Bedlam Farm Blog Journal by Jon Katz

22 March

“The Blond Baboon:” I Found A Great New Mystery Writer. His Name Is Janwillen Van De Wetering From Amsterdam.

by Jon Katz

I want to thank my friend Ann for guiding me to a mystery I never heard of but loved instantly.

The author, Janwillem Van De Wetering, is a former Buddhist monk, businessman, and member of the Amsterdam Police Force. That is a great background for a mystery writer, a mix that has inspired a gentle, compelling, and very well-written crime series based in one of the world’s most civilized cities.

The amiable Dutch police detectives in this book are  Detectives Gripstra and de Goer; they’ve already prompted a series of procedurals that are delightful, fascinating, and free of excessive gore and horror (the Buddhist influence, I’m guessing). I love the background details about Amsterdam, a star of the series. It  does sound like a fantastic place to live.

They work closely and skillfully together and project a striking gentleness and intuition.

I’m reading The Blond Baboon tonight, and I was into it from the first page when the two detectives get locked in an argument about a cat that knocks over marmalade bottles and shatters them all over the floor.

Gripstra and deGoer argue about it even as they chase a jewelry store thief into the alleys and through an awful storm. They catch him.

They want to get home and out of the storm (Amsterdam floods in storms). The body of Elaine Carnet – a middle-aged alcoholic, owner of a successful furniture company, and former nightclub singer is found lying at the foot of her garden steps in the middle of a hurricane, her face frozen in a macabre grin.

The detectives believe she was pushed to her death, her daughter seems to be lying about what happened, and off we go. I was hooked from the first page.

This is not a macho horror series. It’s just a really good and gentle mystery series. It reminds me a lot of P.D. James and Commander Adam Dalgleish, with Amsterdam as a backdrop. The book offers thoughtfulness and atmosphere instead of rape, kidnapping,  slaughter, and serial killers.

With the help of the Commissary (the Dutch equivalent of the British DI), their boss, a frail and saintly man. DeWatering believes that Amsterdam is, in fact, the most civilized city in the world. I’ve never been there, but this series makes me believe him.

It’s rare to stumble across a new mystery procedural that is so original, atmospheric, imaginative, and entertaining.  I’ve not seen the likes of these detectives, and I have read a lot of mysteries.

I’ll be sure to keep you posted, but I’m in so far; I’ve ordered more of the books. Thanks, Ann.

(I had to work hard to find these books and could only get used to hardcovers that were in good shape. It was worth the work. I want to read all of them, used but well preserved. We have a big storm coming tonight; I know what I’ll be doing.

 

22 March

Help Feed Families And Their Children: Pantry Needed Food Of The Day

by Jon Katz

It feels great to send at least one urgently needed item to the Cambridge Food Pantry each morning. It is inexpensive, and the good it does to me and my soul is priceless. Like my friend Eddie, a pantry volunteer, I keep thinking of hungry children and their parents getting to eat. Small acts of great kindness do me great good.

(Photo: Backpack packages for kids in need. My job was to stuff them and make them whole.)

Eddie, pantry volunteer

Sara Harrington, the Pantry Director, has given me a list of things that run out the fastest and are most wanted.

Today’s requested food is Prego Pasta Sauce, 24 ounces, case of 12. It is $15.84 per pack on the Amazon Wish List. 

The needed food tomorrow will be baked beans, $17.52 per case.

You can go here to choose additional items from the wish list.  Thank you; you are making a huge difference. The volunteers can hardly believe the good food pouring in.

22 March

An Invitation To Walk. Storm Tonight. It’s True. We Don’t Own Cats, They Own Us. I Now Know What They Mean.

by Jon Katz

Every morning (unless he’s hunting and exploring, Zip comes to the door, waiting for me to go out and do the morning chores with him at my side. I was late this morning – Socks was gravely ill – so he seemed annoyed.

Once I got outside, he went into his usual snow dance.

This will come in handy; a good-sized winter storm awaits us tonight.

Zip has replaced the hens as the farm’s most imperious creature. When he gives an order, he expects to be obeyed. When he is bored, he makes trouble to get attention. I now know what the cat people mean when they say people don’t own a cat; a cat owns them.

22 March

Dreaming Of The Wandering Jew, Now Called Tradescantia Zebrina.

by Jon Katz

Tradescantia zebrina, formerly known as Zebrina pendula, is a species of creeping plant in the Tradescantia genus. Common names include silver inch plant and wandering Jew.

The former name is controversial, for obvious reasons, and most people now use the alternative name. The name seems to wander, just like the faithful in the religion.

Wall art, lamp projected in the morning sun:

22 March

Death Again, This Time Socks, 13 Years Old

by Jon Katz

And then there were seven.

It always feels strange when I have to shoot an animal on the farm. It’s blessedly rare but always an important, thought-provoking, and significant moment.  I always learn something new and feel something profound.

When Maria went out to feed the animals early this morning, it was 12 degrees on the thermometer. She called me right away to say that Socks, our second oldest sheep, was lying back in the back pasture and had lost the use of her legs.

Maria half-dragged and half-carried socks up to the central pasture behind the Pole Barn. If she was suffering, we had to put her down. I wonder how she managed that; Socks was a big sheep. She stood by her until I returned, and it was clear she was.

I came out to look and went back for my rifle. We have people we can call for this, but I wanted to do it myself this time. It’s my responsibility whenever possible.

Socks was near death and couldn’t stand up.

It was a bitter cold, and she was suffering. I was supposed to go to Saratoga for a doctor’s check-up this morning, but I wasn’t about to leave with her twitching on the ground.  Once I looked at her, there was no question about it.

I shot her and went to see my doctor. I had the appointment wrong; it’s in April. It was that kind of morning.

Maria agreed. I shot her three times in the heart, and she died almost immediately. This is not easy for either of us. But we process it and go back to work.

People ask me how I feel when one of our animals dies. I don’t like shooting a ewe, but I always ask three questions: Did they have a good life? Did we do everything possible to care for her and end her suffering now?

Am I grateful to know her and live with her on the farm?

Are Maria and I in total agreement about her death? If the answer to all three questions is yes, I pray for gratitude, not regret,  and take out my rifle. I usually shoot them rapid-fire three times in the heart and once or twice in the back of the head. The sheep will twitch for a minute or so.

I’ve done this many times. For much of my life, I never imagined I would be able to shoot one of my animals to death and be reasonable about it.

We couldn’t drive away leaving Socks like this. We needed to know she was gone and beyond pain and discomfort.

It happens a lot; I’m used to it. Maria is much closer to the sheep than I am; to her, each loss is like the loss of a friend or family member. She is also tough as nails and understands what needs to happen. Our main goal is to avoid suffering.

Then Maria cried a good cry, and I moved on. I don’t dwell on it; it’s not a crisis or a tragedy; it’s just life.

Sock was a good girl; she never gave us a second’s trouble and much beautiful yarn.  I’m interested in life, not mourning death. We have seven sheep left, and they are all young.

We went out for breakfast, and Maria kept asking herself if she had done everything possible to care for Socks. I said yes, she does that daily with all our animals. Learning about death is one of the precious lessons about living on a farm.

Most animals will twitch for a few seconds, then close their eyes and stop breathing. It’s the most painful possible death for an animal like a sheep. I’m no John Wayne, but I always appreciate death on the farm. It teaches me about life, of which death is an equal part.

As I’ve often written, I’d prefer to love an animal rather than mourn one. Everyone has to do it in their way.

It’s been quite a week. It was a good and meaningful one.

 

I got off three shots, and then the rifle jammed. I got the bullet out and fired two more. Socks had long stopped moving.

Constance was close to Socks; Maria stopped to console her. She was visibly upset.

After I shot Socks, Maria, and Zip went to the bottom of the pasture. She trimmed some wool, which made her feel better about losing her. She’ll do something useful with it. Zip walked her up and down the pasture and sat by while she trimmed. He’s a partner on the farm; he sticks his nose into everything.

The animals are startled by gunfire and go off together to hide. Ten minutes later, they accept life and move on, looking for food. It’s the law of life and death with animals – acceptance and more acceptance. I don’t believe a single one will miss Socks. They are the embodiment of mindfulness; they live in the now.

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