15 August

The Day Ed Gulley Flew With The Angels

by Jon Katz
When Ed Gulley Flew With The Angels

When Ed Gulley died Monday evening, the news was posted on Carol Gulley’s blog and on Facebook, America’s new backyard fence, and I wrote about his death Tuesday morning here on my blog. Among the first messages I saw were several offering comforting words about the same thing:

Ed, people told Carol, had gone to fly with the angels. These posts caught my attention, they seemed a little bit incongruous. Did Ed wish to fly with the angels, and kept it a secret? Do we know where the angels were taking him?

Not all angels are nice and trustworthy, according to the Kabbalah and the Old Testament, some of them are wily and scheming. (Some, it was whispered, were women and Jews.)

I had read of people flying with angels and cherubs in the Kabbalah and in some early Christian mystical writings, but not recently.

I googled the term, of course, and saw stories about the Navy’s Blue Angels,  a singer named Na Leo Pilmehana has a song called “Flying With Angels” and there were two entries for Flying With Angels New and Used Autos, Parts and Accessories.

I don’t mean to be sacrilegious in any way or cynical, but when I thought of Ed flying off with the angels, I couldn’t help laughing at the image. And i needed a laugh on Monday. Was this really Ed up there?

On the one hand, I thought, never. On the other hand, I thought, well, maybe.

Ed had an ego the size of North Dakota, and it would probably seem right that when he passed over,  angels would appear to guide him to the next place, which he would assume was heaven. Ed did much good in his life, no serious harm that I know of.

Before he left, he dressed in his burial suit (this part is true), which consisted of camo shirt and pants, white socks and farm boots. He was an imposing sight up there, sailing through the clouds like a big jetliner heading for China.

Clearly, given a choice,  he would try to forego flying and ride instead in one of his ancient and smoldering John Deere Tractors. I called them Frankenstein tractors, Ed killed them and brought them back to life so often they were patched together, just like the monster. He hadn’t bought a new one in 40 years.

I wondered if the angels knew what they were in for with Ed. He was never a passenger, always the driver, no matter where he sat.  Perhaps they were expecting someone meek and compliant, humbled by dying.

If the tractor idea didn’t work, or more likely, if the thing blew up or fell apart, Ed would have a fallback plan. It was usually the same plan, an unwavering article of faith: buy or trade used parts.

Buying new was a sacrilege.

I could see Ed leading the angels to his cluttered Frankenstein Lab, his workshop, to put on his giant soldered wings made from parts of a tractor engine, flapping loudly in the sky, welded together at the joints, painted different colors, orange and yellow wooden flowers painted on, two loud wind chimes tingling in the rear, bits and plates falling off as they gathered speed, oil dripping down to the earth.

By now, the angels might be wide-eyed and a bit panicky. This was different.

Their journey had most likely begun at night – I assume angels don’t care to be seen or photographed – and perhaps now the sun was rising.

Ed would be recounting life on his grandfather’s farm and his fathers farm in great detail. How many chores he had, how hard they were, what a tough sonna-ma-a-bitch the old man was, how Ed got up early every morning to do his farm work while the other lazy bastards his age were still sleeping. How he learned a lot, but was never praised.

By now, the angels might be a little woozy, blinking a bit, with sore wings, glancing at their Iphone GPS’s to see how much farther it was to St. Peter, who loved to hear the stories of newcomers to heaven.

St. Peter could listen forever, and would soon. Ed would teach him his signature boast: I’m a tough son of a bitch, I be, I got a double row of tits on each s-i-i-i-d-e.

I have no idea what it means, he would say, all the farmers say it.

The angels were trying to stay focused and on course, flapping their delicate white wings, but they kept getting blown off course by Ed’s screeching and tinny wings, diving back and forth to get out-of-the-way of Ed’s ungraceful zooming around and clanging loudly in the blue sky.

Birds were taking cover everywhere in the clouds, or diving down to earth to hide in the trees.

And Ed was just getting to his milk price lecture, which follows the hard life on the farm lecture, which follows the never-go-into-debt lecture,  which follows his diversify lecture, which everyone in his village of White Creek, and in the Northeastern United States had heard more than once.

Many more times than once. (I know it by heart, and use it as a secret password to get onto any dairy farm in North America.)

The angels were about to learn that Ed Gulley, on top of his many other skills, was the Charles Dickens of Milk Price lectures and farm tales.

His lecture on milk prices  begins back in the dawn of the earth when cows evolved from single celled organisms spewed out of volcanoes and moved right through the Dark Ages, Medieval Times, the Renaissance and the Industrial Revolution, and then right up to the World Wars, and our own times, when cabals of foolish farmers, evil regulators, ruthless lenders, crooked politicians, arrogant feed suppliers, clueless milk producers and apathetic and greedy un-American grocery chains and ungrateful consumers of food conspired to ruin the family farm.

I told him once that every word he says is true, but that the lecture itself could stun a Brontosaurus. He laughed.

I wonder if the angels realized just how far they had to go to escort Ed from earth to heaven.

However far it was, it was not far enough to see the end of a milk price lecture, which ended with fulsome descriptions of the healing virtue of chocolate milk, which Ed believed was a miracle drug.

If heaven didn’t come before the end of the milk lecture, there were the animal stories, there seemed no end to the animals stories, because there was no end  – Ethel the sleep walking chicken, Harold, the arrogant Peacock, Sadie the goat who ate the pockets of visitors, att-a-tude, the playful calf, Willie the imperious Peacock, Oz the snarky Cockatiel,  and countless rescued hawks, doves, mice, goats, chickens,  cats, dogs, possums, moles, raccoons and even skunks.

And some hapless people and drunks wandering in the road.

Ed missed  his calling in some ways. If he was the Charles Dickens of farm stories, he  was the Walt Disney of farm animals and wildlife, he and Carol had encountered and saved hundreds of them, they lived 110 cute Disney animal episodes, they were heartwarming and endearing.

Most of the animals ended up in the house, where they were healed,  named, spoken to in this high-pitched animal voices, fed generously, petted and stroked,  and eventually returned to the wild, happy, fat and peaceful. Ed could barely set foot in a tractor without coming across a desperate animal in need of rescue. The rumor was they came from everywhere to lie down in front of his tractor, maybe one reason the angels came for him.

Ed was an animal whisperer and shouter.

“How far are we from heaven?” whispered one weary angel as  Ed explained how milk promoted growth, health and sexual prowess. I have to say the angels would love  Ed, he was a standout character, much unlike the stunned and docile people who prayed hopefully when they were being taken to heaven.

They would have better stories to tell than any other angels.

Ed perhaps wondered how much the angel’s wings cost, if they bartered or traded. He suggested some colors other than white.  Don’t ever buy anything new, he said, there are always ways to get good things like wings second-hand, you don’t ever go to the new angel wing dealers who would rob you blind and leave a farmer broke.

He invited them to go back to his farm on their next trip to earth to look at his art, his wind chimes, wooden flowers, metal sculptures, his giant bull, the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion and the Scarecrow. All made of genuine farm parts, he was the great parts hoarder of the farm world.

But Ed really warmed up when he talked about his cows, the famous, award-winning Bejosh Farm Brown Swiss dairy cows, he remembered every county fair, who in his family went, how many ribbons they won,  how much milk they gave, who gave birth, who went to slaughter, who behaved badly, who was the smartest,  which display they put up in the dairy farm stall.

I loved those cows, he said, I told my kids when I come back to visit in 30 years I hope to see those brown cows right there in the dairy barn. They might not dare not to be there.

So if you believe in angels, look up at the sky, watch for the silhouette of a big man with iron wings and listen for the sound of angels laughing  and hoping for more.

 

22 Comments

  1. What a perfect tribute to your friend. While I am sorry for his loss- I loved the sculptures you posted pictures of!- I am glad his suffering & confusion is over. May he meet old friends & make new ones a plenty up there in the clouds. I think my Gramoa Ingram would love to trade tales with him, if they meet. Grampa wasn’t a farmer, but he sure could spin a tale for us…
    May the many memories comfort his family & friends.

  2. I only know Ed through your writings and Carol’s blog. I think he would love this, it is the humor you shared with him. It has a lot of love behind it.

    1. Thanks Katharine, I think he would be the first to laugh at it, he was never afraid to laugh at himself. Death is seriously, but like anything else, we can take things too seriously.. I still laugh at the idea of Ed sailing off with the angels.

  3. Thank you Jon for this post. Just what was needed to lighten the mood after the hard recent days. Keep writing ✍️. We (your readers) will remember Ed through your blog.

  4. Thank you, Jon, for this wonderful farewell tribute to your treasured friend. My heart is overflowing with love and laughter, as it does when I remember my late husband, ( a pilot, who also died of brain cancer), making curried coffee and declaring it delicious!7

  5. There couldn’t be a more perfect eulogy…intended or not. Your love for and your understanding and knowing of your best friend is so heartwarming, delightful and fitting! And now we all get to smile too. Thanks for sharing this. I believe I will think of it everytime I see a glitter in the sky, or hear a clank somewhere. A gift…

    1. Thanks Kathye, it was interesting from a writing perspective. I meant it as a response to the sometimes sappy overemotionalizing of death, and I wasn’t sure it was the right time, but then when I read it and saw the response, I realized it was a eulogy and I had captured what it was I really love about Ed. things that sometimes get lost in the reflexive gushing. I didn’t want to deify Ed, I wanted to humanize him, and I did so more effectively than I realized. A learning experience, thanks for the note.

  6. I know you don’t feel comfortable talking at Eds memorial. This eulogy would be a wonderful read for one, though. You captured the essence od Ed that I have come tp know through ypur writing. Well done. A fine piece of writing full of heart and spirit.

  7. Jon,
    I had followed both Carols blog and yours covering Ed’s decline and passing. I can say that I wept as I read many of the posts. When Carol posted Ed’s passing I did not cry, and wondered why.
    I laughed out loud and finally wept as I read your essay about Ed flying with the Angels, Ed released into the spirit world with a wink, nod, and boot in the pants by a good friend who knew and loved him well. Such is the power of humor.
    Thank you for closing the circle for all of us.

  8. You had me laughing and crying all at the same time. Yes, the perfect eulogy for Ed as I knew him through your and his writings. I love the image of a clanking, lecturing, bigger-than-North Dakota angel!

    And while I’m writing, I would like to extend both my condolences for your loss…and my gratitude for your generosity in sharing his and your journey with us.

    You have provided me with constant food for thought and pointed out places in me where I have unconsciously accepted society’s take on death and dying. I have learned so much from this journey as seen through your writing. I like to think maybe this is partly what Ed wanted. So, thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

  9. A beautiful tribute. So sorry for your loss, sad. Bob’s out shopping and I just added a jar of chocolate syrup to his list. The world could use some healing.

  10. Jon, I loved the post you wrote about Ed flying with the angels . I had a good laugh. I didn’t know Ed . I only knew him threw your blog and the bejosh blog . But from reading your blog and reading the things you wrote about Ed, I think that post would make any one who knew Ed would say it’s just like him.

  11. Love this tribute to Ed, Jon. From what you have written about the “Farmer” he would have loved it too!

  12. Jon you are an incredibly talented writer, but to your merit, even more so, an incredibly loving friend. From what I have seen from your page and following Carol’s blogs, Ed was a one in a million guy who will NEVER be forgotten by so many of us who admired this genuine and beautiful man. It is so hard to understand why God takes the ones he does prematurely. He will be so missed but forever loved. This latest of yours is precious. Thank you Jon. God bless all you dear people out there.

  13. I can’t envision a better tribute to one of the world’s great characters than to envision his life in the beyond as bawdy and colorful as his life on earth. No tears for a soul set free. I’d hate being surrounded by folks proclaiming how wonderful and how much like myself I look in that fancy wood and satin box. I, like Ed wish to be as messy, irreverent and authentic in death as I was in life. Up to my knees in the coastal mudflats digging clams with my Newfoundland dogs. Fly high and make some noise, Ed Gulley, you old coot!

  14. Jon I wrote a comment on your post of The Day Ed Gulley Flew With The Angels but somehow it didn’t get posted . I read your blog this morning & had to laugh at your post . It sounded like the Ed I’ve come to know from your blog & the Bejosh blog. It was a nice tribute to your best friend.

  15. If the Tin Man still resides at Bedlam Farm, maybe the lovely, talented Maria could make him some angel wings. Just a thought.
    A lovely eulogy for a special man.

    1. I’m’ laughing Marcia, it’s a sweet suggestion, but that’s not what the talented and lovely Maria does…:) And not what the Tin Man needs, I don’t think..

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