Day: June 15, 2012

Florence Walrath on her Tennessee Walker.

People assume that I’m moving to the New Bedlam Farm to downsize or save money (I do plan on saving money) but I think Florence Walrath drew me and Maria to this new place even more than her pony. I was struck by her when I first met her – her strength, her independence. She told me her house was her “dream home,” and that she had lived in it for 80 years. Before that, she lived in the house next door.

I admire individuals who live their lives, and she was that. I tend to think women age much more gracefully than men in many cases, and Florence was beautiful to the end. She had a country view of animals – Rocky was just fine out in the pasture, he didn’t need much fussing or attention. She was very attached to her family, and thought about them and spoke of them. She seemed to be loved in a way that spoke very powerfully of her. She was determined to stay in her home to the end, and she did. Rocky kept her faithful company for the last years of her life, as well as her family.

I spoke to her a few times, but I couldn’t say I got to know her well. She was quite deaf by the time I met her and it wasn’t easy to talk to her. She reminded me quite a bit of Maria – they are different, but they both are proud and independent, and Florence had an artistic streak that was pronounced in her home. She had been a paperhanger and like Maria the windowsills were all dotted with the small and precious objects that she loved. Maria sensed this connection right away. This photo hangs in our new home, and I don’t know if the family is taking it or not. I’d love to keep it there, but it’s up to them. This is still her dream house, and will always, I think, be her dream house. We are just passing through.

For those of you new to it, and those who are not, this is the story of Rocky, a blind 34-year-old Appaloosa pony who has changed my life and Maria’s as well. Standing with him and Maria today, taking photos of this remarkable creature, I realized what a powerful impact he has had on our lives and of the power of animals to open us up and explode into our lives.

More than a year and a half ago, I was driving on Route 22 in Jackson, N.Y. and I scanned the roadside, as I always do when I have my camera, which I always have. I looked in my rear view mirror and braked sharply at the sight of this beautiful, shaggy-haired old pony, his swayback visible from the road, standing in front of a barn that had collapsed under the weight of heavy winter snows. It struck me as one of those metaphoric photos of rural life – the old animal, the collapsed barn, one in front of the other. It was a touching sight, potentially my kind of photograph. The light was good, the barn and horse surrounded by snow and ice.

I pulled into the farmhouse and knocked on the door. I was struck by the sight of a beautiful elderly woman, tall with piercing eyes and white hair. She looked at me curiously, not understanding what I was saying. I wondered if she was ill. I pointed to my camera and to the horse. “Oh,” she said nodding. “I should tell you that I am deaf and he is blind. He doesn’t look as good as he used to, and neither do I. We are riding it out together.” At one time, Rocky shared the pasture with other horses, but not for 15 years. He and Flo had grown old together.

At the time, Florence Walrach was 102 years old, and in the last year of her life. She wasn’t sure who would last longer – her or Rocky. From time to time, I would stop and take some photos and she would sometimes come out and talk to me. It took me a long time to approach Rocky, who seemed understandably skittish around strangers. He would jump and start if approached or touched too quickly.

I could see that he was totally blind and wary of venturing off of his trodden paths. It was six months before I climbed the fence, went into the pasture, began talking to him. Over time, I learned how to let  him locate my voice. Maria began coming with me, and she worked her magic on Rocky. He seemed to trust her instantly and we began brushing him, bringing him apples, horse cookies, talking to him. He seemed to like it. A few weeks ago, we had Rocky’s hooves trimmed by farrier and friend Ken Norman. Maria has brushed all of the snags out of his coat, and he looks pretty spiffy. And pounds lighter.

Last year, Florence fell down some stairs. She made it clear that she would not abide life in a wheelchair, and died shortly after, at the age of 103. Maria and I continued visiting Rocky, both of us learning how to talk to him, connect with him, understand him. It was one of the most powerful animal experiences of my life, and I have had a few. One afternoon Maria and I looked into the windows and saw Florence’s beautiful things – on the sills, in the house. We both had the same thought. We want to live her. We bought Rocky’s farm a few months ago, and will close on it in July. Rocky comes with the house.

I have no doubt now that Rocky drew us to this place, to our new home. Florence’s powerful spirit as well. As Simon – and other animals as well – have done before, Rocky opened us up in different ways. We have learned how to communicate with him and connect with him. He has changed our lives. We have come a long way with him. When he hears my car, he breaks into a trot and heads for the rear of the barn, where he is fed and given treats. When he hears Maria’s voice he whinnies and rushes to the barn.

Soon, Rocky’s life will change, for I have changed his life as he has changed mine. Rocky he will have a new space to find shelter, companions to herd and graze with, and the tender care of my wife, who loves him dearly. I thought it important to tell the story of Rocky and in his honor, I am putting up some photos on Facebook.

Red is due to arrive in Bedlam Sunday evening. I’m thinking of Karen Thompson and of Red’s many admirers in Virginia who are sad to see him go and eager to see him settled. Fortunately, my life with dogs here is quite transparent and Red is already well on his way to being a star. His progress will be lovingly tracked. I’ve had e-mails about him from England, Canada, Finland, France,  South Africa and Hawaii.

I went out to see the sheep with Maria this morning, and I thought, hey guys, your life is about to change. Red will keep you in shape. He’s traveling up in his own crate and will get to sleep in it here for awhile,maybe for good. A new dog is exciting her, a milestone, a passage. I’m ready . Bring it on, Red.

I drove by Jenna Woginrich’s Cold Antler Farm around noon and stopped by to say hello and see what was going on – there is always something going on at Cold Antler Farm. Jenna and some friends were putting up a Pole Barn for her horses, digging holes, hauling lumber, nailing beams together. Tough work, even on a beautiful day.

One way or another, Jenna gets it done. This barn is being build on the stone foundations of an older one that fell down years ago. Tin roof going up this afternoon, I think.

I texted my angel today, she was working part-time,

in a Dunkin Donuts near Kansas City, applying, she said,

for a temporary spot in Wal-Mart’s new Church and Spirituality

Section – the cheapest prayers from China along with many savings on groceries

and prescriptions.

Knocking out some local Churches, she said, God is like a farmer,

say the economists, not efficient, not productive enough,

they do it cheaper in the Third World,

but hey, the global economy is good for all of us. Isn’t it?

I left the corporate world, she said, to be a writer, maybe an artist.

That’s my story. Switched to being an angel, instead.

No pension, she said, but medicines paid on Plan B,

if you order them online between the half-and-quarter moons,

and pass your deductible.

Prescriptions and prayers are the same thing, she told the manager,

but he raised his eyebrows, and she reminded herself to tell him

what he needed to hear, not what she believes.

Sometimes, she texts back, I hate my job, but who doesn’t?

I love my job, I said. Well, wait until the e-book thing

mushrooms, and  you’re getting 4 cents a book from the Kindle,

and you’ll be in your own booth here, she said. Poor thing.

Good on you for trying.

Downbeat for an angel, I said, aren’t you supposed to be  upbeat?

Oh, sorry, she said, I thought I’d be retired now, strumming the Harp in heaven,

walking barefoot on clouds. My IRA is all shot to hell, pardon the expression.

Can’t get a speaking gig.

Sometimes I whine.

Last night, she said, I saved a soul. Found a commentator

on cable, about to go work for a Super-Pac.

Hey, I said, you will be going straight to Hell,

no stops. Hold up. Buy an organic farm near Cleveland,

start to

turn the world around. He did.