In the past generation, America’s corporations have taken over most of our culture – publishing, media, movies, much of art, health care, the law, weather, work, politics. In the face of this onslaught, strong individuals everywhere are righting to preserve individuality, creativity and human connection. Many of these warriors are strong women, and women in particular have taken up the quiet but intense crusade to save community bookstores, raising the notion of buying local to a spiritual level. Connie Brooks is one of these strong women, swimming against a tsunami of greed and power.
These women are heroic to me. They face overwhelming odds, often with patience, hard work, generosity and great faith.
She does not present herself as a warrior, quiet the opposite, but the people on the front lines of the war to save bookstores are smart, tough and resilient. Connie, who runs Battenkill Books, my bookstore is all of those things. She worked at Bennington College before opening the bookstore, and has some of that aura about her – soft-spoken, intelligent, reserved. She loves books, but loving books is only one of the many things people saving bookstores have to do – they are readers, community organizers, handlers of writers, customer service specialists, package handlers, interior designers, marketers, inventory specialists, bloggers and Web designers, shipping and label connoisseurs.They fight not only for books, but for a way of life that is under siege.
Connie and I kept our distance from each other for awhile, she is shy and sometimes anxious, but we are good friends now, we have been making a lot of noise together, as have a number of other writers in the area. Connie uses a lot of different weapons in her very successful effort to keep her bookstore thriving, writers are only one of them. She is having her best year ever. Her store is beautiful, well-organized, well stocked. She has a wonderful staff of competent, knowledgeable people. Everyone in town is welcome in her store, and she knows everyone in town by name. Although she works hard at her bookstore, she works harder to be a loving wife and mother. It is this double identity, these balancing priorities that make strong women so strong, I think.
I especially admire strong women, they seem ascendant to me. I believe they are the last and best hope for a world sometimes gone mad by the men who spread war, nationalism and religious hatred, terrorism, crime, greed and environmental deprivation.
This afternoon, I got the idea to go to the bookstore and take some photographs of this strong woman at work You can buy books I write or review, books you love or want by calling Connie at 518 677-2515 or visiting the store’s website. I’m putting up an album of the photos I shot today on Facebook. Come and see a strong woman at work.
I woke up early this morning dreaming of Bedlam Farm, this other presence, other existence in our lives. We are quite settled in our new home, but of course we won’t be fully there until Bedlam Farm is sold. It has been almost 14 months since Bedlam Farm went on the market, and the experience has been humbling and fascinating. Everyone we knew – me too – believed Bedlam Farm would sell in a minute, there are so many people who read books about it, seemed to love it and the idea of it, so many people who came by to paint, love the view, admire the beautiful old farmhouse, the restored barns, the path in the woods, the meadows and hills.
One of your fans will buy it, there are so few beautiful barns left, it is such a perfect place for so many things. People will gobble it up. I always knew better. The whole idea of celebrity is overblown in our culture, unless you are a movie star, and writers are not movie stars. I saw where the economy was going, what it was doing to the real estate market up here. I always thought it would sell soon, in the Spring of 2013. We went through the phase of building altars, doing Feng Shui, hiding St. Joseph in the garden, all the things people do. But Bedlam Farm is not for everybody, there are not scores of people who want it, it would take just the right person at just the right time in their lives. It almost happened a couple of times. Bedlam Farm has always been a teacher to me, and it is still teaching me things. We are painting the outside in a couple of weeks, touching things up here and there. We have lowered the price as far as we can. We have been successful in lowering the taxes on the farm and high-speed Internet is coming shortly. These are all good and new things to offer, things people asked about. We shall see.
In the last year, I struggled against the impulse to dislike the pushy, demanding people, and I worked to understand the very good people who wanted to change their lives but are understandably afraid. I saw lots of different people. Some just wanted a look at the place. Others wanted split-levels with central air, and heated garages. I learned not to be there when they came to look, it’s just too emotional for me. I learned to leave it to the realtors. It is a wonderful place, someone will come soon to love it.
And we will find out soon enough if my instincts were correct about this Spring. I feel it strongly, that this is the time. The farm is now teaching me patience, humility and faith. To take responsibility for my life. To face the reality of it. Big lessons, important ones. And strength. Owning two farms has been a trial in a lot of ways, a gift in a lot of other ways. I am learning to accept my life, it has its own reasons and rhythms. I am its servant, I will adapt. It has brought me far, it will take me farther.
I love the focused industry of chickens. I used to deride them as dumb, but was called out in this shallow thinking by chicken lovers, gentle people but passionate in their appreciation of these hard-working, very busy animals. The chickens are out in the pasture these days, working on the fresh supply of Spring bugs and worms. They are barely bothering to notice their corn meal. But every afternoon around 3 p.m., they gather for their equivalent of afternoon tea, a reposo from their hunting and pecking and poking around. They love the rocking chair, and it looks like it is theirs, theirs and the barn cats. Maria and I will be sitting elsewhere.
