This is a narrative that I originally posted to Facebook - Sam asked me to share it here as well.
Life Update / A Tribute to Lori Scappino
For those that don’t know, earlier this year, Sam and I made the decision to move down to Sam’s Aunt Lori and Uncle Randy’s farm.
Our plan was monumental, yet simple: move to the farm, spend more time with Sam’s family, and learn as much as possible from Randy and Lori to see if “farm life” is something Sam and I could envision ourselves doing moving forward. After some back and forth on dates, we determined moving in mid-July would make the most sense, so Sam and I (but mostly Sam) spent much of the spring packing up our apartment, loading up our storage unit, and preparing for this big life change.
Three Saturdays ago was our planned move-out date. Randy drove up to Arlington with a trailer hitched to his truck to help make the move from our Shirlington apartment to the farm in Creedmoor. Lori offered to help, but we told her not to miss the beach trip she had already penciled in on her calendar with some of her friends from their local Rotary club.
After Randy got to our apartment, we walked around Shirlington, window browsing all the restaurants to determine where we should grab lunch. Once we were eating (after finally making the big “where to eat” decision), Randy jokingly asked, “Are you guys sure you’re going to be able to live at the farm without having two dozen restaurants within walking distance?”
I responded, “Well, whenever we’re missing Thai, Greek, Salvadoran, or anything other food, I’m sure we can just walk down to Chef Lori’s house and make a request,” grinning slyly.
For those that don’t know, Lori wasn’t just a great cook; she LOVED cooking. Hell, she literally made the food for our wedding, so, hypothetically, whipping up an impromptu order of pad Thai from Sam and Jeremy would be a breeze.
After about five hours of loading up our furniture and miscellaneous boxes, we finally had the trailer packed to the brim and were calling it a day. The three of us went back to our (mostly) empty apartment, and Randy and I split the last beer that was in our fridge.
About two sips into our glasses of half beers, Randy got a phone call from one of the Rotary members that was on the beach trip with Lori, saying that there had been an accident. We gave Randy the keys to one of our cars so he could drive back south as quickly as possible. Less than an hour later, Randy called Sam, saying Lori was no longer with us. It happened so quickly; Randy hadn’t even made it out of D.C. traffic yet and was stuck somewhere near Quantico.
What had been a day of excitement—excitement over spending more time with Sam’s family, excitement over getting out of the D.C. area in this current environment, excitement over having more than 600 square feet of space to call our own, excitement over taking the next step in building our dream—had just turned into a nightmare. A nightmare worse than we could have ever imagined.
I don’t know the best way to write how much Lori meant to Sam and me, or what she meant to so many other people, but I know her loss is being felt immensely.
As Dr. Scappino, Lori served her local community of Creedmoor at Mule Town Veterinary Hospital diligently and tirelessly. She worked with animals other vets refused to work with, and, bluntly, she had the scars to prove it. On one of our trips down to the farm last fall, Lori had been bitten in the face by a dog and had to go to the emergency room, and, eventually, a plastic surgeon, for her wound. She finished working on the dog first (of course), and blamed herself, not the animal, for the accident.
But that’s how Lori was—she was caring to a fault. Even the farm animals they owned, from the horse and donkey to the late Zebu, goats, and sheep, were all rescue animals. She would go out of her way to adopt previously abused animals to give them a life of leisure grazing in the fields at their farm.
As Sam’s aunt, Lori consistently showed Sam, and later, me, unconditional love and affection. From patiently teaching, and re-teaching (and re-teaching!), us how to properly tie knots on the fenders of the sailboat, to putting up with our continual attempts to try to convince her that “Monikers” and “Cards Against Humanity” don’t exactly count as card games, Lori always met us where we were and taught us without judgment through demonstrated actions, all while making it fun while doing so.
The relationship we built with Randy and Lori is one of the reasons why I proposed to Sam, after months of planning with Randy, Lori, Barbara, and other members of Sam’s family, at Randy and Lori’s farm. About a year or so later when Sam and I officially tied the knot, we did so at their farm as well. Neither of us could envision our wedding anywhere else in the world. Not just because the property is beautiful, but because what Randy and Lori built truly felt like home.
Our wedding was a production—from turning the shop into a reception venue, to building the pews, arbor, and fire pit, to clearing the area for the ceremony, it was all hands on deck.
Lori and Amy literally made ALL THE FOOD for the 120+ people who attended our wedding—they spent weeks prepping veggies, marinating meats, creating the menu, and experimenting with different binding agents in their recipes to ensure everything was perfect, which was made even more difficult with the plethora of dietary restrictions found within our families (celiac, diabetics, vegans, “red meat bros,” etc.).
When Lori brought up the idea of making the food for our wedding months prior, I laughed. I honestly thought she was joking. We were already practically turning her house into a wedding venue; who in their right mind would volunteer to add more on their plate (pun intended)?? But cooking is one of the ways Lori showed love, and Sam and I definitely felt very loved that day.
And we’ve felt loved every day since, and for many years before that, too.
The arbor we made and got married under now sits in the entryway to Lori’s garden. Over the last few weeks, Amy, Sam, Randy, Sophie, and I, and dozens of other people who love Lori, have tried our best to keep everything healthy.
For the last decade or so, Randy and Lori’s property has felt like a second home. So many times I have woken up in their guest room to Lori’s distinct laugh echoing down from the kitchen. Those memories, the hundreds of times I’ve either woken up to or walked into the house to the smell of pans simmering on the stove, the sound of pots clanging blended with Lori’s abrupt laughter, made it truly feel like home.
As I stated at the start—one of the main reasons we moved down to North Carolina was to spend more time with Randy and Lori. And I can’t help but feel slightly hollow that we’ve lost half of that.
I’ve always envisioned our kids running down the driveway to get ginger sparkle cookies from their Aunt Lori; or having Lori teach them how to ride a horse or motorcycle, or even the timing and structure of harvesting vegetables from her raised garden beds.
Our future kids won’t ever get those experiences, and it’s heartbreaking. Randy has lost his life partner of 30 years, and it’s heartbreaking. Sam has lost her aunt, the community has lost its vet—it’s all heartbreaking. Every part of this is heartbreaking.
Sam told me a few days ago that she’s seen me cry more in the last two weeks than she’s seen me cry in the 10 years we’ve been together. There is no doubt in my mind that she’s right.
Please keep Sam, Randy, and the rest of her family in your thoughts, and/or in your prayers if you pray. We are trying our best to keep it all together, but Lori was such a special person that just keeping it together seems like an impossible task.
To that end—Lori, we’ll keep doing our best to make you proud. We’ll try not to kill anything in your garden, and even though we’ve seen a few large spiders since we’ve moved down here, I haven’t killed any of them, because I know you’d be mad at me if I did. Though you didn’t get to live a full life, you did your best to make your life fulfilled.
Take care of each other. Laugh. Tell the people you love that you love them. And be sure to save the turtles.
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The Memorial Service for Dr. Lori Ann Scappino will be held at the farm on September 20th. More information regarding the memorial, donations to local non-profits that Lori worked with, such as Operation Catnip-Raleigh, NC, can be found here: https://everloved.com/life-of… See less
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