Sometimes, you meet heroes in the most unexpected of places. There is no single definition of what it means to be a hero. A hero can be one who summons courage to overcome  serious problems, or a hero can be one who devotes his or her life to helping others.

A hero can be someone who seeks a meaningful life in the face of challenge.

The St. John’s vans which came to the farm yesterday were stuffed with heroes, kids with very hard stories to tell and counselors and priests who devote their lives to helping them.

These heroes had powerful stories to tell, but they wanted to hear my story, and Maria’s story and Red and Fate’s stories.  They wanted to know the donkeys’ stories.

“Hey,” one boy who had been to farm a year ago said to Red, “you are getting old, man.” He looked at me and gave me a bear hug. They wanted to know why and how I had come to be on the farm, where I was from, whether or not I was happy, did I have any children?, and is so, did they come often to see me?

I said my daughter and I live very different lives, but we love one another and I am about to be a grandfather. Will the baby come to live on the farm? asked another young man. No, I said, she will be a city girl. She is on another path.

They asked about the donkeys and they wanted to know everything about Red and Fate, they peppered Maria with questions about her art. My friend Scott Carrino was taken in by Brother Tom (standing next to him, far right, back row. Scott has the beard, Lisa is in front of him) when he was forced to leave his home.

Scott and Brother Tom have never forgotten one another, and I have never seen Scott as happy as when the St. John’s Boys come to visit and he can feed them and sing to them and teach them. Scott knows what it is they need.

Brother Tom ran St. John’s Orphanage for many years, and now, he comes to see Scott at Pompanuck Farm and brings some of the boys. They hike, sit by campfires, talk, listen to music and sing, come visit Bedlam Farm. They remind me of a band of loving fireflies, they light up the landscape with their courage, curiosity, observations and affection. Almost every one – (some don’t like to touch or be touched) hugs me, pats me on the back, grab  my hand.

They revel, says Brother Tom, in the stories of people who are living their lives, fulfilling their dreams. I told one of them there is something heroic about following your adventure, living your life It can be done. Was it fun to be an artist?, one boy asked Maria,.

Yes, she said.

“Can you get rich?,” he asked. “No,” she said, “but you can get happy.”

One of the boys asked if Maria worked for me. Lord no, I said, she is her own boss.

Maria is not always at ease talking in public, she was right at home with the St. John’s Boys, she loved bringing them into her studio,  talking with them, and explaining her goddess symbols and work. The boys left this morning, and I came down with Red to take a photo of them and Brother Tom and Scott, it is a powerful thing to see this generational love and commitment, it reminds us that the world is filled with good people, not matter what politicians are like or what we see on the news.

I asked one of the boys – he was homeless and lived on the streets until he found St. John’s – if he was excited about the future. He said mostly, he was frightened about the future. Bad things can happen to people, the future can be hard. He asked me if I had decided to have a life with meaning or had I stumbled into it. I told him that life has no meaning. Each of us has meaning in our hearts and souls and we bring it to life. If life has meaning, we are the ones who provide it.

I told him Joseph Campbell, a famous writer,  wrote that the privilege of a lifetime is being who you are.

Scott called me this morning and said the boys were leaving, would I come by the cafe, they wanted to say goodbye? They always pose for a farewell photo and I volunteered to take one.

Maria was kneed deep in mud in the garden, I didn’t quite trust Fate yet on a busy street corner, so I brought Red. There were loud cheers when he came running down the street.

There was a chorus of lament and regret – “where is Fate?” I regretted not bringing her, she would have been fine.

Brother Tom told me that at their campfire, the boys talked about Fate. They loved the fact that Fate loved to run around the sheep but couldn’t herd them. And they loved that this was okay, that we had accepted her for that, and loved her for who she is, not for what she might have been, or what we expected her to be.

It is rare to find people who know how to listen. That is, in many ways, heroic. I miss the St. John’s Boys I felt a bit down when they pulled away.  I hope they come back soon. They say they will return in October.