I still look for her

Karen and I were perfect partners. She was vision, I was practicality. She pushed me to be better, I grounded her.  She asked me if the community center I run would start a Farmer's Market, and it took me about 10 seconds to say "yes, if we run it together." She was an acupuncturist, teacher of meditation and yoga, healthy eating and farming mentor, breastfeeding teacher, and much more. When I was suffering with terrible morning sickness during my second pregnancy and went to her for acupuncture, she asked me if I was eating well. "Sure! I had a hamburger and french fries for lunch today!" I said, knowing it would make her groan. The longer I knew Karen, the more kale I ate.

When we started the Farmers Market, we had a parade of eager visitors asking us to carry lemonade, or coffee, or chocolate chip cookies, or international crafts. To each, she would patiently explain what our mission was (locally farmed produce) and why lemons, or sugar, or coffee, or crafts, didn't fit.  The cookie question was tough and we wrestled it out: we also wanted to encourage local entrepreneurship, so if a baker used local eggs and butter, and at least TRIED locally grown and ground wheat flour, could we forgive them a few chocolate chips?  When I'd see her out my window walking toward my office, sometimes I'd be the one to groan - visits from Karen were never short, and she always made me think hard about things I wanted to avoid.

 When the breast cancer she'd defeated 20 years ago came roaring back, this time in her bones and organs, she was very private about it - for a long time she wouldn't say why she suddenly withdrew from the market, where she sold her meditation CDs, ceramic sculptures, raspberry canes and flowers from her garden, wheat grass and herbal teas. The last time I saw her (2 years ago this week as I write this) she was planning her next round of treatment while making apple butter and planning rule changes for the next year's market. Oh, and making two dozen flower arrangements for the community center's benefit party. She died 10 days later.
 

I like to remember her as she was in this photo, where she was demonstrating potter (using local clay, of course) at the market to an audience of awestruck and admiring children. She was strong, demanding, wise, and loving. What I wouldn't give to see her walking down the street, on her way to see me to make me think harder, relax more, and aim high. She believed that compassion was the only source of power, and I hear her voice reminding me of that every day.