Day: March 6, 2013

I have a tree I love, am watching it, studying it, wanting to draw it. Learning to draw a bit, I want to focus on one thing, see where it goes. The tree seems beautiful to me, there are so many I never noticed them.

People ask me all the time why I found Bedlam Farm such a magical and creative space. Perhaps because there was something beautiful to see everywhere I looked. Perhaps it was the energy of the beautiful and stately barns. The mists in the morning. The path in the woods. The nooks and crannies of the farmhouse. I wrote seven books there, took thousands of pictures there, lost my mind there and fell in love there. They made a movie about me there and every morning, when I saw the sun coming up over the hill, I heard the angels and the spirits call to me. They remind of ghosts in the woods. Rose in the pasture, Izzy resting in his garden. Bedlam Farm is a way station on the hero journey,  a place where one leaves the familiar to come  home. You either feel it in your bones, or you do not.

Bedlam Farm has been for sale since last January, we moved out last October. I feel the farm  reaching out to someone who sees the magic in it, and loves it as I do and Maria does. We are happy in our new home, lucky to be there in so many ways. But I will not ever forget the magic of Bedlam Farm, what it did for me, too me. One lovely woman was thinking of buying the farm, she wasn’t sure if she could break away from her life, and I told her be careful. Once you leave, you can never really go back. I know, it happened to me.

Maria surprised me today by writing on her blog about the different atmosphere around the house and the farm when I am working on a book. A different energy, different focus, a kind of withdrawal into myself. She loved the creative energy of the place, she said. I know what she means. I love seeing Maria in her studio, in her slippers, listening to her music, Frieda grumbling by her desk, doing her magic on her sewing machines, the studio crammed with all kinds of sent and found fabrics. Maria is so happy in there, and the studio vibrates with creative energy. This is, more than anything what we want for one another, what we want for everyone we know.

I’ve written 22 books and everyone is hard and wonderful. I never quite get used to the process or remember the last book. I moan and groan, struggle and mumble for weeks and months, and then, the cork comes out and off I go. I am at that stage now. I think it will take me years to write a book, but it never does. I am not aware of me changing, but Maria sees it. It is like a ship getting up steam, I think, a book takes over my head.

I’m writing about Simon, and in that book, also about Rocky and Red. How all three of these amazing creatures came together in a brew and flipped my life around. Animals seem to do that to me, I am open to it, I expect it, even though I am slow to see it. In many ways, this is a book about mercy and compassion. I remember the thousands of messages pouring into my computer about Simon, and how not a single one expressed any concern about the farmer, who I did visit, did get to speak with. Why was no one worried about him? His son?

Why do we love animals so much and are so drawn to rescuing them while we seem to be less and less generous and charitable to the needy people in our midst. The Internet has created a vast network of dedicated people scouring the country, even the world for animals to rescue, yet the Web has yet to create a similar network for people. If you are out of work and in need of a home, no van will pull up to  your house and whisk you off to be cleaned up, restored, re-homed and monitored. You are on your own.

I don’t mean this to be cynical or critical, it is important. Animals mirror our society, they reflect what is happening with us. My own theory is that we humans need to nurture, need to be generous, and our society gives us few avenues to do it for people, many for animals. I think too, many of us identify with the victimization of animals when it occurs, we are not always rescuing the animals, we are often seeking to rescue ourselves. We identify with the notion of being victims. I want to explore in this book why this is so, and whether or not our need to nurture animals and our growing discomfort with nurturing ourselves and other human beings are connected. Is one related to the other? The story of Simon, Rocky and Red is one continuing story of mercy and compassion. The mercy shown Simon. The compassion shown Red.

The many issues relating to both that swirled about Rocky, especially the painful irony of our having taken care of him for several years and then deciding to put him down. I thought – think – that was one of the most merciful decisions I ever made. Really, we think it is about the animals, but I am learning to know better. It is always about us, they are not in the conversation.

Creative energy is the connection that drew Maria and I to one another. I can feel it coming out of her potholders and pillows. She feels it coming out of me, and I vanish into my study for hours and slip into the other world.

Old Barn, Arlington,Vt.

Spring must be close, we found our first egg of the season in the coop. Home grown eggs are delicious when fresh, a great perk of having chickens and a coop. This must be the small white one.