30 September

Messages From My Post Office Box. Reconnecting To The Lost World

by Jon Katz
My Post Office Box
My Post Office Box

A few weeks ago, as I moved ever deeper into new technologies – my blog, videos, podcasts, Facebook – I got a letter from a woman in Eastern Texas reminding me that there are  still many people who don’t e-mail, don’t have time to be on the Internet, don’t wish to share their lives on Facebook and yet care about me and my life and my work. So she wrote me a letter telling me so.

I heard her message. Wiith very little fanfare – I only mentioned it once on Facebook and once on the blog – I went to the Post Office in Cambridge, N.Y., and opened a Post Office Box – Box No. 2, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816 – so people could send me messages if they wanted to by paper mail, so they would have that option.

Frankly, I doubted anyone much would use it. I don’t get letters much any more, or phone calls, and I miss both. I am committed to new information technologies, I don’t grouse about them but the other world is still there. I made it clear that I am not seeking contributions or subscriptions to be sent to that box, just messages people might have for me who don’t have computers and don’t communicate by text or e-mail. I also asked that no gifts be sent, I would just have to return them.

I don’t wish to be a bank or corporation, bludgeoning people onto the Internet, forcing them into technologies they don’t really want or need. The blog is free, it will remain free to those who can’t afford to subscribe. Last week the messages began arriving. I could not have been more surprised, or more happier.

Some contained small checks – $20, $5, one contained a $10 bill. Today messages came from everywhere- I just opened three and they are from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Timberlake, North Carolina, and Lake Tahoe, California. Dawn from California  sent no message, just a check for $50.

“I don’t have much time to spend on the Internet,” wrote Marcia Eickmeier from Timberlake, “I have a garden, goats, chickens and dog Heidi. Plus I volunteer at an animal shelter. I do like to read about your farm and critter adventures.” Enclosed was a check for $20. Susan in Millwaukee is recovering from a broken leg and can’t get upstairs to her computer, she wrote me a beautiful two-page letter on a white lined legal pad, she hoped she didn’t mind my writing, she didn’t want to be intrusive. She is not on Facebook.

“Jon,” she writes graciously, “the new format for your blog is awesome, the recognition and the quotes really add dimension and cause one to think more about life.” I shook my head at Susan, this good and generous person, unable to walk up her stairs, writing me this lovely letter in a pen.

George Peterson wrote me a brief note from his small farm near Wichita, Kansas. “I read you every morning and have for some years,” he said, “I find your blog calming and grounding, a good point to start my day, I get on my tractor and think about the things you write about, I love watching you grow and change. I used to read you because I had a border collie, but he died, and I read you every morning anyway. Says something, I think, and thank you.”

Hard to convey what a message like that means to a writer sitting on his farm in Upstate New York.

Paper messages are different than e-mail. They require some thought and effort, I don’t just glance at them, I gather them in a pile and sit down and read and consider them. Their tone and feel is different from hurried and fragmented e-mail.  I am reminded how different these kinds of messages are from e-mails and texts and  social media messages, likes and notifications. People have to think about what they right. The letters are never rude, thoughtless or cruel, even when they are challenging.

How powerful these messages are, in a sense these are the lost voices in America now, good people working hard with little money, eager to contribute to my work even though it is not necessary, driven to communicate through letters and messages and checks and paper money. They are gone from media, forgotten in politics, abandoned by corporate America.  it is very affecting to hear their voices coming through my P.O. Box.

I need to say again that I don’t want the blog to be a source of pressure for anyone, people under pressure should read it for free and not struggle to pay for it, it is quite legitimate it for them to receive it if it is meaningful to them, that’s the way I want it. Most of my messages do not contain money for me, they are just as valuable to me as the ones that do. I see my Post Office Box is going to be precious to me, a reminder to be aware and to be humble, to remember the many good people who wish to communicate with me and ought not be forgotten. Their messages are very beautiful, very clear and powerful. They are already very important to me.

And I am quite aware of the great reminder as I push deeper and deeper into new media to never forget these good and faithful and ethical people (why is it that the people with the least money feel the most pressure to contribute what they can?), and to never leave them behind. Another way to have the conversation.

It is ironic for me also, a few years ago I would not have offered a Post Office Box, not looked for messages from the outside world, now I treasure them. I  love the timeless ritual of going to the Post Office, saying hello to Wendy who works there and the villagers I see there – today I ran into George Forss and Donna Wynbrandt, George was choosing 10 first class stamps with great care. My Post Office box connects me to the world in many different ways.

I love reaching for my key, turning the lock, opening the window, pulling out the junk mail and the envelopes, stacking them on the seat, taking them home to show them to Maria, to sit down with a cup of tea to read them.

I will check my Post Office Box just about every day now, there is no need to send me money there. I consider these messages radioactive jewels of connection from the other world, the world of simplicity and meaning, the world of considered words and thoughts. How grateful I am that this world is not gone, and that people in it think enough of me to write or type their messages, put them into envelopes, lick their stamps and affix them and drop them in the mailbox. I will read and  respond to every single one of them.

Thank you Susan, George, Margie, Dawn and the many others. My address is Post Office Box 2, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.

30 September

Ted Cruz Comes To See Red And Simon

by Jon Katz
Senator Cruz Comes To Bedlam
Senator Cruz Comes To Bedlam

I was surprised when the black sedan cruised back and forth in front of the pasture, I say a young’ish man with slicked black hair lean out of the car and shoot some video of Simon and also of me practicing some sheepherding with Red, as we do every day. It is common for people to slow down and take photos of Red working, but rare to see an official looking black sedan. The man driving and watching me and Red closely in the front seat had big black sunglasses and an earpiece microphone sticking out of his ear.

Simon was curious and delighted, visitors usually mean carrots. I went over to the fence to get closer to the car and the man in the front seat stepped out to stand in front of me. “Hey,” I said, “you can come over to the fence and watch the sheepherding.” The two men conferred a bit, and then a man in a black suit with a white shirt and dark tie got out and I was surprised to see that this was Sen. Ted Cruz, who has been leading the fight in Washington to shut down the government if the new health care program isn’t postponed or eliminated.

“Hey,” I said, “I’ve been hearing about you all week, what are you doing here?” He looked around, and then came over to me. “Well,” he said, “the government shut down, so I have nothing to do there. And the truth is…I wanted to meet Simon and see Red herd the sheep. I love to watch that…And I’d love to see Maria’s studio, I want to bring something to my kids.”

I cleared my throat, flattered a bit. Sure, I said, sure. “I don’t know if you know me, I’m a five-time New York Times Bestseller, I’ve written 23 books and I have a blog that is quite popular…” Sen. Cruz cleared his throat and nodded, “yes,” he said, “my staff Googled you. Haven’t read any of your books, to be honest, been busy, it is not simple to shut down a big government, but I wondered, you know my wife would love one of her potholders and my daughters might like one of those donkey pillows. I love Maria’s work, she seems quite special.”

Well, she is, I said, and you are very welcome. Sen. Cruz pulled  his tie off and stuffed it into his pocket, I warned him to take his shiny black leather shoes off, and I offered him a pair of rubber boots. “Never wear shoes into a pasture that you don’t love.” He is from Texas, I expected he knew this.

But he wasn’t listening to me, he was already moving around to the back of the house, and in a flash, he was in the pasture. “What a great looking dog,” he said of Red. I had Red do his thing, some come-byes and away-to-me’s, had him lie down, move the sheep, show off his spectacular outruns. Sen. Cruz was astonished. “I’ve never seen anything like that,” he said. I told him Red’s story, and then he kneeled down and and cuddled with Red and when he looked up, his eyes were misty. Red gave him h is best therapy-dog stare and leaned into him, and I thought the Senator was going to melt right into the ground.

Then Simon gave over, and I gave the Senator some carrots to feed to him and Simon leaned into him and pressed his forehead into the Senator’s chest and the two of them just began to commune with one another. “He’s a healing creature,” I offered, and I saw the Senator’s face change, he was quiet and asked me all kinds of questions about Simon’s mistreatment and his recovery.

I saw that the Senator was crying, and the other man came over and handed him a handkerchief. “Is this between us?,” he asked. Yes, I said, except for the blog. I am pretty committed to sharing things on the blog, I said. “Oh, well,” he shrugged, “nobody in Washington would ever read your blog.” I said nothing, but was secretly quite relieved, I thought I must be on the right track.

I asked the senator if he wanted to do Tai Chi with the donkeys, and he asked if there were any photographers around or cameras. He didn’t want to be up on Twitter or You Tube doing Tai Chi with donkeys, he said, not good for the image. I put my camera a way and we went into the Pole Barn, it was quite hidden from the outside world and I began doing my Tai Chi movements and Ted – we were on a first-name basis by now – moved up and down gracefully and then Simon and Lulu and Fanny came and encircled him and they did Tai Chi together.

I got to show him two or three movements, and we went through them together, the donkeys snorting and leaning  into us, all of us doing Donkey Tai Chi together. “They would not believe this in Washington,” he said. “Too bad,” I said, “it would be a great way to start the day down there.”

The senator seemed to mellow quite a bit, he finished up smiling and talking softly to himself.

Senator Cruz cuddled with Red some more and then came back to Simon, and offered him more carrots. The two had bonded, another strange man connecting with a donkey, an old story. “I wish they had more animals in Washington,” he said. And then, he left us and went into Maria’s Studio, spent a half hour in there and came out with a chicken potholder, a donkey pillow and a quilt for his mother-in-law. “I ordered a scarf for my mom,” he said. I have him a copy of my children’s book “Lenore Finds A Friend,” for him to take to his daughters.

We sat in the Adirondack chairs for a few minutes, talking about kids and work and the challenge of dealing with modern technology. “I’d love to have a farm,” he said, “It seems like a perfect life.” It is not a perfect life, I said, it is a good life, but it does take a certain kind of personality.

Then, he said he had to go. I’ve got to get back to Washington, he said, but he seemed a bit sad. He changed back into his leather shoes, put his tie and jacket on, combed and brushed his hair. He thanked me for the tour and the chance to meet Simon and see Red work. He shook my hand and it wasn’t until he was gone that I saw there was a $20 bill in my hand.

“I’d love to have a donkey,” he said, as he drove away.

30 September

New Header 7.0, Last Decision. Blue Vs. Red

by Jon Katz
Last Decision
Last Decision

Mannix Marketing has put together what I think is the final header design format for my blog, I like it, we have resolved the questions of size, typeface and line separating the header from the Farm Journal. The one remaining decision I have to make is the color, you’ll see here that (at my request) Mannix has made the top quote line red along with my name, now also in Red and in lower case. The designers are uncertain about the color, I like the Red. It is not perhaps the most aesthetically balanced color match, but I think it has the most impact, it stands out and attracts the eye, it is a stronger, bolder color.

This is the first issue Maria and I have disagreed on, she prefers the blue, but I am pretty clear on liking the Red, the purpose here is to stand out, connect the blog to books. Feel free to weight in. In the morning, I’ll make a final decision and we’ll be done. A series of thematic quotes from me will appear in the header box and fade in and out, I hope to connect the blog to the idea of words, to the notion of a living book, which my blog is becoming. I appreciate the hard work from Mannix, and the great input from so many people.

30 September

Truck For Sale

by Jon Katz
Truck For Sale
Truck For Sale

This truck – a big white van – appeared on a nearby farm and is for sale. It caught my eye from the first day. I am not in the market for a truck, but I would love to have this one, it would be great to drive around the country in, I could put my camera equipment and dogs in the back. I suggested this to Maria – I could paint “Bedlam Farm” on the side and when I put this photo up on Instgram, many people encouraged me to buy it. Maria said the cost of the truck would not come close to matching the hospital bills I would need to pay for if I ever brought such a truck home and put it in the driveway.

Enough said, but I walk past it almost every day, I had a dream about it the other night. It will, I hope, be sold soon.

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