Lenore, Hound of Love, in the snow

  January 22, 2009 – Almost everything on a farm has meaning beyond the surface. Today I got a check for my Kubota tractor, a new and fancy tractor with a cab that I barely used the year or so that I had it. We cleared manure with it, hauled firewood, but the truth is, I am not really a tractor guy. They are delicate, complex and dangerous instruments in the hands of fools, and to me, my Kubota came to symbolize the way the farm got away from me for awhile.
  You use animals to create characters, and then you need more characters, so you have two 3,000 pound steers and a beef cow, and then you need a tractor to move the round bales the cows need and a tractor to haul all of the manure they leave behind. This is what people in AA call magical thinking: you need a steer or two, so you get them. Then you need big round bales of hay to feed them. Then you need something to move the round bales and manure around. Suddenly, you are into big money and lots of work, and you can’t remember why you got the steers and cows in the first place and all tese people who wouldn’t live within a mile of a smelly steer are ticked off because you sent them to market.
  The Kubota symbolized all of this madness to me, and I was glad when it was sold. It was a symbol of the childness, waste and impulsiveness that took me – and I see many others -  over for a bit, and the farm would not have lasted too long in that state. The Kubota was like big trucks and SUV’s, and a society that doesn’t want to grow up. I want to grow up.
  Life rarely works out the way we think it will, and I do love change and the opportunity to grow and learn. The Kubota taught me that having a tractor doesn’t make you a farmer, and so much expense and waste doesn’t help you lead your life, or even keep it. Looking around me, the Kubota is a timely reminder that it’s easy to buy things, wasteful to have big things you don’t need, and healthy to think sometimes in less magical terms. I loved chugging around in the Kubota, and even more than that, I loved getting rid of it. It means I am coming to terms with my own life, and protecting it.

  Chickens are so simple I hardly consider them animals. But they are efficient eating machines, bobbing up and down all day.

January 22, 2009 – Cold, getting colder. One of the many things I love about photography is the chance to stop and take in commonplace things – leaves, sky, chickens. I stayed in the barn for about an hour waiting for the light to fall behind the hens as they pecked around. I put birdseed down to encourage them to go where my camera was, and I did. From this perspective, they looked almost elegant, exotic to me. Then I went across the street to the studio barn to spend time with a tiny yarn spool. First, the hens.