Wednesday, May 30, 2012

In Conversation With...Jill Mundle

First published in the May 9 issue of The Oxford Journal by Sara Mattinson.


Jill Mundle sits on the lawn in the warm spring sunshine holding her 15-month-old daughter, Mya, in her lap. How this scene came to be is more than just a matter of a few steps from the back door of the house on Fountain Road outside of Pugwash where Jill has lived for more than 15 years. The story spans a decade, 10,000 kilometres, two 13-hour flights, and one ocean of heartache and happiness.
More than three years ago, Jill, now 41, began the process of adopting a baby from Ethiopia, a country on the eastern side of Africa, once it became clear she and her partner of 16 years, Randy Weeks, could not overcome infertility. 
“I waited for our referral forever and it didn’t bother me,” she says. “Because we were at the stage that if [having our own child] happened for us, it happened.” 
Then, when she least expected it, in the midst of chaos...
“I lost my job two weeks before the referral came in,” Jill explains. “I was devastated by losing my job but in hindsight, it was a good thing.”
Once that referral arrived last November, providing Jill and Randy, who is 47, with the first details and photo of their daughter, the wait was agonizing. 
“I couldn’t stand the fact she was at the orphanage,” she says of the three month wait for the adoption to be approved and a visa issued. “I would have my niece here and be doing her bedtime routine and I’d be thinking of my daughter by herself in the orphanage.”
Finally, on March 1, Jill received the call she’d been waiting for. The next day, she was on a plane for the long, overnight trip to Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia. What she and Randy had wanted for so long was about to happen: they were parents of a little girl. But, as with any adoption, the transition would be challenging and, at times, heart-wrenching. 
“They had her all cleaned up in this beautiful little dress and they brought her out and shoved her in my arms,”  says Jill. “They said,  ‘Mama, there’s Mama. Say Love Mama’. She just freaked. She was scared and it just broke my heart.”
Mya had no possessions; not even that beautiful dress belonged to her. Jill had to change her out of the dress and leave it behind. As well, the orphanage had provided the wrong measurements for Mya and the shoes Jill had brought with her were too big. 
“We stayed at the orphanage for awhile, fed her lunch and played with the other kids, before we went back to the hotel. When we left the orphanage, there was no looking back,”she says. “Mya held on so tight, that was it. The next day when we got up for breakfast, she was firmly attached to my chest and she stayed there for three weeks.”
Here are the facts about life in an orphanage: There is limited physical contact (no snuggles, no hugs or kisses) and there are little or no personal items (small children lose their toys quickly to the bigger kids). Children learn that not even crying gets them what they want. Mya faced an enormous change from life in the orphanage to life with Jill and Randy. In her first few weeks at home, no one could touch her but Jill and she would play only with whatever she could reach; where she sat was where she stayed even though she could walk. 
“At the orphanage, the kids go outside for 30 minutes every day for Vitamin D but they don’t play; they just sit,” explains Jill. “If you had seen Mya when she first got home, she’s not the same child now. Now she plays like mad. Her favourite things are the swing outside, books and shoes.”
All the lovely things she didn’t possess until Randy and Jill became her parents. 
“Randy and I have been together for a long time and his children are grown. The time for us to do this was ten years ago but at the same time, we’ve waited so long that I just feel...”
Jill stops talking as tears roll down her cheeks. A long moment passes until she can speak again.
“I feel like I waited my whole life for Mya,” she says through these tears of joy. “It doesn’t matter that she’s not our child biologically. She’s my little girl. Mya was meant to be our little girl.”
These tears, this joy reveals how Mya’s arrival has affected not just Jill and Randy as parents but also as a couple who has shared a life - one that included several of Randy’s children from a previous relationship - for more than 15 years. 
“Mya wasn’t home a week when Randy came out of her bedroom after watching her sleep and said, ‘I love her. I really love her’. I knew he would be good to Mya but I never thought he would give out cigars, I never thought he’d bathe her, I never thought he would do all the things he does with her. And that makes me love Randy in a whole different way.”
It was Randy who encouraged the adoption from the beginning. Jill says he told her that if they didn’t do it, she’d regret it for the rest of her life. 
“She’s good for us,” Jill says of her small, curly-haired daughter, her dream come true. “She’s changed our life. Every day I thank God for this little girl.”
 

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Don't Feed the Animals

I know better than to put bird seed out in the spring but I really missed seeing the blue jays.



This is the fellow from last week who was so reluctant to leave the breakfast buffet...



Monday, May 28, 2012

All Hail the New Queen of Gravy

"You've been holding out on me for five years," my husband Dwayne said to me on Sunday night as he tucked into his roast beef and potatoes. They were both smothered in thick, dark brown gravy.
My daddy's gravy.
I honestly never thought I made good gravy - it was always lumpy and thin - so I never bothered. Just as I learned to live without cheese sauce on broccoli (I still remember those rare, special nights as a kid when Mum had bothered to make cheese sauce), I learned to live without gravy. As hosts of Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, we have clearly delineated roles: I'm vegetables and dessert, and my husband is meat and gravy. If he wants it, and as a proper Nova Scotia country boy, he does, he has to make it.
Then on Saturday, the trick to making good gravy was revealed to me.
After crock-potting a roast for my father-in-law because his wife was ill, I needed gravy but Dwayne was busy. My mother graciously agreed to make it and I watched as she dissolved the corn starch in water BEFORE adding it to the roast juice simmering in a pot.

So when it came to serving our pot roast on Sunday, I was able to put a boat of my own gravy on the table for the first time. Thick, dark brown gravy that contained absolutely no mushroom soup.
And now my husband is a convert to Ontario gravy.
....and so is his father...


Friday, May 25, 2012

Sleeping With The Windows Open

At 3 am, the puppy wanted out to pee and the cat went out with her. At 4 am, Brewster the rooster started crowing. At 5 am, crows perched in the trees outside the bedroom, cawing. I figured I might as well start my day and then discovered why they were making such a racket so close to the house: the cat was rolling over a freshly-killed rat.
Clicked on the kettle to make tea. 
Let both dogs out the back door and hoped the crows snatched up the dead rodent before they discovered it. 
While my tea steeped, I glanced out the sliding doors facing our front yard and noticed a raccoon squatting in the tray bird feeder attached to the maple tree. I'd filled it the day before for the blue jays and chickadees. Only fair since we feed the finches year round. Over the course of the two hours I had before leaving for work, it took three "conversations" to convince the raccoon that vacating the premises meant getting down and leaving the yard, not climbing back up the tree.
Thank goodness that was just one morning this past week. I wouldn't survive if every morning was so busy.



Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Every Day Was Mother's Day For Country Women

First published in the May 9 issue of The Oxford Journal  by Sara Mattinson.


A woman named Lila, who is in her eighties, shared with me the story of the birth of her third child, who was stillborn, on the way to the hospital. The details are not mine to share but her experience is one of the most extraordinary I have ever heard, in part because Lila’s story reveals what it was like to be a woman and a mother “back then” in a rural area in the 1950’s. 
For women living in the countryside, most births took place at home. 
“There were no tests or machines then,” Lila said. “We had no ultrasounds. Back then, you either had a child or you didn’t.”
Imagine a pregnant woman today having that attitude. You either had a child or you didn’t. With our easy access to doctors and hospitals, with information at our fingertips in books and online, it is inconceivable that a woman would speak so cavalierly about having a child. These days, a birth at home happens by choice with a midwife in attendance. These days, a woman schedules her C-section.
What makes Lila’s story so moving and unforgettable is the fact that the experience has not lost its power, or any detail. As she told the story of the two days surrounding this early birth sixty years after it happened, remembering every moment as clearly as if it had happened recently, Lila was overcome by emotion. The tears in her voice made me appreciate how strong this woman is and has had to be. Also, Lila isn’t alone in carrying this loss with her for a lifetime; there are many women in their seventies and eighties with stories just like this buried deep in their memories. 
The doctor told Lila that they didn’t name stillborn babies so she buried her son naming him only in her heart (for she already had a name picked out). Imagine a doctor saying that today. No name for a baby that dies. I can’t imagine any of my friends accepting that. 
While I was visiting my best friend when she was pregnant with her second child in 2005, she said to me, “There’s something wrong. I’m going to the hospital.” Thankfully, we did not live through a tragedy together (her son will be seven this summer) but if that had been 1955, I’d have had to hold her hand while we waited for the doctor to come to the house and tell her to go to bed and that he’d be back the next day. Only by the next day, it would be too late. 
Because of the era in which they grew up, none of my friends have ever experienced a tragedy like Lila’s so I am grateful that Lila trusted me with her story. I needed to hear it, needed to know, needed to remember. Back then, women lived so much closer to life and death – you either had a child or you didn’t – yet there was no time for mourning. There were other children to care for (and eventually, other children to have), there was a husband and hired hands to feed, there was a self to pull together. 
There is nothing weak about a woman like that. 

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Another Win for Cumberland County

Congratulations to Harry Thurston, who lives in Tidnish Bridge.












His book, Atlantic Coast: A Natural History (Greystone Books), took home the Dartmouth Prize for Non-Fiction In Memory of Robbie Robertson at last week's Atlantic Book Awards.














Harry has lived in Nova Scotia his whole life and while he started out with a career as a fisheries technician (after studying biology at Acadia University), he is well-known as an award-winning poet and a journalist.

Friday, May 18, 2012

Typical Man Moment

It's time for the annual fishing trip and after an entire week of preparation (!), the boys headed out early Thursday morning for the four-hour trek to their lake and last night about nine o'clock, I took a call from the reception rock somewhere in Guysborough County.
"We had a feed of trout for supper," my husband told me, "along with some hot dogs."
This is what men on a fishing trip consider gourmet: Fresh-caught trout with a side of weiners.
Beautiful weekend for them. Apparently, it poured yesterday afternoon but forecast is calling for sunshine for the next four days. It was two degrees this morning when I got up at six o'clock to walk the dogs and the west wind is keeping things cool in my little pocket of northern Nova Scotia but Hey: there is nothing better than sunshine for a long weekend. Enjoy!

The Pugwash Farmers' Market opens tomorrow at 8:30 a.m. Be there to support our local entrepreneurs (and maybe you'll get your picture taken by me).