Looking back, a year in review

The year 2022 is in the history books. It was a memorable time for reasons that we might want to forget.

Cold and snow heralded the new year, which is normal for January in our neck of the woods. We shouldn't complain when things are normal, but that has never stopped us.

Last January, my wife and I found ourselves at her orthopedist's office. My wife had tried stem cell therapy for her arthritic knee and was disappointed when the stem cells failed to stem her discomfort. She had little choice other than to opt for a total knee replacement. I was dismayed to learn that the factory warranty on her original parts had expired.

Our late-winter doldrums were lifted when friends of ours gave us a box of beignet mix that they acquired during a trip to New Orleans, Louisiana. Beignet, we discovered, is French for "these donuts don't have holes."

Nobody's perfect.

A big highlight of the year took place when we motored to Kansas City, Missouri, to visit our toddler grandson. His parents were there too, I guess; we were too busy doting on the little guy to notice.

While we were in Kansas City, Facebook friends began to post alarming photos of an inky, monstrous looking storm that was rapidly approaching our farm. We watched helplessly from six hours away as a springtime derecho roared across the region, leaving hundreds of miles of destruction in its wake.

We cut our visit short and hustled home. The closer we got to our farm, the more damage we saw. Mighty trees were uprooted like so many weeds; grain bins were twisted into unrecognizable knots of steel.

It looked as though someone had swept a giant weed whacker through our shelterbelt. Over the next several days, I developed a close personal relationship with my chainsaw. Then, a few weeks later, we were hit by a tornado.

The worst damage was at my parents' farmstead. The tornado scattered our dairy barn across a neighbor's corn field. With some parts of the barn being found up to a mile away. We were immensely grateful for the cleanup assistance provided by friends and neighbors. It was a reminder that this is one of the best places to live – other than the occasional tornado or derecho, that is.

I hired my brother, Les and his son, Dustin to do the bulk of the cleanup with their humungous excavator. It was heartbreaking to watch the giant machine deconstruct the structures that our family had used and made payments on for many decades. But Les and Dustin were finishing the job that the storms had begun.

Over this past year, my wife and I invoked the "in sickness and in health" clause of our wedding vows several times.

My wife got her new knee in July. Her recovery was uneventful save for a fever that she spiked a week after the surgery. After spending some quality time together in the ER, we were told that nothing was amiss. Her fever evaporated after she was given a hearty dose of Tylenol.

Many of these things were a source of stress, so I spent a few relaxing days in a local medical facility.

This wasn't my idea of a vacation nor was it my choice. A bug called human metapneumovirus had settled in my lungs and set up housekeeping. The virus brought along a few billion of its closest bacterial buddies, creating a pulmonary double whammy.

It's amazing how swiftly your world contracts when you're the hospital. You attitude goes from, "I'm master of all I survey!" to "I hope I can master the loo without any help."

My sincerest wish during that time was that I wouldn't mark my 65th birthday in a hospital bed. I achieved this goal with a few days to spare. This year will have ended with snow and beastly cold. It was so chilly that two of our beasts – our cat, Sparkles, and our dog, Bella – were invited by my wife to stay in our house for the duration.

As I write this, Bella and Sparkles are both lying at my feet. Bella, thinks that all creatures great and small are her pals, is trying to show Sparkles how much she loves her by giving her kisses. Sparkles, spends an inordinate amount of time on her coiffure, finds this annoying as Bella's slobber tends to mess up her 'do.

Despite all its travails, 2022 was a good year. Because my wife and I still have each other, a large extended family, and more friends than we can count.

Also, two pets who love us deeply. At least until we make them go back outside.

About the Author

Jerry Nelson and his wife, Julie, live in Volga, South Dakota, on the farm that Jerry's great-grandfather homesteaded in the 1880s. Daily life on that farm provided fodder for a long-running weekly newspaper column, "Dear County Agent Guy," which become a book of the same name. Dear County Agent Guy is available at workman.com/products/dear-county-agent-guy.