For me, nostalgia is a trap, the past a hollow echo. It is important to know where I come from, who I am. But the past always seems easier and better, because it is what we know, and the future is less certain. On Bedlam Farm, I awakened to life, deepened as a writer, nearly perished as a human being. The New Bedlam Farm is very different. I am more connected to the world, more responsible for my life, more peaceful and confident. I don’t need blizzards and dramas and cows and goats and tractors and chaos and pandemonium to live my life and draw readers to my work. I know it is entertaining, I know many people love it, but it is not authentic to me, not genuine. Life is chaotic enough on its own.

I am  growing confident enough about myself and my work to simply be thoughtful about myself and my life, and that will find its own authentic and genuine audience.

Still, Bedlam Farm is such a beautiful place and was so beautiful for me. Sitting at the top of the hill reading, herding the sheep with Rose, burying Orson, listening to the hawks cream overhead. I am always emotional when I go there, it is a place filled with emotion and rich experience. I came to life there, and so did Maria, and we came together there, and there is no experience in my life richer or more powerful than that.