Bedlam Farm Blog Journal by Jon Katz

11 April

Sarah’s Daily Pantry Report: Canned Chicken (And Tide, Deodorant, Italian Dressing)

by Jon Katz

Sarah’s Choice Of Need for Wednesday, April 11, 2024:  Swanson White Premium Chunk Canned Chicken, Breast In Water, Fully Cooked Chicken, 4.5 oz can (Pack of 4)—$ 7.93.

We are also out of Tide Detergent and need Italian Dressing in any amount and Armand Hammer Ultramax deodorant. You can now purchase Italian dressing in any amount.

You can purchase all of these items if you wish. They are on today’s updated Wish List. The deliveries have slowed down, which is both expected and healthy in the long run. We can find a cruising speed. We’re off to a great start. You have all been excellent, and I will remember the connection.

 

Yesterday’s delivery.

11 April

Photo Journal: The Unseen Heroes Of The Cambridge Food Pantry. These Are People Who Humble Me, And Who Really Make America Great And Rise To The Need

by Jon Katz

This post is not about buying supplies; it’s about recognizing the complex, complete, and never-ending work that outsiders never see and rarely acknowledge. I am deeply touched by what I see. I’m talking about the volunteers.

It is powerful to see the real heroes of American life turning out daily to help their community and ensure the hungry have food. Equally touching are the members of the Army Of Good, who have sent thousands of pounds of food to the Cambridge food pantry from all over the country.

I wish I could take their photos, but I can’t. But this post is devoted to all of them, and I am honored to work with them.

The work is complex and involves constant communication, hauling, stacking, preparing, driving, collecting, cleaning, re-stocking, putting things in and taking them out, and then repeating the process. Some volunteers come to prepare meals.

(Flowers donated to the food pantry by the Cambridge Flower Shop and our friend Sue Lamberti)

It is an impressive and uplifting sight to walk in there. I wanted to try with my photos to capture the feeling and commitment of these good people, all of whom permitted me to take their photos; I thank all of them for that, especially Harry, the caretaker in the image above.

He didn’t want to be photographed, but I wore him down, and he agreed to contribute by letting me take his picture. He is a kind and generous man.

It is a happy surprise to learn of the generous support the pantry is getting from the town, the Army of Good, local businesses and farmers, and most of all, from the dedicated, uncomplaining volunteers who have so much to do and do it so well. There is no complaining, tension, arguing, or grievance here. These are the people you will never see on the news but who carry the real spirit of community and of our country.

Everyone works quietly and continuously. They take it seriously and help each other. Volunteers are in every corner of the pantry, delivering food and donations, stocking shelves, and refilling plastic containers containing food for the children. (Above, getting ready to fill the food baskets of the children of the families who come to the pantry.

Sarah Harrington spends much of her life ordering food and figuring out what will be needed. I make it a point to track her down and take her photo when I’m there. She puts up with me.

Sarah (above) spends much of her time figuring out what to order and when. Everybody wonders how she can do it. I appreciate working with her.

I asked one of the volunteers why she was there, and she smiled and said, “When I was a kid, a snack was peanut butter on the edge of a spoon. I’m thrilled to help out…”

Another said, “Nobody cares about these people, down and out of their luck and struggling to feed their families. It is a gift to get food to children and their parents; it is a gift to me.”

I didn’t use names, as they work so efficiently together and are seldom praised. I’m sure I’ll get to it here. Here are the photos I took when Maria and I went to the pantry to volunteer to assemble packages for hungry children.  It was beautiful to see these people work; they are the best of our country, its future, and its hope. They bristle with confidence, dedication, and compassion. They also work damned hard.

I’m impressed with Scott, who is often at the pantry and works hard to make it all work. He is the real deal.

Joan is in charge of the Backpack program for children. She knows everything about it, including how many children get what kind of food. She constantly urges us to drop more snacks for the kids.

The work line, where volunteers line up to put the food for children into baskets and then stuff it into bags to go to their school, is quiet and continuous. The pantry is empty of competition, selfishness, and complaint, a startling contrast to the daily news we suffer.

This volunteer re-supplies the food on the shelves so that the families can choose what they need for their families. He knows where everything goes.

Once the day’s work is finished, Joan and the other volunteers prepare for next week.

Harry lives on the grounds and is always there to help and clean up.

These are the backpacks full of soup, dinners, noodles, fruit, and candy for the 66 children in the central school. They get these packets every Thursday.

The pantry has religious roots. There is a lovely chapel at the southern end of the pantry where people can worship on Sunday if they wish. Religious affiliation is not required of the people who come for food. The families and visitors to the pantry are treated warmly and respectfully, and no questions are asked.

11 April

Brace Yourself, A True Story. The Tale Of A Compost Toilet, A Panic Attack, Peace Of Mind, And A Dark And Cosy Bathroom With A Sacred Angry Red Chicken Painting

by Jon Katz

Brace yourself; this might be the strangest blog post yet. Spirituality can break out at any time and in the oddest of ways. The story is about a powerful meditation I had in a compost toilet while looking at a painting of a red chicken by an artist friend named Pam White. For an hour or so, the toilet was a chapel. It helped.

As I wrote yesterday, on Monday, I had one of the worst panic attacks in my life Monday, and into the night, I thought my whole creative life was about to get shut down. I decided to approach my panic and anxiety differently. The fear inside of me will never be gone entirely, but I can do a much better job of controlling it. It’s like diabetes. It has no cure, but it can be managed if you work at it. I’ve been managing it closely and well for a long time.

Something failed inside of me on Monday.

The first step in my mind was to contemplate my life and meditate on my fear, to go deep and to the roots of it, and to confront that panic by digging deeper and understanding better. The deep breathing exercises all the shrinks are talking about have worked on me as well as on Maria.

First, Maria has a nasty ear infection and is on antibiotics.

She needed to sleep last night, and I needed to meditate in a more serious and committed way.

This attack was frightening and unexpected. It was also, as usual, based on a lie I was telling myself – that I was in danger of losing everything. A couple of months ago, we installed a compost toilet in the upstairs bedroom so we would only have to keep running up and down stairs at night to go to the bathroom. We were trying to think ahead.

I was going downstairs, but I looked over at our quaint little toilet and wondered if it wouldn’t be good to sit on it. I don’t know why; I am just drawn to the space; it seems like a small retreat.

I am still determining where that idea came from, but our compost toilet called to me.

I was shocked to come to love this toilet. It works well, has no odor, and is easy to maintain. The little bathroom we built around it is tiny, cozy, and quiet. I like it in there. I love the darkness and the smell of the wood. I decided to sit on the toilet and do my meditation.

It is warm and calm, the perfect place to meditate and focus on the things I want to focus on. Thomas Merton would have loved it there—or freaked right out.

Our little farmhouse is noisy—dogs, donkeys, sheep, trucks, and birds at the feeder, all kinds of sounds.

(My new meditation chapel. The truth is stranger than fiction, yes.)

I sat down, turned on the small light Maria had installed, and was surprised to see in front of me a painting of a red hen I had bought from my friend Pam White, a very gifted artist. Maria, ever thoughtful,  hung it up for me as a surprise.

The bedroom was dark. The toilet is odorless, but thanks to the moss, it smells like pine trees outdoors.

Maria was asleep. When I came in, Zinnia came over to lie in front of the bathroom door. It was peaceful and quiet there; nothing could distract or interrupt me. It was a wonderful place for meditating.

I felt safe there, enveloped in monastic silence. I didn’t realize how important that is. I began doing the breathing exercises I’ve been listening to: inhale 1 2 3 4, hold 1 and 2, exhale 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8. I was getting anxious when  I came in, and to my surprise, the meditation gurus were correct. I could feel my heart and body slow down and calm down. I sat in that bathroom for an hour. I hadn’t disturbed Maria; my faithful dog was outside the door. My faithful wife was snoring softly in her bed across the room.

I felt strong when I left that little bathroom; the panic was gone. I know there is no magic wand for fear; I’ve been wrestling with it my whole life. This was a good idea.

I came out feeling that something inside of me had changed just a bit. I don’t kid myself. I will never be totally without fear, but I know I can bring it down to manageable levels. Other people have done it; I thought I was one of those people. I am still in progress.

I know I’ve promised to be open on the blog, but I never imagined meditating in a small toilet in a darkened room with a painting of a red hen hanging over me like a statue of one of the prophets.

This is what I love about life: if you keep your eyes and ears open, you will see some fantastic and previously unimaginable things sooner or later. I’m going back there tonight. I’ll say a prayer to the chicken. Maria was a little surprised when I told her the chicken might be sacred.

She took it in stride since she had just come in thrilled and excited because she had seen two worms mating in the gross. I don’t think anything can surprise her anymore.

11 April

Bedlam Farm Journal, Thursday, April 11. Rain, Rain, Rain. Purity, Loyalty, Sunglasses, Sheep

by Jon Katz

I’m going to the Cambridge Food Pantry this morning to volunteer to help pack the backpacks for the children in the local school whose families need food support. It’s a rainy and chilly day, suitable for writing. I will get to use my brand new sunglasses next week sometime, rain and more rain. I’m adopting St. Therese’s white rose as a symbol of purity and compassion.

More later. I also got a photo of Fate loyally waiting at the top of the stairs to the basement, where Maria was checking on the water heater. I have a story to tell about a chicken painting, a compost toilet, meditation, and fear. It’s a strange story, needless to say, but an important one. (Above, my new sunglasses, obviously.)

 

Feeding in the rain

 

Loyal dog waiting for human.

My new symbol of purity and compassion. Thanks, St. Terese.

10 April

Color Art For A Rainy Day. Brighten Up, Bedlam Farm Journal, Wednesday, April 10, 2024. Don’t Fear The Fear, Ignore It

by Jon Katz

Joan Chittister writes that the primary task of life at this time might be not to fear the fear. Every sign of change, the things I fear losing, is a call for new beginnings, not an end.

I had a rough night last night but a much better day today. My flower photos are healing. I love the detail and work involved, and I love the result, but I struggle to believe I am capturing such beauty. I’m done for the night; I have some serious meditating to do.

I’m going to the Cambridge Food Pantry tomorrow morning to help pack 66 kids’ backpacks with good food. Maria is coming too, so I’ll see you then.

My Calla Lily still shines; I still remember it. I was going to misspell the name – throw a bone to the wolves – but I decided to be sadistic, and we don’t want that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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