14 October

Fate At The Gate. She Is Unusual….But We Love Her All The Same

by Jon Katz

Fate is the perfect dog for Maria. She is independent, unpredictable., unique, fascinating. She loves to be around sheep but stubbornly resists hearing or trying to move them around. She may be the only border collie from a champion Wales herding family who loves sheep too much to boss them around. The sheep pay no attention to her at all.

When you call her, she sometimes comes – but only if she feels like it. She adores people, even people she’s never seen before.

But she is the right dog for Maria. She loves to sit with her in her studio while she works and has never set paw on a quilt, not even when it’s stretched out on the floor. She loves to walk in the woods with us, always pauses and waits if she gets too far, and never runs out of sight, even when chasing a color that lasts about 10 seconds.

She loves to stay in the pasture and be with the sheep even after the morning chores are done. When she’s ready to enter the house, she goes to the gate and stands beside the donkeys. They are at ease with her but pay no attention. I love the image of the three of them just standing there.

I notice that my new Iphone takes different photos of Fate sleeping. I’ll have to explore that. Fatre is beautiful when sleeping; during daylight, she is never at rest; at night, she rarely moves. It has a different feeling.

In this and everything, Fate is unique; she is not like the other children.

She tolerates Zinnia, but just barely. She is the only animal on the farm who doesn’t love Zinnia.

24 May

Love, Trust, Calm: Sunrise At Bedlam Farm. A Peaceful And Almost Sacred Time

by Jon Katz

I love Bedlam Farm and my life here more than I can say. Sometimes I forget to say it. Not today. This morning is one of the reasons why.

Maria and I got up just before dawn this morning, I decided to take some photos of the morning, and I’ll save the flowers for later in the day.

Mornings at the farm have a spiritual beauty to them.

There is a soft sweet smell to morning, the dew, sense of so many things coming to life.

Our mornings, to me, are all about love and trust. We have a Peaceable Kingdom. It feels sacred to me at times.

The animals don’t rush to the gate to get hay; they walk slowly and steadily behind Maria, the love and trust between them have taught me a lot about people and animals and how we can communicate with them peacefully and lovingly. This is a place of connection and love.

It was hushed this morning, peaceful. A respite from the loud and chaotic world. The prophets were correct; humans must be around nature and share their lives with animals.

The sun was just rising over the pasture; we could hear the songbirds saying good morning and watch the sparrows and barn swallows dive and sweep over our heads. The animals were glad to see us; they were braying and bashing, and they knew we were going to the pasture for some grass. They didn’t need to run.

We open the gates and return in 90 minutes to get them out and manage our pasture grass. We do rotational grazing; the grass must last until October or November.

Maria is the leader here, all eyes are on her, and she moves slowly and quickly. So do they. They trust her; they know she is taking them to food. It is a beautiful time and an excellent way to start the day.

Maria usually stays behind for a half hour before making her art, spreading manure over our pastures – this helps to grow grass – as the sun rises in a beautiful arc about the field and our pasture apple tree.

It is quiet there; we don’t speak much; Fate runs around the sheep, and Zinnia tries to gobble down as much manure as she can until I  yell at her to stop. She does stop.

While Maria cleans the barn and shovels the manure, Zinnia swims to the pond.

Fate runs until she is exhausted, and her tongue drags on the ground. I think I figured out why Fate doesn’t intimidate the sheep. I used to think her blue eye was Merle’s dye, common in some herding dogs, but I was corrected.

It’s a genetic condition. She doesn’t have the BC eyes of a wolf, so the sheep aren’t afraid of her, and she can’t herd them.

There is no question that she wants to. For years I’ve been struggling to figure her out. I’m almost there.

She is a perfect companion dog for Maria; they are in sync, as I am with Zinnia, Red, and my other herding dogs. Soon Fate will join Maria in her studio; Zinnia will join me in my office as I write. They are not our furbabies; they support our lives and keep us company.

Border collies present themselves as predators, so the sheep obey them so quickly. I think her eyes don’t send that signal; that explains a lot to me; she has all the instincts in the world. She doesn’t look like a predator to the sheep. Red taught me many lessons about the border collie’s eyes.

But she has terrific instincts, befitting a border collie from Wales.

Maria is soft and patient, and gentle with the sheep. She has the most beautiful smile. It lights up the world around her.

When Red died, I learned that we didn’t need a working border collie, as efficient and helpful as they are. The sheep are happy to do what they are told, especially if they have learned to love and trust us.

For years, they only saw me when I was with a border collie; they started moving the second I entered the pasture. It’s taken two years, but they trust me now, although not as thoroughly as they trust Maria.

The farm has been a powerful laboratory for Maria and me when communicating with animals and learning their trust. I am careful to keep my voice low and soft. I make time to be with them so they can get used to me. Maria and I are considering trying to train our donkeys to carry sacks of manure and firewood in a cart or backpacks.

I thank Fanny will be easy to train. I’m not so sure about Lulu. It will be fun to try. We’re starting the experiment by putting special donkey backpacks on their backs to get them to get used to carrying some weight. We’ll see what happens. Stay tuned. They trust Matt, the farrier; we don’t need to put restraints on them.

We ought to be able to do it.

9 May

“Go Get The Sheep…”

by Jon Katz

We love Fate, but she is a mystery to me. She loves to run around the sheep but refuses to herd them. She comes from Championship herding stock in Wales, and I was training her as I have four or five border collies.

She has tons of instinct and prey drive; she won’t push the sheep around, herd, or challenge them in any way.

She and Maria are an excellent match, each devoted to one another. Maria opens the gate. “Get the sheep!” she commands, and Fate takes off like a rocket at warp speed, circling the sheep but staying away from them. Fate has never stepped on a quilt or fabric in Maria’s studio.

They pay her no mind a all. Even Zinnia cam move them once in awhile, and Bud showed great promise as a herding dog – he just kept running off in the woods in search of rabbits.

Let Fate be Fate. I stopped training her; I didn’t want to break her; she loves her life, and we love her. Life is curious in the way it works through things.

8 April

The Art Of Shearing. Ian Came Today, Poet, Shearer, Friend, Artist. Come See

by Jon Katz

The shearing of sheep is an ancient art, a ballet, done twice a year, once in advance of summer, the other in advance of winter. The wool of sheep clothes warmed the ancients and our most recent ancestors and lots of people today.

Sheep shearers are a diminishing culture and art in greedy Corporate America; they study for years,  travel everywhere, charge ridiculously little, bring news of other farmers and sheep, and are artists in every sense.

The way they use and move their bodies, keep the sheep still and calm, and suffer kicks and cuts, sore backs and torn muscles and exhaustion reminds me of ballet, circus work sometimes, but most of all, of the dedicated artist who puts his or her art above all.

The material rewards for shearing are small, hardly anyone can make a living at it anymore, but it takes so much grace and heart. The work is grueling and meticulous. Mistakes can hurt sheep, and hurting sheep horrifies real shearers. Ian has never harmed one beyond an occasional nick.

Our shearer, Ian McRae,  is also our friend and a gifted poet. He is a regular dinner guest at the farm and a precious friend. Lately, he brings his newest posts. We cherish those dinners.

He starts his first college course in poetry and creative writing in just a few weeks. He is excited about it. So am I. Ian has a lot of gifts; poetry is one of them; he has also worked with some of the shearing masters of Vermont and knows his stuff. It is pure joy to know him and watch him work.

 

The first few photos were taken with my new SLR-S mirrorless Leica; I’m excited about it. The rest were taken with my Iphone 13. The shearing was its first real workout, not bad for the first full day. I can’t wait for a macro lens to point at my flowers. That will take a while. I’m talking with my Leica teacher Donald next week.

I have a lot to learn.

The shearing of sheep began in around 3500 B.C. when people learned how to spin wool for their clothes and other everyday uses. The wool trade has been popular worldwide for centuries as a sustainable resource that always has a service.

Maria takes the wool to knitting mills in Vermont and sells skeins and roving to those who follow her work and read her blog.

This is a much-loved ritual, and shearing is a big part of it. I love to come along.

The modern idea of sheep shearing took shape in Wales and rural Australia. At the start of the wool industry in the early 19th century, sheep were shorn with blade shears, similar to garden clippers.

Frederick York Yosely (1837 – 1899) was an Irish-born New South Wales inventor and woolgrower who invented and developed the first commercially successful sheep-shearing machinery. It revolutionized the wool industry. That machinery is very close to what Ian uses today.

The first authenticated daily tally (amount of sheep shorn in a single day) was 30 sheep by Tome Merely in 1835.

I much appreciate taking pictures of Ian working on the sheep. Small wonder he is a poet; his shearing is a kind of poetry all of its own. Come along and watch. I’ve been watching sheep shearing twice a year for 15 years now. I never tire of seeing it.

Shearers need to be strong and agile; they use their whole body to catch and control the sheep, including their legs. It takes years for a shearer to learn this trade. Once the sheep are turned on their backs, they freeze. Many wear special clothes to help their backs and fend off hernias and leg injuries.

 

 

Ian charges $6.50 to shear each sheep and $2 to trim their hooves. It is customary to pay more than the shearer asks since, for some reason, they never charge what they are worth in opposition to much of American industry, which always demands more than things are worth. When I tell him the charge is ridiculously low, he just shrugs and smiles. It wouldn’t work to charge more he says.

 

Sheep get numb when turned over and helped adequately; it takes concentration and the whole body.

Ian is 23, strong and experienced; he was exhausted after shearing our ten sheep. Then he rushed off to Vermont to do it again.

As Ian shares each sheep, Maria scoops the wool up (the clean part) and puts it into a giant garbage back. When it’s warm, we will clean the wall as thoroughly as possible before taking it to the mill. This is called skirting.

When Maria’s followers get the sheep, it is spotless and ready for knitting. The roving goes for dryer balls, which sell like crazy.

 

Before he comes, we trick the sheep into coming into the Pole Barn with a bucket of grain, I take up position to keep the donkeys from coming in, and Maria rushes to close the gates we put up, mainly for this.

I sorely miss Red when we shear the sheep; he knew what to do and kept the sheep in a corner, ready to be grabbed by the shearer. Ian had to chase them all over the barn.

Ultimately, the sheep were happy to leave; Maria held the gate for them.

Ian first came to the farm with his grandfather, legendary shearer Jim McRae, who has retired. The two loved to dance and sing together, and Jim taught Ian how to herd sheep in the right way. Ian spends every Sunday helping Jim on his Vermont farm.

 

 

10 March

Aging Proudly: My Wolf (And Werewolf Killing) Cane Has Arrived From England. I Am Strangely And Deeply Affected By It

by Jon Katz

I’ve always been a loner and outsider, which explains much about me, and why I have always loved the story of the Wolf Man.

I am strange to many people.

But there are stranger and odder things than me, and one of them was delivered by FedEx on Thursday morning.

Something new and essential has entered my life – a wolf cane, a/k/a, a werewolf walking cane with a rich and disturbing back story.

It’s changed the way I think about getting older. And, oh yes, it helps me to walk securely.

I’ve known for several years that I would eventually have to walk with a cane, as I have a foot with serious structural problems that often throw me off balance and leaves me vulnerable to falling.

I stubbornly resisted the idea; it was a vanity thing about old age. Nothing says old more clearly than walking on a cane.

I didn’t want to need a cane and hadn’t entirely accepted just how old I was getting to be.

But I did my homework, found a magical cane, ordered it online from an old and very trusted company, and erased my reservations about having a club.

I can’t wait to walk around with this one; it means a lot for reasons I can’t quite explain.

Maria says this is my comfort wolf. I had to laugh.

I realized I had to overcome this cane phobia a few months ago. I need a cane.

I ordered a cheap and flimsy cane online, and I hated how light or fragile it was. I didn’t want to walk with one; it embodied everything I didn’t like about the standard cane I see on the streets and in grocery stores.

I know I am old but I don’t have to feel old.

In the way she dispenses wisdom that eludes me, Maria had an idea: “why don’t you get one of those wolf canes, the ones that can kill werewolves.”

Maria knows me all too well. I loved the idea the second I heard it.

Instantly, I was on fire to have a wolf cane, but it had to be as genuine as possible; I wasn’t looking for a plastic replica or a cheap imitation of this mythical thing.

There was a flash of light in my head, and I got online and started exploring the little but exotic world of wolf canes.

The Wolf Man story has long been surpassed by Scream and TikTok, Superheroes, and computer games, and there is more horror on any cable news show than in all of the Wolf Man movies.

But the wolf cane story has plenty of juice in it for me.

Only the silver cane can kill a werewolf; the wolf canes can also kill wolves if necessary and are said to have supernatural powers that thwart evil. I might take mine down to Washington and walk the halls of Congress (legally.)

There has been a great mystique about these canes ever since Lon Chaney made werewolves famous in his classic movie The Wolf Man, which I must have seen dozens of times.

The story practically hypnotized me when I was a kid.

It seems that it still does.

The cane arrived just as we were leaving for our one-day retreat Thursday. I tore open the package and screwed the wolf’s head – made of heavy metal – onto the cane.

It fits beautifully; the club was lovingly built and solid as a stone.

I showed it to all the young inn staff and told its story, and I was the coolest thing in the building, at least for a few hours.

None of them had seen Lon Chaney’s movie, but all said they would get online the second they got home. Heads turned when I walked into a local restaurant with Maria for dinner.

I wasn’t just another old man on a cane. I was a cool old man with a wolf -head cane. This thing has some Mojo.

Sometimes, I can make aging work for me.

Maria and I celebrated my cane last night in Vermont by watching the Chaney movie again.

In addition to Chaney, it starred Claude Rains, Warren Williams, Ralph Bellamy, Patric Knowles, and Bella Lugosi.

Lugosi played a gypsy werewolf who was beaten to death by a silver wolf’s cane.

My cane sent shivers up and down my spine. I couldn’t stop looking at it, carrying it around with me, even when I didn’t really need it.

At first, I couldn’t bear to get one. Now, I can’t bear to put it down.

Maria thinks the cane is excellent, even sexy.

She has reminded me more than once that it was her idea. It was.

I slept practically with this cane (Maria was a better choice); I had the same feeling when I got a wonderful dog, which was only a bit more mysterious.

This is my cane, the cane I want to use, that I want to walk around with.

By the way, it helps me walk confidently and safely.

The short version of this spooky back story is this.

In 1941, Universal Studios set out to make a genre horror movie that became a classic, along with Dracula and several other films.

The movie starred Lon Chaney as a young innocent who returns to his ancestral home in Llanwelly, Wales, to bury his dead brother and reconcile with his estranged father, a famous scientific researcher and the owner of Talbot Castle, which loomed over the village.

The film’s shooting was in England, mainly at a studio in Buckinghamshire, Chatsworth in Derbyshire, and Castle Combe in Wiltshire.

As with Batman, another of the great myth stories, Chaney played an honorable and unsuspecting man torn between evil power that turned him to murder and tortured him with a stricken conscience.

In his human form, he would never dream of killing anyone.

Like the original Batman, he does not desire great power; he sees it as a curse; he wants to find love and live peacefully. He was horrified by what happened to him.

The $15 silver cane he brought from the shop of a woman he had fallen in love with became the symbol of this tragic myth – a club with a silver wolf head could kill a werewolf, a tale no one in town believed except for a gypsy woman.

The day he bought it, Larry Talbot was walking when he saw a wolf attack a woman in the shadow of his father’s castle. He couldn’t save her, but he bravely tried.

After a fierce fight,  he killed the creature with the silver cane he had just purchased to impress a woman he had fallen in with.

Talbot was bitten in saving a woman from the wolf, and the pentagram – the sign of the werewolf – was embedded in his chest and on the palms of his victims.

His good deed was now a horrible nightmare.

The Wolf Man movie was a huge success; it gave birth to four sequels, including the successful Frankenstein Meets The Wolfe Man, another of my favorites.

The wolfman legend is one of the most widely believed myths in the world even now, especially in Eastern Europe. People worldwide believe that there are men who are sometimes transformed into wolves and who hunt and kill humans.

After the movie, the wolf’s head cane became known as a  powerful weapon in the fight against evil, even supernatural evil.

This story had particular relevance on the eve of World War II.

The psychiatric condition in which a person believes he is a wolf is called Lycanthropy.

In the movie, the doctor diagnosed Larry Talbot as Lycanthropic. Unable to stop killing, Talbot begged his father to take the cane and keep it with him for his own safety.

Talbot knew this might be his death warrant; he dreaded the possibility of killing his father.

Lord Talbott encountered the werewolf in the forest and, not knowing it was  Larry, beat him to death with the silver head cane his son had given him.

My cane does not have a silver head; the wolf’s head is metal, but it was made by a British craftsman who lives near the studio where the movie was filmed.

He’s been making real wolf head canes for much of his life, although he doesn’t make a lot of them these days. He makes all kinds of canes with different heads.

I’ve decided not to share his name; this is a personal thing between him and him.

I bought two wolf head canes online when I started on this mission. I thought they were cheaply made and shoddy, so I returned them.

I made the right choice with this small company in England; my cane is the real deal, although I don’t expect to fight with any wolves in Washington County, New York. I might scare off some evil spirits if the legend had any meaning.

What a great blog post that would be.

My craftsman was very particular about his wood and the metal he used. He sent me letters and messages telling me how he was building the cane and how I should take care of it.

He repeatedly apologized for the time it took – nearly a month – to build and finish it. I have two pages on how to keep it healthy and strong. It was worth the wait.

He made a unique rubber foot and sent it to put on the bottom of the cane; a leather strap to keep it from sliding off my hand is on the way.

I did get the chills occasionally, waiting for the club to come.

This is one of the myths that has always grabbed my imagination; I was almost obsessed with it as a kid. There’s a lot of magic in the story.

When I first saw the movie, it seemed primitive and improbable. But it embedded itself into the imagination of this strange child, who was 10 or 11 when he saw it.

I sometimes imagined being the werewolf and occasionally getting my hands on a silver wolf cane that would protect me from anything human or supernatural – like the bullies in my Middle School.

I guess I haven’t grown up, but I find it fascinating that this cane had made me eager to get it and use a club when almost nothing else did. I’ve had it for two days, and it works for me.

There is a vital lesson for people who think about aging here.

We need to look at the things that are not only necessary for us but which can stimulate and seek out things that give us strength. I’ve been stopped on the street by a dozen younger people who see the cane and say, “Hey, that is so cool!”

That’s exciting for a 75 -year-old man who needs a cane to keep his balance. I like it; it makes me feel young and excited. This lesson is not lost on me.

I suppose it’s also about feeling powerful, but I’ve never been powerful and am not looking to be powerful now.

These recent years have been about simplifying my life, not expanding it. I don’t wish to conquer anyone or anything.

But I’m thrilled to have my wolfs head cane.

I take it everywhere. Maybe it is my comfort wolf.

I think Fate growled at it when I brought it home; this is a good sign.

Bedlam Farm