Bedlam Farm Blog Journal by Jon Katz

18 May

Flower Art, As Promised, Saturday, May 18, 2024. The Columbine Project, Day Two, Awash In Beauty

by Jon Katz

I had to take some more photos of the single tiny Columbine flower that Maria found in the woods yesterday. The flowers speak for themselves; I’ll let their beauty, grace, and emotion do the talking. I can’t get the Columbine out of my head.

I’m signing out tonight. In the morning, we’re heading to a Spring Festival in town, celebrating the return of the Farmer’s Market to its beautiful outdoor space and a multi-million dollar restoration project taking shape on our Main Street.

Things are changing here. If we don’t run out of time and have nice weather, I plan to plant some seeds and plants in the garden bed tomorrow. I hope you enjoy these wildflower photos; they are special to me.

The wildflowers have a remarkable impact on me; I will photograph them while they last. Thanks for coming along.

 

 

 

I fell in love with a buttercup sticking proudly out of the bouquet Maria made for me, fresh-picked from the woods.

 

The Columbine won’t last much longer, and I wanted to get my licks in before it died. Wildflowers generally live only a short time.

18 May

Photo Journal, Color And Black And White: Big Day At Bedlam Farm. Ian McRae Skips Chess And Shears Our Reluctant Sheep. He Did A Great Job.

by Jon Katz

Shearing day happens twice a year at Bedlam Farm, and both are big days here. Our friend Ian McRae has been shearing our sheep for years now, and he has grown with confidence, patience, and skill.

He’s learned how to confuse the sheep long enough to grab them and wrestle them to the ground while taking care not to harm them.

The more competent the shearer, the calmer the sheep. Our sheep were very quiet around Ian.

He’s also become a good friend. He’s coming on Tuesday for our weekly chess match.

Ian is also a poet, and our friendship has evolved steadily and warmly.

He is a lovely person with a big heart and solid and easy with sheep. Maria is his assistant here. She scoops up the wool and places it in marked bags. Both of them work hard and get tired.

(Above, Asher loves Maria and tries to hide behind her when Ian comes in. No luck.)

In a few weeks, we will take the wool to our new knitting mill, a few hours south of the farm. As always, Maria is selling it as yarn.

It took Ian about two-and-a-half hours to shear the sheep; some were co-op-rated, and some wanted no part of it. He knows how to handle all of them. He came early this morning, and we are worn out, as he must be.

He said the biggest flock he had herded so far was 48 sheep; it took him a full day. He likes to work alone and said he didn’t want to get paid for it here because we feed him so many dinners.

We paid no mind to that and paid him as he deserved. One has nothing to do with the other. If he feels bad about it, I suggest he bring the food on Tuesday.

I love Ian; he is a great friend and a worthy chess player (I will kick his butt on Tuesday, I told him, and he laughed.)  

We are pretty equal in chess skills; Ian is moving up fast; you know the story, the young overtaking the old.

I took the pictures in black and white and color; I think each presents a different feel for what shearing is like.

Maria has photos and videos she is putting up today on her blog, fullmoonfiberart.com.

Shearing the sheep reminds me of how special it is to live on a farm for ours.

It reminds us why we are here, and it is always enchanting to see the ancient art of sheep shearing practiced so well. The sheep must be shorn to be healthy and avoid disease and discomfort.

The animal rights movement whines about shearing; they think it is exploitative, but then they whine all of the time about almost anything that brings animals and people together.

That’s one reason why working animals are vanishing from America and will only exist for future generations on YouTube. I hope you enjoy the photos.

 

 

A lot of wool came off of Kim.

Shearers know how to hold a sheep, still using their hands and knees. The sheep go limp and stay limp until the shearing is over. And no, it does not harm them. They shed a heavy coat and are lighter and more comfortable.

 

 

Beautiful wool from Mericat.

When Ian arrived, her sheep rushed over to try and hide with her. It didn’t work. Soon, all of them were shorn and dancing happily in the heat without their heavy coats.

 

 

Maria is ready with her pre-marked bags to pick up the wool and stuff it into bags for the knitting mill. It takes six months for the word to be processed and ready to return to Maria.

The wool comes off in smooth rolls. The good shears like Ian know how to protect it, especially if it is going to be yarn.

 

 

After.

Cleaning up. Heading to the farmhouse to take a nap.

18 May

Second King, The Flower Queen. Two Images That Caught My Eye. Zip Isn’t The Only Prince.

by Jon Katz

Today was shearing day; Ian McCrae showed up early this morning and trimmed our reluctant sheep with style, patience, and skill. Photos are coming next, but I came across these two images and wanted to share them.

Several years ago, I bought this wicker child’s sofa in Vermont. I just had this weird impulse that it would help Bud get safe. He was new to the farm, a rescue dog,  and was very anxious. Zip is not the only royal at the farm. Bud was a prince before Zip came to her, and the wicker chair we bought him is his throne, as the wicker chair on the back porch is Zip’s (Zud), or is it Bip? (Calling the word police! Are you still there?)

 

 

Meanwhile, the pansies in my raised bed wasted no time coming out with a roar. Onto the shearing.

17 May

The Columbine Wildflower Bouquet. In Honor Of Maria, Who Picked Them For Me In The Rain

by Jon Katz

I was finishing up work on my daily flower photos when Maria came in from her walk in the woods and came into my study with some new wildflower photos that took my breath away. I stopped working on my art flowers and took her new wildflowers with a gorgeous Columbine wildflower and worked over and over with my two macro lenses to capture their beauty.

These are among the most beautiful photos I’ve taken of flowers in my memory; I am happy to share them with you and ever grateful to the wonderful Maria, a lover and giver of beauty, love, and joy. These are for you, babe. You are the best, and I  will love you until my last breath and maybe even beyond.

The more I worked on these photos, the more they took my breath away.

The Columbine added a powerful and dramatic beauty to the photos.

I had to toss in these erupting pansies; they were next to me and blossoming under my nose.

 

I wanted to start and end with the Columbine, just too beautiful to stop.

 

17 May

Sweet Zip And Me: Working With Me In My Garden Bed While I Struggled With A Flower Photo. His Soul And Mine

by Jon Katz

Zip is a character, but he also shows himself as a sweet soul in our gatherings.  I worked for a long time on tonight’s flower photos. I was working on the images with a chair on my raised garden bed so I could take some pictures.

Maria showed up with gorgeous wildflowers, which she picked up on her walk in the woods. I dropped my plans and worked on the new photos; it is tricky with macro lenses, and it takes a long time to get the manual focus set, which is the focus I used for many of my photos. It was challenging and frustrating before I figured it out.

I was struggling, and Zip suddenly appeared on the garden bed beside me. He didn’t bother me or get in the way; he just watched me and seemed to keep me company, which he always does when I am tired or worried. He sat, slept, and watched me for at least 45 minutes. His company was calming and pleasing, and I was grateful for him. It was touching.

We seem to be soulmates.

Here is a photo journal of our time together. This dog came from the spirits to soothe others and mine. I think I captured his sweetness.

He would sleep for a while.

And move over my shoulder.


Then, sleep longer.

Then, when I was finished, he climbed into my lap and got a good long scratch on the neck, his favorite thing.

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