I remember a young couple who came to Bedlam Farm when I was first living there, they were both living in Brooklyn, he was a tech writer, she was studying at NYU. They had been driving up and down the road and I invited them to stop and we talked. They told me about their lives. They were close to their parents and siblings, they loved New York, they had wonderful friends, a dog and cat, work that they loved. Their dream, they said, was to have a farm with animals, they wanted it more than anything in the world.
I could tell they were seeking encouragement from me, they wanted me to urge them to get their own farm, I did it, you can do it, come on, just leave your life and do it, that was what the script called for, I have had countless messages and visitations like this one since I moved upstate, people from the city mostly, aching to leave their lives. I do not ever urge people to buy farms, or to leave their lives and friends and work behind, or to seek a life that could, in many ways, be much more barren or lonely or difficult than their own. Having a farm does not replace all the meaning and connection and culture and friends and family that comprise the thread of life. What I told these two idealistic and appealing young people was that they had so many more things in their lives than I did at the time, I said I was puzzled as to why they would live their good and full life behind. It seemed a fantasy to me, one of the escape and yearning fantasies that followed me around for so much of my life.
I know a lot of people who have farms and several things are striking about them. They do not often have the kinds of connections and balance that these two city people had, they are often lonely, tired, broke and dispirited. They are happiest when they have forged strong human connections around them, because they really need them.
My life began to change for the better, to become authentic, to become fulfilled, to have more meaning, when I stopped seeing animals as my emotional salvation, got to a good therapist, began the hard work of a spiritual life, and most important, made the kinds of connections that signify being human – finding a partner I loved, working to re-connect with my daughter, making friends who would tell me the truth instead of cheering me on to ruin, unleashing the artist that wanted to come out, focusing on the work I loved and gave me meaning. The farm and the animals are important to me, powerful elements in my life, but I was never more miserable or troubled than when I had a big farm with lots of animals and not much else.
In recent years, I have thought a lot about the idea of Blooming In Place. I never tell anybody to buy a farm or not to, those are personal and individual decisions. I love of the idea of Blooming In Place, whether you are on a farm or in the city or a suburb. Blooming In Place means standing in your own truth, facing the reality of your life, setting out on the hero journey to figure out who you are. It means igniting the creative spark and setting it free, understanding who you are, getting the help you need. Thomas Merton wrote that you don’t need a monastery to have a spiritual life or to find peace or God. You can do it in an attic or a closet, a basement, a living room chair or a park. If you have not learned who you are, it doesn’t matter where you go, where you live. If you have, it doesn’t really matter either. Nirvana is a story, not life.
I love living in nature, it is so important to me, but you don’t need pasture and sheep and donkeys find meaning. Most of the great writers, poets and artists of the world lived in cities, amidst the culture that inspired and sustained them. I know many miserable and exhausted farmers, very few of their children choose to follow that path, they get to cities as fast as they can go. Being a human is first and foremost about connection to other humans. Without that, we are spiritually and emotionally bereft. With it, we can lead fulfilling and meaningful lives everywhere.
Merton might have added that you don’t need a farm either. I have a friend in Manhattan who drives out to the country every weekend to show emotionally disturbed children how to ride horses, and then during the week, she writes and edits books, goes to dinner, movies and readings. She loves her balanced life, and so do I.
We all look through the looking glass in different ways, in our angry and disconnected country there is so much yearning and fantasizing. In the corporate nation, work is a bondage not a joy for so many people, the news is unrelenting, no wonder people look for escapes.
I heard recently from the two young friends who visited me at Bedlam Farm a few years back. They have two children of their own now, and have moved to New Jersey, and at first I winced, thinking they had given up on their dreams, and then I read the last line of their message: “we are both so happy, we hope you are too.” They love their home, their friends, their life. Blooming In Place.
I am glad they are happy. I am glad I am too.