Day: July 12, 2012

Good things are happening to George Forss, our friend and the celebrated urban landscape photographer. We met George and his companion, the artist Donna Wynbrandt at the Dish Restaurant in Greenwich, N.Y., for dinner. We have dinner with George and Donna once a week and talk with them as often as we can. Things are getting exciting for George. He has three shows in the works – one with Donna in October in Jackson, N.Y., one in New York City in the fall at the Park Slope Gallery.  And on with me – “Found Worlds” – when he gets a break in his show schedule. George has a new blog up, and so does Donna.

George has started selling his works again, the black and whites in New York which made him famous, and some new work and digital versions of earlier work he is selling off of his new blog. He is a brilliant photographer and that will be recognized again, even in our distracted world. He also keeps his alien investigations van – an old VW with 300,000 miles on it – in shape. He fiddles with the battery and spark plug ever time he drives it.

I love listening to George, whose conversation ranges from philosophy to art to aliens. He runs an art gallery – the Ginofor – in Cambridge, N.Y. He knows his stuff.  He has just finished his fourth book on the state of the world, and he is e-mailing it to people for free. He is not interested in the commercial side of publishing. I am hoping to find a writer who will take on George and Donna’s story, one of the loveliest and most touching I have ever heard. I would do it myself, but I can’t. Have books under contract to Random House, and they will need to be about animals. George and Donna love one another deeply and their love is an inspiration to me and to Maria.

There is something magical about Maria huddled over the jigsaw puzzles that she loves, a moment in time, an evocation of something. A thing of art, perhaps. It quiets her mind, soothes her. I love to watch it, she is so at peace.

With Red’s arrival, and the surprise emergence of Strut (we thought he was a she) and the good company of Simon and me, we have a quorum for the Bedlam Farm Men’s Group. We had our first meeting after the flap in Michigan over a legislator using the word “vagina,” which almost brought the State Assembly to its knees. I asked the boys why it was not okay to say “vagina” when discussing them, but it was okay to advertise penile implants and sex pills on every TV channel. Simon just brayed. Strut crowed.  Chill, boys, I said.

I had our second meeting today. Simon got a cookie, Red obsessed on the sheep, and Strut did what most men do, he strutted around making a lot of noise.

I told the crew about something that happened this morning that startled me. Maria and I were having our usual breakfast on our very beautiful screened porch when I looked out over the lawn (dog people, you can handle this) and I saw that something was hanging out of Lenore’s butt by a blade or two of grass. This is a familiar thing to Lab lovers and owners, and to Lenore’s owners, the point where love meets reality and you just have to go and help it get out. If you live with Lenore, or most Labs, you will often go to the edge of your comfort zone.

“Lenore has some stuff hanging out of her ass by a blade of grass,” I said, and I got up and went out with some towel paper and took care of it in a second. In a minute, I was back eating breakfast. Maria looked a little shocked. “I think you are a good man,” she said, something I was not expecting that at this moment. It was not my finest hour, or so I thought.  Did I want this inscription on my tombstone?

Here lies Jon Katz.

He  was a good man.

He  pulled a blade of grass

out of Lenore’s ass.

“You didn’t complain or yell or ask me to do it,” Maria said, “you just interrupted your breakfast and went out and pulled that blade of grass right out of her ass.” She came over and kissed me. You never get mad at the dogs when they throw up, she said. You just clean it up.  She even wrote about this on her blog.

Simon was wide-eyed, and was nosing my pockets for a cookie. Strut had blown himself up like a circus balloon and looked as if he was about to burst with self-importance. Red assumed his herding stance, deep into a crouch. He cares about sheep, not social issues.

“Boys, why am I telling you this story?,” I asked. “Is it to make me look good? Do I really need to pull a blade of grass out of Lenore’s butt to feel like a good man?” But this, I said, was the point. The bar is really low these days. But seriously, guys if you take anything out of this meeting, it might be this:

A good man does not complain, or yell at people or animals for doing things they cannot help. He does not ask women to do things that he can do. He is not, if possible, a jerk about things.  He does not tell women what to do, nor does he ever discourage them from being what they wish to be. It does not take much to be a good man, I think. So do it. Big lessons in small things.

Simon gave me a long and level look, and I could almost hear him thinking: “God, did you really eat the rest of your breakfast right away?” I thought I heard the sound of something heaving.

  All animals teach me acceptance, but the lessons of the old ones seem especially powerful. They are not aware of death, they do not fight against their place in life. No tests, medications, apart from the ones we give them. They do not try and prolong their lives beyond reason, as we do, and no one really profits from their aging, as whole industries profit from ours.

Few animals get to live to a natural old age, especially the livestock of farmers, or aging Appaloosa ponies. Rocky is 35 this year. These old sheep are nearly 80 in human years.  I am touched by their dignity and poise and try and learn from. Here at the farm, I am getting a lesson in acceptance and reality. Our farm has been on the market since December, and it has not yet sold. People say it is too hilly. Or there isn’t enough tillable land. Or it is too expensive. Our very capable realtor Kristin Preble says it is really a “Gentlemen’s Farm,” a term I hate, but understand.  It always seemed like a very real farm to me. It is, she says, a perfect place for a second home, or a primary home for someone who wants to live in a peaceful place with animals.

It never occurred to me – hubris, I think, that such a beautiful place with so much privacy, land, and a restored farmhouse and four restored barns would not disappear in a couple of weeks. We started out a $475,000 and have gone down to $399,000. Today, Maria and I talked about it – we know someone will love this place – but we want to accept the reality of our world. Many of our friends seem almost outraged that we are pricing the farm so low, and several have actually argued that we ought to raise the price, not lower it.

But that doesn’t seem right to us. When we recently lowered it, a whole bunch of people began asking about it. So we are lowering it some more. Kristin asked me how far I was willing to go. I am willing to lower it again, so we are. It is now down to $385,000, and we will not go lower than our move and fences and her studio will cost. That is how far I will go. . Maria and I are completely together on this.

We are closing soon on our new home, and I want to get on with it, with my life. We will not be able to do many of the things we wanted to do there, but we will get to them when we can, and that will be something to always look forward to. On this farm, I never delayed gratification. I did what I wanted. Time for this old sheep to learn something new.

Kristin seemed sorry, but I told her not to feel bad. This is the world we live in, and I believe in acceptance and reality, just as the old sheep do. I do not complain about the price of things, or the way things used to be, or real estate today. I love my life, and I want to love it every day, as it has done for me.

So wise up.

The people around you need to encourage you,

not tell you why you can’t do what you want to do,

why you should be afraid,

why you can’t be what you wish to be.

I