Maria has the mind and soul of an artist, I cannot imagine her mind doing anything else, the inside of her head is a mystical funhouse filled with dreams, images, encounters, fairies, moods, quirks, loves, resentments, angels and animals. She thinks differently than anyone I know. She never spends a nickel on herself, only wears clothes from second hand stores, throws nothing away, buys nothing new (unless given to her). It isn’t that she is cheap, she is very generous, it is rather than she needs little, demands nothing, thinks nothing of herself, unless it is for her art or studio. She is always giving me gifts, buying me dinner, thinking about what I need. She has little use for men but is nice to me, if I behave.
She would never think of air conditioning or mull how to fix the house. But if something is aesthetically amiss – the ugly, tacky old kitchen floor, there is no peace until it leaves, and it is leaving. It is curious how well we fit together, two pieces of a puzzle, we are do different yet so alike. One of life’s mysteries. We are always looking to support one another, soothe one another, ground one another, love one another. Today she emerged from her Schoolhouse Studio smiling and showed me another enchanting scarf made from old vintage handkerchiefs handed down from grandmothers and great-grandmothers. Many have made their say to her, and she knows what to do with them, she weaves them together, sees how they fit. I love this scarf, it manages to be dignified and gracious and riotous as the same time. It will be on sale Sunday at the Open House.
I’m beginning a regular column on rural life, this is the first. It will appear weekly at least.
Bob Dupuis has a restaurant in Cambridge, N.Y., it is not a franchise, he can sell whatever he is licensed to sell, he has no employees, no ventilation or waste disposal issues, he will never get reviewed by the New York Times restaurant critic. In the warm weather months, he pulls his truck and cart onto a stretch of lawn along Route 22, pulls out his umbrella, sets up his chairs and receives a steady stream of visitors and luncheon goers.
It seems that half of the customers are Bob’s buddies coming by to chat for a bit, get some shade and take a break from work. he is not hurried, he is always happy to talk. He is known to keep up a running commentary on the world from his small patch of land. When I thought of writing my first column on rural life, Bob came readily to my mind, I drive by him several times a day, and from about 11 to 2 p.m., he is busy. Truckers stop by for lunch, cops, local residents, vacationers. It is as comfortable and informal a setting as you can get and it speaks to what is valued in rural life and what was lost for so much of American when the political and economic theorists of the country decided to abandon a way of life and a vast territory for the greedy lure of the new global economy. With the hot dogs and soda comes Bob’s philosophy, he has a lot of friends. On weekends, he brings his cart to weddings, markets and auctions.
Bob has chosen a way to be as well as a thing to do. And rural life is still as much about a way to be as a place to live. Rural life still permits that, even thought the idea has generally vanished from an urban/suburban population panicked by health care, retirement and housing costs.
I don’t know Bob well and I haven’t discussed finances with him, but it’s a safe bet to assume Bob isn’t living for security, doesn’t have a fat IRA and will not be retiring to Florida, unless he is selling a lot more hot dogs than I might have guessed. I know a lot of people like Bob up here. When the government decided that rural life and farming were inefficient in the new economic order, people, jobs and money left the countryside, more than 90 per cent of Americans now live in cities. The people of rural American were heartbroken to see their children forced out of the country and into a different way of life. Economists are the new power brokers of the world, and it was decided that preserving rural life was not efficient. The children of the countryside have followed mostly bad jobs to the overcrowded cities, where Bob Dupuis could not last a day.
If they talked to these children, they almost all say the same thing. They couldn’t wait to leave, they wish they could find a way to return.
In the country, it is still possible to do what you love. We are not yet burdened by so many things we need to have and can’t afford to buy. This was a major reason I came to live in a rural area, I had a farm with acres in the woods, barns and plenty of room for less money than it costs to rent a one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn or Northern New Jersey. It isn’t just a matter of money for me, it is a question of freedom. I can live as a writer, do my work, take my pictures, all around me are people who have come here and stayed here to do the same thing, from handyman to artists. If I had not come here, it is hard to imagine I would still be a writer today.
Bob Dupuis works hard and I am sure his life and work is not easy, but he is a symbol to me of what American was created to be and was meant to be – a country of opportunity, and the opportunity isn’t just about getting rich, but about the chance to pursue the life you want, the things you love. A life that wasn’t about health care or retirement costs but about the freedom to chase a dream. There is a man down the road who has a CD store in an old and seemingly abandoned barn and I have never seen anyone come in or out of his store, but he loves his music, will talk about his CD’s all day to anybody who wanders in.
Another neighbor, Moon, is a musician, he works at Momma’s restaurant, plays the guitar in Saratoga in the summer and does small gigs in bars and clubs around here and in Vermont. He loves music, he is following his bliss, you will probably not ever hear of him but he loves his life and is doing what he loves. I think of the hermit up the road who lives in a one room hut, has no car (he rides a bike around), heats with the wood he chops, and just asks to be left alone to tend his house and small plot. He is left alone.
I think of the electrician who structures his work so that he can take November off to hunt and spend time in the woods. And of my friend Ben, the handyman, who will never leave here because he understands the importance of living on a scale he can afford and that offers him the freedom to do the work he wants.
I love rural life but I do not romanticize it. It is tough here, there is little regular work, grinding poverty, a lot of drinking and despair. The men do odd jobs, work for the second homers, the women find steady jobs in health care – as nurses or nursing home workers – and get some benefits. Some of those trailers and sheds off of the major roads seem more out of the Great Depression than modern times. Still, it is a place of beauty, of opportunity in its own way, of promise. People are open, friendly, trusting. To be a neighbor is a responsibility, not just a name. Thoreau could not survive in most of America, he would be shut down by regulators or bankrupted by costs and safety rules.
But he could still find a Walden Pond in rural America, still go there, still be left alone to pursue his dream and live his life. This is what Bob Dupuis means to me when I think of rural life, he is a symbol of promise and freedom, he reminds me why my grandparents risked their lives to come here, that spirit lives and endures, far from the crowded urban corridors, the economists in their towers, the angry men and women arguing on cable news.
Every morning, I take my camera into the Dahlia Garden and find something new, something exotic, something surprising. I love the Dahlia Garden, it is a mystical, magical place. Getting lots of messages about Sunday’s Open House, should say a few things about it:
We are on Route 22 just a few miles north of Cambridge. Details on Maria’s website.
My friend Jack Macmillan is helping us keep order on Sunday, he will help with parking (should be plenty). I will be leading groups into meet the donkeys (do not bring shoes that you love) and hope for four short herding demos with Red on the hour. The Open House is noon to four (another will be held On September 1.
We cannot offer toilet facilities or refreshments, but both are handy nearby, in the Battenkill Bookstore, Momma’s Restaurant, The Round House Cafe. Please do not bring dogs. The farmhouse will not be open to visitors.
As always when Maria is involved, there is an artistic component. She will be showing and selling her art in the Schoolhouse Studio behind the farmhouse, her friend and co-hort Kim Macmillan will be assembling some of the hanky scarves on the spot. Neat to see.
There will be some other activities thrown in. I will be giving a talk about our move to the new farm and our transition here, a couple of writers from the Hubbard Hall Writer’s Workshop will be here and offer a reading or two, Mary Kellogg will be reading some of her new poems, and some artists will be selling their stuff (Maria has the details.) Hope to see some of you Sunday, Red is ready, so are the sheep, the lawn is mowed, the potholders piled up, the donkey’s can’t wait, Simon is a total media whore these days, he knows that crowds mean attention and food.
Hey, my name is Flo and I am the retired barn cat at the New Bedlam Farm. I used to live under porches and chase mice and moles all summer and eat them, but then I found this human guy and adopted him and am training him, although it is hard to train humans, they are sort of independent and remote some times, not dumb and dependent like dogs. Now, I get Fromm Family Food Salmon mix twice a day, there is a fresh water bowl on the porch at all times and when I need some attention, I bat my green eyes at the big guy and he turns to jelly and pets me for as long as I am in the mood.
We are having a heat wave and I am here to tell you, you don’t need the Weather Channel or all of those hysterical safety tips online. I am doing fine in the heat wave. Here’s how I do it.
1. Find a shady spot, a seat by the window, a porch with a roof. Claim your spot. Chase away anyone who comes near, hiss and claw at them, that usually does it, that’s how I got the red chair. If you live with humans, stare longingly at them until they bring mats or towels. Chairs are hard, you want something with a bit of padding to lie. Be near a cold water bowl, hydrate yourself.
2. Nap. My rule is as long as it’s over 80 degrees, I’m asleep. I’m not going to mess with it, run, jog, sweat or bother myself. I have given up chasing mice and rats and moles, I am a porch cat now, the Queen of the porch. It’s a good gig, you don’t have to run around in the heat to keep your belly full. Dogs are fools, everyone of them. The border collie races around like a nut after the sheep even when it’s 100 degrees and comes back with his tongue hanging off of the ground. Yuk. The big black dog runs around like it’s October, looking for any bits of food the chickens miss. She’s panting in seconds. I told you dogs are dumb. You won’t catch me doing that.
3. Hang out with chickens if you can, they make nice cooing and gurgling sounds, great background for napping, for dreaming. Make sure to get your towels washed every few days, too much hair and stuff builds up.
4. Conserve your energy. You can’t burn out if you aren’t moving much. My role is after breakfast, I don’t move much until after dark. Some might call that lazy, I call it being a cat (retired.) I stir in the late afternoon, when the woman comes out with various snacks she has saved for me and the other animals all day – pits of pizza, salmon slices, parts of strawberries, crushed blueberries. She talks to each of us, sees how we are doing, freshens up all the water bowls, gives some to me in the barn – yes, I do have to get up, and some to the chickens out in the yard, and she saves some choices pieces for her donkeys. I don’t want to say too much about it, other cats will come slithering around, but this is a good place to live., these people have it right.
5. Avoid much affection. Staying cool means staying still, not a good time for cuddling, lap-sitting, too much rubbing. I just get the food and water and wait it out. If I feel like getting scratched, I roll around in front of the big guy and he’s rubbing my belly in a second. Humans are pretty easy to train. I can feel in my whiskers that the weather is about to change on Friday and Saturday. Maybe I’ll take a whack at that fat little mouse who lives under the porch steps and doesn’t think I see him. Just to keep my hand in.
A good friend and valued reader asked me for a better navigation system on the blog so that she – others have made the same request – could follow the blog backwards in time more easily. I answered that I was a live-in-the-moment type of person and didn’t understand this idea of looking back, this sense of curiosity and nostalgia. If I were to spend more money on the blog navigation, it would be for new things, things for now, for the future. I do not look backwards at my losses, struggles and failures, the rich experiences and painful ones, at the dogs who are gone, at the mistakes and triumphs of other times, I understand that this means I am the freak, not everyone else. Or maybe it fits with my growing understanding of myself as an autist. But, she said, some of those times were amazing moments, and I got to thinking in my meditation this morning, about amazing moments.
My life is full of amazing moments, I do not see those in the past as being richer or more amazing than the ones I experienced this morning. The sun bursting over the pasture. Maria talking to her flowers, encouraging them. Red setting out to organize the pasture. The chickens beginning their long march for bugs. The mist on the hills, the exotic new Dahlia I found flirting with me, Flo taking over yet another chair in the heat. I took photos that I love, held the hand of the woman I loved, lay in bed with her and talked about the day together – could there be a moment any more amazing than that? – planned for our open house on Sunday, wondered who would show up, what they would find, looked at the amazing daily offerings of the Open Group, worried about needy friends who can’t seem to take responsibility for their lives, and those others who are fulfilling themselves in the richest wasy. I went out into the heat, the humidity with Red and Lenore, stood in the Dahlia garden with my new girlfriends, I did the first four movements, I felt my feet part of the earth, my heart reaching out to the sky.
Every moment is amazing to me, a rebirth and renewal, an opportunity and a gift. One is no better than the others to me, no more amazing. No, I thought when I set out with my camera to capture another moment in my life, to share it on this blog, to receive so many amazing moments in return, I don’t need to go back for amazing moments, they are singing to me, waiting for me, lined up for the glorious eternity that is the rest of my life.
