The Farmer and the Nell

Hidden among an overlapping white blanket of cotton fields, down a red Georgia-clay dirt road, a white wooden farmhouse sits next to a pond shriveledinto a crater of dried dirt puzzle pieces. Lodged beside a 6-foot-high white dock, sits an old, rusted, pine green two-man boat.  Once used by a loving family man for lazy days of fishing for spike-finned perch and long-whiskered catfish, now a relic, abandoned and forgotten.

Inside the farmhouse, a woman with wavy, petrified snow-white hair and a soft face hardly creased with the wrinkles of wear and tear, shuffles across her kitchen to stir homemade cream corn, butter beans, rutabagas, all while preparing for her family to come for supper.  For Nell Kitchens, this is a family ritual of more than 50 years.  A time for creating memories.  A time of thanks.

Finally, the sweet hickory-smoked ham is ready for slicing, which she happily offers up for a man's touch.  And as her family pours in through the old screen doors, Nell stands amid her young'uns of multiple generations and says the blessing.

Nell has plenty to be thankful for – a family that loves her, her health and Jesus who she says she would be lost without. As she speaks to God, all heads except for one bow in prayer.  The non-conformist is of a man with shaggy, thinning gray-white hair and a face riddled with confusion. For Bruce Kitchens, 87, who is Nell's husband, Thanksgiving means nothing. Family is merely a distant memory.  And God, a stranger.

"Amen," Nell finishes.

The family quickly forms a single-file line and begins loading up plastic-foam cafeteria plates with all the country fix' ins.  Nell files in last and starts to fill a smaller plate for Bruce.  She reserves a seat at the end of the table, placing his plate there.  Then she walks over to Bruce.

"You ready to eat?" she asks in a soft, thick country drawl.

"Huh?" he replies.

"Eat," she repeats with greater force.

"Yeah," he says unsure of himself.

"Well, you got to get up," she says as she lifts out a hand. "Come on."

He grabs on to her arms as she bends her knees.  She miraculously lifts him up and leads him to his seat.  He says nothing.  No thank you. No I love you. He just sits solemnly and eats.

It didn't always used to be this way for Nell and Bruce. Nell remembers a time when the farm was alive with youth and energy.

"We had some very, very good times," she begins. "We worked hard, but we had some good times."

She and Bruce would take the kids and head down to the Ohoopee River for a picnic and a swim.  Bruce loved to fish, and he would take his three boys and daughter fishing at the pond behind the house almost daily.

As parents, Bruce's hardworking and strict governance complimented Nell's peacemaking matter-of-fact personality.  The two were content, and as the years flew by, they were blessed to be grandparents as well as great grandparents. The love and memories created seemed long lasting.

However, nothing is forever as Nell would find out.  Bruce's mind began to change.  And the change happened so slowly, Nell didn't see it coming.

It started when Bruce developed a knack for getting lost. Nell remembers the first instance it occurred. He told her he was going to the county fair in Swainsboro to see the grandchildren show their hogs in a competition, but he never showed up.  It seemed impossible he would get lost, considering they had lived in the area for all of their lives, rarely leaving Candler County.

"We didn't know where in the world he was," she says, hunching her shoulders. "And this was after dark now – a good bit after dark– before he finally made it home.  We don't know where he went. But we think he went as far as Claxton, but we don't know. He said when he got to Cobb Town; he knew where he was at."

Bruce could not exactly recall where he had driven to, but Nell estimates that he drove in circles within a 25-mile radius in the opposite direction of the fair. She admits she should have known something was wrong then, but Bruce was well into his 80's.  She thought it was age – a lapse in judgment.

Until,he did it again. Only this time, a safety officer stopped Bruce. He had pulled Bruce over because of his weaving in and out of lanes and almost colliding with another vehicle. 

Bruce called his son Mike, who relayed the message to sister Monice, who was sitting next to Nell in a car. They were on their way back from a day of shopping. The women needed to pick up Bruce or the officer would be taking further action.  They happily complied and picked up a confused Bruce.  Nell decided he would never drive again.

Sometimes he would ask Nell for his keys.

"No, you can't go ridin'," Nell told him.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because, remember you drove off and got lost," she says.

"No," he says lowering his bushy brows. "I don't remember that."

A doctor in Metter said it was Alzheimer's, a disease that more than 5 million Americans are living with. According to the Alzheimer's Association, this disease costs the U.S. approximately $183 billion annually, and every 69 seconds another American is diagnosed with it.  It's the sixth leading cause of death in the U.S.  It's untreatable, incurable and cannot be slowed.

She never thought this could happen to Bruce and her. However, it was evident this was their fate.  Although, Nell says that Bruce never went through the testing for the disease.

"Our doctor said ‘I don't see no point in puttin' him through all of that, when that doesn't change nothin' but just lets you know he has Alzheimer's" she says.