Day: November 30, 2011

 

Every year, between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I give my annual speech to the dogs.Out in the woods at the end of the path, in the deep forest.  I can always deny it out there. This is the first year Frieda has attended, as we were able for the first time to walk with her off-leash a couple of miles into the forest. I brought biscuits, my camera and the dogs gathered around me. I had no notes, having forgotten to bring the Ipad.

I told the dogs it was a good year. And next year will be a better one. I told them I had two books coming out next year, “Lenore Finds A Friend,” my second children’s book, and “Dancing Dogs,” my short story collection. Both books will be out in the Fall. Dog-wise, I said it was going to be a quiet year. More obedience training for Frieda. Sheep for Rose in the summer, if her legs hold  up. Izzy and I will be doing some visits to people who are dying, but they will be quiet and private and I will not be writing about them or photographing the people.

Be careful about Simon, I cautioned, he doesn’t like dogs yet. Frieda, I said, great work at calming down, not eating chickens or bringing home motorcycles or small children. I said we would continue feeding them Evo, an expensive but very healthy premium dog food. Some rawhide flips once in awhile, some marrow bones, boiled and dried every couple of months. I said we had some work to do on collective commands – moving four dogs at once safely across streets and through the woods. More photoshoots, I said, more videos for the blog, for the books. I thought there was some grumbling. I reminded them that the books and the photos pay for the Evo.

I told them that after the short stories, the Frieda Book and the Simon book, I was considering proposing a book on animals and spirituality, the mysterious zone on the edge, the space between us and the animals where Shamans and Communicators go, a place of mystery and magic. I thanked them for their affection and devotion. I commended them for being such a cohesive and response pack and for enriching my life in so many ways. And for welcoming Maria into our lives. And for greeting so many visitors so graciously.  I used to think of Izzy, Rose and Lenore as “my dogs” and Frieda as “Maria’s dog,” but now I just think of them all as our dogs.

And the best news: a rabbit popped out of the woods to my right, and nobody moved. Nobody listened to me much either, but that is beside the point. Meeting adjourned. See them all together right here next year.

 

I love this old wellhouse, on a nearby farm, and photograph it whenever I can, on this beautiful day, against this roiling and emotional sky. This photograph is my love letter, my poem,  to rural life, my postcard, my message.

I need to say I love you.

I love the freedom you offer to give rebirth to life, your glorious history of freedom

and individuality.

I love the freedom to life my own life in peace and privacy. And the smell of the hard and individual  work

that comes right out of the ground.

I love the beautiful things I look at every day, the sky I can see in the daytime,

the stars at night.

The long drives on winding roads framed by beautiful hills.

I love the real world of life,  the natural world,  the real world

of real animals. We do not live in a no-kill world here, no elegaic paradise. It is dirty

and stinky and poor and heart-achingly beautiful.

I love the smell of family and faith.

It is, in many ways, a forgotten place. Washington is so far from here.

Economists and politicians do not believe rural life is efficient anymore,

or that farmers should keep their farms, or people should keep their  jobs and schools and libraries,

closing and struggling and fading under the weight of a political and economic system that has declared them

irrelevant in the global and corporate economy, and abandoned them.

So the places I drive by, the photos I take, the people I see  are all dramatic and emotional to me,

and touch my heart.

I am not the only one who loves you and I believe your time has come

again. When people are  thinking of their neighbors and communities, and hoping to save them,

and wishing to know where their food comes from, and how it was grown and raised

and treated.

There are refugees from here, people driven out of their lives, families torn apart, traditions shattered.

But I can hear the sounds of them changing, of them  tiring of giant corporations shaping life, and of bad jobs in big cities where trapped people  hate their work and struggle to make the money to shop at Wal-Mart for groceries and clothes their neighbors used to make.

When  I drive by, I can feel the farms stirring, and the old barns calling out in witness to wake up, wake up. They are waiting for the farms and farmers to  rise up again, and tell people  what they grow, and how they grew it, and what they slaughter, and how they cared for it. And I believe that is coming.  There is no anger in this for me, no argument, just a stirring. It seems inevitable to me, and I can feel it when I drive by these old buildings and barns.

I thank you for the wonderful life I have here. Hang on.  Much love to you.

Your time is coming again.

 

A cold front came in this morning, and the morning light was sunny, cool, sharp. I brought Rose out – she was waiting to go with me on the morning chores, and the light was gorgeous and Maria and I had the most lovely time, and I took a video which caught the beautiful light, and a wonderful bray from Simon, and also reminded me that in my faith, God speaks to me through the light. Beautiful whispers this morning.

 

 

Some people are bleak about politics, but I’m beginning to like politics more. Several movements are bubbling up and gaining strength that I am happy to be a part of – sustainable living, buying local. In many ways, each is a part of the other quite often good things come out of discord. There is a national movement to curb the growth and power of corporations, and I like that too, so now I have three issues that interest me, whereas a year ago I had almost none. Watching the Battenkill Books experiment mushroom, I see that there is a wave or two out there, and bookstores are riding on them. Maybe libraries and small businesses and family farms with follow.

We got the chickens almost accidentally, but I have noticed some interesting side affects. We don’t throw out much garbage any more.  We hardly throw out any garbage. The chickens and the donkeys take care of leftover food. We’ve made some other changes in the things we buy and are tossing out many fewer trash bags each week. I can’t say the farm or my life are sustainable, really – my publisher is corporate (and I really like my publisher), so are my utilities, and the computers and technology I use, and the car I drive. But it’s on my mind, a factor in our decisions. And we mean for the sustainable part of our lives to grow.

Somebody sent me a snarky e-mail suggesting I was a hypocrite for buying a video camera (I love the camera) on Black Friday. But I told her I just don’t do the snarky e-mail thing. And I don’t.  Sustainability, like buying things locally, is a process, not an instant reality. I told her when she found a farmstand that sold Canon equipment, I would be happy to shop there. And I was also happy about the $200 rebate I got because it was Black Friday. Life may be black and white for some people, but not me, not my life.

Whatever politics I embrace, I have a strong sense of what I don’t want. I won’t follow angry political leaders, or embrace politicians who speak in anger. I won’t follow political leaders who forget to be compassionate and empathetic to the people they govern and are responsible for. One day there may be a political movement that addresses the anger in our political and media culture, and in our personal communications. I’ll join that movement too. It’s a very sustainable idea.