This barn speaks for itself, I think. Some changes coming to the website.
– I’ve removed the Google ads that were appearing on the side of the blog posts. They didn’t often match the content, and some of them were just loopy. I prefer to use the contributions button to help pay for the photography and the costs of the blog. I’m adding a “thank you” at the end of blog posts and a contribution button so I won’t have to mention them too often. The blog remains free, contributions are a choice.
– I’m adding “share” buttons at the end of each blog post so that people can share the photos and words if they wish – e-mail, Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, Pinterest.
– The banner ad for Fromm Family Food banner ad will remain at the top of the Farm Journal Page. It is a great food and you might want to check the site from time to time for nutritional information as well as coupon offers. Thanks again for your support for this site. I will keep on working to maintain and improve it.
Buying local is not a political notion to me, it is very personal, very important. Buying local affects and changes my life in so many different ways. I love buying things from people who know me. A kind of friendship develops, a mutual relationship that is important. It is foolish to sell junk at high prices to people who will be back in a couple of days, people you know. It is easy to do that online, customer and seller will never meet.
It is so important to me to walk into Battenkill Books and know Connie and Kate and Marilyn and Colleen. This morning, Connie alerted me to the fact that “Dancing Dogs” had sold out, was out of stock. I was able to alert my publisher. I don’t think Amazon would really care.
Several days a week I go to the Cambridge Food Co-op and talk to Nancy and Kim. When I needed ricotta cheese to make dinner for company, and it hadn’t arrived yet at the co-op, Nancy dropped it off at my house on her way home. I am very fond of our hardware store, Ace Hardware in Cambridge also. They have become an influential force in my life, helping me get the tools and information to take care of our home. When I went in to tell them the latch on the pasture gate was broken, they brought me over to the latch section and explained how each of them worked. They suggested a cable to straighten the posts. I got nervous. When I told them it was too complicated for me, Brian said “oh, don’t worry, your wife can handle that easily. If she has any questions tell her to stop in and we’ll show her how it works. If she doesn’t like it, just bring them back.”
I laughed at this reality, the salespeople understanding what I could and couldn’t do and what Maria can do. When I went to the Post Office and bought some stamps for Maria, Wendy suggested politely that I might consider some different stamps, the kind Maria always bought when she came in. I took her advice.
It is important to be known. Two or three times a week, I come rushing into the hardware store – Red is always welcome, he always gets a biscuit – pleading for help. I always get it. Because of them, I am doing more things for myself, learning how to care for my house, something I have always wanted. I do not want to see any of these stores close or replaced by corporate monoliths – selling cheap stuff and creating bad jobs – or buy these things online just because I don’t want to leave the house. These things are precious, they are the fabric of life itself. I am open to new technology, I use it and benefit from it.
But the tragedy of technology is that for every thing it brings, it takes something away. Post offices are closing, mega-chains have pressured community hardware stores, bookstores are fighting for their niche in the world. I’m shopping local. I don’t want to live a life of loneliness and disconnection even if it might be cheaper. Price is important, but it is not the only thing that is important.
Ken Norman and I met in 2003 when I called him to take care of Carol, my first donkey and the one I brought up to Bedlam Farm with the sheep. Carol had lived alone in a barren pasture for years and she was smart and ill-tempered. More than once she unlatched the gates at the farm and one time I came home to find that she opened the back door – she turned knobs with her teeth and got into the kitchen where she was opening cabinets and eating bread and cereal. Ken Norman came to trim her hooves and he educated me in the ways of donkeys – when to call a vet, when to call him, what donkeys ate, how they behaved.
Ken shows up every couple of months – he used to call, now he texts on his Iphone 3. He often has a dog, and his trucks – like mine – have changed and evolved over time. Sometimes he brings his wife Eli, sometimes the Bedlam Farm Barn Princess Nikolene. We meet them for dinner once in awhile and Nikolene and I made so much noise in Manchester we almost got thrown out of the restaurant.
I tell Ken stories of the writer’s life – he is mesmerized at the animal issues that crop up on my blog – and he tells me stories of the farrier’s life. He always has good ones. Once or twice a year he shows up with a broken arm or cracked rib – kicked by horses usually – and I always ask him if he is taking time off. He laughs. He is big and strong and he will wrestle a donkey or a horse into submission. He never loses patience with these animals, never. We have watched each other grow up, and Ken, an officer in the West Pawlet, Vt. Volunteer Fire Department is a good friend, an important person to know, an important part of my life here. He loves animals in the very particular way of one who understands their true nature – I love listening to him chat up the donkeys as he trims their hooves, his pockets stuff with horse treats. When Ken comes, we gossip about other animals – never people – and Ken has seen me in all of my various upstate incarnations, the good and the bad. He has stuck with me anyway.
The donkeys give Ken a hard time but they trust him and after he’s done, we stand around for awhile appreciating our good fortune and talking about our lives. Fanny adores Ken and always puts her nose in his pockets. After he’s done, the donkey’s always retreat to a safe distance and keep their eyes on things. It is nice to see Ken with an apprentice, Eadon Ryan, who Ken is teaching the art of the farrier.
Eadon will be good at it if he chooses to go that route, he loves animals and knows how to deal with them. I love knowing good and hard-working and honest people like Ken. He sets his own price and it is always a good and fair price for good work. I never negotiate with him, it is never necessary. He is interested in me as well as the donkey’s and he has known me long enough to understand me well. He has seen me in some hard and dark times. He has stories about me that keep me red-faced and he loves telling them to Maria.
Simon gave Ken a workout last time, but this time I was there, and I swatted Simon on the nose and he was good. “Stand still, Simon,” Ken pleaded, “before the photographer runs off to take a picture, which he will do.” And I did. Ken has become a regular on Facebook offering commentaries and exchanging photos. He just joined Instagram.
It is a good time when the farrier comes, a reminder to me of the importance of friendship, loyalty and community, precious things that some people never know and others will never leave.
I consider people who love what they do sacred – there are few and they are precious. It is brutally difficult work that Ken does, and for little money. He has a platoon of rescued horses and donkeys on his farm and he has a cynical facade at times, but his great heart shines through it. He loves his life, which makes it a meaningful life, another one in which security is not defined the way it is for most people. Neither of us could ever go back to the other world. It is more than business when the farrier comes, it is a timeless ritual of friendship and meaning.
I’ve lived around ovens my whole life, but I’ve never cleaned one or had the faintest idea how it was done. That seems incredible to me. Last night while I was cooking dinner, the oven smoked and I thought I saw a flame spurt up from the grease that had accumulated on the bottom. Maria said she would get to it, but I know she is busy today and this bulb went off in my head. Why should she do it? Why couldn’t I do it, and learn how to do it. It seemed one of those things I just always assumed somebody else – it was always a woman – would do, and not me.
Maria was happy to relinquish it. Maria is a feminist but it did not occur to her that I would want to clean the stove or know how to do it. I was embarrassed by the significance of that. In recent weeks we both have been doing a lot of things we used to let other people do – fix latches, level the clothes washer, weather strip the doors, spread chicken wire across the barn.
There is a lot of talk about women’s issues and sensitivities but very few about men and their own need for a direction, for liberation, if you will. Men are often cut off – by themselves and other social factors – from learning how the world works around them. Maria wrote recently about the idea of the Divine Feminine, the desire of women and men to connect with the creative and nurturing parts of themselves. Men seem to be in charge of the universe, but I think many men are unhappy in the roles society has cast for them. They have never head a truly meaningful men’s movement. They need one.
This morning I drove to the Ace hardware store in Cambridge and Bev helped me pick out the right cleaner (no fumes), brush and paper. We talked about how long to let the cleaner sit, how to avoid the heating elements. It was astounding to me that I have lived near ovens all of my life, and never cleaned one or learned how it was done. No one ever asked me, it was just always assumed it was not something a man would do. Or perhaps I assumed that. Either way, time to move ahead. I am much in favor of equality for women, of their liberation. I am much in favor of equality for women, of their liberation. I am also in favor of mine, and what I want to do is liberate myself from life-long notions of what women do around my house and what I do.
Mannix Marketing fended off a hacker attack today but the blog was down for a bit. Seems to be under control now, and thanks to them for their good work in protecting me. The blog seems like a part of me and when it is down, it doesn’t feel right. But this is life and I am grateful it was handled so skillfully and quickly.
