

It was always apparent that Kevin’s disability played a part in his difficulties in life, but it was less often easy to see exactly how.  Yes, he was taken advantage of in ways that Jerry and I would have seen coming a mile away. There was a lack of guile in him that made it hard for him to believe that someone seemingly wanting to befriend him could have less than noble intentions.

The last few times we invited Kevin to a holiday dinner, he failed to come. He was working at Wal-Mart by this time, and sometimes scheduled to work on the holiday in question.  Other times he physically was just not up to it.

Early last August I got a call.

“I’m in the hospital,” he croaked.

“How come you didn’t tell me!?” I asked him.

“I’m telling you now,” he said.

Next day I went to see him, and was horrified. He couldn’t talk, looked dreadful, and had no patience with my usual joking inquiries about the royal family (though he did agree to take The King’s Speech DVD I’d brought).

I asked him if he wanted me to pray, and he nodded yes. I recited the 23rd Psalm, always a comfort to me, and prayed for his recovery. He squeezed my hand.

Still, I went home and told Jerry, “He’s not going to make it.”

Within hours Kevin was taken to ICU, in septic shock. Colleen arrived from Florida. From that time on it has been an unending trial. First his kidneys failed, then he had to go on a ventilator. By the third septic shock he had lost the use of his arms and legs.

If I could wish these past four months away, especially considering it all ended in Kevin’s death anyway, I have to think carefully about whether I really would.

Yes, he suffered so. Why couldn’t he have gone quickly?  But there is more to the story than that.

For one thing, I witnessed a sister’s love so deep and unshakeable it fair took my breath away. Day after day, Colleen was there for Kevin, immersed in the daily detail of his incredible struggle to live.

Colleen and I have become close, as she has become close to other friends of Kevin. She has gotten to know her brother better through the friends he has left behind, and we have been privileged to join her for part of this hard journey.

I’m never comfortable attributing the way things work out to any plan of God. I rather share Woody Allen’s feeling that if I don’t know how the can opener works, what can I know about God?

Still, we have our marching orders.  Thy kingdom come, thy will be done.

I think most of us who knew Kevin probably feel we didn’t do enough for him. In many ways, he was a better friend to us than we turned out being to him.  Now we best honor his life by caring for those he cared for.

One of the things Kevin taught me is that we are happier once we simply accept what others have to give and we relinquish our expectations or demands that they provide us what we want.

So we gather our memories together, and remember Kevin as he was in all his life, not just the hard last months. He lived his life on this earth, and we walked a while with him on the journey.

Now his journey has ended, and we happily find new people on our path, so we join hands and, in the words of King George VI of England, “Keep calm, and carry on” until such time comes, as it will, when our own journeys end.

Kevin would surely approve.

Last night

The Village at Twilight

This week was a hard week.

Our cook quit abruptly a few weeks ago, and we figured out that our Pavilion kitchen had been suffering from...shall we say, a lack of stewardship...for some time, so I'm handling all the food ordering, shopping, menu creating, and consequent flack-catching for the Ranch for the next several weeks. 

Marci has mostly been wrangling the kitchen crew, and I've been trying to use up inventory (what, cod again!?) prior to getting things under a little more coherent management.

The work is hard--not just for a 70-year old, but for anybody--and the days are long!  Most nights I go to bed with a sore back and wake up long before dawn.  We're talking 13-hour days here.

Yesterday was particularly tough, since we had to get ready for a retreat group coming in, and the Ranchers were going to go to Special Olympics swimming competitions today, so I stayed late making sandwiches and getting the lunch ready for the Saturday outing.

Then I mopped the floor six times in a row until I could finally get semi-clear rinse water.  The San Jose people showed up, and Jerry and I raced around getting the lights on and such.

People often say to me, "Oh my gosh, you must have such a sense of pride and fulfillment whenever you look around this place."

The truth is just the opposite.

Wherever I look I see things that need fixing, watering, painting, finishing, cleaning...

It reminds me of funeral services I've attended for children with special needs, and I've attended more than a few.

The moms stand brokenhearted before the assembly and confess that they never, ever, not for one day, felt they ever did enough for their child with disabilities.

However much they did, and they performed heroic feats, year after year, after year...still, they were always exhorting themselves to do more.  Surely one more half hour of speech therapy per week, one more enrichment class, one more hour of homework supervision and help would make all the difference in their child's life.

But after all was said and done, the kid still had Down syndrome, and given basically decent parenting, one turned out much like another.

Which is a good thing.

Because recent studies indicate that families with children with Down syndrome are among the happiest familiest around--even laying the disability issue aside.  That's because our kids are generally fun-loving and emotionally generous (to put it mildly).

And what do they NOT do?  Well, when they consider the world, they tend not to fixate on what needs fixing, cleaning, watering, or finishing.  They take the world on its own terms and, when in doubt, have a party!

None of which has anything to do with what happened last night, which was that Jerry and I, tearing around fixing this and adjusting that, stopped for a breathtaking moment and looked around the Ranch and really saw it the way it deserves to be seen.

The sun was well below the horizon.  The sky was a dusk rose in the west, and the barn caught the last rays of light.

The lanterns had come on, and the yellow light shone from the houses in the Village.

The Pavilion shone forth, and inside we could see the young Hispanic adults on retreat assembled in fellowship.

And I had a deep, welcome sense for just a few minutes that all the striving, all the worry, all the endless toil over the past 20 years has been worth it after all.

It was a blessed moment, and I know it will soon pass, but it lingers with me today.

And I am grateful beyond measure.

No problem, really!

Here we are in San Antonio at the National Down Syndrome Congress Annual Convention being held at the J.W. Marriott Hill Country Resort. 

Jerry and I came down Wednesday, the staff arrived Thursday, we all went to pre-conference sessions yesterday, and Gena and Travis brought the Ranchers down yesterday afternoon in the bus.

What a change from last year, when we met at Disney World and were dropped off in the pitch dark in a veritable maze of unconnected buildings, amongst which were scattered our rooms.  In retrospect, we feel like we spent most of the conference waiting for a bus, sitting on a bus, or walking two miles from the bus to where we needed to go.

Here...wow!  All connected, all gorgeous, all accommodating, with a water park on site.  There's no crowding, smashed together feeling (except for last night at the Just Dance function, and that's how it was supposed to be).

And whenever I thank someone the heavens open, rays of sunshine beam down, and I hear these beautiful words, "It's my pleasure!"

Jerry and I noticed it right away, the glorious absence of the obnoxious phrase that has replaced "You're welcome," namely--NO PROBLEM, DUDE!"

OK, so you don't really hear the "dude" part, but you hear it in your head, or at least I do.  Jars me every time.  I thank you for something you did for me, even if it was your job, and you dismiss it with "no problem."  Like I thought it was a problem to begin with, which I didn't.

Guess I've turned into an old grammar crank but looks like Mr. J. W. Marriott is one, too, because I have not heard one "no problem" from any of the staff since I got here.

Jerry got to play the Oaks course, from which he returned happy if a bit crispy from the 105 high on Thursday. 

Casey, Lori, Calvin and I attended Dr. Chicoine and Dr. McGuire's workshop on health and aging in adults with Down syndrome yesterday.  We came away inspired, with a thousand ideas for new ways to help our Ranchers be successful in their lives while reducing situations that cause them needless stress and anxiety.  Most all the news from this workshop was good, except for one, namely that it really does seem that people with Down syndrome age more quickly than the normal population, that aging accellerates once they hit their 30s.

Later, as Casey and I waited out in front of the hotel for the bus to arrive with our gang we got to talking about the Ranchers, and how we miss them when we're away from them.  I ventured that I couldn't really imagine Casey functioning as a case manager with any other group of people.  She laughed and said that when she'd gone to "case manager" school all the case managers there wanted to be teachers and couldn't understand why she, a teacher, wanted to become a case manager.

"Of course the truth is, I only wanted to be a case manager for Down Home Ranch in the first place," she said.

I had asked Dr. McGuire, on behalf of us older parents who worry about the effect of our death on our kids with Down syndrome, if he thought intentionally making a video of all our family now while we're still functional and happy was a good idea, something that could be of comfort when we were gone.  Casey and I were talking about that, too, as we waited for the bus.

"The truth is," she said, "My hope is to hang in with this bunch as we all age together and then we'll all go together.  That's what I want."

Well, as my grandmother used to say, "Man proposes and God disposes."  Our little community will play out in ways we can't imagine. 

Meanwhile, we'll just dance.

Goodbye (for now) to Ranch Camp

Today is the last day of Ranch Camp.

Fifty-six teenage campers are packing to go home, most of them worn out from a full week of swimming, kayaking, helping in the barn and gardens, blistering heat, and what might well be the very best "End-of-Camp Dance" party ever last night.

Even more worn out are Marci (Camp Director), Robert (Camp Manager), Keith (Camp Chef), and the counselors and CITs who made it all possible.  It's always tough to pull together enough good staff to make it through the summer, but we were blessed to do it.

They're all looking forward to some R&R before moving on from Ranch Camp 2011.  But they're also kind of sad now that it's all done. 

But, as Marci said, "I've really missed our Ranchers during camp."

Not that they weren't around.  The Ranchers helped out at camp, and in addition kept on working their jobs while camp was going on, but there's no getting around the fact that their normal routines were seriously disrupted for the seven weeks that Ranch Camp took over the Ranch.

We'll talk about that as we debrief from camp next week, but for now we're just saying Thank you Marci and Robert, and Counselors, Wranglers, Lifeguards, Ranchers, Cooks, CITs, and all the Down Home Staff staff for a job well done!

You are all treasures and the people who make Down Home Ranch what it is.

It's been amazing.

Valentine Day

Kelly and Sterling on Valentine's Day

About a month ago Jerry told me he'd ordered tickets to the Valentine's Day Willie Nelson concert at the new Austin City Limits in the new W Hotel in downtown Austin.

Jerry knows I'm not a great fan of such, but even I agreed we'd best go see Willie while we still can, before he or one of us shuffles off the mortal coil.  So far so good.

But then the week before Valentine's Day, Kelly asked me about having a "Valentine's Double Date."  She was crushed when I told her we had plans.  You see, about seven years ago or so we took her and the boyfriend Sterling out on Valentine's Day, and as every parent of a kid with Down syndrome should understand by now, having done something once and liked it means you are now committed to a tradition that stretches to infinity and beyond.

So I asked Jer how about taking them out Sunday evening for dinner.  I called Martha House to see a) if they were available and b) if they wanted to go.

Is the Pope Catholic!?  Of course they wanted to go, and Sunday was even way better, it turned out, because the real Valentine's Day fell on Monday this year, and everybody knows Monday is Walmart Day, and you don't mess with Walmart Day.

When we went to pick Sterling up at the Spur, his parents were just finishing installing his new TV.  We chatted a while and then headed to Elgin to a Mexican restaurant.  Kelly and Sterling were their ususal irrepressible selves, goofing off and turning serious by turns.

Halfway to Elgin Kelly said, "We're almost done with the question book, Mom."  She was referring to 101 Questions to Ask Yourself Before Becoming Engaged, which she and Sterling have been working through with Casey the case manager and, on occasion, Casey's patient prince of a husband, Matt.

Kelly is in a fever to get married.  Sterling is rarin' to go some days but on others says, "I'm not ready yet."  Time will tell. 

After we'd dropped them off, Jerry and I reminisced about that first Valentine's Day double date.

Sterling at the time was still living at home with his mom and brothers in a rural area outside Elgin.  He and Kelly were in what I called the "Bambi-Filene" stage.  They'd been friends since childhood, and had always had a great time playing together.  Then adolescence came along and they weren't sure what to do with each other.  They got awkward and Kelly had no idea how to relate to Sterling anymore.  Sometimes she would not even look at him.

But later, when Sterling came to work in the day program of the Ranch following his graduation, their relationship cemented as they were able to spend time together on a daily basis. 

They broke up once, which caused a seismic wave to roll through all the counselors from camp who knew them, one of whom emailed in anguish, "I can't live in a universe where Kelly and Sterling aren't together!"

It didn't last long.

Last night they were discussing being together on the work team with Miss Naomi.  "We are professionals," said Kelly.  "No kissing until after five o'clock."

"That's right," chimed in Sterling.  "We kiss after five o'clock."

Sterling was happy to get back to his new TV and had plans for writing about our evening together.  Kelly was happy to get back to Martha House.  As we dropped her off, she turned to me and said, "Thanks for doing this, Mom."

"My pleasure, daughter," I said.  "I love you."

And I do.

Once upon a time....

Stephen Covey says everything that comes to be is created twice--first in the imagination and then in the material world.

So at Staff Meeting yesterday morning Jerry showed everyone a little pamphlet he and I made up and sent out way back in 1989.  In it we described the Ranch, years before it would be built, but already real and alive in our imagination.

Down Home Ranch was described as if it had already come to be, long before we had even seen the land where it would come to be or met the multitude of people who would help us bring it into being.

Some things didn't turn out exactly the same.  The Ranch is on 340 acres instead of 125.  The housing pattern is different, and there are only 35 of us living on the Ranch as opposed to the 85 we envisioned.

But what strikes everyone is how close the heart of the dream described in that pamphlet from 21 years ago is to the reality that is the Ranch today.

It spoke of a community where people with Down syndrome can live with dignity, where they can perform real work that matters, where they can explore their spiritual relationships and continue lifelong education in the midst of a loving community consisting of other people who want to do the same.  Above all, it would be a community of encouragement and a place to forge true, enduring friendships that can last a lifetime.

We envisioned homes, a bakery, a woodshop, gardens, greenhouses, crafts, stables and barns, horses, cattle, chickens, dogs and cats and even a swimming pool.

Nobody is as astonished as Jerry and I when we walk out in the morning and look around and--there it is!  People say, "Oh, you must be so proud," but nothing could be further from the truth. 

Far from proud, we feel humble and somewhat stunned.  We look back and marvel at the goodness of literally thousands of people, living and dead, who provided the means to build this place, who serve as staff, who volunteer, and who serve on our board.  We also realize that we have been phenomenally lucky in ways it has taken years to recognize.

"Down Home Ranch was first and foremost a place for persons with Down syndrome to live and to work, to love and be loved.  To laugh, to cry, to grieve, to labor, to play, to sing and dance.  Others with physical or mental differences and challenges also became "Ranchers."  The Ranch depended upon these Ranchers, and they upon DHR.  All Ranchers, as well as DHR staff, shared in the successes and failures of the Ranch."

That was the dream.  Now we daily live the reality.

I left the staff meeting and walked out into the cool morning.  Christopher, whom we've known since he was a toddler and who has lived at the Ranch for several years, had settled himself down next to Lady, our old fat black lab.  Christopher was earnestly singing "The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow" to Lady, who looked soulfully into Christopher's face as he sang and gestured.

I can't think of a better way to start the day.

Taming the wild mustang...grapes, that is

Wolf Meadow

John Stewart, of Kingston Trio fame, wrote a song entitled "July, You're a Woman" that evokes the essence of the month of July, when the trees and shrubs are leafed out and full, the heat has settled in for the duration, and the cicadas and locusts sing night and day. 

This summer we had good rains all through June, so the Ranch is green and the trees in the pecan bottoms are heavy with mustang grape vines and fruit.

Sterling & Charles

Brian declared last evening to be community grape-picking time, so after supper we gathered at the Pavilion and headed down to the bottoms.  The past year has been so rainy, turning the bottoms into a mire, that I had not been down for months.  At the first turn we sank into the cool air that collects among the gigantic native pecans along Yegua creek.

The smell is wet and sweet, like no other place on the Ranch.

Picking in evening light

The evening light slanted through the trees, even though it was only about 7:15, a reminder of how quickly the light changes after the solstice!

Brian had scouted out the locations where the berries were (and the poison ivy wasn't) and stationed our pickers accordingly.  Charles, Diana, Brent, Jerry, and Michael took one locale, and Phil, John, Sterling, Sandy, Natalie, Alan, Julia, and Kara took another.

We laughed about the I Love Lucy episode when Lucy participates in an Italian grape-stomping, with predictable results.  Jerry and Charles got into matters spiritual and we all agreed that next spring we will again have a proper seder meal.

Natalie's proud of her harvest

Phil spent his time perched on a ladder throwing clusters down below, where others picked off the grapes and put them in containers.  Others went for the low-hanging fruit.

Sandy and Sterling pulled on ropes to bring the vines closer to the ground for easier harvest.  Sandy took a tumble.

After I had my pictures, and the light was getting dim, I began walking home.  I could have cut from the meadow we were in to the Village in five minutes, but I elected to walk the long way around--about a mile--for the sheer pleasure of it.

Sandy tumbles down

I could hear the laughter as the grape pickers bantered back and forth as I walked.

Today we'll start making mustang grape jelly, which we haven't made for years.

July's a good month at the Ranch.

Praise on the Porch

Thursday evening we heard music coming from across the Village in the direction of Barnabas House, so we drove down to see what was going on.

 

Rebekah was in the front yard with her prayer flags, and Charles and a gaggle of Ranchers with guitars were holding forth on the front porch.  Diana was leading people in song, and Alan was playing drums.

It was great to see Andrew playing his guitar.  He's really quite good, but hasn't played much the past few years.







It was a great scene--a lazy evening with the cicadas thrumming and a joyful noise rising up through the heavy summer air.

Charles blew his shofar, which we were afraid might attract some unwanted wildlife...



He and Diana promised to make it a regular Thursday night gig.

But There's Nothing There!

That's what the people in charge of the MARC Center in Rockdale reported in 1995 after a scouting expedition to Down Home Ranch as we prepared for the first ever Ranch Camp.

The Marc Center is an activity center/workshop for adults with intellectual disabilities.  We became acquainted with them through board members and volunteers in Rockdale, who encouraged them to think about sending their people to camp.

I have to admit: the physical plant at that time was unimpressive at best:  one very small trailer, one ancient falling-down barn. 

To complicate things, it was raining cats and dogs the day they came, so everyone had to crowd into our postage-stamp living room as Jerry spun his dream of acres of greenhouses, riding facilities, swimming pools, homes, retreat facilities, chapels, ponds, gardens, and cabins.

But, at the time, like I said: one very small trailer, one ancient falling-down barn.

But...we had a plan.

The Taylor National Guard post had offered cots and tents.  Port-o-potties could be rented. We would extend the porch roof out over the front lawn and eat on picnic tables.

Miss Gay (consummate home-schooler and scrounger) and I began scrounging and planning activities.  We lined up volunteers.  We arranged for fishing at a neighbor's pond.  We planned to take the campers swimming every afternoon in Taylor at the municipal pool in Murphy Park.

And after that summer Miss Gay and I could have gone on to careers as recruiting officers for the military.  Every hunk of young flesh that walked by became fair game to be pressed into service as a counselor.

Undoubtedly against their better judgment, the MARC people signed up to come, along with a group from Houston.

Finally the big day arrived, and with it campers and their hopeful, frightened parents and other caregivers.

We had no idea what we were doing, and I'm sure it showed. 

But our faith in ourselves was vindicated.  We created camp together.  Many of the MARC Center campers have returned year after year, making new memories and friends as they renew old ones.

One of our favorites, Jerry Throckmorton, died several years ago.  The town of Rockdale turned inside out to honor him, from the high school teams he supported, to the neighbors whose trash he hauled out on trash day, to the people he worked with in various jobs around town.  As for us, we'll never forget him standing in front of the mobile home, looking philosophical, and saying, "Yep, you've got a pretty nice little camp here."

We established a permanent scholarship in Jerry's name to help others share an experience he loved.

The facilities are a lot more impressive these days, but that experience is pretty much the same.  If it weren't, Ranch Camp would not keep growing from year to year, from a total of 23  the first year to  about 450 this year. Pretty much everyone who comes once, comes back, and new ones come every year.

We all agreed after that first session that we'd never had so much fun or worked so hard in our entire lives.


  

If I Needed You

Whew.

Yesterday was Jerry’s birthday, the end of a long month of family birthdays.

Out of 16 members of our immediate family (Jerry and I, our four daughters, three sons-in-law, six grandkids, and one grandson-in-law) nine of us are blessed with birthdays in the merry month of May.

(Actually, I suspect the really merry month was September, when the kids went back to school. "Another cup of coffee, hon'?")

Whatever, every year it’s like a second Christmas season, except this one doesn’t happen on one day, it’s spread from the third to the 24th, with three on the 15th alone! Generally by the time we get to Jerry’s, everyone is tired of revelry, and broke anyway, so not much attention is paid and then we all feel guilty and have to redeem ourselves on Father’s Day.

You can always count on Kelly, however, to make the day.

Not that she was particularly cooperative this year. Sunday I invited her and Sterling over for the birthday supper Monday night but—egad—Monday night is Wal-Mart night! How could Wal-Mart night have not been foremost in my conciousness!?

“It’s OK, Kel,” I said. “Just wrap your present for Dad and make him a card. Do you want to sing the morning song for him with me?”

“What time?” she asked dubiously.

“About 4:30 would be good,” I teased.

“Mo-om!” she groaned, stamping her foot. “We don’t sing at 4:30 in the morning!”

“Well, as soon as you get here then,” I said.

Monday morning we had important meetings starting at 8:00, so Jer was out the door scarce before I could plant a birthday kiss on the cheek, just as the whippoorwill was ending his morning serenade at Michael’s back window in Barnabas House.

At 6:35 I hear a knock on the door and Kelly is standing there in pajamas and slippers, clutching her present and the card she’d made for Dad.

“Sorry, babe, we missed him, but let me get a picture of you for him,” I said. Kelly balked  at this but the camera was handy so I didn’t detain her for long and soon off she pedaled, up the hill and back to bed.

When I read the card she’d made, I knew we had another masterpiece on our hands.

Kelly’s cards are always very creative, often touching, and each a true original. They usually manage to sum up with a request for the recipient to assist Kelly with managing some important aspect of her life.

Happy Birthday Dad

72 is a cool age

for

a

wonderful

special

dad

I’ve

got

since

1984

and

I

do

love you

very much

with all of

my heart and

my life too

I want my dad to be happy.

Jerry Wayland Horton

May 24th

1938

72 years ago

Your mom my grandma had a miracle is you Dad then you

were my mom’s birthing coach

got me out that

is why

how much Sterling loves

you a lot and so do I

you’re

always

going

to be my Dad forever

when you walk me

down the aisle

on

my wedding day

I want to marry Sterling

can you and Mom give me away to Sterling he will

take care of me I won’t forget to …(can’t make out last word.)

The “birthing coach” part is true. Jerry speaks often and eloquently about how very hard he worked as my birthing coach, fetching cups of ice, rubbing my back and feet, and performing other acts of mercy and kindness over the long hours of labor, which left him completely exhausted and in severe need of liquid refreshment.

But I digress.

Jerry and I went on to have a lovely evening together, just the two of us.

I’d picked blackberries and made a proper pie for him, and it turned out very well indeed. He opened his presents, over which he professed great delight—none more than Kelly’s and her card—and we picked up the guitar and sang a few tunes together just for old time’s sake, and learned a new one—Townes van Zandt’s "If I Needed You."

It was a sweet evening.

We do need each other, so much. We’re glad our girl has her place in the world that we’d dreamed of, and that Monday night is Wal-Mart night, and not to be messed with.

We are secure in her love, and in each other’s, and who could ask for more?

Of Praise and Promise

Friday I attended a reception given by the Chaparral Women’s Club of Round Rock to award grants to a number of local non-profits.

It was fun meeting the other grantees, and I had one of those moments so satisfying and wonderful they go beyond any emotion you can pin a name on.

At my table, a woman spied my name tag and said, “Oh, you’re from Down Home Ranch! I have to tell you that at the regional Special Olympics games, some friends and I began noticing this one team. There was just something so special about them in the way they treated and supported one another. It was very touching, and I had to find out who they were, and they were from your facility.”

Wow. Every hope and every dream we ever had culminated in that one statement. Why? Because that’s exactly what we have been aiming for all along.

When Kelly was born we asked ourselves where the beloved community would come from that we prayed she would belong to as an adult. We checked out various living situations, and we really just didn’t find it at all except in a very few extraordinary places, and we’ve worked very, very hard over the past 19 years trying to turn Down Home Ranch into it.

I’m far from naïve. The beloved community can, and often does, drive us nuts with frustration. The beauty of it reveals itself shyly, fleetingly—floating by on gossamer wings.

More often, we are plagued and puzzled by its absence, by our inability to get it right. We do live in reality as created by members of the human species.

But at its best, oh my.

Seeing Rebekah welcoming the dawn with prayer flags as praise music boomed out of the living room.

That was it.

Getting together with fellow staff ladies together last Friday evening for a potluck and a chance to share a little of our non-duty lives with one another. Nothing profound—sing a little, eat a lot, pray some, and end the evening watching a DVD of a female comic who had us howling with laughter.

That was it.

And the day after the cruise last year, the president of the Elgin Chamber of Commerce called up to say a man had contacted their office wanting to know “who those fantastic people were on the cruise.” He’d been so impressed with our Ranchers, how they treated one another and other people, and with our staff—how they treated the Ranchers.

That was it.

I first found it at St. George’s Episcopal Church in Austin. There was a reason that Kelly and St. George’s came into our lives at the same time: We had to experience it before we could ever hope to help it come about.

“Faith is the substance of things unseen, the evidence of things hoped for.”

And that is the very foundation of it.