John and Diablo have become well known across the World Wide Web, although I don’t think John quite grasps or cares all the much. Diablo, on the other hand, is a ham, one of those dogs who has the world figured out. I mean, it was 90 degrees and John was tired and sweating from pulling Diablo all the way from the hardware store. Diablo, on the other hand, looked quite refreshed and comfortable. Back home, he has a fan cooling him in the garage when John is working outside.
These two love one another quite profoundly and it is a joy to see them together, they are just down the road. John graciously consented to having his photo taken, he has never heard of me, and is not, I gather a big big book reader. Several people in town have mentioned seeing him on my website, and he keep asking me for the name of it. I think I’ll print out a photo. Diablo is a great dog, when he seems me he barks one or two times at me, then one or two times at John. He loves the camera and after barking to make himself known, he goes back to his ride. When I see men who love their dogs, it gives me some hope for the world. Perhaps we should require all the men in Washington to have dogs with them in their swank Capitol Hill offices or on the floor of Congress. Something might actually get done. I would love to see a Senator pulling a dog through the corridors of Congress.
I have to give Flo credit, she is one smart barn cat. She went from living in secret under the porch, foraging for mice and moles to an early retirement (the vet thinks she is about four years old.) She charmed me, a life long cat-avoider, hooked up with Maria (a wise move for any animal) and took over my rocking chair on the back porch. She terrorized Minnie for awhile, but seems to have made peace and she is eating high-quality Fromm cat food and seems to have given up on the notion of chasing mice around the barn. She follows me all over the farm and hops up into my lap whenever I sit down.
Six months ago, she was living on the edge. Now, she is just living the life.
My friend and neighbor Jack Macmillan and his wife Kim are among the many blessings that came with the new farm, two of the many reasons we love it here. The men who understand how the world works are not in Washington, not writing columns or gassing off on cable shows. They are men like Jack, men who grasp how water moves, how pipes flow, how chainsaws work, generous men who see part of their mission as helping people like me, who have little idea how the world really works.
Jack is a former county transportation co-ordinator, he saw a lot of machines, and knows how they work. Florence’s old mower collapsed the other day, a flat tired got mangled before I realized what was wrong, and I called Jack, as I usually when something goes amiss and Maria can’t fix it (she often can.) Machines are not her thing, surely not mine. Jack comes with good stories, his family has lived on the property where he lives for 200 years, you can pretty much describe any person and their truck and he will tell you who they are and what they do. He has all kinds of tools, wrenches, compressors in his truck and he approaches problems like the collapsed tire much as Sherlock Holmes would approach a seemingly insoluble mystery, he clucks, mutters, lies down and touches things, pulls out his valves and wrenches, comes up with a plan. In this case, we found the old tire – the mower is nearly as old as me – had sprung about a dozen leaks. “You probably didn’t help it any by riding around on it,” Jack said, twinkling, and then told some stories about beavers and what they can do to culverts.
Jack went online and figured out how to get the rim off the old tractor and then we got it into the barn. He’s going to negotiate with somebody named Tink and somebody else in Coila to figure out where to get the tires and at a good price. It is not always easy to pay Jack for his time and trouble, he never mentions money, you just have to force it on him or buy him dinner. I have learned a lot more about how the world works since we came to this farm, but I guess my work is different, and I know my own things that other men don’t know (I don’t see Jack doing a podcast soon, although he would be great.) I don’t mean to denigrate myself, but Jack is an impressive man, both in his generous spirit and his very sharp grasp of the world. His wife Kim helps Maria put together potholders and scarves, they are a good and happy team.
I didn’t know many of neighbors at the old Bedlam Farm, it is a great gift to have the neighbors I have now. And I suspect I will be back in the saddle of Florence’s old mower, which I love, by the end of the week. It took a month or so to figure out all of the levers, chokes, mower levels, but I’ve got it. Open house at Bedlam Farm, July 21, 1-4 is coming up. Maria and Kim have come up with a scheme to let visitors pick out their own vintage hankies and Kim will turn them into scarves on the spot. I will be doing my usual carnival tour work, leading tours to meet Simon and the donkeys, doing herding demos with yet another weird border collie. My life. I think I was born to be a ringmaster. Good food available at the Round House Cafe just down the road and at Momma’s just a few doors up from the farm. (Momma, a/k/a Louise) is offering some discounts. Maria is excited she is cranking out some beautiful stuff to sell, there will be readings and fun stuff. Details on Maria’s website.
No dogs, please, the donkey get upset. I am hoping Jack can come over and help organize things, something else he knows how to do.
