The word spirituality is kicked around a lot these days, but Bedlam Farm has become a spiritual place for me. It is home. I have lost my ability to withstand cities for too long, as much as I loved them, and as big a part of my life as they were.  People seem hurried, tense, busy. They also often seem happy. I have learned that I do not know how other people should live, or what they should do. Many good friends love the cities they live in, and can’t imagine life elsewhere. I could not love long without the beauty of this place, the way the sun hits the trees, the openness of the people. When I borrow a loaner at the car dealer, they don’t even make me show them my license. “We know where to find you,” they say.

Washington seems as tense a city as New York, the people as narcisstic and frantic and edgy. It has the feeling of an occupied place, the legions of grim security guards almost everywhere. So we were glad to get back. To see the encroaching fall, to worry about ticks, get snow tires. And then to leave for a week in the Midwest, a lot like this place. I never set foot on a farm until I bought Bedlam Farm, and now I can’t imagine living anywhere else. That’s the other thing i am always learning. Life is just strange.