Every now and then, when I can, I trawl through Facebook looking for the little jewels and crystals of insight and inspiration that pop up so regularly. One, from Becca, talked about that sweet feeling an animal lover has when the animal in their care is taken care of, is fed, exercised, sheltered, considered.
One of the richest things about having the farm is the opportunity to do that on so measurable and varied a scale. I call it the Sweet Moment, that sense of satisfaction, pleasure and well being that comes when you know that the animals have all been cared for. And that they are safe and comfortable.
And you get the chance to do it every day.
I go over the checklist in my mind, and I know it well.
When the dogs have gotten time outside, been fed twice a day, given their even rawhide or bone chew, and are settled in for the night – animals have this magical moment when they are done for the day, and they shut their minds and bodies off and slip into a deep rest. Even the border collies.
I took hay out for the donkeys – one/third of a bale at mid-day. They get a half cup of grain each on days when it’s below freezing. I brush them to get out the snarls and junk they roll in. I make sure the water in the heated waterer is fresh and warm, that there are no rotting leaves or dead things floating around.
I bring food out to the barn cats every afternoon, as their diets are irregular and I imagine they need some strength for the night, whatever they are up to, wherever they go. Many nights, one or the other doesn’t show up, they are out hunting. Sometimes both vanish for a day or two. I imagine they are holed up in one of the barns, sleeping off a great chase.
Before it gets too dark, I check on all of the animals. Now, as I write this, I hear the sighing and mild snoring and grunting of the dogs, even their dreams sometimes. I know the donkeys are up in the Pole Barn, staring quietly out into the valley. Everybody is safe and cared for.
This caretaking feels good, a powerful antidote to the din and so-called news of the outside world. It is a deep and ancient feeling, as familiar to dog and cat lovers everywhere as to farmers. It speaks to one of the best and oldest parts of us, a mix of nurturing, responsibility, and the special goodness that comes from caring for something in your care. It calms and soothes us, a gift to us as well as them in their mysterious and unknowable minds.
Thomas Aquinas wrote that the value of treating animals well is that it makes all of us humans more human. And helps us to care for one another. I believe in this.
In February, you can buy this photo framed and matted for under $99 (if the Gallery founders want it, of course)
Tomorrow, I’ll get to go to Glens Falls and hopefully photography some of the remarkable people who are helping to put together a new kind of art gallery, Gallery 99 which will get a temporary home in the renovated Empire Theater Building on North Street in downtown Glens Falls. The name comes from the fact that all of the art sold will be $99 or less. I will be offering the above photo, taken in Glens Falls, framed and matted, along with some other Glens Falls photos and some notecards.
Maria is working with the organizers to plan the gallery and choose the art. I’m just taking photos, hoping to capture the experience of three very talented people putting together a new kind of gallery. Gallery 99 was inspired in a small way by the Creative Union/Affordable Art Show Maria, Christine Nemec and I put on in Dorset. The idea was to rethink art and pricing in order to reconnect with people who want and need art but can’t afford most conventional gallery art. Artists will offer their work for less than $100, and Gallery 99 is looking for good stuff to sell. I think it’s a great idea and I can’t wait to take photos of this process.
More tomorrow. Art is important and somehow, people have become disconnected from it and artists are struggling to find audiences. My belief is that creative people have to get creative about the way they make and sell their art, in order to begin rebuilding a market for art and culture. In many case, I started selling my photographs as notecards and Maria converted some of her quilting ideas into potholders. New ways of presenting our art for people struggling to buy it. This approach is an individual choices for artists, obviously, as each artist has to figure out how to make a living. I think Gallery 99 is a brilliant idea, and Maria and I are both excited to be a part of it. We know some of the people involved, and they are enthusiastic, impressive and very experienced. Stay tuned.
If you walk on a country road in most parts of America, you will see beer and soda cans along the road. I don’t think I’ve ever walked on my road or any road outside of a preserve and not seen some. The challenge of photography to me is to see the light and beauty of things, so I’ve decided to try and catch the color of them, especially when lying atop a 200 year old stone wall.
I got up early to walk on the road, and halfway up, a car pulled up, and rolled down it’s windows. “Hey, you’re the writer guy, aren’t you?” I nodded, said hello. The car rolled alongside me for awhile, and so I turned around and walked the other way and they hesitated, then drove on.
An hour later, I was food shopping and a woman came up and nodded, and said, “I just finished your book last night, and this is strange, to see you here, buying bananas.” No problem, I said, it happens all the time. And soon after that, I stopped into a local bookstore to buy books and a woman looked up at me, and said, “oh, this is weird. I was just thinking of buying your book.” Go for it, I thought.
And then, in Gardenworks buying cheese, a woman came up to me, and said, “we met five or six years ago, and I’m sure you remember me. I’m the one whose border collie died after getting hit by a car. I know you wouldn’t forget a thing like that.” I had no idea who she was.
People don’t know or forget E.B. White’s caution: “There are 10,000 of you but only one of me.”
On the way home, I stopped to take a photo of a barn, and the farmer came out and looked me over. “I’m a photographer,” I said. “I take photos of barns.”
“I know,” he said.
“And I write about rural life, and animals.”
He nodded. “Yup.”
“And I take photos of farms.”
He nodded, looked at my camera. “Yeah,” he said, “Ed Rouse said you’re probably be buy one day.”
Some things about being recognized are unnerving – people driving by the house, honking, getting out of their cars with their dogs, stopping by to visit while I’m working. Some things about it are fun.
The strangest feeling is the one of being observed all of the time. This isn’t a heavily populated area, and there aren’t a lot of people who do what I do and who look like me. And I know most of the people I run into, also. It isn’t a good or a bad thing to be known. It’s my life.
