The winter pasture is already fading. It was in the 40’s today and despite the high winds, Spring is close. You can see it in that sunset. In a few weeks, grass will be sprouting through the snow, and the gates will be closed, and lucky cows – still in the hands of a family farmer – will be grazing in between milkings. I thank the winter pasture for giving me so much clarity, beauty and promise through a hard winter.
The Bunker Hill Barn, one of my favorite barns and one of the first barns I ever photographed, sat in splendid isolation on Bunker Hill Road. I often sat and walked around this barn, and twice fell through the floor taking photos (I was pulled out by a local Presbyterian pastor who happened by and saw my car).
The Bunker Hill Barn did not survive this winter, succumbing just a couple of days ago, to snow, ice and then wind. The roof is already gone, taken away. I expect the rest of this beautiful barn will be gone in a day or so. I felt some emotion when I saw this barn, but I am done with fear and with stories of lament and struggle. Like the poet says, the moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on. Nor all your piety and wit shall change a word of it.
So I give thanks, and offer a blessing, and say goodbye.
Not too long ago, the only tools writers need were typewriters and then computers. No so anymore. The life of the writer has changed radically in the past few years, and it is my intention to change with it, without argument or lament. Easy for you, say some, you’re an established author. But of course it is not easy, not for me, or for anyone else.
Writers are no longer subsidized, like everyone else. We are expected to be more responsible for editing, marketing, and publicity. We are expected to use the Internet, think about blogs, go on online forums, embrace social media. In addition to the blog, Facebook and Twitter, where I am already established, I have undertaken to explore video and the burgeoning world of You Tube. The word and the image are both in motion, and if it sometimes make me dizzy, I’m going along as far as I can go. I do not intend to be sitting on the farm in a few years, grousing about the fact that I’m not a writer any longer.
It is challenging, though, and I do not regret having to do it. I wish to be creative in this transition as I wish to be creative in my writing and photography. My writing tools are increasingly diverse and usually come with USP ports, software and some orientation and confusion. I look at the things sticking out of my computer and shake my head. I don’t know how much technology is too much, but it is an exciting time and I am learning and growing – life itself.
Today I took another step. I began editing my videos instead of just tossing them up on You Tube. Looking back over them, I saw they needed to be crisper, shorter, tighter. I loved my first editing foray, although Fellini’s legacy is good for the moment. But this video is under a minute, I cut out the humans and it moves well. I got a lot of sloppy scenes out. I really loved editing this and will start thinking about more polished, faster videos.
Often, Maria and I go out to the donkeys for what we call a donkey meditation. These spiritual and loving creatures have been around humans longer than dogs, and they read us just as well. Today, there was a fierce wind blowing off of the pasture, and we brought carrots. The wind and the crunching gave our meditation with the donkeys an edge.
Come along to the moving image, a new way for me to tell my story. And meditate with Lulu and Fanny.
My slate fireplace was buried under a cardboard veener for decades, then accidentally discovered by a workmen, and lovingly restored by a mason. It is a beautiful thing, another relic from the age of craftsmanship. The cheapest thing isn’t the only thing, even now.
