Rise Up

Time for my personal revolution.

Rise up. A life in fear is not worth living.

Liberate the best and most hopeful parts of myself.

Become a warrior for love and promise.

Break open the locks on your dreams,

and live them, every day.

Do not surrender to the peddlers of doom

and obligation and grief. They are spirit cannibals,

and will devour your soul.

Rise up like the brave daisy and put your lips to the world.

And live your life.

Red, Lenore, Frieda

When you live with something every day, it's sometimes hard to see the larger picture. People ask me all the time how the dogs have fared in the move to the new farm, and I don't think I ever wrote much about it. I thought I should sum up a bit. We moved to the farm just before Halloween. Each of the dogs had visited many times. We built a dog run next to the house with a secure fence – we live off a busy road. We were most concerned about Frieda and how she would react to the noise and the traffic.

Red has no problems adjusting. He is a working border collie with sheep out the door. Life is good. I work with him every day and he goes almost everywhere that I go. His life is full and meaningful, he is living his life almost to its full potential and that is gratifying to me. There will be more to come. His herding skills are sharp and he is very useful to us. He goes out on farm chores and visits his many admirers throughout the day.

Lenore's role has changed also. She has become Maria's ride-a-long dog. She goes out on chores and rides, gets free run of the area around the house – she never even glances at the road and is happy inside dozing on her sofa in my study. She has matured and is close to both of the other dogs, often curled up sleeping next to them. She remains the love dog, tail always wagging, on the prowl for food and attention.

The move has been wonderful for Frieda. She chases loud trucks with engine noises but the run is narrow and she runs back and forth and barks and then they are gone. She protects the house guarding against intruders. She is a watchdog through and through, loud, intimidating and vigilant. This role suits her, gives her a sense of purpose and focus. Inside the house, she is often found by the wood stove or curled up next to me or Maria.

These three are close with one another than any other combination of dogs I have had. They curl up next to each other, eat calmly alongside one another, even share their treats and chews. The move has been very good for them. It is a closer area for them to manage, and the old farmhouse has lots of good spaces beneath tables and in corners for them to melt into, as they do each night.

They each get attention and several walks  a day together – we go to a nearby park and if the weather permits hike back on our own property. They each have defined roles and important work to do. The dogs have fared well. We have no problems with them and as good dogs do, they have moved seamlessly into our new lives. As I write this all three dogs are curled up under my desk and alongside of me. I always have to be careful moving my chair back.

Red Flummoxed

Maria and I drove to the Vermont Fiber Mill Works in Brandon, Vt. to drop off the wool that she is selling from her sheep in the Spring as yarn (more on her website). Red hopped out of the car and walked smack into a flock of curious Alpacas, and he went immediately into his herding crouch, and then simply stared at them, as astonished by them as they were by him. This standoff went on for ten minutes or so, and it was pretty fun to watch this serious and purposeful worker trying to figure out if these were sheep or not. The alpacas were not especially impressed by him but they were very interested in him.

He was happy to go into the farm office and find some new girlfriends to cuddle with, which he did. More photos later.

What The Blind Can See

If you know people without sight, you learn quickly that they most often see much more than people who can "see." Rocky reminds me that life and circumstance challenge us to grow and change – to confront our fears – or to surrender to them. This is the drama of those without biological sight. This is their choice.

I learned quickly that Rocky sees more than any other animal I know. He is acutely aware of sound and smell. His hooves know every safe and worn path. His nose finds buckets of grain, water, obstacles. His senses are acute, almost supernatural sometimes. He knows I am coming before my car has  even turned onto the driveway.

In my own life, I have been learning, struggling to see – through fear, anger, confusion, through the alarm and judgement and panic that swirl around around me, through the poisoned media and political system, the angry harangues of the left and the right, the greedy and fear-peddling insurance, bureaucratic,  medical and legal systems. Sometimes it seems as if the point of our world is alarm and confrontation, the spreading of fear for profit and power.

Fear has helped me grow, challenge and adversity is helping me become an authentic human being, one step at a time, day by day, revelation by revelation. If we had sold Bedlam Farm right away, if we had gotten all the money we asked for when we asked for it, if we had bought a finished, polished, ready-to-live-in house, if I had all the money in my bank account and IRA that I was supposed to have, then I would not see so many of the things I see today, these great gifts to me:

- What a real partnership with a loving human being can accomplish.

- The joy of knowing a home so intimately when you have painted, scrubbed or scraped every inch.

- The strength from making good, fast, quick and creative decisions.

- The sense of accomplishment – late for me – in knowing I can manage the money I have well and resourcefully.

- The joy of finding there are good people in the world who make wonderful friends, are supportive and helpful, encouraging and present.

- The great gift of understanding what health really is, and of pursuing in a safe and productive way.

- The thrill of changing in creative ways, taking control of your life.

- The liberation that comes from seeing that money does not bring love, security or peace of mind. It is our greatest myth, perhaps the leading cause of our spiritual blindness.

- The pleasure of knowing I can learn how to take the wallpaper off of a wall, prep and paint, mop and polish, scrape and brush.

Fear is, after all, a geography, a culture, a habit, and more than anything off, it feeds off of itself and the toxic fumes in our unthinking world.  When you are forced by circumstance to confront the world, then the choice – like Rocky's – is to give into it, and surrender to its awful and relentless power, or to see it for what it is – a wall around your life, a choker of the soul, a crusher of the spirit. So this is the great gift of fear unmasked, rejected and turned away from. It can make us strong. It can make us safe. It can make us see.

Without trouble and challenge, my own blindness might have crippled me for the rest of my life. Rocky reminds me that it has helped me to see.

This is a meaningful message for me to take on the road, as I begin my 22nd book tour and set out into the country to see different things and meet some of the people who read my books, share my life on the blog, look for my photography, walk with me through life.

Izzy

A strong wind came yesterday, surprising me,

rolling confidently across the pastures and winding roads,

calling to me, singing its enchanted song,

awakening me with anticipation, news of things to come.

Oh yes, she whispered, I am here again,

rolling across the open fields of your life.

I am, after all, she says, chanting now,

just a fairy, a spirit.

Why are you here?, I ask.

She wraps herself around me, caresses me,

Oh, to dance she said. To do the dance.

Oh, and yes, she whispers, softly, I may bring the gift of grief to you,

if you are alive, conscious, able to feel and receive it.

And she didn't need to tell me that grief has many gifts,

the gift of love, it's brother,

the gift of connection,

it's mother,

the gift of meaning.

Grief is a teacher, experienced, strong.

You pilgrims, out there,

reading this, you all know the

gift of grief, have felt it,

have been opened by it,

as much or more as me.

In our disconnected world, grief

connects us, reminds us that we are,

when all is said and done, for all our foolishness,

the same thing. One thing.

The wind embraces me, touches me,

opens me and whispers to me, flirting with me.

She loves me, after all. Oh yes,

I am coming, she says, to make you feel,

to tell you that you are alive,

that you can love. And be reminded

of all the joy and beauty in the world.

Death is not different than  life, she says,

winking at me. It is the same thing, silly man.

And then the wind roared, and then quieted to a whisper.

Ssssssh, she says. Sssssssh. I love you so much. Be still.

Choose life, she sings. Choose life.

I smile, and bow to her.

I am a bit afraid, shy.

I ask her. Will you dance with me?

Last Photo: Rose, a celebration

I am so very sorry to tell you, good people and dear readers, that Rose is gone. I know how many people love her all over the world and I regret bringing this news.

Rose died Friday evening, euthanized after a long and severe wasting disease that left her in pain and without spirit. She died in ease and comfort at the  gentle and sensitive hands of Dr. Suzanne Fariello of the Cambridge Valley Animal Hospital, Cambridge, N.Y.  her head resting on my arm.  Maria, Rose and I all lay on the floor, on Rose's favorite sheepskin.  Dr. Fariello was on the other side. "Let go girl," I told Rose as the final injection began, "your work here is done."  As she closed her eyes, I kissed her once on the nose. She was never much for cuddling.

The final days for Rose began at 3 a.m. Thursday when I woke up suddenly, sensing  Rose was in distress. She and I are  connected, always aware of one another.  I got up, could not find her in her usual spot in the bedroom that overlooks the pasture, where she kept watch at night. I went downstairs and searched for her, and found her lying by the back door, shivering and in her own vomit.  I heard a voice loudly and clearly in my head saying, "I'm lost"- and this was a powerful feeling. I picked her up, cleaned her up, and took her to the dog bed in my office where we spent our days together.

I promised her that I would take care of her, as she had always taken care of me. My turn. I told her that I would do my job and see that she left this world in dignity and comfort. For the next two days, that was my focus.  And I kept my word, as she has always kept her faith with me.

From my first day at the farm, Rose has always been with me, next to me, watching me, working with me, protecting me, and there is a vast and beautiful space around me that is empty.  And disorienting. As if a part of me had suddenly vanished.

Maria and I took Rose to Dr. Fariello that afternoon – Maria and I had been  talking about this much of the day – and we all were clear that Rose was in pain,  incontinent and disoriented. I said I wanted to put her down Friday evening, that we needed a day with her. We made an appointment for 5:30 p.m. Rose went quietly and easily. Dr. Fariello said Rose seemed spent, in pain.

We spent Friday walking with her, sitting with her.  Rose is nothing if not stoic, and although she moved slowly and tired easily, she was game. I took her up into the Pole Barn, sat with her for an hour.  Maria took her into the Studio Barn, where she had never gone, and they sat together for several hours. I took her for several walks around the farm, taking photos.

I am so proud of Rose, and I am grateful for her life and time with me.  I am  glad that she got to live her life so fully. She inspired four books. In many ways, "Rose In A Storm," was a love letter to Rose, and I am glad I got to write it. I have yet to tell her story fully. I will do that. I shot some video from the last day or two – encountering Simon, her final pursuit of the Imaginary Squirrel, sitting up in the Pole Barn. I'll put that up later in the week.

Rose lived the life of a dog every day, as few dogs get to do.  From the first, my work with her challenged me to be a better, more patient and empathetic human. They do that for us, they make us better if we listen to them. Everywhere I went, people asked me about her, how she was, how she was doing. She touched the hearts and minds and imaginations of many people, especially women, and women who work.

Outside of a vet's office, Rose was never on a leash. She worked almost every day of her life and she never was asked to perform a task that she did not perform with courage, diligence and professionalism.  She dealt with sheep, cows, goats, chickens, rabid feral cats and skunks, rams, lambs, the stray cows of nearby farmers, goats, friendly and belligerent donkeys, coyotes, stray pigs and deer trapped in fences. She saved my life several times and as important, she grounded me in my life on the farm. I cannot imagine life here without Rose, especially in the first years. She was my partner, my strength, my Centurion. In time, much of that role has  changed and passed, to Maria, to myself, to a life lived with less chaos, less drama, less struggle.  My life is different now, more focused on writing and animals, and as I changed, so did she and so did her work. I could see it.

I believe that dogs come and go when they are ready, not just when we are ready, and this summer, when it was clear Rose could no longer herd sheep or move quickly, and was suffering, I knew the time was drawing near.

This week I will write about my life with Rose, the process of grieving for her, and my strong desire to celebrate, rather than just mourn,  her life. I do not wish her life or death to be a drama, mine or anyone else's. Grief is a part of it, but only a part.  I am aware of the irony of having just published a book on grieving, and of being the "expert" in my own life, and I guess I will see firsthand how this works. I will be honest about it. I will also share the reactions of Izzy, Lenore and Frieda.

Rose will be cremated, her ashes spread over the pasture by the Pole Barn, where she loved to work and sit.

I will share the experience and also the photographs, and in honor of Rose's ferociously hard-working spirit, I will keep that pledge, even when it is not easy or comfortable.

Thank you all so much for your loyalty and devotion to this wonderful creature.  I know this is a pain and loss that is not only mine, but mine to share.

The photo above is the last photo taken of Rose,  in the Pole Barn where she lay resting on a sheepskin for her last look over her beloved farm. Updating her map, I suspect, one more time.

I believe the divine is present in the broken human heart, in those humbled by loss and disappointment and grief. The divine is present now, in her spirit and in my heavy heart.

Before Rose closed her eyes I thanked her for her love and hard work. I told her I did not assume that she wished to join me in another life or in a heaven, as that would be presumptuous of me and it was her choice, not mine.

I told her this:

  "My wish for you, dear Rose,

   is to always run in fields of gold,

   sheep stretching to the far horizon,

   In a fenceless world with clear skies

   and boundaries beyond imagination.

  Your work here is done.

  Your work is just beginning.

  Much love, Godspeed."

Valentine: To Rural Life

I love this old wellhouse, on a nearby farm, and photograph it whenever I can, on this beautiful day, against this roiling and emotional sky. This photograph is my love letter, my poem,  to rural life, my postcard, my message.

I need to say I love you.

I love the freedom you offer to give rebirth to life, your glorious history of freedom

and individuality.

I love the freedom to life my own life in peace and privacy. And the smell of the hard and individual  work

that comes right out of the ground.

I love the beautiful things I look at every day, the sky I can see in the daytime,

the stars at night.

The long drives on winding roads framed by beautiful hills.

I love the real world of life,  the natural world,  the real world

of real animals. We do not live in a no-kill world here, no elegaic paradise. It is dirty

and stinky and poor and heart-achingly beautiful.

I love the smell of family and faith.

It is, in many ways, a forgotten place. Washington is so far from here.

Economists and politicians do not believe rural life is efficient anymore,

or that farmers should keep their farms, or people should keep their  jobs and schools and libraries,

closing and struggling and fading under the weight of a political and economic system that has declared them

irrelevant in the global and corporate economy, and abandoned them.

So the places I drive by, the photos I take, the people I see  are all dramatic and emotional to me,

and touch my heart.

I am not the only one who loves you and I believe your time has come

again. When people are  thinking of their neighbors and communities, and hoping to save them,

and wishing to know where their food comes from, and how it was grown and raised

and treated.

There are refugees from here, people driven out of their lives, families torn apart, traditions shattered.

But I can hear the sounds of them changing, of them  tiring of giant corporations shaping life, and of bad jobs in big cities where trapped people  hate their work and struggle to make the money to shop at Wal-Mart for groceries and clothes their neighbors used to make.

When  I drive by, I can feel the farms stirring, and the old barns calling out in witness to wake up, wake up. They are waiting for the farms and farmers to  rise up again, and tell people  what they grow, and how they grew it, and what they slaughter, and how they cared for it. And I believe that is coming.  There is no anger in this for me, no argument, just a stirring. It seems inevitable to me, and I can feel it when I drive by these old buildings and barns.

I thank you for the wonderful life I have here. Hang on.  Much love to you.

Your time is coming again.

When Life Happens. Simon In June

Life happens.

When a tire goes flat.

Or a password doesn't work

Or a deer jumps out

Or a tree falls

Or a computer won't work

Or you back your car into another

Or your dog gets sick

Or your friend dies

Or your video camera breaks

Or someone you love

Is angry

When life happened, I used to panic,

And tell my story,

"Hey there! Life Happened! Woe Is Me!"

Wanted to flee, hand it off

To someone else

And now I am learning to close my eyes,

And smile, and bless life,

And kiss it on the nose,

And deal with it,

And move along, because a good life

Isn't perfect, but happens Aand happens

Every Day

Ask Simon

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New Video Camera Arrived Today!

Making Sense Of The World: Rose

I don't watch the news much because I don't want to support their news by giving money to people who sell fear as information and profit from it under the guise of civic duty. I heard yesterday of the violence in a small number of stores on the aptly-named Black Friday and I wondered about the people who would maim others for a game player or to save two dollars on a waffle iron and  it made my heart sink. How does  one make sense of a world like that, on a holiday meant to give thanks for the good things we have in life? Make your own news. Here's how I do it:

So here is how I make sense of this wonderful world, this joyous place, full of light and beauty and love: I go out and find some and photograph it. My world makes sense to me.

Tarot Cards Men and Friendship

A friend shot a deer during hunting season this week and came by to show it to me. And I put it up because it is real life, and the real world of real animals, and not just appealing photos of animals, which I mostly show, and also because it illustrates what I am writing about in many ways. I live in the real world, and am grateful for it. I would not want to live in any other world.

__

Maria and I cherish our time together and for many reasons, but we also have separate and independent lives, as any healthy couple does. Sunday she was invited to a Tarot Card reading conducted by a group of friends she has been spending time with and enjoying very much. Being a sweet soul, she asked me if I was sorry I had not been invited, and if I wanted to come. I said no, I was not expecting to be invited and didn't wish to come. This was one of those friendship things that women tend to develop more than men. In my life, women prize friendship more than men, and find time for it. And forge very powerful connections, often stronger than family.

The men I have known seem to value friendship in a sort of reflexive way, but only if it doesn't interfere with work, sports, chores around the house, and reading the news.  Maria and her friends have already had a riotous time at a nearby Thrift Shop and are looking for things to do together and I not only think that is a beautiful thing but understand viscerally that I don't really belong there. A man would throw it off. And I can't say I really want to go.

I am not sad that Maria is doing a fun thing with friends – some of them are my good friends too – but I suspect I will never find such a group of men, who will take time out from their lives week after week and make sure we spent time together, talk to one another, share in the kind of bond I see many women have.

I have had many friends in my life and am in touch with few of them.  I know some men who have powerful friendships and have kept them, but they seem rare to me.. I think I have always been easier in the company of women than men. And I often tell people that the only men I really am comfortable with were either tortured as children or humiliated as adults. Somehow, I don't see that changing.  And I am happy it is different for Maria.

A neighbor said I could go hunting with him if I wished. Another invited me to watch a football game Sunday.  I can't say I want to do either of those things either. Perhaps I am just not really good at doing manly things. I suspect I will be at home, walking with Simon or reading "The Art Of Fielding" by Chad Harbach. And then, heading out into the woods if the hunters are gone to take some photos of November Light. I will love that. Sometimes I do wish I could sit down with a group of men and have fun and talk openly about our lives. Once or twice in my life, that has happened.

Thanksgiving Day

We had a profoundly sweet and meaningful communication with all of the animals on the farm this morning, courtesy of friend and Animal Communicator Jeannie Lindheim, who called early Thanksgiving morning – thanks Jeannie -  to talk to Maria and I and exchanges Thanksgiving messages between us and our animals. This is not something I would have done a few years ago. But I am glad I did it this morning. I am not one of those people who prizes consistency. The mark of a mind that is alive is that it can change and grow.

We asked Jeannie to relay to the animals our love and gratitude for their presence in our lives. Jeannie said they all knew, and Izzy spoke for them and asked that we see each one of them – the dogs, donkeys, chickens and cats – personally this morning. We did that. Each wanted a quiet touch, hug, kiss or treat. We did that also. They spoke from all of their places. Jeannie said each of the animals is fully aware of all of the others. They are connected.
"Our hearts are full," Lulu told Fanny.

Frieda then emerged from the group, said Jeannie. "She's taking care of everything with her magnificence. She's holding everyone." Jeannie said this was a beautiful image, a beautiful feeling. She said Frieda surrounded everyone in a gentle embrace with her amazing energy, a "magnificent holding."

Maria was emotional. She loves the animals so much, it was difficult for her to tell them.

There were individual messages. Lenore asked quietly if she could play. Rose asked "what is going to happen today," she wanted the agenda. Simon said all of the animals are aware of everything that is happening to each other on the farm, all the time. He said it was foolish to ask him if he was grateful to be here. Of course he was, he said. Lulu asked if Maria or me could visit her and give her a treat (she got a carrot.) Toots the Zen Hen asked repeatedly if I would pull up a chair next to her and look out the window with here. "C'mon," she said, "c-mon." Fran suggested to Jeannie that I read a lovely book called "That Quail, Robert," and Jeannie passed that along to me. The dogs chanted "walk, walk, walk."

Mother and Minnie told of their love for the big barn, especially when they settled into bales of hay, got warm, vanished into the soft piles to be warm and hidden.

The strong idea, Jeannie said, was that we were all connected her, in a network of energy, love and awareness. "It's a day," said Simon. "It's a day. For me, every day is a good day."

Happy Thanksgiving, I told them. You have brought me so many gifts,my work, farm, my stories,  my love, my photos.  I appreciate you. We know, they said, as one.

Animal Communications

I've learned relatively late in life to look beyond mainstream institutions – organized religion, medicine, conventional notions about animals – to find truth and connection and a meaningful way to exist in a world I am in many ways disconnecting from.

I see a naturopath I can talk to honestly and comfortably about my health. I see myself becoming healthier through the care of a chiropractor, massage therapist, and a spiritual counselor.  I am learning from all of them, even though most exist outside of mainstream notions of health care, media, conventional wisdom,  insurance and science.

I notice that these disciplines are not corrupted by money, suffocated by regulation, dependent on the political system, overwhelmed by systems that force too many people to see them too often, force them to make unhealthy decisions, and treat them in ways that are often influenced by profit. Since they don't make a lot of money, they are not corrupted by it. Since they can't afford big and antiseptic offices with lots of technology, they exist on second-floors, the refurbished corners of old factories. Their offices are quiet. They have time to talk to me, to listen to me. They believe in my body, in giving it a chance to heal and be healthy, and they permit me to live in dignity, free of fear, and in ways that have greatly enhanced my health and understanding of health. I've long been afraid to talk to medical doctors, because their response has always been the same – take some pills, get some tests. That will not be my life. I am never afraid to talk to my health care providers and so we talk about my body in ways not imaginable to me before.

. How much is that worth?

The people worth listening to are rarely on TV, never hired as commentators, analysts or tenured professors. They live, like me, on the fringes of life. Our culture teaches orthodoxy in all things. To get on TV, you have to be left or right, and being angry and declarative helps. The people I love to see, the most thoughtful and interesting people,  will never be on TV.

In this context, I've been talking to Animal Communicator Jeannie Lindheim for more than a month. She is, like all of the others, outside any conventional system of health care or veterinary care. She charges little or nothing, and no insurance pays for her. Many people roll their eyes at the very mention of her. She exists on the fringes of common understanding and many people ask me if I believe in her, trust her.

The answer is yes, I do. She is not into dazzling me with revelation about my animals, rather she helps me understand them. She is a telepath, and communicates with animals in ways I don't understand, which does not mean they are false. It just means I can't do it, and don't understand it. She is plain-speaking, warm and direct, easy for me to talk to. In the four sessions we have had, she has helped me understand my animals. To see Frieda as the wild and free spirit of a dog she is; to accept the stage of life Rose is in, rather than trying to medicate her out of it; to understand better the nature of Izzy's hospice work, and on a lighter note, to name my contemplative hen Toots, the Zen Hen. She taps into a perspective, rather than looking for circus tricks. Does she know things she should not know? I think she knows things she should know and that are helpful for me to know.

Jeannie, I sense, does not take herself as seriously as others take her. She often quotes the animals as saying things humans get excited about "are no big deal." That is the way I feel about animal communicating. It is  a good deal, not that big of a deal. I would recommend her comfortably to anyone.

And in the larger context of my life, I understand better every day that wisdom, like health, often comes out on the edges of life, not the center. I am beginning to learn who to listen to, who to go to. And if it is often a lonely and frightening process – there is little support for it – it is rewarding beyond imagination.

Plaid Friday

We support Plaid Friday,  the hottest growing social movement in the country, and a celebration of independence, individuality, creativity and freedom, a growing effort to reclaim the spirit of holidays, and of community. On Friday, we are celebrating the holiday several ways:

- From 11 a.m. to 1 p.m., I will be at Battenkill Books, Cambridge, N.Y., (518 677 2515) to help take orders and say hello to the good people who are buying "Going Home: Finding Peace When Pets Die","Meet The Dogs Of Bedlam Farm," or any of my other books. Call to buy one of these books, get a free video and Bedlam Farm  notecard and help support a wonderful independent bookstore, the kind that needs to survive if our communities offer diversity and connection and so we will not all live inside of a box store or mammoth online corporation. You can order books at anytime  from the store – they take Paypal – or call the store anytime at 518 677-2515. We are heading for 1,000 books sold by New Year's and are at the 700 mark. You can also buy Jenna Woginrich's wonderful new book "Barnheart" from Connie Brooks at Battenkill as well. It will be out this week and is a wonderful story of a gifted and brave  young writer's passion for her own farm. If anyone is in the spirit of Plaid Friday, Jenna is. Call and say hello. I'd love to meet you.

- Maria is offering some special plaid-themed potholders. They will go onsale at fullmoonfiberart.com at midight Friday and three of the buyers will be chosen to get their potholders free. I think she is making 25, but check the details on her website. I took some photos this morning and this wonderful and beautiful women is on fire.

- At 2 p.m. I will be at Gardenworks, (518 854 3250)  Salem, N.Y., to sign copies of "Going Home" and "Meet The Dogs Of Bedlam Farm," a possible gift for kids or grandkids.

If you cannot take part in these events, please consider supporting independent businesses in your community on Friday, and help affirm the idea that Thanksgiving is not just about mall traffic and bargains, but really is a celebration of the greatest American tradition – freedom and individuality.

Animal Communication: Izzy

Last Friday, Animal Communicator Jeannie Lindheim did a communication with Izzy, the Soul Dog, my hospice therapy dog, the star of "Izzy & Lenore." Izzy was abandoned on a farm in Washington County where he lived more or less outdoors for four or five years, with some help from a friendly caretaker. He entered hospice volunteer training with me, and embarked on a remarkable career in hospice work for two years, until we both realized we needed a break.

Izzy is an amazing creature, and Jeannie connected him immediately, referring to him as "an old soul," a "soft" and "sweet" presence. He is that. I will never forget the peace and connection he brought to people on the edge of life, and the human connection he helped me to recover and to find. You get the dog you need. I needed Izzy.

This communication was gentle, easy. Jeannie doesn't do tricks like telling me amazing things she couldn't know. I'm not really interested in that, and more and more, I see her telepathic gifts are about gaining a sense of the animal, and the animal's spirit. She is quite wonderful at that. She reminds me and others of the true nature of animals, and she doesn't go into drama, recriminations or a lot of emotionalizing. She captures the essence of animals adaptive and accepting nature. No, they are not like us, and she doesn't present them that way.

Izzy loved the hospice, especially the beginning of his visits, when he made a special connection with people. He loved working with me, and would love returning to hospice work if I am willing and interested. He enjoyed it. It was not difficult for him, although he sometimes found the visits too long. He has no sense of life or death in human terms, Jeannie said, but he sensed the work was special, for him and for me.  He was not depressed or discouraged when people and their spirits left, he has no concept of what that means. One day they were there, and then they were gone. He was just doing his thing. It was just him, who he was.

Hospice work was not a trauma for him, not difficult or sad work. He loved making initial connections with people, sensing their need and attention. His life on the farm, he said is perfect. He loves watching the life of the farm, the animals, and he loves being with the other dogs, hanging around with them. He is very happy, and all of the time.

What he mostly wants, she said, is to take care of me. And if hospice is the way to do that, fine. Other ways can work also.

We asked him about his time on the farm, before coming to me, and he said he knew someone would come, he always knew that, and he was just waiting. And when I came, he knew I was the person he had been waiting for and was happy to join my life. Mostly, Jeannie said he gave off the feeling of a sweet, soft, soul. And that is so. I am grateful for him. I was waiting for him also.

Plaid Friday

For the first time in many years, I am looking forward to Black Friday. That's because it's also Plaid Friday.  Plaid Friday is a movement I can easily get behind. In response to the insanely greedy over-hype that defiles the spirit of Thanksgiving and measures our national cultural heritage by mall shopping, a new idea has emerged to celebrate the creativity and diversity of small businesses. And there are two right around me – Full Moon Fiber Art and Battenkill Books.

It seems to me if one wants to get corporations to behave differently, the best way to do that isn't to occupy them, but to take some money away from them and gives it to hard-working and creative individuals. That is a political movement I am quite ready to join, and I can't think of a more constructive thing to do. The Plaid Friday movement – urging people on "Black  Friday" this week to shop at independent businesses has definitely caught hold here at Bedlam Farm.

And there are two good ways to do it:

Maria has decided to make 25 potholders this week and put them on sale Friday, Plaid Friday. Three of the people who order them will get them for free. Details on her website. I'll be skulking around annoying her and taking photos of the potholders in progress Check it out. She is very excited about it, and so am I. Maria has worked hard to grow her small business and is making great stuff and I am unspeakably proud and admiring of her. Plaid Friday is made for the Studio Barn.

Holidays ought to mean more than sales figures, and Plaid Friday could help us take back the holiday season by honoring its true spirit – which is not just about lining the coffers of greedy and insensitive companies.

Another way is to continue to support independent bookstores by purchasing copies of any of my books, including "Going Home: Finding Peace When Pets Die," "Meet The Dogs Of Bedlam Farm," and "Rose In A Storm." Connie, a creative and energetic and very hard-working book lover, is offering free "Going Home" videos and Bedlam Farm notecards to anyone who purchases any of these books. This week, corporate publishing – Amazon, Barnes&Noble and Apple are raking in huge bucks selling e-readers and they will make many millions, if not billions of dollars. I see now that independent bookstores will survive – nearly 700 people have bought "Going Home" from Connie Brooks. I hope to get to 1,000 by New Year's and Plaid Friday is the perfect day to affirm the importance of creativity, individuality and diversity in American life. This Friday I will be at Battenkill Books from 3 p.m. on – 518 677 2515 – to answer phone calls myself (as many as I can) and sign books. Call to buy a book and celebrate Plaid Friday. You can also order books via PayPal at info@battenkillbooks.com.

Giving Thanks: The Last Thanksgiving

I went to see my friend who is dying, again over the weekend. He was tired, pale, discouraged. He said he was thinking of going to the hospital, to end his life there. I asked him why. He said because his pain medication made him frightened and angry and affected his thinking, and he got so upset that he might need 24 hour care. He'd been feeling this for several months, since he started taking medication, he said. I asked him if anyone had considered changing the medication, and he said no, that had not come up. He said he was certain this will be his last Thanksgiving and maybe his last Christmas, if he can get there.

We talked for two hours, and it was a good talk, a wonderful talk in so many ways, a powerful talk. Another friend joined us and we had dinner together. My friend is a very spiritual man but had not had the opportunity to really consider what he wanted at the end of life, or rather considered the idea that he could control how it ended. I told him hospice – he is now under hospice care – is not about medications or procedures, and it not focused on treating his illness. It is focused on making him more comfortable, and also on letting him decide how he wants to die. Hospital care is different.

In a sense, I said, hospice is about letting go of the idea that your health needs to be monitored or controlled, letting go of doctors to some extent, or of the idea of recovering. That is a difficult thing to let go of. He asked me, after some hours, what I thought he should do, and I said I wasn't there to tell him what to do. I said it might make sense to try switching to another medication to see if the fear and anger receded, and if he might be able to stay at home for awhile, which is what he said he wished to do.

I have realized, I told him, that few people believe they can control the end of life, and even fewer are given the chance. We are talking again Monday. The conversation seemed to energize, even revive him – especially the idea, he said, that no one had suggested he might deal with these issues in some other way than being heavily medicated with powerful drugs.  That surprised me very much, and yet it didn't surprise me at all.

I had a good time, a very spiritual time. I told my friend that now, of all times, he had the right to say what he wanted, and to see if that was possible. Sitting in that darkened room, looking at his books, his paintings, I felt a rush of gratitude. For the gift of life, the joy of friendship, the power of love, and of course for life itself, fragile and unnpredictable. This is his illness, not mine, but I resolved yet once more time to remember that life is precious, and must not be wasted. Not a single day.

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I enjoyed my Sabbath day today. The world is ready for me. Iphone issues, the video camera is broken. The perfect life is not one without troubles, but one in which troubles are overcome and expected, and handled with grace and compassion.

Weekend Sabbath

I've decided to make Sunday my Sabbath, my day of rest. I think spirituality requires disconnection from the machinery of the world, from questions, from answers, from news, from  photos, videos, texts and words. I think the notion of a day of rest – practiced by Jews and Christians and, in different and very powerful ways, Muslims – is more important than ever. Judaism takes if farther than I wish to go, and to me,  the Christian and Jewish idea of a day of rest has been undermined by shopping, technology and media. Increasingly, our culture is making Sunday like any other day. But I need a day of contemplation, to gather myself, hear me think.

So I am disconnecting from technology on Sundays.(Maria does this on Saturdays).  One photo, perhaps.  Turning off computers, cell phones, Ipad and all devices, and listening to the messages from Maria, the animals, my books, my own head. I think this is essential to my spiritual life, my creativity and to being the kind of person I wish to be. So my Sabbath begins now. See you tomorrow.

Fall. Last Gasp

Can we forgive our fathers? When  I was eleven, my father, who wanted me to be an athlete, poor man, threw a baseball which hit me in the head and when he yelled that I was a sissy for crying and not catching it, I decided never to speak to him again or listen to him. And except for small talk, I never did. He often told me that I had potential, but was not living up to it. And from his point of view, I suspect it was true. I did poorly in school, had no friends,  never made it as an athlete, and was a broody, strange child, holed up in my room for years with my Hardy Boy books and tropical fish.

I became aware later in life that my father was a simple and good man who helped many people. He was not sophisticated about children and psychology, so tried to work through problems by bullying and hectoring I came to see that he meant well, that he was just very limited and closed up, which is different than being evil or malevolent. On his deathbed, we had the first honest exchange of either of our lives. I told him I was sorry he did not get the child he wanted, and he shrugged and said he was sorry I didn't have the father I deserved. It was the only time I ever felt close to him.

A few months ago, I took Maria to see his grave, which I had never seen, in a suburb of Providence. I found the grave, walked up to it, and I said, "I'm sorry, Dad, I forgive you and I love you." And then I left. I doubt I will ever go back there, no need really. But I'm glad I forgave my Dad. Anger is a poison, I think, a toxin, whether it is in politics, on the news or the Internet.  All of the great spiritual people in the world – Jesus, Gandhi, King, Merton, Plato, Aquinas – understood this, and found other ways to live their lives and achieve their goals.

I am sad about it, but do not regret my decision not to listen to my father again. In some ways, it saved my life, and I had the right to protect myself from his view of me. But that is over, and I let go of it.  This Thanksgiving Week, I want to give thanks for my Dad. Like most of us, he did the best he could, and meant no harm.

November Light

November Light is a special kind of light. I believe that light is the way God speaks to me, and also reminds me that there is much that is glorious in the world, no matter that life is fragile, unpredictable and sometimes sad. Since I have become a photographer, I have become so remarkably sensitive to light, always aware of where it is and what it does. It is my religion, really.  November light is different than October Light, different than December Light.

November light is fragile, white and pale, when it appears. It is soft, and it caresses, rather than illuminates. I've learned to keep the dogs near me, and if I watch them, the sun will always find them, because every dog is a sun worshipper. Every dog – and cat and donkey – knows where the sun is and when it will come, especially when it gets cold.

At Battenkill Books

This morning's orders for "Going Home" at Battenkill Books. We are close to 700, heading for 1,000. 518 677 2515 or e-mail at info@battenkillbooks.com. Free signed notecards and videos with purchase of "Going Home," "Meet The Dogs Of Bedlam Farm," or any of my books.  I have to go in almost every day to keep up. I'm going to go in for an hour two or three times to take calls. Keep you posted.

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Okay, I've approved the new design for bedlamfarm.com. I love it, and it is the perfect embodiment of what I said I wanted when I met with the good people at Mannix Marketing a month or so ago. Thanks to Chris Archibee, Brendan LaRock, the main designer, and Toby Dawes. They worked very hard on this, and so did many of you, sending me your ideas, comments and frustrations Sorry about losing the Border Collie logo. It just didn't fit with this approach.

The Farm Journal, photo and text are front and center and the site is, to me, beautiful, spare, powerfully clean, dynamic, and reflective of the mix of text, photos, social media, videos and book information that reflect the site. Book tour events will be listed alongside the Farm Journal, when they occur. I might ask for the bedlamfarm.com type to be a tad bigger, but that's a nit, and that's it. I love the site very much. I read your comments and passed many along to Mannix and they were helpful. Ultimately, of course, the person who has to like it is me, the person responsible for it and the person paying for it. I thank you for the collaboration. The site will go live sometime next week.

I love many things about the re-design but one is its clarity and simplicity. After years of turning and twisting, evolving and collapsing, bobbing and weaving, the site, like its owner, is figuring out what it is.

Move, Meg

The Inquisitive Chicken tried to get on top of the haystack to lay an egg, and Maria re-homed her to her roost. She went quietly, but complained continuously.

I covered politics for nearly 15 years in Philadelphia, Washington and New York. I enjoyed it, and loved talking about it. I don't enjoy politics anymore, nor do I ever talk about it, as it seems to have become a cesspool of rigidity, hostility and endless argument.  All of our civics is narrowly being framed as "left" and "right" as if there were no other ways to look at the world, everyone eager to stuff people into one envelope or the other. The animal world is much the same way – the open forums relating to dogs, cats and other animals are generally not places people go to communicate, but instead are places to state absolute opinions and to attack people who disagree or have different ideas. This was not Jefferson's idea of a democratic culture that protected speech and made opinion safe, for the first time in the world, or that gave people of different ideas an opportunity to mix their ideas in a civil way and come out with some consensus and solutions. He would not like our hapless Congress, but then, who does?

I had some interesting disagreements on my Facebook page yesterday, with people offering different opinions about things.  I was saying that I had different ideas about dogs than many people, and because I loved them it did not mean they were like me – or us. One man said it was an absolute fact that dogs and horses suffered human-style separation anxiety (this is why hundreds of thousands of dogs and cats and horses are now on medication for "Separation Anxiety," the pharmaceutical companies believe strongly in it), and another relayed the much-invoked quote suggesting that if dogs don't go to heaven, she didn't want to go either.  I asked whether anyone has considered whether dogs want to go to heaven (I would think not. I suspect they would rather have sex and eat gross stuff somewhere). To which someone else asked me if I knew whether babies wanted to go to heaven or not. (I said, happily, I had no idea.) How could one know such things?

I've always thought it arrogant to presume animals are like us and are waiting to join us in the hereafter, just  because we want the company. Or that they suffer human-style neuroses just because we do. I think in many respects, they are more highly evolved than us.  And very different.  And generally not very neurotic, unless we make them so. What makes us think our ideas of heaven are good places for them?

It got me thinking, though, and I realized that I did not really think any longer much in terms of right or wrong, or left or right. Somehow we seem to have gotten the idea that we are right in our opinions, and that other people are wrong and should be argued into submission. We don't want other people to have their own ideas, we have to persuade them of ours, or increasingly, attack them for having theirs. Thus all ideas become arguments, the very ether  awash in confrontation and disagreement. Many people actually apologize for having different ideas and opinions. It makes everybody uncomfortable.

I don't believe any of my opinions or ideas are absolute facts. Just ideas, living things that will mutate and change, hopefully.  As I told the poster, the only absolute fact in my life is hair loss. We all believe what we want to believe, and we all justify and rationalize our ideas in various, often narcissistic ways. Good listeners are rare and  precious, yet listening, rather than arguing, is a key to a spiritual life, and an intellectual one, I think. I am working all the time to listen, a long struggle for me. The ideas I most need to hear are not mine, not the "absolute facts" I carry in my head, but the ideas, opinions, "facts" and perspectives of others. I do not know if dogs want to go to heaven, or if I want to go to heaven, or if heaven wants me. Or if there is a heaven. Personally, I have no need to drag my poor dogs to heaven with me, should I be lucky enough to go. I hope Rose gets to a sheep farm, Izzy gets an agent in Hollywood, Frieda ends up in a game preserve with many rabbits and  Lenore makes it to a good deli.

I don't want to live in a right and wrong, left and right head. It's sin for me to think my ideas are absolutely correct, or that other people should have them or agree with. People are always telling me they like the blog, "even though we disagree with you sometimes." That they feel the need to say that is sad, at least to me. What is the point of only reading things we agree with? We are all correct, by our own lights, in our own way.

Kicking Off: Project 1000

Battenkill Books is a David and Goliath story I am enjoying. Friday is Connie Brook's Birthday (Happy Birthday, Connie) and when  I stopped in to sign books, she was on the phone taking an order for "Going Home" and I picked up the phone and shocked a therapist from Massachusetts, a very lovely person, who was ordering my book. We are having fun. Connie was also taking a slew of orders for writer Jenna Woiginrich's new book "Barnheart" which is out early and Jenna has also agreed to personalize copies of her book purchased from Battenkill. There are more than 100 orders already in. Jenna, like me, is a compulsive writer. Connie is happy.

Connie has sold more than 600 copies of "Going Home: Finding Peace When Pets Die," and nearly 100 copies of "Meet The Dogs Of Bedlam Farm," my first children's book. We are heading for 1,000 copies by New Year's and we believe we will make it. Connie is offering a free video of "Going Home" or a signed Bedlam Farm notecard with each of those books – or any of my books – ordered throughBattenkill Books,  which now has Paypal. You can also call her or her charming mother Marilyn at 518 677-2515.  Many people are already re-ordering "Going Home" as they or their friends and family members lose pets. I love helping take orders on the phone and surprising readers. We have fun. December 2, from 4 p.m. to 6, I will be at the bookstore with Lenore. (Dec. 10 at Northshire, Manchester, Vt., 2 p.m).

It is a great pleasure to see Connie and Marilyn so busy, and so happy. Connie is not looking for sympathy. She is coming up with many innovative changes that are helping her small and independent bookstore outflank the giants. I think this David and Goliath story will have a long and happy ending. If you can, cast a vote for independent bookstores and support the peoople who are fighting to keep them vibrant.

Come and see Connie explain the juicy holiday offerings and her ideas about bookstores. Marilyn will be on in a few days:

One More Step

Puppies from Kee-Pin Labradors, Lenore's breeder.

Been going back and forth all day on the new blog re-design, talking to Chris Archibee and Brendan LaRock at Mannix, sorting through the e-mails, messages, posts and stepping back and considering most of all, what do I want? What is my sense of the blog? What suits me? As I've been sharing the process of putting together the re-design, then I should share a decision Chris Archibee and I reached on the phone a few minutes ago. We're  adding some color alongside the Farm Journal – blue – and then cleaning out most of the navigational features on the right-hand side – the Archives By Subject, the Additional Tools, The Calendar. We will keep a search engine. The Book Tour will disappear until there is a book tour, and otherwise, events will be listed in the "calendar" box at the top.

People who want to go backwards can still scroll back, but I became clear that I want the site to be both all-encompassing yet also much simpler and more focused. The photo will get even larger. Sites traditionally over these navigational tools to help people go back and forth on the site, but I think they deter from the focus. I want to extend the blog's reach into new media and make that much simpler to navigate. The rest of the page will be devoted to the Farm Journal and the photography. Up top will be  Facebook, Video, Photos, Blogs I Love,  and other information.

I've focused on design for some time, although am not a designer and I think Steve Jobs nailed my sense of design for me. Very focused, spare, clean. I've cluttered up the website for years with friends, links, tools and widgets. But now I understand that less is more and this will help me focus as well. Wanted to share that. So the site is decided, and many thanks for the very helpful suggestions and comments. One message said: "it suits you." And it does.  I did love this message from a woman in Ohio: "Listen. I am not coming onto your site every again if you move the photo of the four dogs that is up there every day."

The refund, I said, is in the mail. ):

Are Animals Just Like Us?

In recent years I've learned that I have a somewhat different view of animals than many. I think people want their dogs and cats to have souls because they love them dearly and they wish to cross the Rainbow Bridge with them and join them in heaven, or whatever afterlife they might believe in. This comes from love so great the idea of separation is unbearable. We want them with us, and we wish them to be like us and are increasingly seeing them that way – they have souls like we do, ascend to heaven like some of us wish we will, grieve for one another they way we do. Many people see animals as their children,  view them that way, mourn them in that way.

I love animals the same way, I think, but I believe they are very different from us. I do not believe they have language, or speak in our words, or construct their emotions and narratives – guilt, envy, resentment, grief, separation, anxiety -  in the way that we do. I do not know if any of us have souls, but I believe the human soul or spirit is very different from that of an animal. We suffer from conscience, are stirred by creation and change, undertake to create political systems, improve our lives, invent things. Animals don't do that.

Many people are beginning to worship animals and seek perfect, no-kill worlds for them. I worship the part of animals that is so different from us. That accepts life and death. That lives in the moment. That lives off of instinct and intuition, and does not stave off death with medications and medieval procedures,  and does not attack or harm one another, or wage systematic and destructive war, or waste or damage the earth, or conceive of terrorist attacks or acquire more resources than they can use, or live to pay their bills. Animals are innately spiritual to me, and evolved in so many ways beyond our consciousness.

But I love them because they are so different from humans, and I hope I never come to see them as the same.

Rose In The Big Barn

Lots of people weighed in on the re-design for bedlamfarm.com – First and Second Draft, and I thank you. I appreciated all the feedback – way more than I anticipated – and also appreciate the collaborative tone of most of the messages. Some were angry and demanding, and very insistent, but I asked for it and I was glad to consider them all. In America, communicating on open spaces always seems to pull up some anger, although not much. People, I sense, don't believe anybody is really listening, and they present their voices loudly, as if to be heard. But this was a great discussion, and it was very helpful to me. I think almost all of you are getting a site design you are comfortable with – one that showcases the photos, is clean and bright, and provides easy access and navigation.

Many people wanted the border collie graphic – Izzy- now at the top of the site, to stay. I don't want it there any longer, so it's moving. It just doesn't reflect me or the site now and that's a personal thing. I do like feedback and I do consider it, but at the end of the day, it's my site and I'm paying for it and have to live with it, so I am at that point where it's just time to make some decisions. I agree with those who thought the page a bit too colorless, so we are adding a blue border. The photos are properly emphasized.  I like the boxes up top, and they are remaining, perhaps just rounding off the corners to make them a little less sharp and removing one or two. That's it, really. Time to move forward, not only in discussing the blog but in creating it. Many thanks to Brendan LaRock, Chris Archibee and Toby Dawes at Mannix Marketing. Another step forward for this blog, a powerful and enduring element in my life and work. The new blog should be up shortly. Can't wait.