Whenever I look out at our Tin Man, I think of Ed Gulley, my friend, the farmer and artist who created  him. The Tin Man took a beating during several windstorms but we will figure out a way to patch up his farm. He is standing strong, like his creator.

Ed and Carol  are on a trip our west. He wants to get to the Badlands National Park of South Dakota, given its name by the Lakota Indian Tribe, they are just a half day away. Ed has been diagnosed with terminal brain cancer and wanted to see the Badlands while he could, and Carol went out and leased a car.

I got a text message from Carol this morning, saying they were only hours away, and the landscape was already beautiful.

This is something they both have wanted to do for a long time, and Ed was very determined to go now.

Carol  was equally determined to  help, she refers to him as “My Farmer,” something our writing class has  chided her about, but it is the way she feels, and it is quite genuine, it is how she feels. Ed and their children and grand-children and their animals and farm are her life.

I can only imagine what she is feeling now, she is not prone to talking about her own feelings.

Ed and Carol have been gone nearly a week and I haven’t written much about them because I don’t really know what to say. With Ed gone, the world seems quieter and off kilter.  Carol has been posting every day on their  Bejosh Farm Journal but Ed has gone silent. In the photos, he looks tired.

Like me, Ed is not prone to silence, and  I imagine he is feeling the effects of his illness. Carol’s messages are shorter, she is letting us know where she and Ed are. I haven’t heard much from them.

There are no poems, videos or observations about life, no ranting about milk prices.

I hope this means they are having fun, they don’t need to be worried about the  rest of the world. They can take care of themselves.

We drove by the farm Monday hoping to catch them before they left, we brought them two leather journals to write in on their trip. But they were gone by the time we got there, and the farm was eerily quiet. Ed is one of those larger than life people, he takes up a lot of space. When he is gone, the silence is loud.

I got a message on my Iphone saying they needed to go, and I was glad to hear it. They did need to go.

Carol’s posts suggest they are having a good and important time together.

I talked to Ed once or twice on the trip, but I am frankly and strangely uncomfortable calling them.

Although they have have repeatedly said they value contacts and messages from the outside world, it still feels like a private and very personal time for them to me, and if they wish to speak to me, they will call. They know they can call anytime, so why not leave it up to them?

I think they know that they do not need  to call, I hope so.

Some things, I imagine, are just difficult to share, and do not need to be shared. I have the sense they are both very much enjoying their time together, something they got very little of over their decades together working on their farm.

You can follow this extraordinary journey here.

It is strange to be so out of touch with Ed, but it also feels appropriate to me. This is their trip, and I hope they are not too busy with messages and calls, as they seemed to invite. I don’t want to add to them. I have this idea that they are telling people they are fine all day long. That could get old.

My idea – and Maria’s – is to let them know we are here if they need us, and to let them be. There has never been a trip like this for them, and there may never be another. I hope it is precious for them.

The Tin Man reminds me of the impact Ed and Carol have had on our lives and the lives of the farm. I hope to take him out to lunch when he gets back.

I’m not sure what Ed’s attraction to the Badlands is, it’s not something in my blood, but I know it is a beautiful place, and the pull is deep and I wish him Godspeed. I hope he founds what he is seeking there.