When I wrote or sat in the living room I got the best view in the world – a nearly 200 year-old dairy barn. How grateful I am to have restored these barns, something it would be nearly impossible to do now for so many reasons, including the cost of the materials. May they stand forever. I am putting up a Facebook photo album of my trip to Bedlam Farm today with Maria. It was moving and wonderful and sad. The new owners are out there, they are on their way. I can feel them.
Maria and I moved to our new farm in late October and today we both felt a strong pull to return to Bedlam Farm today, to bless it for the many wonderful things it brought to both of us, and to walk around the grounds and farmhouse in the snow and cold. I thanked the farm for the seven books I wrote there, for its spaciousness and graciousness, for its sturdy weathering of storms and wind and rain, for its great character and beauty, for its beautiful view, for the gift of Maria, who came into my life when she resumed her life as an artist in the Studio Barn. We blessed the big barn for the wonderful and efficient way it helped us care for donkeys and sheep, weather crises, birth lambs, trim hooves, collect eggs, give shots to sheep.
So many things happened there – the movie, Elvis, my tractor, fox and dog adventures, Orson, Rose, Izzy, Clementine, Frieda and Pearl, then Red. And Simon and Lulu and Fanny. Art shows and walks with donkeys, treks on the path, picnics in the dark woods, ghosts and stone fences. Mary Kellogg and her poetry, Bartleby, the Old Sheep, Nikolene the Barn Fairy, farriers and shearers. Book after book. I could hardly stop writing there.
The farm has been on the market since the beginning of 2012 and I am surprised. I thought it would sell quickly. A number of people have looked at it. Those who loved it didn’t seem to have much money, and people with money wanted things like attached garages and jazzy new kitchens. I love New York, but I did not love the New Yorkers who showed up looking for the rural equivalent of a McMansion. That is not Bedlam Farm. I am waiting for someone who fell in love with it as I did to appear. They are coming, they are near, I can feel it. The farm is a magical place with its four restored barns and farmhouse and fenced in pastures. The original asking price was over $500,000 but then life intervened, along with the recession and the real estate crash. It is now on the market for $375,000 and that is as low as it is going to get.
We had the best feeling about the farm. It looked wonderful, the view was touching, our mile-long path in the woods was covered in snow, and I imagine someone with a horse riding on that path one day. Or just walking dogs. I am glad I spent all of my money restoring those barns, they will be standing long after I am gone. So will the proud farmhouse, sitting talk since the start of the Civil War. How lucky I was to be there, how good it was for me. We stopped at each of the barns to remember what we loved about each – the Pig Barn helped launched Maria’s art work, the Pole Barn sheltered donkeys and sheep and gave Rose (and then Red) a focal point to do their work. Maria and I came to life there. I started taking photos there, she returned to her art and her life of strength and self-determination. We acknowledged the gifts of these place, the things it brought us. We always felt safe there, connected. I love our new home, but I miss this beautiful place every day and I will miss it every day of my life. The view seemed even more spectacular than I recalled seeing it every day. No wonder I started taking photos there. No wonder I wrote so much. It is a creative incubus, I think.
Mostly we went to say to the farm that it is important to us, and it looks so wonderful, we were just proud of it. I cannot wait to meet the fortunate and special person who comes to live it. I have no idea who will buy this farm, who will live there, but I do know the farm will be cautious and will not sell itself to anybody who does not see the magic in this place, or hear the angels singing in the pasture. Putting Up A Photo Album On Facebook.
Jack, dog of a Shamanic Soul Retriever, nearing 14, nearing the end.
We have more than a foot of snow outside, which Maria and I are about to go and shovel. Lenore loves it, Frieda prefers the wood stove, Red just wants to herd the sheep. A bitter cold wave is approaching so this will be our week. Got to make sure the animals are fed, watered, grained and sheltered. Going to spend the afternoon with Quentin Tarantino.
