“Come Bye” is the border collie/herding command to go clockwise around the perimeters of the pasture, it is called an outrun and Red’s are a ballet, beautiful to watch. The purpose is to keep the sheep together, to round up any outliers, Red has mastered this art beautifully, and I caught him at sunrise as the mist over the farm began to clear, coming bye to me.
It was a fascinating day for me and my photography, and for my idea of portraiture. A wonderful, gifted 16-year-old named Lilly commissioned me to take her portrait, her graduation approaches. We spent more than two hours together in the very hot afternoon sun, we went from color to black and white, from the portrait lens to a macro lens to a 35 mm lens.
Lilly was clear about what she wanted, struggle over what she liked, after a half-hour we figured each other out and did a creative ballet together. I got more than 100 photos of her and her family and her playing the guitar and the piano and sitting by a pond and in a yirt whose mural she once helped to paint.
Working with a very bright and talented teenager who had many ideas about how she wanted to look was a learning experience for me, and a good one. We started clicking when she started reciting some lines from Macbeth when she got nervous. It loosened her right up.
I think I got some wonderful photos, and loved working with Lilly. I was also soaked in sweat and worn out, we had things to do at home, but we were so tired (Maria came along to help me lug my equipment and see her friend, who is Lilly’s mother) and we ended up at the Bog, we couldn’t bear the idea of cooking, it was so hot.
I hadn’t seen Kelly for a couple of weeks, I missed her and her smile, perhaps because of the weather the Bog was quiet, I caught Kelly at the bar, she told me her puppies are thriving and both have homes to go to. She is grateful for the help so many of you gave her with her vet bills.
Kelly is much loved in our town, she has more good friends than I will ever have, and the most radiant smile for many miles. I am grateful to know her. I bet the owners of the Bog are also.
We have a good friend, she is a farm worker and we have come to know her well and love her. She is honest, warm, devoted to her family, who live far away, and to whom she sends money every week of her life. I have never known anyone to work so hard, or so enthusiastically and diligently.
There is nothing we own or have that we would not trust her with.
I decided not to put her name up on the blog, I think she would be a great addition to the portrait show. She has done nothing illegal, but it is sad to admit that the climate surrounding foreigners and foreign workers is so ugly I want to protect her by not identifying her, she is gracious to let me take her picture.
She has one of those jobs that Americans do not want and will not take and she has helped us more than once. I look forward to getting my country back, and not hesitating to put a name on the photo of such a good and honest and hard-working human being.
She is one of the faceless people in America, and I am eager to show her face. We should all see it, and look into those honest and loving eyes. There is always a twinkle there. There are many such people around here, they are rarely seen, except at the supermarkets, early on Sunday morning.
The roadside was lined with Queen Anne’s Lace, it is so common we hardly take notice, but this one reminded me of the beauty and symmetry and meaning of the snowflake.
I was coming out of the pasture with the dogs this morning, and I saw this beautiful sight through the trees.
Maria was hanging clothes on the clothesline she installed and loves. I realized as I took this photograph – it is quite lovely to me – that I have never hung clothes on the clothesline, nor have I ever taken them off the line and brought them in. I don’t even know where she keeps the clothespins.
I sometimes do laundry, but not regularly. This got me to thinking about gender roles, and the ways in which Maria and I have transcended gender roles, and the ways in which we have not.
Simply put, a gender role is a set of society norms and practices and habits that shape the kinds of behaviors generally – not universally – considered appropriate, acceptable or typical for people, based on their sex or sexuality.
Gender roles are centered around broad conceptions of what it means to be feminine or masculine, what we have learned from our parents or seen in the wider world. There is an intense and eternal debate about whether or not these gender roles are biologically determined, or socially and behaviorally taught and transmitted.
Everywhere, women are moving to redefine gender roles – theirs and their partners – and lots of men are yowling about political correctness and the loss of free speech. I believe this re-definition is every bit as liberating for men as it is for women, and I have lived that experience.
I consider myself a feminist, and I have never been what one would call masculine. And no one has ever called me masculine. I never have expected women to take care of me, or to give up their work and dreams for me. I’m no good at sports or any physical activity beyond walking.
In my first marriage, I always supported my wife in her need and desire to work, and I never suggested to my daughter – or thought – that her only path to happiness and security was through a male. She is a confident and respected media executive, she never once thought of giving her life over to the care of a man.
I could not be prouder of her.
My first marriage was clouded by what is now called co-dependence. My wife took care of almost every aspect of my life, and I was happy for her to do so. I have worked hard to shed that history and have learned to love taking responsibility for myself. That has left me more creative, more productive, less fearful, less angry.
I am disinterested in sports, do not believe in wars and have rejected the male role of conflict, confrontation and lack of empathy, a/k/a Washington. I have been beaten up a few times, but never hit anyone in anger or started a fight.
I always knew that no is no, and I never could imagine forcing sex on someone who didn’t clearly want it or understand what was happening. To my knowledge, I have never harmed a woman, frightened one, diminished or trivialized one, at least not consciously. That doesn’t mean I haven’t done those things unconsciously, we are all victims of our own lives and times.
I believe that sexism, like racism, is woven into our culture and into the consciousness of many men, and also many women. Sometimes it is visible, sometimes not, I do believe real tolerance comes from understanding that, not denying it. Again and again, I see women deferring to men, being dominated by men, ignored and dismissed by them. I am determined not to be that kind of man.
And to never be the kind of man that judges a woman by her body or size.
I believe my gender companions and I have a long ways to go before we can come to a healthy understanding of what gender means, and what equality means. I know life and the choices of life are much harder for women than men. This revolution is far from over.
In my marriage, Maria and I naturally transcended some gender roles. We didn’t have to work at it, we just did it.
When we got together, we both were looking to give rebirth to ourselves. She wanted to do her art and live her life, and I wanted to regain control of my life and engage in a healthy and mutually satisfying relationship. It was not easy, it will never be easy, but we are doing well.
She is the handyman around the house, she fixes things, climbs on rooftops, wields a hammer and ax, re-wires lamps, digs gardens, paints the walls, repairs the plaster, talks to the people at the hardware store (most of them refuse to sell me anything if she is not there.)
I do all of the shopping and most of the cooking. We share the animal care. Maria mucks out the barn mostly, she grooms the donkeys and pony, when the vet comes, she wrestles with the sheep to hold them down. When the big men in trucks call to discuss repairs and estimates, I hand them the phone. When workmen come here, they usually insist on trying to talk with me and explain things with me. I tell them they have to talk to Maria, this is almost impossible for many of them to do. They cannot transcend their idea of gender – the men make the decisions about the house.
I give the animal injections, if there are any. I usually, and after consultation, make the final call about euthanasia. This is harder for Maris, she is very close to the animals. She completely accepts the reality of our lives with animals, and moves on.
If an animal has to be put down, I will do the shooting, although she wants to learn how to do it now. I will teach her everything I know. Maria hates shopping, she is claustrophobic in a supermarket, she owns or buys nothing new.
Maria digs and tends the garden, I water the flowers. We are both obsessives, and do our work conscientiously.
Maria will never notice if we are out of milk, cereal or other food. I believe if I were not around, she would eat dry cereal, rye bread, chocolate and cheese for almost every meal. If these were not available, she would have cookies or beans or scones for dinner. My mission is to never let that happen.
Maria usually washes the dishes (and often breaks them), this is one task I think I should take over more.
The heart of her identity and life is not domestic, it is her art. The heart of my life is my writing and photography, and the idea of nurture. We both have embraced creativity as the central ideology of our lives, this is where we come together.
It works out well for us. We eat healthy, we both work full-time, are apart during the day, the gender roles balance out well and work for both of us. Yet we both carry them in our consciousness. She is drawn to chores like laundry, it never occurs to me to do laundry. She folds the clothes and puts them away.
Maria would not vacuum if we were all choking in dog hair and dust, I will often take out the vacuum and clean up the dust and hair. She hates it when I buy her gifts, she has no interest in new clothes or expensive jewelry. I get yelled at every time I get her a present, which is as often as I can get away with it. I celebrate the small things in life.
My idea of masculinity is largely in rebellion against my father, who talked sports endlessly, derided me as a sissy, and was never at ease in the company of women. And in appreciation of my mother, whose own creativity and ambition was thwarted at every turn by clueless men and by her own ambivalence about being independent – she never thought it was possible.
My mother and father came to hate one another, and their marriage was a misery. My father never had breakfast at home in my life there, he was out of the house every minute he could be. I never saw him wash a dish or clean a clean a counter, I doubted that he knew where the clothes washer or dryer is. He never vacuumed in his life.
He would no sooner have set foot in a supermarket than try to fly off of a skyscraper. I choose to be different.
Men are obsessed with responsibility, and I am working to shed this idea. My marriage is not about my taking care of Maria, she is more than capable of supporting and caring for herself. My mission is to support and encourage her and to love her faithfully every day. That is my primary notion of my gender. Men, tragically, have not yet learned how to live peacefully and lovingly in the world. I hope I am learning to do that.
My idea of masculinity is nurture, encouragement and constancy. I believe that women are the salvation of the earth, they are rising up everywhere, it is my wish to support them. I have always loved women more than I love men. I think men are lost in their own rigid gender roles, almost to the point of destroying the earth.
So there it is, this idea of gender roles is critical in relationships. A young man messaged me, he was about to get married, and he asked me if I had any advice for him. I don’t generally give advice to other people, I said, but I would encourage him to look at all of the things he never did, and all of the things he does do, and see if he can’t start switching them around.
It is never too late to change, and rarely a bad idea to try.
His wife, I said, would be impressed and delighted.
