Day: July 6, 2013

Last fall when we moved into the new farm, we put a light in the front window upstairs, it was, to us, a statement that we were here, an homage to the old farm custom of leaving a light in the window so lost or weary travelers could see it and get help or directions. It is warm upstairs in the summer, and we put screens in so we could open the windows – all of the windows in the house had been painted shut for many years and we finally got most of them open a couple of weeks ago.

When I get up at night, or when I wake up in the morning (I am a restless sleeper and early riser) I am finding all kinds of moths of all sizes gathered around our lamp, they squeeze in around the cracks in the screen I think and gather on the curtains. I swatted a few, crushed a few and wondered how we could keep them out. I thought of sprays or foam inserts, my instinct was to keep them out or kill them, it is what I have always done with moths.

This morning, Maria got up ahead of me to organize the shipping for the many things she is selling all over the country, she wanted to get it done so we could get to the Post Office early. When I got up, I heard her speaking softly, in the voice she sometimes uses with the chickens or cats or dogs or donkeys. Maria became a Buddhist in the womb, I think, perhaps a Quaker, she genuinely loves all life, maybe not mosquitoes or ticks. When I came out onto the landing, she was standing by the lamp, the window was raised up, the screen was off and she was speaking to the moths. “Okay, moths, time to go outside now, time to be free,” and she was using her open palm to gently steer them from the curtains out into the air, one by one.

“Are you freeing the moths?,” I asked, surprised that she would take the time and have the patience. “Yes, of course,” she said, “I could never kill a moth.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her I had been killing them, but I don’t kill them anymore. I’m not sure I have it in me to free them one by one either, but I am happy to let her do it, it is her nature, her life.

In a few minutes, all of the moths were gone, and she re-inserted the screen and pulled the window down. I was astonished, this would never have occurred to me.

I know Maria well and love her much, yet she always surprises me with her depth of feeling her reverence for life, she stopped me from stomping or killing spiders, and instead either lets them free or leaves them be. I wonder how this happened, I don’t think this was something she saw around her or was taught. I think this is a gift some people have, it comes from inside of them, from their heart, it is in their soul. Like many men, this reverence for life is not innate to me. I love the dogs and donkeys, I take good care of the animals in my care, but it never occurred to me to see bugs and insects, worms and spiders in the same way.

I think how wonderful it would be to live in world where this was the norm, not the aberration, and how lucky I am to have this inspiration and love around me. I feel that this is something that women can teach men, if they are open to it. I am. Anyway, that is the story of the moth in the window.

The farmhouse at Bedlam Farm was built by a wealthy merchant named Joseph Patterson who lived in the house with his sisters, he never married or had any children and died on the way to a business meeting in Argyle, N.Y. His body was laid out in this living room, which was – is – the centerpiece of the house and a room I will always miss, it sits up on a hill and is always cool, always picking up a breeze, even today. The windows go nearly floor to ceiling and Ben restored all the old ropes and pulleys, and I put in a new floor and ceiling and added a wood stove that heats most of the downstairs in the winter. The screened porch goes off on the right.

I’m telling you all of this – it sounds like a real estate ad – because so many of you are asking to see some of the interior. I love this room very much, it looks out to the big dairy  barn and on the right it leads off to a screened in porch that looks out  over the valley. At the end on the left is another door that leads to the room that was my study, where I write six or seven books. Another door leads to a guest room, another upstairs. The house is big and gracious, can absorb even me with room to spare.

I do not understand why it has not sold, I suppose not too many people want a neat old farmhouse with four restored barns and mile-long riding path out into the woods. I sure did, but that’s just me. What I am sure about is that there is someone out there who will  love it as much as Maria and I did and do and will want it as badly. We lowered the price by $100,000 and that is as far down as we are going.

The Studio Barn at Bedlam Farm is a sacred space for me. Maria and I became friends when I offered her the use of the barn, a former appliance repair shop built by Ralph Keyes, one of the many farmers who owned the farm. Maria, desperate to resume her art, accepted in exchange for helping me care for the animals at the farm on weekends and helping with the farm chores. We became close friends, she began working on her fiber art there, we both got divorced, we fell in love. Can’t imagine a building with more creative spirit in it or one that is more important to me. It is the ugliest barn on the farm, it is the most beautiful. I miss it every day.