Maria, Frieda, walking down the path.
A neighbor’s kid came up to me while I was walking and tugged on my sleeve, after hugging Lenore. “Hey,” she said. “Is Maria your girlfriend?”
“Why do you ask?” I replied.
“Everybody says so,” she said.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Ten,” she said.
“Well, you are wise. Maria is my girlfriend.”
Wednesday, I’m going to the Image Loft in Manchester, Vt. to sign some of the photos to be framed and shown in my first photo show, “Portraits Of My Life,” opening at 3 p.m. Saturday, January 9, at the Redux Gallery in Dorset, Vt. This is my first photo show, and I’m excited about it.
The show features a wide range of photos – about 19 in all – and I define portraits loosely. Some are of dogs, some of trucks, others of farmhouses and barns. All are portraits of my life here in Washington County and on Bedlam Farm. We are hoping to sell some of the photos as cheaply as possible, around $200 and others will be somewhat more expensive. The show is free and open to the public. No pressure to buy anything. The photos will hang in the new Redux Gallery Annex through January. I will give a series of talks, if there are enough people, about my photography and how it has affected my creative life. Izzy will be on hand to greet his many adoring fans.
Lenore and I have a new daily ritual, the afternoon walk. I keep her on the leash most of the day, let her off to greet neighbors and their dogs. She walks easily and companionably. I see that I have to learn to quiet my mind. In two weeks, I am going to spend a day with some Buddhists to learn more about meditation at a retreat in Vermont. I am seeking more peacefulness, need to slow my mind down and be calmer, more creative.
I love my afternoon walks with Lenore. Labs know how to do this, and when I turn and take the camera out, Lenore, like all my dogs, knows what to do.
December 29, 2009 – Carl Sandburg wrote a poem called “The People, Yes,” and in it, he wrote a verse about what a Great Mother would say to her child. It is, I think, what all of us should say to our children, and to the people we love:
“I love you,”
said a great mother.
“I love you for what you are knowing so well what you are.
And I love you more yet, child,
deeper yet than ever, child,
for what you are going to be,
knowing so well you are going far,
knowing your great works are ahead,
ahead and beyond,
yonder and far over yet.”
– Carl Sandburg
This is not always what mothers and fathers say to their children. But it ought to be. It’s what we should say to one another.
December 28, 2009 — For some years I’ve been taking photos of my dogs in the garden, especially Lenore, Izzy and Rose, who get the whole idea of photography – they are all working dogs – and happily pose for me. I never imagined Frieda sitting in the garden with them.
Frieda, for those of you who don’t know, is an eight-year-old Rottweiler/Shepherd mix, a rescue dog who Maria adopted (yes, for those of you who don’t know that, Maria is, in fact, my girlfriend) from a local shelter.
Frieda ran wild on the grounds of Adirondack Community College for nearly a year before some students, who also worked at a local animal shelter, finally corralled her. She lived outside. When she came her with Maria about a year ago, we had to keep her in the Studio Barn across the road and haul firewood out day and night through the winter to keep her warm.
The sight of my dogs drove her crazy, and she charged at them repeatedly, throwing herself at the fence and snarling and barking. We couldn’t even think of letting her in the house.
It was months before she would let me touch her, and she tried to kill most of the animals on the farm, and many that lived the woods. Frieda chased trucks, terrorized donkeys and sheep, ran off repeatedly after deer, rabbits, anything tht moved. I called her the Helldog. She sorely tested every theory I ever had about dogs and training. I was further motivated by the realization that if I didn’t get to Frieda, there would probably be no Maria.
A year later, we can hardly believe Frieda. She lies next to me while I write, dozes by the wood stove, eats next to the other dogs and today, for the first time, she was let out into the garden with them. It was a sweet moment, for her, me and for Maria. She and Rose did not get along for months, and now they nap next to one another. A lot of patience, calming training. Lenore helped socialize Frieda and welcomed and loved her. I am pretty fond of her myself. Nice to see that photo today. I never thought it would happen. Patience helps. Love works.
