In the Kabbalah, the writings of the Hebrew mystics in their lost caves, God tells the prophets that he has endowed every human being with the creative spark, something he has given to no other living things. The only thing people have to fear, he warns, is failing to heed the call of this spark, ignoring this gift, turning their backs on the light and love he gave them and them alone to want and cherish. It is through this spark that people can talk to me, he said, and I will answer, wrote the mystics thousands of years ago. And I will love you, he said.
Talk to me, My Lord,
Show me the this light this gift,
Help me to speak with you,
And I will answer you,
heed your call, consider your warning.
I see your light and love and color everywhere,
even on windowsills in the afternoon sun,
though a humble bottle.
hearing the hum of the sewing machine in the Studio,
in the light that comes through the trees,
and frames the clouds in the open sky.
In the doors and windows of an old and simple barn.
I write a lot about strong women and I admire them greatly. Regina Mason, above is one of them. She works hard every minute of every day of her life, and is about nothing but love and gratitude and hard work and family. But I wanted to write about Todd, her husband, the man who built my fences, because he is a strong man and an admirable one. In a world where it sometimes seems as if men are bent on destroying one another and the planet, Todd is the kind of man that reminds me of what it can mean to be a strong man, how good and important a thing that can be.
Todd runs a 400-acre farm in Vermont, has cows, goats, works with the Grange, helps out friends, does the back-breaking work of fence-building. He works in great pain from arthritis and many back injuries, works from dark to dark on his farm and fencing jobs, is meticulously honest and is a good friend. When he built the fence for us on our new farm, he also trimmed trees, moved boulders and did anything he could to help out. You never feel you hired somebody when you work with Todd, you feel you have extended your family. He came over today with Regina and most of his kids (some were away). As hard as he works, he is a devoted husband and father, a quiet and gentle man. When he speaks, you listen. He doesn’t say a lot or change his mind much.
Todd came to visit and to check out the grassy pasture behind the barn. We don’t have a lot of grass, and there is beautiful grazing land and forest in 17 acres behind the main pasture. I was stumped about using that grass and the water from the stream back there. We need the space for the animals we have and any we might get. I couldn’t afford to fence it all of the way last year, and I told Todd I this wasn’t a good time to extend the fence either, there isn’t a ton of extra cash lying around. Todd knows we still haven’t sold Bedlam Farm and he came over and offered to build the fence and his estimate was so low I asked him if he was charging for labor. Todd can’t lie, so he said he wasn’t charging for labor.
I said I couldn’t accept that, he works too hard not to get paid for his literally back-breaking labor. We went back and forth. He tromped through the back pasture and found several ways to save on the job – wires tacked onto trees instead of posts. He showed me ways to expand the fencing that would include more land and be great for the donkeys but which would also give us easier access to the beautiful woods behind the house. In my panic, I once thought we should just cut back on animals, but now I plan to be 90 and we might get some goats or more sheep. Who knows what might come to live on Bedlam Farm?
We could walk the dogs back there, hike ourselves, have lunch in the woods. Regina just smiled and shook her head and got out of the way of the negotiations. Todd, she said, will pretty much do what he wants.
Todd ended up offering me a great price for the fencing, and I accepted. He swears he’s getting paid for labor as well as material, and I’m not sure I believe him, but it will be great to have that pasture fenced – we will not need to buy hay this summer – and I will make sure he is compensated fairly, one way or another. I am not as strong as Todd, but I am as stubborn.
It is inspiring to me to meet a strong man like Todd, a family man, a friend and somebody whose word is worth it’s weight in gold. Todd knows that strength is not only muscle, not just combat and argument, it is love and friendship and commitment is well. I don’t meet a lot of strong men like Todd, but it is immensely uplifting to know they are out there and to have one in my life. A woman e-mailed me yesterday and said she would love to see me photograph a strong man and a strong woman together.
I’ve never had a sheep like Zelda, the self-appointed guardian sheep of our small flock. It took nearly a year to train and calm here, at Bedlam Farm there was so much room for her to run that herding was more like a chase around a race track. She butted Red and repeatedly ran right over him, and she knocked me down, along with water buckets, fences and gates. She led Red and I on two merry chases after she led the sheep in breakouts at the new farm, knocking both of us down in her escape. At the first Bedlam Farm, we tried to separate her from the old sheep. She wanted to be with them and jumped three fences, breaking down one, to get to them. We finally relented, before she took the farm apart. A sheep with such an individualistic mind is not that common.
She and Red have reached a peaceful accommodation, and she is beginning to settle down. She lets Maria and I approach and Red has worked long and patiently to get her to respond to his movements. Mostly, she does. She refused to wear a coat to keep her wool clean and Maria gave up trying. Zelda is somewhat broken but unbowed. She is very vigilant on behalf of the other sheep but she has settled into life her. Red doesn’t panic her anymore, and neither do we. Zelda is admirable, a strong women in a species known for passivity.
Florence Walrath’s journals were written around the time of her 75th birthday. They were given to me recently by a friend who said Florence badgered her to go swimming when she was 101 years old. Florence Walrath rarely showed emotion in her writing and always projected a tough and decisive veneer – one neighbor said her nickname was “The Boss.” In the anecdote that relates to the end of her education, she showed as much pain as is revealed anywhere in the journals, apart from the death of her husband. A humiliating experience in school led her to some of the most important lessons of her life. Here, we witness her character taking shape and helped her regain her wounded pride.
“School was hard for me and about this time I had to take exams at another school. I went to Shushan. The school was full of boys and girls who I had never seen before. The teacher was also a stranger to me. We took the first test and just started the second when the teacher told me in front of all that I had cheated. A boy in back of me two seats and on the second aisle, had copied each others. The sure shook me. I knew I had not but thought those kids will think I did, every time they ever saw me would think I did. The more I thought about it the more upset I became. I got so nervous Mother took me out of school. She thought I would go back but I never did. It took a long time for me to reason it all out and meet people again. I have been sorry I did not return for further education.
I soon learned my Mother and the dear Lord had given me something, the will to work. I found there was nothing if I tried that I could not do, perhaps not always well but by trying got better. I got a pleasure in keeping the yard looking nice. I started going to church in Shushan, mostly I found I had to work with myself. The church taught me we each have a gift of something. If we use what we have to the best of our ability and not try to be like someone else, that all would be well. Once my common sense started working, I could once more hold my head high.”
Eggs are so ubiquitous that we rarely think about them in this world, but they are yet another example – like the spider web – of Mother Earth’s great artistry. They are symmetrical, polished, nourishing, a symbol of fruitfulness to me, the humble but productive work of the industrious chicken. They have become increasingly beautiful to me.
