1 June

Returning To Life: Chloe Comes Home

by Jon Katz
Chloe Comes Home
Chloe Comes Home

Our long winter began almost at this precise spot in the pasture, when Simon had a stroke and fell over and was soon gone. The next day, the awful snow and cold descended on us and stayed for months, and then Lenore and Frieda died also. Ken Norman was in the hospital recovering from knee surgery that day and his wife Eli came over to help us say goodbye to Simon. It was fitting that Ken and Eli and their daughter returned to the farm today. They brought us Chloe, the 20 year-old pony that Maria has been grooming and riding for the past few months.

Chloe arrived about 4:30, chased Lulu and Fanny around the pasture for about a half an hour, (it looked like she was trying to say hello, they were having none of it.) Then things settled down. Maria is thrilled, I am a bit bewildered, there is just a lot going on her right now.

But the important thing to me is that life has returned to Bedlam Farm. We love our mad puppy, she is a whirling dervish, bright, loving and intense. Red is simply the rock, he took one look at Chloe, lay down next to her and kept an eye on the sheep, nothing ever seems to throw or rattle him out in the pasture. So another chapter at Bedlam Farm. Maria plans to ride Chloe around our pasture tomorrow, we are thrilled to have her. She seems a sweet, steady and gentle creature, she and the donkeys were grazing near one another by dark. She is enjoying our fresh grass, we will have to keep her off of it for much of the day.

We are grateful to Ken and Eli for connecting us with this pony and bringing her to us. Chloe is 20 years old, I think she has seen it all, she already seems quite happy here, and why not? If I could come back in my next life as anything in the world, it would be as Maria’s next pony. I don’t think any creature, human or animal, could do better than that.

We had a pony we loved for a couple of years – Rocky. He was blind and  sweet. We have missed having a horse ever since, the farm seems whole again.

1 June

The Barn Fairy And The Puppy

by Jon Katz
The Barn Fairy And The Puppy
The Barn Fairy And The Puppy

Fate met her match today, the human equivalent of a border collie puppy, Nikilene, The Bedlam Farm Barn Princess. We don’t call her that anymore, she is growing up, but it was a joy to see her and the puppy chase each other around the  yard, wrestle, play tug of war and shower one another with kisses.

After a half an hour, Fate was dragging her tongue off of the ground, she came into the house and went to sleep in her crate. Nikilene is much like a border collie, she runs and runs, never tires and is tough and resilient. A beautiful match.

1 June

Sarge’s New Life: Paul Moshimer’s Last Trip, His Last Message.

by Jon Katz
Paul And Sarge
Paul And Sarge

Paul Moshimer’s last trip was to Vermont to pick up Sarge, a blind trail pony headed for slaughter. On the way, he spent the night with  Maria and me at our farm, and he and I went to Pompanuck Farm that night to see Scott Carrino in his sugar house boiling his maple syrup.

It was the first and only meeting of the Fabulous Old Men’s Club, a group I launched because I had met some Fabulous Old Men, beside myself – Scott Carrino, Paul and Doug Anderson, a brilliant poet and one of Paul’s closest friends. Doug has become attached to Blue Star and he and Paul spoke often.

I don’t make friends easily, and don’t have many, Paul made many friends and they were loyal to him, they stayed in touch. I don’t have the need for a lot of friends, my life is full, but I was delighted to find such good ones late in life. The idea behind the Fabulous Old Men’s Club was serious, even if the name was ironic. We were men who were getting older, but up in our neck in life. At a time when many of our peers were thinking about slowing down, we were speeding up.

We all had our aches and pains – I had open heart surgery in July, Scott broke his back a few years ago working on a building, Paul complained of severe pain in his hips and legs. We shared the view that life need not shrink later in life, Paul was excited about Blue Star and the horses, Scott had just stared a new cafe and I just moved to a new farm, was building up my blog and photography,  and signed up with a new publisher. We got a new puppy a few weeks ago and a new pony today.

None of us were planning to downsize. This was the first time I spent hours alone with Paul. I was very easy talking with him, he talked very openly about the farm, he was very guarded about his feelings about life. Scott enjoyed him as well, he found him fascinating and charismatic, and a brilliant conversationalist.

I had the sense that Paul and I were kindred spirits, yet quite different people. I sensed his life was challenging, even chaotic, it’s hard to imagine living with more than 30 big horses, Maria and I are stretched taking care of two donkeys and some sheep. Paul carried a heavy burden, his mortification at having been arrested for assault years earlier and sent to jail for 30 days. In a sense, it had ended his life. He found a new life at Blue Star.

We sat up half the night after the gathering at the sugar house, it was a luxury. It was hard for Paul to find that kind of time at Blue Star, he and Pamela worked so hard, from dawn to dusk. When I got up the next morning, Paul was out in the pasture, using his new and much-loved camera, photographing the donkeys and the sheep. We talked some more, about fatherhood, the hard work of being good men, our plans for the future. He had so many, one of them was to come and spend time at Bedlam Farm regularly, he enjoyed our talks and so did I. We connected, and very strongly. We had many more things to talk about, I imagined we had quite a bit of time.

The next morning, I followed him to Vermont, and was deeply moved at how gently and confidently he handled Sarge, an anxious horse who was totally blind in one eye, and losing the sight int he other. Paul approached him gently, led him  through a large pasture and to the Blue Star trailer, got him inside,  took him home, kept me posted on his progress. Paul, a former fire chief, had great authority, and the horses seemed to sense it.

It was hard not to love and respect Paul, watching him earn the blind horse’s trust, walking him out of that pasture where he had been for nearly a year and onto the Blue Star trailer. He seemed to sense he was going to a good place with a good man. He was right.

A little more than a week ago, Paul published a photo album of Sarge at Blue Star and sent it to me, he called it “What Sarge Knows,” he told me the horse was doing wonderfully, and you could see Sarge’s amazing journey at Blue Star in the photos. He was in with the other horses, accepted by them, navigated comfortably with the herd, was active and happy there, he already had a bunch of girl friends.

Sunday, I spent some time with Sarge, and Paul was telling it right. I barely recognized the horse, he was so easy, confident and playful. He was at home. It would be easy to think of him as having full sight, if I didn’t know. Paul and Pamela had worked closely with Sarge, he could be the poster boy for Blue Star. They don’t give up on any living thing there, human or animal. I had this feeling -a fantasy perhaps – that Sarge missed Paul and was looking for him. They had been on quite a journey together. Paul’s absence was palpable, you could reach out and touch it.

That was, I am sure a projection. I have no idea what Sarge is really thinking. I think it was me who missed Paul and was looking for him. Every time I see Sarge, I will think of Paul and remember that long and sweet night we had together, the last meeting of the Fabulous Old Men’s Club.

Sitting in the sugar house at Pompanuck Farm, I was excited about this new beginning, about finding something I had wanted all of my life – some good and open men I could trust and love, a group to help each of us sustain the other as we moved towards the final rich stages of life. I did it, I thought, I found it. . Every deep thinker knows that life has it’s own plans, and pays little attention to ours, Paul seemed to easy and engaged in his new life –  Sarge sensed it too.

At Blue Star, I came up to Sarge while he was tethered to a fence for grooming and special feeding. I told him what happened to Paul, I told him he would not be back, not in this world. Sarge turned his head and ears to locate my voice, and his eyes looked right into mine. I felt a chill up and down my spine, and he nodded his head two or three times. He might have been wanting some food, he might have been sending Paul a message, he might have been letting me know he understood. I think that’s what Pamela might say.

I have to be honest, I can’t say for sure. Something passed between us, I am certain of that, even if I don’t know what it was. Thinking back on it, I think it might have been Paul, sending me yet another message, his last:  I loved what you wrote about me and Sarge, he might be saying, I’m looking forward to the Fall, to our next visit, you promised to help teach me how to write.

1 June

Tex Gets A Bath

by Jon Katz
Tex Gets A Bath
Tex Gets A Bath

If you have ever wondered what it’s like to give a shower to one of the largest draft horses in the world, you can find out at Blue Star Equiculture where Tex lives. He is believed to be the second largest draft horse on earth, and he looks it. Brian showered him on Friday, the day before he led the carriage horses to pay tribute to Paul Moshimer Rickenbach, who died last Thursday. Rex is not surprisingly, the leader of the Blue Star draft horses.

1 June

To Mark A Life In This Beautiful Way

by Jon Katz
To Mark A Life
To Mark A Life

I believe I have never seen’s person’s life marked and respected as lovingly, creatively,  sensitively and honestly as Paul Moshimer’s life was marked these past few days at the Blue Star Equiculture farm. Funerals and memorial services can blur together for me, be sad and empty at times, filled with ritual and protocol and stillness and formality.

It is so hard to capture a life, but the honoring of the life of Paul Moshimer was quite amazing, it opened my eyes to the possibilities of saying goodbye to people in a new and different way. Pamela lives outside of the box, she marches to her own drum, and those of us who love Paul were moved and uplifted and enchanted by it.

First, Pamela Moshimer Richenback was open. Anyone was welcome, she shared the farm, the death openly and authentically, proving once again that authenticity is a powerful antidote to pain and confusion and anger. The food on her kitchen table was available to anyone, visitors came to see the horses even as Pamela had begun  grieving her husband. I told Paul once that honesty was the greatest weapon there was against hate, but Pamela proved it.

She did not shy away from the tree where Paul took  his own life, she talked to some wise friends in the Native-American world, and she brought flowers to the tree where Paul died, and people brought more flowers, symbols, food, water, ribbons and flags. Soon, it was a festive and colorful shrine. The tree became a beautiful marker and symbol of the love so many people had for Paul.

Then the fire. A friend volunteered to be a fire keeper, he sat with the fire day and night for four  days, tending it and burning smoking sage for visitors to walk through. The fire burned day and night, there was always someone there, it became a beautiful way to grieve, out in the open air, close to where Paul lived and died. It was also a refuge, a quiet and sacred place for people to think, meditate and mourn if they wished.

Then the horses. It was a beautiful thing for a dozen or so people to parade the big draft horses out past the fire and around the tree four times, then the horses went on to visit the places along the water that Paul loved and where he spent so much time.

It was wonderful to be in the open, to come and go as we pleased, to worship in community or individually. Pamela came and went as she could and as she needed, and I thought once more, as I often have, how precious it is to bring joy and laughter as well as tears to the end of a life.

All day, every day, people – some total strangers – appeared with food, flowers, cookies, love and support. They came from friends nearby and places hours away. I have never marked a life in this way, it was beautiful and powerful and rich, it brought this good man to life and made us understand him and feel close to him.

There will probably be a final memorial service to Paul in a week or so, Pamela is still thinking about it. It was a gift to celebrate Paul’s life and mark his death is so beautiful and real a way, in a setting so close to his home and heart. A woman sitting next to me said it felt as if he was sitting with us. He is, I said, he is.

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