At 2:30, every day, Lulu (close-up, above) and Fanny come to the pasture gate. They begin braying loudly, hee-hawing, ears up, raising a din that can be heard for miles. They are telling us it is time to feed them, to bring out the hay. We delay at our peril, the braying only gets louder and more insistent. The braying brings Chloe running, and then the sheep, and soon there is whinnying and baaah-ing.
The donkeys know when we are in the house, and as long as they sense and hear and feel us, the braying continues, getting louder and more impatient. Chloe begins stomping her feet and neighing even more loudly. It is our feeding alarm clock, and it works. Every day at 2:30 p.m.
If you have spent any time with domesticated animals like dogs or donkeys or horses (or elephants) you learn right away something that most people who do not live with them apparently do not know: these animals not only love attention, they need it. Given the chance, they will demand it, this is their way of communicating with us, and our way of listening to them and understanding them in a new and important way.
Every day, Chloe waits to be brushed and groomed – today, her ears cleaned, the donkeys gather and wait patiently for their turn, to be brushed, have their hooves cleaned. We see them relax, their legs cock, their ears go back sometimes, they almost purr with contentment. They are talking to us, we are listening to them, it is an exchange of pure love and affection. We are telling them that they can trust us, we will not hurt them, that we care for them.
They are telling us that they love us too, in their own way. This is the dialogue that must never be interrupted, it is not mercy for them to be left on a farm for the rest of their lives with nothing to do, and no one to love. They do us much good, we return the favor.
To my amazement, a small local weekly e-mailed me this morning and asked me what my “takeaway” was on the Iowa primaries, the reporter said they were asking “prominent” local people their opinions. I said I am not a political person, the very term “takeaway” gives me hives.
Do you know who I am?, I asked the poor reporter. Yes, she said, but do you know how many celebrities there are around here?”
I shut up.
I checked the Iowa Caucus results on my Iphone this morning and I told Maria who had won. She asked me what I thought.
“I think I don’t want to move to Iowa,” I said, and she burst out laughing.
That was very funny, she said, so I thought I should repeat it here, maybe I can brighten some mornings, if it is, in fact, really funny. When I get up in the morning, I often ask myself what it is that I can write on the blog that might be useful to people, maybe even make them feel good.
We take politics very seriously these days, and funny is good. We could do with less rage and more funny.
I have to say I don’t really care to live in a state so eager to carpet bomb people and make sand glow, to shoot all of the people in the world who hate us, or who want to ban so many people in need because of their religion. It just isn’t my thing.
I need to say though, that I spent a week in Iowa last year on a book tour, and I fell completely in love with the state. The nicest people I have ever met live there, the most hospitable, courteous, welcoming book lovers I think I have ever met. There were great restaurants and hip neighborhoods and drivers who never honk and people who smile on the street and say hi.
There are vast corn fields and farm communities and funky old towns with restored lofts and thriving bookstores. There is more culture than you might imagine, and people with a strong sense of community and compassion. Do not be fooled by what you read online or see on TV. I had the greatest time there, and am having trouble reconciling my visit with the bloodthirsty people I keep hearing about and reading about out there.
I don’t know where all of these aggrieved and enraged people of faith were when I traveled the state, the only one I met was an animal rights activist who told me I would burn in hell for my writing about the carriage horses. Perhaps she was one of the caucus voters. Otherwise, my readings were long, sweet and very gratifying. I rarely have met such careful and attentive readers. The pizza was generally wonderful. If I ate steak, there was much good steak around also.
Rush hour lasted about five minutes in Des Moines, and you could miss it if you turned on the radio.
I am told that there are more religious voters in Iowa than any other state, yet I don’t see the Jesus Christ I read about and admire reflected much of anywhere in all of the debates and advertising and raging statements by slick politicians. Where were these people when I was there?
I sometimes wonder what kind of faith they are practicing out there.
I am trying to sort out the Iowa I loved and wish to revisit and the one that seems to be so angry and full of blood rage. I rarely write about politics, I was once a political reporter but I no longer feel in touch with what I keep reading and seeing. Sometimes, it feels like another country. A lot of people in my community surely see the world differently than I do, but they are generally very nice about it, I rarely hear anybody talk about carpet bombing or banning people. At the hardware store, one of the managers told me he’d love to see more refugees come to our town, he needs help.
I see there is a big populist revolution underway, on all sides, and it is fascinating for sure. I have the sense something good may yet come out of it. We all need to be shaken up once in awhile.
For now, my “takeaway” is that I love Iowa, but I think I don’t want to move there.
Sure they can, at least Fate can. Walking in the woods this morning, she did her morning skate on the ice, got thirsty and chewed a hold in the ice so she could take a drink. I have no doubt Fate could exist happily in the wild. We did hear the ice beginning to crack – it is warm – but she sensed it too and stayed away from the center. Fate is a strong woman, she can take care of herself.
