Sometimes a person’s testimony is all there. What is said, is said, and what is unsaid, is also said. At least, this is how it feels, to be with Nicole Demmons at her home with her partner Logan Allen playing with their children Calyx (4, and named for the sepals on a flower for protecting it) and Ozias (2, with a name that means salvation).
After high school, I never thought I’d be living here. I went off to Unity College and thought, “I’m going to travel, live in a tiny home, and maybe be a game warden.” And then, in that first semester, I met Logan, and it was like, “Wow! I think we have other plans!” And I left Unity.
We wanted to travel. I bought a car, and we put a rooftop tent on it because we were going to go see the national parks and live in our car. And then Covid happened.
We were like, “Okay, maybe it would be smart to settle down somewhere.” At the same time, his mom decided they wanted to stop their snow-birding and officially move somewhere warmer. So, we got the opportunity to live in their house, our lovely home here, that will soon be ours and turned it into our own little dream homestead.
Everything happens for a reason, at least that’s what they say. Last June, Logan had a diving accident. He was swimming on a dock and dove into the water. The first time it was fine, and the second time it was not so fine. He hit his head on the bottom and broke his neck. He had C5 and C6 fusions on his spine. He is a quadriplegic, with no feeling from his chest down. No more hand function, but he can still move his arms full range. And he puts it out there to be a good father and do it all. I think he does more than most able-bodied men.
After the accident, the community came together and raised $20,000 on a Go-Fund-Me website for us. We were able to make all these modifications in our house for him.
It’s definitely not the life that we had in mind. Logan grieves the simple things he did every day, like going to work and the small conversations he would get to and from work, or with his work buddies. He was working two jobs back-to-back. He’d get up at 3AM and go to work parttime at Hannaford’s doing stocking, and then get out at 8AM and drive to Fairfield to work eight hours at his lab job. Then drive home, put the kids to bed, and we’d get a little time together; and then he’d go back and do it all again.
I would never ever have chosen his accident. But I’m grateful for the time we get to have now. It’s more time than we had before, and we’re really together as a family – isn’t that what everybody wishes for?
I’ve started looking for joy in the mundane things I do every day. Like the dreaded laundry that no one wants to fold, but really, it takes five minutes to do and then it clears that spot from your mind.
Or the trash. I always thought Logan would do that for me. But now we do it together as a family, and we all have fun. Logan gets the sled and pulls it over, and the kids and I put the bags in it. We are making the most of it. It’s been a full year now. Just having his life, and our life together – it’s good.
We always wanted to own a camp, like where families with kids can come and enjoy themselves. We loved driving up to northern Maine and exploring the Golden Road and Katahdin Iron Works. Every February we would go to Allagash Gateway Campground and camp.
Now we have to figure out how we can adapt the wheelchair in it. It’s going to be fun; I’m honestly excited by the challenge.
And we still want to make a camp for families, but now we want to make an accessible campground, for people with disabilities and wheelchairs. We want to put that out in the world, and we’re going to make it happen.
But we have our bad days, the kind of days where everyone is feeling their feelings as high as they can be, with lots of crying and overwhelm. I try not to let myself be sad for more than a day. And when we need to get out of a funk, we have a dance party. Calyx is our DJ. She really loves the song called “Golden.” I don’t know the artist but it’s a very happy song. And we dance and dance. Even on the bad days, there’s so much to be positive about.
And then it’s a good day, with plenty of time outside or walking to the neighbors to see the goats, a good meal on the table, happy children, maybe making bread or doing a craft, and just being with each other and not worrying about all the things there are to worry about.
Because I worry a lot. I worry about my grandma in the nursing home. I worry about Logan and his health and how long we’ll have together. I worry about my mom because she’s from Canada and might sent back, and that is really scary to think about.
I worry about future generations. I worry about our children growing up too quick. Life is hard. Sometimes, childhood gets taken away from you early, and you have to be forced to grow up too quickly. I just want to give them a good childhood where they can be kids as long as possible. I don’t want them to have to worry about food on the table, or bad people, or how mom and dad are doing. Every home has their family struggles or things that make them who they are. I know my children are already great, and that they’ll do great things.
Oh, and I worry about superficial things, too, like, “What are we doing here?” Or, “What is the purpose of life?” Or, “How can we make it better?” And then I try to remind myself to live day by day. I’m just trying to get back.
This weekend I did a gift basket for a local benefit auction for someone in town who has cancer. I feel when you give, you receive, and it’s good to bring that energy out. So, I’ve been focusing on doing things like that.
And that’s why I’ve been saying “yes” more, because life is short. Little things like doing this interview – it’s stepping out of my comfort zone, but it reminds me that I’m more than a mom, more than the laundry on the couch, or the dishes in the sink. It’s like weaning children and discovering yourself and finding your purpose and feeling comfortable with what you are and what you have; and not always searching for more.
You have to fill your cup so you can pour it out for other people. I’m an old soul. I’ve always been this way. My childhood wasn’t easy-peasy, but I know my parents gave me the best they could.
Waldoboro gives me hope. All of it. All the people putting their best foot forward to make the town a better place. The neighbors coming to check on you because your pig has escaped. Or when you’re in line at the check-out and you’re looking for your other card because the first one was declined, and the person behind you has paid for your food. It’s Waldoboro spunk.
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