People ask me almost every day if I am worried about selling the farm. In this economy. In this market. With all of the bad news. I am not, have never been. In my eight years at Bedlam Farm, I have come to love the farm dearly, and I see it in so many ways as my Mother, an odd thing to say, unless you have lived on farm or owned one.

The farm is my Mother.

It brought me Maria.

My dogs, donkeys, sheep, chickens, cats.

My books and photographs. My children’s books.

My blog.

The Studio Barn. Art Shows. Mary Kellogg. So many friends.

Beauty and peace and challenge beyond imagination.

Sunrises and sunsets, and beautiful storm after storm.

Walks on the path. In the woods. Stone walls and flowers.

Food. An income.

My breakdown. My recovery.

Lessons in how the world works. In bringing things back to life.

My barns.

My life.

Rose. Izzy. Lenore. Frieda. An HBO movie.

Why would I ever fear such a thing or patronize it? The farm is the Mother. It provides. It is time to go. It will find a new owner, in its own time and way. Someone who loves it as much as I do. In its century and a half, the farm has always found its people, never been alone or abandoned, survived untold challenges and catastrophes, storms and troubles. It is all about providing.

Am I worried about selling the farm? No. The farm has taught me many things, including this: Never to tell “Poor Me” stories. About my sad and struggling life. About my worries and travails. If you put those stories out, they come right back. The farm has taught me to provide for myself also, and to take responsibility for my own life. I do not worry about the farm. It is in so many ways, My Mother. It will take care of me.