9 February

NyQuill, Angry Birds, Katherine Boo

by Jon Katz
A cold

 

A determined cold has landed on me, and I’ve been sneezing and coughing and wheezing for a bit. Maria has been ferry her homemade soup, and directing my care. I am not good at this resting business. This morning, I got out to take some chicken photos, and wrote two chapters in my Rose E-Book. I had a conference call with some people who want me to speak in San Francisco this Fall. I talked the University of Wisconsin people in Madison Wisconsin who have organized the Elizabeth Socolow Award I am getting March 3 for “Meet The Dogs Of Bedlam Farm.” If the airfare is low, Maria might come. I worked on plans for the Hubbard Hall Writer’s Project I am teaching this Summer. We will be screening people.

I got into bed this afternoon, but couldn’t sleep. The cold roared back tonight and persuaded me to get back to bed. I am enjoying my dwindling bottle of NyQuill, I played a lot of “Angry Birds” and am doing well, especially in the Smuggler’s Den. I am mesmerized by Katherine Boo’s brilliant account of life in a Mumbai slum, “behind the beautiful forevers.” India is the country I most want to see. I answered a message from a long time blog follower who said she could never support me in any way after I wrote that I had sent a check to Planned Parenthood. I wished her peace and compassion, and I hope she finds what she needs.

A good day. Very cold this weekend – well below zero Sunday. How to photograph this and capture it, I wonder? I think the light will be pale. Grain for the donkeys. I think I’ll switch to the new Louise Perry mystery for bed-time. Blogging time.  Off to bed.

 

9 February

The Farm As Mother. Poor Me Stories.

by Jon Katz
My Farm, My Mother

People ask me almost every day if I am worried about selling the farm. In this economy. In this market. With all of the bad news. I am not, have never been. In my eight years at Bedlam Farm, I have come to love the farm dearly, and I see it in so many ways as my Mother, an odd thing to say, unless you have lived on farm or owned one.

The farm is my Mother.

It brought me Maria.

My dogs, donkeys, sheep, chickens, cats.

My books and photographs. My children’s books.

My blog.

The Studio Barn. Art Shows. Mary Kellogg. So many friends.

Beauty and peace and challenge beyond imagination.

Sunrises and sunsets, and beautiful storm after storm.

Walks on the path. In the woods. Stone walls and flowers.

Food. An income.

My breakdown. My recovery.

Lessons in how the world works. In bringing things back to life.

My barns.

My life.

Rose. Izzy. Lenore. Frieda. An HBO movie.

Why would I ever fear such a thing or patronize it? The farm is the Mother. It provides. It is time to go. It will find a new owner, in its own time and way. Someone who loves it as much as I do. In its century and a half, the farm has always found its people, never been alone or abandoned, survived untold challenges and catastrophes, storms and troubles. It is all about providing.

Am I worried about selling the farm? No. The farm has taught me many things, including this: Never to tell “Poor Me” stories. About my sad and struggling life. About my worries and travails. If you put those stories out, they come right back. The farm has taught me to provide for myself also, and to take responsibility for my own life. I do not worry about the farm. It is in so many ways, My Mother. It will take care of me.

 

9 February

Chicken Dance. Morning. Two

by Jon Katz
Chicken Dance. Two

 

For a chicken dance to occur, certain things have to happen. There has to be seed or feed – in this case, birdseed – thrown in a small area, within a square foot. The sun has to be low, rising behind the chickens, so that it either lights up their feathers straight one, or as is sometimes preferable, photographically, from the rear. The photographer has to be patient, letting the chickens get used to the camera, used to the lens, associate it with food. Then, before the sun moves, or the chickens quickly eat the feed and move away, you have to snap a few shots. The Chicken Dance only occurs from time to time. I love to photograph the Chicken Dance, a ballet of life, light and shapes.

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