Day: January 12, 2011

Well, we are wrapping up our Storm Center Glorious Weather Alert. We are digging out, and last flurries are still falling. We had Pea Soup for lunch and used the can to bring out food to the barn cats, and then we saw how proud and photogenic this pea soup can was, against the Pig Barn. We went for it. Camera got wet and icy but given the bad light all day, did well.

So here’s our report.

We did not stay indoors.

We did not dress warmly.

We did not put out candles and flashlights.

Our toes are cold. And fingers too.

We can’t wait for the sun to hit the fresh snow, hopefully tomorrow.

I spent a little bit of time reading some of the old Farm Journals I collected several years ago, and which inspired the Bedlam Farm Journal.

There are many entries about storms. I remember reading of farmers and their families starving to death in heavy drifts, watching their animals die. waiting for help. There was never any warning about snowstorms, they just came bearing down.  And how the farm wives often burned themselves because of the long dresses they wore near the fires. And how the farmhouses burnt down so frequently because of the unsafe stoves and candles.

And the numerous accounts of accidents, and deaths due to colds and infections, especially among children, who would succumb quickly without antibiotics. And the difficulty of staying warm, hauling firewood, feeding animals, dealing with ice and snow and waste and cleanliness.

Perspective and history are everything sometimes, especially in an era when people’s attention spans rarely drift too long or too far. I loved my storm, and felt nothing but lucky and blessed to have it. In a sense, the natural world teaches us that we are strangers, intruders in another realm, and once in awhile, it rears up to remind us whose place this really is.

Walk with Lenore. (see below)

Every walk is different, begins differently, offers different things, has a different narrative. Sometimes we encounter dogs, or hear them barking. Sometimes deer rush across the road. Once we saw a bobcat. Yesterday we found a nest. Every day, the light is different, falling in different places. Today’s walk took a nice turn when I looked down the hill and saw Maria and Frieda coming up the hill to meet us. Lenore sat them the same time I did, and lay down, shivering in excitement. When they got close, she rushed to lick Frieda on the nose and greet Maria. A happy ending for a walk.

Dogs so enhance my walks, as they do my life. Lenore walks ahead of me, and I have to be cautious on this country road, as people come roaring down the hill and many don’t slow or stop for a dog. There are very few vehicles and I can see them coming a long way, so I call for Lenore and she comes running to me and sits. If there is more traffic, I put her on a leash. We mostly stay to the road, but sometimes veer off into the woods. It’s a steep road and the first few weeks, I was huffing and puffing up it. Now it’s pretty comfortable and I am stretching the distance. I never expected to love it so much.

Lenore is very reliable. We pass dogs on leads all the time, and they bark at her, but she just looks curiously at them (above) and keeps going.

Dogs walk differently. Border collies are always looking for work. Labs are always looking for smells. Lenore always stays near me, never runs off. I love walking with her. Dogs frame a walk, give it structure. Every now and then, she comes over and licks my jeans. She’s a sweetheart, and now an integral part of my walks.

As the storm began to quiet, I took Lenore and we walked up the hill. I often bring Rose, but it is almost sinful to leave a Lab behind in the snow, they love it so much. And Lenore is nothing but a joy to be with, thrilled to see everyone and everything. A few years ago, I did not believe I could walk up my hill – I never did.  I was in pain, hobbled, thought I might need a cane. Now, I walk up it two or even three times a day, and I love it more each time, even in heavy snow.  It hurts every now and then, but not much.

Plato cautioned that physicians can’t treat the body without treating the soul, and every day I see that this is so. My soul was broken, and my body followed. I am healing every day. I cherish my walks, and they always begin at the Studio Barn, where I check in on Maria, who is always hard at work on her quilts, potholders, or other fiber magic. I’ve never seen anyone love a place more than she loves the Studio Barn, or make it their own as thoroughly. The Studio Barn is how we got together. She was an artist without a place to work, and I had a barn with water and heat, so I offered it to her. Mostly, she came and went at night, and I rarely saw her. Once in awhile, we talked long into the night – I brought popcorn and sat while Frieda growled at me and plotted how to eat me alive. The rest, well the rest is the rest…More chapters on the walk coming.

I always take a photo of Maria to begin the walk, and Lenore understands this now, and sits by the road until I am done, and then we charge up the hill together, as a man and his dog should in a storm.

I have little use for people who tell me what I can’t or can do at “our age.” At “our age” I moved upstate, bought a farm, lambed, and wrote six books at last count. The body goes its own way, but I don’t permit anyone to tell me where I am at life,