Maria and I were invited to Carol and Ed Gulley’s Bejosh Farm this afternoon for their annual holiday dinner, usually held on New Year’s Day. The Gulleys have four children and ten grandchildren (two of their children and their families couldn’t make it today). Carol and Ed run a small dairy farm in White Creek, N.Y, I met Carol in cardiac rehab and we became pals, we often text each other.
In rehab, Carol found herself on the treadmill alongside of a writer whose books she had been reading for a few years, she was quite surprised to find me there. Cardiac rehab is a very egalitarian place.
I learned that my Swiss steer Elvis originally came from her farm and Carol agreed to be first reader on my play, “The Last Day Of A Dairy Farm,” to have a staged reading at the end of January at the Hubbard Hall Arts And Education Center in Cambridge. She and Ed both cried, she said. We hit it off, Carol appears to be very quiet and shy, she is neither. She has a great sense of humor.
Ed comes from an old farm family, the farm is his life, it forms his inspiration, history and boundaries. He wants to retire in a few years and run an antique store.
These are are true individuals, part of a fading way of life, people who spend their lives working and raising their families on small dairy and family farms. The big corporate farms are spreading everywhere, and it has become more difficult for the small farms to compete, they are pressured by competition, animal rights-sponsored legislation, and crushing government regulation. These two are among the most passionate animal lovers I have ever met, the farm is crawling with creatures, six dogs, a goat, 50 or so cows, chickens and they seem to know and love each one of them.
Ed is also a folk artist and antique collector, there is farm art everywhere, old Bibles, cabinets, tools. More than anything, I felt a strong and powerful sense of family, which is, I think, what the lives of the Gulleys really revolve around. Their animals are one family, their kids another. There is no computer in the house, nobody in the family spends much time on Facebook. In between courses, the kids raced around the farm outside.
Carol had her heart surgery in the Spring, she is on the tractor at the farm most days, working long and hard hours alongside of Ed. They have been married for more than 40 years.
She had planned to serve a turkey dinner – they had raised a 35-lb dinner, but this year they experimented with a “trash-can” turkey, a turkey cooked over hot coals in a trash can hanging from a tree. But the turkey was too big, they had to switch to ham at the last minute, nobody seemed to mind or notice.
The sense of family made me sad – I thought my lost and scattered family, far away and disconnected from one another – and also happy to be there. Carol and Ed are much loved and revered, and the family stories started flying around the table as soon as dessert was finished. Farm kids are not raised like most kids in America, they can run outside and play freely, they visit cows, climb the rafters in barns, cuddle with goats, explore dark and musty corners.
They learn a lot about life, and about how to navigate the world and make decisions. Their lives are far from perfect, but they are filled with love and connection and they learn quickly about the real world, and the real world of real animals.
I loved the afternoon at the Gulleys, it was a special time for me. Carol asked me if I had family around, and I said no, I think she was bewildered by that, it was, I think, out of her experience. I felt a real connection to this family, I hope I see more of them. We will get them over to the farm for some of my white clam pizza. It was a great way to spend New Year’s afternoon.