This morning, I went out to the barn as usual, but instead of feeding the animals right away, I gave my annual “State Of The Farm” talk to the sheep, donkeys and dogs (said dogs were on either side of the sheep, the strange little dog was in the house, spitting something up, no doubt.)

They all gathered attentively to hear my message, the alfalfa treats in my pocket had nothing to do with it.

I should tell you it was an amazing speech, there has never been one like it, it was..well, amazing.

I told the animals I was happy to tell them that the state of the farm is good.

We had excellent hay all winter, and mice did not get into the grain bags. The manure pile is growing at a faster pace than last year, perhaps because of the feed we fed them to help with the cold.

“I’ve done an incredible job on the farm,” I told the animals, who were on their feet cheering every moment of the talk. Only Lulu turned her head away, as if disgusted. The sheep baaaaahed at her. Lulu gave off a strange bray.

It sounded like “more bullshit,” to me, but she just looked at me with her big brown eyes.

“This year, in just a few months, ” I said, “we became the safest, strongest and best farm in history. Our animals grew antennae, transmit signals, can read French, we abolished ticks, the sheep can take hay out of the barn themselves, they have formed their own subscription  blog online.

We have abolished our outdated policy of rescuing brown and black sheep from other farms. We don’t need those sheep here, they just bring trouble. Some of them are killers of  baby rabbits.

Those farms are “shithole” farms, we don’t need animals like that here.

The chickens can no longer lay eggs wherever they feel like it, they must stay in their roosts, and we will only accept new animals to the farm who come from Southern Vermont, where the chickens are white, rich, hardy and very well-bred.”

I am pleased to say we have the best stream of any farm, with the best and freshest water. So much better than it was when those old farmers were here. We have only the best water.

The farm is great, I went on to say, but we will make the farm great again, or even greater…or whatever (great snorting and stomps of approval at this.)

“The donkeys did a stellar job of guarding the sheep this year. We need to support our guard donkeys, and stop making jokes and calling them “asses.” They have given us their best, they deserve our best in return.”

“There were plenty of coyote tracks around, but no coyote came into the pastures, no sheep were lost for any reason. Thanks in part to our four new sheep, the Romneys, we had the nicest wool and yarn ever, and Maria sold all of it. It is the best wool available anywhere in the world. The previous owners of the farm were stupid and weak, their wool was think and scrawny, but we are strong and brave and smart, and our wool is rich and thick.”

Here are some more notes from my speech, which (I’ll be honest with you) said nothing of real value, made no interesting proposals, told little if any truth, was completely self-serving, and basically repeated what everyone already knew and had heard before. It was a sensation, everyone watched,  the best State Of The Farm speech ever made. You wouldn’t believe the stomping and approval.

“This Spring, we will all work together to replace the boards in the Pole Barn eaten by the snow-bound donkeys. We will replace the boards with donkey-repellent wood. This will be a New Moment for the farm. We had a hard winter, but I am happy to tell you that the frost-free pump never froze, the pipes in the farmhouse never burst, the bats in the attic never perished, the mice in the basement had one of their best mice years ever – they got into a giant bag of Red’s dog food and had a fine January, warm and dry and horny.

As many of you know, we have a problem with one of our farm family, Gus has megaesophagus and has done some of the best and strongest and most dependable vomiting – we call it regurgitation –  of any animal we have ever known. The very best megaesophagus a dog could have. As you know, little Gus will eat almost anything that is not cement or hammered into the ground, and happily throw it up. A muzzle, we think, might help.

We are experimenting with different muzzles to see which one fits him best – two are coming this week, so hopefully he will return to the pasture soon. As an aside, a number of people have gotten the idea that it would be sort of cool if Maria would knit or sewed a muzzle for Gus. Healing vibes, it was thought. Er…

Those of you who know Maria, as I do, know these creative suggestions are quite problematic. First off, fiber artists like her do not knit or weave dog clothing, and it would be wisest not to ask them,  the very suggestion could spark violence or retribution or the withholding of favors.

They make art like quilts, hanging pieces and potholders. They talk of Goddesses and mystics, not the making of things for dogs to vomit into and spit bile and yellow gook over. Maria, I am proud to say, had a very good year. She sold everything she has made for a year on her  much-loved website – the most loved website ever – except for one hanging piece and one quilt, both still for sale.

I hear about those two pieces every day of my life, usually more than once, i hope people buy them one day.

I had a great year too, I decided to do good rather than argue about it. I turned in my new book, “Gus And The Big And Small Lessons Of Bedlam Farm” in October, and am still waiting to hear from my publisher. The call will come. I am a five-time New York Times Bestseller. I have a Mansion and A Yacht.

In the meantime, the farm has become a legend in the world of farms.

Here, on Bedlam Farm, in just one year, and all by ourselves,  we have cured climate change, bred sheep who live for a thousand years, eliminated poverty, bred donkeys who pee molten gold, cured cancer,  invented invisible fences, converted vomit into wine, and  manure into cereal that lowers cholesterol. No one thought we could do it, when I came to the country, everyone laughed at me, thought I was a joke.

I could never survive on a farm, they said.

They are not laughing now. Thanks for listening.

So the above was humor, and I have learned I need to say that when I try to write humor, before the outraged messages start sailing in from people who have sometimes forgotten how to laugh or smile.

I did – seriously (this part  is not humor)  – think this morning about the state of our  farm and the state of our lives,  me and Maria, and I thought this: Some years ago, we set goals for our selves and our lives together. After our painful and frightening bankruptcy, we resolved to pay off our debts, live lives of independence and creativity.

We have achieved those goals, and they remain our goals for the future. We vowed to live lives of encouragement and we have met those goals, we have tried to help a number of artists and creatives to find their voices and do their destined work. We have paid all of our debts.

Last year, when the country was so bitterly divided by politics, I  resolved to alter my life, to use my blog, my writing, my photography to do good rather than join the raging arguments that are tearing the country apart. I am not a hater, not even for politics. I do not hate anyone, especially the people who disagree with me. I resolved to focus my work on the Mansion residents and on the refugees coming to New York State, most notably the residents and  RISSE refugee soccer team, based in Albany.

The result has been the evolution of a group of very disparate angels all over the country who operate under the name of the Army Of Good. With their help, I have done more good in a year than in my previous 70. And much more to come. I did what I said I would do. This has made me happy, proud and fulfilled. I am less angry and resentful than I have ever been.

I am reminded every day of the wisdom of this path. Yesterday, I wrote about Chairman Mao on my blog, I saw his poster on a recent trip. I said he was a monster, and had killed more people than Hitler. I wrote that he had also brought health care to China, destroyed the feudal system of work, brought women into the workplace, and brought education to the poor.

I got this message from a man named Roger,  who said he had read all of my books, and called me a number of names. “You should be ashamed of what you have done!,” wrote Roger K. “I have deleted any reference to your Blog and will sell your books at the next Jewish used book sale!”

Then, after that, he added “you on the left often call those who do not agree with you fascist and assign them to Hitler, but he comes in a distant third when compared to Mao and his buddy Stalin.”

Roger definitely got to me. A USED Jewish book sale? How dare he?

I told Roger I would work to respond to disagreement with civility and grace, as he clearly  does. But a used Jewish book sale? Poor Rose, poor Orson. Don’t they at least deserve a more holistic, sectarian, burial?

I remembered a waitress I fell in love with when I worked as a reporter in Atlantic City, the reporters all got drunk every night after work, and Rose, a person, a hostess and singer in a popular all night cafe called the Stanley Restaurant, Rose usually got drunk too, along with us.

One night an inebriated tourist demanded she sing Moon River. When Rose refused, he stood up and called her a “no good Jewish whore!”

 Rose stopped, pulled herself up to her full height, walked over to the man’s table and leaned over and looked him straight in the eye. “Listen, mister,” she said with fire in her eyes, “nobody calls me a Jew!”  The whole bar cracked up and the shamed tourist fled for his life.

But back to Roger, he said he would be reading me no more. And how could he? His books would be gone.

Then, of course, I realized that Roger was not Jewish at all, that was kind of the point.

So how do we live in a world like this, where the Rogers of the world can send messages like this all day long for free and without consequence and enter our space and consciousness at will? That’s a challenge for all of us.

Well, I am learning the answer. With patience, and grace and humor. And with love. I set out to do that, and am doing it. I don’t need to love Roger or even like him, but I don’t need to hate him either, he is, like the man in the Stanley Restaurant, a foolish and lost man.

I am happy to tell you in this serious part of my State Of The Farm message that love and grace and patience and humor are alive and well at Bedlam Farm in 2018, and here, we are committed to doing more of the same in the coming year. We are not eating the poisoned candy of rage and judgment, we simply seek every day to go good, and then more good, and then more good after that.

Who knows where this will take us? The idea of Bedlam Farm is growing deeper and richer. It is only getting better, and I mean to keep it small and focused. I mean to be here through the last days of my life, alongside the person I love so much.

I wish the same for you all.