I read once on the top of the hill that pride is the beginning of sin, when the soul abandons him to whom it ought to cleave, and becomes an end unto itself. This, I believe, is what happened to me on Bedlam Farm, which is no longer mine. And what is pride, but the craving for undue exultation?

After eleven quite amazing years of ownership, I am happy to tell you that Bedlam Farm was sold today, now in the worthy hands of Tara and Scott Smith who, by all accounts, will be the loving people the farm deserves. I wish them every happiness there, it is the most wonderful place. it is time. It is past time.

Red and I went up to Bedlam Farm late this morning, I wanted to just be there one last time as an owner – Maria’s name is not on the title, she has said her goodbyes to the farm  – and pay my respects to this amazing place and to the spirits of creativity that were so good to me there, and to the spirits of the animals I loved there.

It was a bit of gloomy goodbye.  We got there just as a heavy downpour erupted, full of lightning and thunder, we huddled under the big and expensive shelter I built for the donkeys just for weather like this. I am happy to say Red and I were bone dry in there as lightning flashed all around us, thunder boomed, and heavy winds swept across the pasture. Looking out over the house and outbuildings, I could hardly believe  all the work I did on the house and barns, all of the outbuildings, the foundations, the ditches and water. In a way, it was a form of paradise, for me, for the animals.

Bedlam Farm was a grand stage, you could do pretty much anything there, and I did. I lost perspective, and then I lost my mind.

I decided not to write too much about the farm tonight, I’ve said a lot about it, and it is in the past, not the future for me or my life with Maria. This feels like an elegy to me, not a farewell or celebration. I walked up the hill to the spot where I carried Orson up the hill and where he is buried – we brought the marker to our new place, no one but me will ever know just where he is buried.

I talked to him a bit,  said goodbye, I don’t imagine I will be returning there.  I went to the Pole Barn where Rose loved to sit through the storms, to the outer pasture where Elvis roamed, to the pasture where I first met Red, fresh from Virginia, to the Studio Barn where Maria and I fell in love with one another, to the hay lofts where I used to sit and read and pray.

I didn’t go into the house, I felt as if I were intruding on a stranger or someone else’s house, it is not mine any longer. I felt a lot of emotion up there. I don’t miss the farm, it is not the right place for me and Maria to live, it was past time to go. I went into the big barn where Maria and I got married, and stared into the windows of the Pig Barn, where she had the first art show of her artistic life.

They say that madness and creativity are often tied to one another, and what I mostly felt was some sorrow over the pain I felt, the loneliness that engulfed me there, and the madness that finally brought me to my knees, and then to recovery and self-awareness. My life is filled with stories. That was one story, I live in another.

It was a profoundly creative place for me, as is our new home, which fits me, which fits us. I spent all the money I had on Bedlam Farm, and never once imagined it would take four years to sell. Bedlam Farm made me, and very nearly destroyed me. There is some lesson in that, I will be sorting it out for awhile. I am so grateful to Kirsten Preble, our wonderful realtor. We stuck with her and she stuck with us, and tonight we both cried a bit on the phone. We have been through a lot together.

We are going to lunch next week to have our own quiet celebration at the Round House Cafe.

The thing about madness is that you see the world one way, then, if you are lucky enough to survive, you come to see it another way. I am not the same person I was when I bought the farm in 2003. I see it now through very different eyes. It is not home to me any longer, there is nothing there for me now.

Life is full of pain and glory, and there was a lot of life at Bedlam Farm. I walked up to the top of the hill and sat up there where I read “City Of God” by St. Augustine to Rose and to me. The farm was a shining city on a hill for me, I will never forget the thrill of moving there and surviving my first winter. I came of age there, for sure, and was knocked down to size as well. I faced myself there, learned who I was, accepted who I am. I faced some awful truths about myself, I gained perspective.  Bedlam Farm was the destination point on my hero journey, it was joyous and wonderful, it ultimately became a weight too heavy to bear.

So I am done with it, looking ahead, moving on with life. There is a new Bedlam Farm, and it is where my life is now, where I belong. Good luck to the Smiths, lucky people, lucky farm.

“Pride is the beginning of sin. And what is pride but the craving for undue exaltation? And this is undue exaltation – when the soul abandons Him to whom it ought to cleave as its end, and becomes a kind of end to itself.” – Augustine, City Of God.