Last night, I saw the news that Steve had died. It came as a shock, crushing news at an already somewhat fragile time for me. I had just wished him happy birthday the previous day. He hadn’t responded, but that wasn’t unusual, though he also hadn’t responded to my Christmas message which I did find a little strange. We could go for long periods of time out of touch before reconnecting and sending long missives back and forth for a couple of days before drifting apart again.
He was a gruff old farmer, a punk rock musician, an amazing single dad, a fierce advocate of farmland and small business and integrity, a tractor fixer-upper. He was a friend.
I first met him when I was a member of his CSA, when my now-huge firstborn child was a squishy little newborn who nearly fell out of the sling I wore him in, into a bin of zucchini when I was picking up my weekly farm share. Steve was gruff and funny and kind and he pulled no punches. He was fair, and he was ornery as fuck about topics he was passionate about.
We got closer in the aftermath of what I will refer to as his Very Bad Year, when he shared with me the heartache and truth behind the headlines. I believed in him, and I advocated for him, though it was hard for him to regain his market footing after that.
We last spoke in October; we had some good conversations last fall, and I felt as close as ever to him and kept meaning to go see his new place in western Massachusetts, though we weren’t the type to visit each other. The last time I saw him, he was coming through town on a scrap pickup mission, and we sat on my front steps talking, and laughing--when he got back into his truck, I was nearly doubled over at one of his typical hilariously crude jokes (about religion and sex, if you must know). Honestly, we had a longtime joking flirtation thing going on, a light running joke that we’d probably end up together in the end, when we were old and scraggy and no one else could tolerate us (and do NOT come at me about how this was unfair to any of my past lovers/boyfriends/partners--this was always in the realm of somewhere between a joke and a dream, not a plan and not reality, just our running joke).
He'd asked me more than once to help him write and edit his memoirs, and we'd talk about it, and he'd tell me some gems from his very colorful life, and we'd veer off onto the details of whatever situation he'd just told me about, and we never did make a plan to get that all down on paper.
There's been too much loss recently, and this one really hurts, because unlike heartbreak it can’t be talked through, most of the gravel picked out of the wound until it can heal into some level of closure and loving friendship. This is fucking unexpected and permanent with too much left unsaid that will have to forever remain unsaid--certainly not unrequited love, not at all, but a longtime mutual something, I don’t know what.
Rest in peace, Steve. I wasn’t done talking with you and I can’t believe you’re gone.
