I have talked with three very spiritual people, two spiritual counselors and both have suggested that the farm has not yet sold because I have not yet come to terms with leaving it. That I am leaving partly in fear – because I worry about affording it over time – and that I am rushing to live in another place, leaving the farm without acknowledging how much I love it, how much I will miss it, what great care I will take to make sure the people who buy it are good people. I was surprised to hear this, perhaps because there is truth in it. They also told me that by lowering the price, we are devaluing the farm, sending a signal that we do not cherish and appreciate it.

I am not a person who sees property as spiritual or sentient. I do not see farms as having a consciousness.  I do not usually talk to buildings (I did talk to Abraham Lincoln’s statue in the LIncoln Memorial once). Yet there is something wrong, there is truth to what they say, and I am somewhat stricken by the idea that I have not acknowledged my great love and debt to this place, which nearly took my life away and then gave it back, richer and better.  Or the idea that I would ever sell it to just anyone. Or am leaving out of fear.  I talk to my precious farm all the time, on every walk, with so many photos, yet this curious idea did not seem strange to me. There is something to it. The farm is hanging on, I was told, because I have not squared my self or it with leaving. Maria was told the same thing yesterday and we have been talking about it. She accepts this, I am struggling with it.

I believe there is a devotion to fear. It is a faith for some people, and for me, an infection. It is always the most difficult to hear the things that have truth, that show you that you have not lived up to yourself, are not yet the human you wish to be. This was one of those things, a mirror with reflections I do not want to see.

This morning, Red and Maria and I went up the hill to close the gap in the fence that the old sheep broke out of last night, a last midnight hurrah for these aging rascals. Maria climbed down to move some rocks around and I couldn’t climb in there with here, so I stood above the farm and looked down on it and I spoke to it. I wrote a letter in my head, to this beautiful place, my soul, my spirit in every barn, blade of grass, fencepost, the soil awash in my blood and soul. If I ever really become a man, it was the farm that brought me there.

It was a beautiful morning, and the farm never looked more glorious, the red barns dignified, proud, the old farmhouse anchoring this beautiful space, the animals off in their corners grazing, a picture perfect dream of a place, beautiful, spotless, rich in color and history, and I asked the farm if what these spiritual counselors were saying was true. Have I forgotten something, missed something, blocked the passage from one place to another? Have I diminished you in some way? Am I running in fear, listening to all those crows cawing about this economy and the end of hope and promise?

And this is what I heard, this is what I felt the farm was saying to me: There  is something wrong.  You restored me, the house the barns. You brought animals back here after so many years. You built strong fences, tended the pastures. Look, look, there are sheep grazing in the meadow.  Art shows, friends, encouragement of all kinds for all  gifted people, they are here all the time. Just what you wanted. Just what I wanted. For a century I fell into disrepair and neglect, and no one could make it work, and you made it work.  Maria in her studio. Donkeys in the pasture. Writing day and night. I was – am – a creative place for you. Once you came, you started writing and never stopped. You planted new trees, brought the gardens back to life, brought the farm back to life. Now, you are running off, and in a hurry. You keep lowering the price of the house, as if no one will want me. You are in love with another place, smitten like a child, and what about me? Where are you running, and why in such a hurry? I am confused, bewildered. Hurt.  Why did you do all of this, bring me to this high point in my long existence, only to scramble away in fear? To fall in love with another place just like that. You must not believe that I have feelings.  I don’t ask that you stay, I won’t keep you here. A lot of people have come to me, and more will find me, but if we have to part, give me what I deserve. Honor me and give me my due. Give me my dignity, and keep yours.  Do not make me an awful thing you can’t get rid of, something you need to unload in a hurry. That is not right. That is not true. Do not move in fear and worry, but in pride and love. Does that make sense to you? And then my new owner will find me, and I will let you go. And we will part with honor and pride. This is what they are telling you. This is what I am telling you.

It was a message I needed to hear, and there was truth in it, those ideas struck right down to my heart. I did not cry, but I felt like it, my feeling for this magical farm washing over me, coming out from deep within, and it’s feeling for me coming back to me.

I love you, beautiful place, I said.  I’ve said you are my real mother, and in so many ways that is the truth. The only thing in the world I love more is Maria. I came her to save you, and you saved me. I wrote my books here. Became a photographer. Found Maria. Ended a 35-year-marriage here. Encountered fear and terror here.  Lived with Orson, Carol, Elvis, Pearl, Clementine, Izzy, Rose, so many other animals who shaped my life. Wrote so many books. Started my blog.  Had lambs, adventures with Rose every day. Battled goats, got tractors, round bales for cows.  I broke down in this farmhouse and pieced myself together here, lost my life and found it. I will never sell you to anyone who does not care for you and the beautiful magic in your soil and foundations.

I am not leaving you, we are not leaving you. We are going to something, something out of love, something out of life. Everything has its place, and we need our place, not my place.  I am going to love, not fear, not out of fear. You will never leave my heart and soul. It was madness to come to you, the best thing I ever did in my life. It is time to go. I restored you, you restored me, an unbreakable bond over time.  I value you and appreciate you, and somehow, as curious as it is, I suspect these people are right. I have not spoken to you, explained this to you, come to terms with you. I will begin working on that, every day. I am grateful for every inch of you.

So I guess we need to talk, my farm. Perhaps every day for awhile. It is not the real estate market that is keeping this going, that is just their story of the world. It is not the economy. I do get this message. I do hear it.