Bedlam Farm is an emotional place for me, so many emotion in the ground, in the air. Walking on the path, I looked through the bushes to see an afternoon storm rushing in over West Hebron and I saw, I felt the emotion in the air too, everywhere, and this is how my photography began there, love letters to Maria, a search to understand the emotion I was feeling. It is always there.
After we scraped some wallpaper and were worn out, Maria and I took all three dogs to the path at Bedlam Farm, they were happy to walk there. Frieda stayed on a leash, she went after too many chipmunks and raccoons there, but Red and Lenore ran ahead and the magic of the path came back to me.
When a border collie herds sheep in a pasture, they will always come to the same pasture looking for sheep. While I was cleaning up around the farmhouse at Bedlam Farm today, Red went to the pasture gate where he first saw sheep at the farm. I knew exactly where to look for him when I was ready to leave. The sheep have not been there for months, he never stops looking for them. This is how a border collie’s world is defined – by their work.
I have to be honest, my heart sank when I saw the back of the big barn at Bedlam Farm overrun by weeds and thistles. There are no donkeys or sheep to keep the grass down, and the rains have been so heavy and steady for the past month – every single day – that we can’t get tractors into to clear the growth. I took so many photos of this hay feeder, of the donkeys, of Maria, of Rose herding the sheep, it was just hard to see it. It will be gone in a few days, or whenever the sun comes out long enough for the pasture to dry. There was so much work done on the farm to clean it up, restore the buildings, I might just go out there with a weed-whacker my self and try and knock it down. I can’t really stand to look at it, there is a visceral emotional reaction.
It is not a big deal, truthfully, it is challenging to take care of two farms, but the farmhouse and barns grounds are in great shape, we spent the day scraping off some wallpaper downstairs that is peeling in one hallway in all of the humidity. I will just have to be patient and wait for nature to take it’s course. This will not be there for long.
It’s curious but it seems that every week someone takes the trouble to come to Battenkill Books to meet me, to buy a book from Battenkill Books and quite often, there is a genuine connection that is made. Some – like my friend Jackie from Minnesota – begin on the phone with calls to talk about books. Some drive hours, even days to see the bookstore, get a book recommendation, meet me. Others, like Ron Dotson, appear in surprising ways. Ron is on vacation in Vermont with his wife and daughter, and he has been reading my blog for a long time – he started following my work when I wrote “Running To The Mountain.” He wanted to see something of my existence. He never thought he would see me.
Ron drove to Washington County from nearby Arlington, Vt., to see some of the places I write about and I ran into him at Momma’s restaurant where Maria and I were having dinner Friday. Ron was apologetic about shaking my hand – he hadn’t meant to disturb me, he didn’t expect to meet me at all. But I told him I’d be at Battenkill Books today and he showed up to get a book. Ron has a powerful story to tell, he was shot in Vietnam and many of his friends died there. He resolved to help people, became a chaplain, do good in the world.
He is a dog lover, and his lifetime dog died on the second day of his vacation. Ron and I had a lot to talk about it. It’s like that at the bookstore, I meet people I want to know, want to listen to. Ron and Red connected, and Ron is thinking of doing some hospice therapy work with his next dog. He has a deep grasp on the nature of death in a way most people do not get to experience, and if he gets the right dog, I suspect he would be great at it. Ron was a marine, and that is still a powerful part of his identity – he wears his Third Marine Division insignia on his hat, on his shirt. I would not think this man would connect with me and my work, but he does.
When he left the store, he gave me a business card which said “Chaplain Ron Dotson, Streams Of Hope,” and the bottom of the card said “Ministry Of Encouragement.”
Ron and I are going to talk more this week, he might come bye to see Red work. I appreciate getting to meet people like Ron through the bookstore, I’ve made a half-dozen strong connections with people, friendships, I think, although it’s too early to really say. The bookstore attracts interesting people, and I am always humbled that someone like Ron, who lives in Ohio, would go so far out of his way to meet me and see my world. I do not ever think of myself as someone people would travel long distances to see, I can’t get my mind around it. But there is a personal community around the blog, around my work, if I don’t understand it, I can surely see it. I know it happens to writers when people read their books, it is sometimes unnerving, sometimes wonderful. I will never get used to it.
Of all the people who have come to see me in the bookstore, only one connection turned out to be uncomfortable. One woman, who moved to Vermont from Texas and came to the bookstore to see me, sent me an angry e-mail after I shot Strut a few minutes he attacked Maria and cut up her leg. She said I obviously did not share her values about life and I have not heard from her since. For the best, I think. Genuine friendships last, fragile or ill-considered friendships just peter out, one way or the other.
It was a pleasure to meet Ron, to talk to him. We did make a connection, I could feel it, especially when I told him the story of how Karen Thompson felt an impulse from God to give Red to me, he completely understood that in a very personal way. Ron and I are very different, I ran as far from the Vietnam War as I could get, I nearly fled to Canada to avoid it, and ended up in the Air National Guard, riding a desk while men like Ron were fighting and dying far away. I am about as far from being a marine as anyone could get, yet I felt quite close to Ron, a viscerally spiritual man, an open man with a gentle smile and a passion for ministering. I hope Ron gets over to the farm this week, and I hope we stay in touch. I am always in awe of the way life happens if you let it. And I did not imagine that my book recommending jobs would be so much about people.
I am not a chaplain, but I like to think of my blog as a ministry of encouragement sometimes. No wonder our paths crossed.
