Today is my birthday. I’m not deeply into birthdays; I think they signify nothing but a milepost as to how long I’ve been around.

No one around me has ever made a big deal out of it. I do sometimes gauge where my life is on those days.

Maria took me to an inn in Vermont for quite a sweet day and night together. This year, I focus on all of the things I do, not the things I can’t do.

I have very few close friends, which is just the way it turned out to be in my life, but they are very good friends and they tend to make light of my birthday, sending me fun and silly stuff sometimes.

On this day, I think of the greatest gift I have ever received or will receive, and that is Maria. She loves to celebrate my birthday, and she is creative about it, of course.

It is sometimes hard for me to say what I feel out loud. It is never hard for me to write how I feel.

After ten years, we still can surprise one another with the dimensions and depth of our love. On her blog the other day, she wrote about the power of seeing how much nature has meant to both of us and our relationship.

She points out quite truthfully in her piece that I am not able to run around in the woods like I love to do, especially in the extreme heat and cold. I am no invalid, but the pills I take react to temperature, and my knees are fussy about where they go, so Maria often goes off into the woods by herself, with the dogs, who love to walk with her.

I don’t want to slow her down.

I moved here in significant part because I wanted to be in nature, although I don’t write or talk about it as much as I would like.

I grew up as a city boy, far removed from nature.

I don’t know the names of most of the things I see, and my appreciation is as an observer and admirer, Maria is of nature, she is a friend to the bigs, animals, trees, and flowers.

Even the rocks.

Bud stays home with me, two old souls who are happy to hang out together.  I look forward to the Fall when we can walk together again. I miss that very much.

When Maria gets home, things switch around. Zinnia hangs around with me, she respects the writing process. Bud and Fate like to sit with Maria in her studio.

This is painful for me, sometimes, as I love the life and rhythm of the farm, every minute of it. I’m still up to my neck in it, but it’s different. It always stings me to see how much Maria does, and how much I don’t do. Yet I am grateful for it, it keeps the farm-rich and special, a dream come true for me, as is she.

I guess my farm is like the Magic Kingdom. Dreams come true here.

When I feel sorry for myself, Maria reminds me that I do a lot – cook, shop, pays bills, get solar panels,  get toilet paper, and alcohol-based disinfectants. There is plenty to do here.

When I feel old, she yells at me to take it back, you are, she says, one of the youngest people that I know. I am her unofficial cheerleader here on the farm. I think she is quite wonderful, and I tell her so every chance I get.

I used to fear what would happen to Maria when if I died first, I’m not afraid of that anymore. She can take care of herself, and if it comes down to it, she will and can take care of me as well.

We’re not there yet.

We balance each other, zig where the other zags, move, and adjust. The center holds and only gets stronger.  But we never forget to love one another or encourage and support each other.

We are honest with each other, we speak our truth without fear or regret.

The greatest gift on my birthday, on any day,  is a love that never flags, slows, or tires. It only grows and deepens.

The odd thing is that Maria and I are very different people, yet as close as two people can be, and very much alike when it matters.

We have our separate lives and passions.

Sometimes, Zinnia and I disappear into my office at odd times and will emerge hours later, though dinner time and dusk. Sometimes she disappears into her studio.

We understand this about one another and respect it. Neither of us has ever made the other feel guilty or distracted about our work. What a gift that is.

This could be a source of great conflict and tension – it would have been in the family I grew up in back in Providence – but it only inspires love and appreciation.

I’ll bring her some food; she’ll bring me some tea or water. Neither of us even knows the other is there.

Our creativity anchors us. Each cherishes our independence, but we both know how much we have given to the other.

I appreciate the birthday gifts I get.

At some point, my daughter will remember my birthday and call. My sister rarely calls me, I might call her. Other friends sent things that make me smile. I get e-messages and some of those strange and timeless Jackie Lawson cards.

But what more fabulous gift could there possibly be on my birthday than the knowledge that just when I gave up on it, I found a rich and deepening love, and someone so full of love to share it with?

This is a gift that keeps on giving, every minute, every your, every day.

It is just dawn on my birthday now,   I woke up early, as I usually do, and came down to my study to write this in peace before the dogs are up, the donkeys are braying, and the chores need doing.

When I finish, I will go upstairs and crawl back into bed, a dog at my legs, Maria still asleep. She is a deep sleeper. I am not, nighttime all my life has been a time of restlessness and fear.

I will lie down next to her; she will roll her head on my shoulder and sleep some more.

In a half-hour or so, she will sit up straight as if stunned, recount an endless, labyrinthine and circuitous dream at great length, announce a birthday itinerary she has been working on for days, and hop up out of bed to let the dogs out and start feeding the animals.

It usually takes me more time to put my socks on than it takes her to feed the cats, open the chicken roost, and give some snacks to her beloved donkeys. She speaks to every creature on the farm – the birds, the cats, the hens, the donkeys, each sheep.

She wishes them good morning, asks how they are, scolds them for misbehaving, or being greedy.

I get outside to join her as soon as I can. I take some photos. She takes some videos. We are aware of each other, and step carefully out the other’s line of sight. We understand images and their importance in our lives.

We both blog and share our lives, but in very different ways.

This is something else we have learned to do differently, yet very much together. We take photos of different things, quite naturally and without the need for words.

It is not one conversation, but many, our journey together, and with life, nature and animals and creativity. We share every bit of it, whether we are together at that moment or not.

In the grand scheme of things, it is more true every day that this farm and I live here. That may be the greatest gift of all, to each of us, the passage of life itself.