Category: Bedlam Farm Journal

The big news today is the great work the Army of Good did last night for the Cambridge Food Pantry, which faced a number of problems at once.

People are distracted, the cost of everything they need and use is rising (the billionaires buying stock are doing great), and brutal government cuts.

Yesterday (above photo) was a dream. Not today. Cold and snowing all day.

It’s cold, and I did something that twisted a tendon in my right leg while trying to navigate Zinnia’s dog bed. Boy, does it hurt. No sleep two nights in a row, Maria has moved me downstairs at night – no climbing of stairs.

I saw a doctor yesterday, and she said I need to apply heat and lots of rest. I’ll be okay. It will hurt. Done.

I’m in for the day. I’ll try to get some flower photos tonight if I can. Got an essay to write and a good book to read if I can get comfortable. Have a meaningful day, and thanks for helping the Food Pantry. There are a lot of good people out there, but they never get on the news.

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We live in a small town in upstate New York, and I’ve loved the forgotten beauty of the old train Depot, built in 1901, when cities and towns bothered to build beautiful depots and post offices.

It’s tough sometimes to find good places to eat. We like going out; the farm is intense. There is something special about this Depot for us – it has meaning.

My town is proud of the Depot, but was never sure what to do with the beautiful and historic building that had suddenly been reopened by an artist and designer who had never run a community restaurant in a beautiful old building before.

Sara decided to go for it; it was a gamble. It’s working. She’s sweet on the outside, brave on the inside.

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Maria and I were delighted to learn that Sara Kelly, a familiar figure in our town, someone who seems to know everyone and is liked by all of them, is itself a rarity, had decided to buy the old building and open a restaurant.

I think she has figured out how to do it. That’s a beautiful thing to see. We are delighted to have found the perfect place for us. It’s always rewarding to see a success, someone who isn’t afraid to make the jump.

There are several restaurants in our town that we like or have loved, but none like Sara’s – open at night, a place with good food that is healthy, inexpensive, with a host that is charming and fun. It fits us perfectly.

Sara is drawing people from all over town and the area. There’s the building, something beautiful in itself, and a space for music, games, and good and inexpensive food.

We loved everything about the place the minute we checked it out.

We go there at least once a week, and we’re going in April to hear the music of Barry Hyman, a nationally known guitarist worth a trip anytime.

Barry is a big deal, has been teaching music since 1964, and has performed all over the country.

He’s the perfect match for the new (old) Depot. The building is charming in itself, and Sara is the same.

Small businesses have a lot of trouble in small towns; people don’t like surprises and unfamiliar things. They want to go where their parents went.

We are picky ourselves. But this place was right for us, it just was.

We feel more comfortable in the Depot than we have yet felt in any other place in town except for the town Diner.

The food ranges from salad with falafel to quesadillas to hot dogs, perfect for a small town eager for good food but not too fancy or expensive.

Not an easy thing to do.

Sara has a gift for merging different cultures – the old building, very healthy food, a wonderful atmosphere to go sit in and talk or visit with friends. No stumbles that we have seen.

There is no saying why one really likes a restaurant or really doesn’t. It’s personal; everyone has their own ideas and feelings. Maria and I felt like we had been going there for years, the first time we came in.

Strange to see, this was a place we needed, even longed for.

And Sara seems to have every good instinct there is for a family restaurant, with just enough class to be almost hypnotic, but never so much as to be snooty or off-putting. And the building is gorgeous and hauntingly evocative.

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Sara is not one of the rich and experienced people who open restaurants – it’s a tricky, expensive, and difficult thing. She respects the cost of things. We rooted for Sarah from the beginning. She is just kind and welcoming in a nation racked by cruelty and hatred and billionnaire entrepreneurs.

We can’t help but smile when we see her.

Sara is one of the good ones and one of the smart ones. There is always something new on her menu – and good.

Her restaurant is comfortable and charming, and it’s already a central community center in our little town, which has been looking for a night restaurant and cafe for a while.

I’ve always believed that for a new restaurant in my town to thrive, there had to be a host who was welcoming and always present,  good, healthy, and inexpensive food, and a sense of community that, sooner or later, draws people in.

Sara has the gift of sparking loyalty from everyone who comes in for a look. It’s exciting to be there, and Sara is worth rooting for.

Congratulations to the beautiful old Depot, you’ve found the right owner: here’s the snappy new website. 

Above and below is the new logo by the brilliant designer, Abrah Griggs, the only designer I would allow to touch the logo of my blog. The Bedlam Farm Journal is changing, not so much on the inside, but very much on the top, bottom, and side.

Most of the changes have already taken place; I just waited until the changes were clear before messing with the blog’s signature logo.

It was time to rethink the blog in the past year. The country is different, the mood is different, the blog is different, the Pastoral photographs and Flower art photos are different, and yes, as many of you have pointed out, I am different.

The blog is increasingly the sanctuary place I hope for when our national politics began to tear the country apart with a vengeance.

With a rare and occasional exception, I’ve given up writing about politics and the culture wars; they are too loud, too ugly, and too unresolved.

What I needed, and what many of you needed, was a safe place to view beautiful images, if I could create them. These included stories from afar, tales from my life with Maria, and my now popular flower photos taken in the late afternoon and evening.

My move towards what I call Pastoral art is an effort to calm and soothe people by reminding them of the beauty and peace of nature and the earth. I don’t know if it’s too late to save it or not; I’m no scientist. I do believe it’s not too late to love it, and that is one of the points and purposes of the Pastoral movement.

Nature is why I moved here in the first place!from the cities.

And much to my surprise, Zip has become a sybol of the farm and its constant changes. So has Maria, the brilliant artist and loving shepherd, who has made living and life a joy for me.

I need to keep up with the times in order to remain relevant, and the blog continues to be well-read and relevant. That takes a lot of work, but it’s good work.

Instead of being a pundit, I chose to be an advocate for hunger and for a food pantry where I can make a difference.

That’s so much better than arguing with nasty people online. What a waste of time that is.

I’d rather do some good, I’d rather the blog be a place of love, beauty, and safety. So I needed to change the look with Abrah’s help. The pastoral photos reopened a dying vein in me that needed a new life. It has come.

You’ll notice the new logo includes a cat, a few sheep, much like the early Pastoral artists did.

I wanted the blog logo to celebrate their efforts to remind us that nature is wonderful, soothing, and vital to humanity.

The Pastoral creatives focused on sheep and shepherds, as well as the nature in which they lived and around them. Without knowing it, I have been driven to the same thing, and people have loved that more than anything I have written or done.

My spiritual work has led me to a better place. I don’t know if I’m a better person; that’s for someone else to decide.

I am, however, a happier one, and I’m proud of myself and of the good that the Army of Good and I are doing every day. I might leave the world in a slightly better place than I found it. The blog is my right arm.

You’ll notice the only animals on the logo are a cat and some sheep—no offense to our donkeys and wonderful dogs. I have not lost interest in writing about them and taking their photos, but my creative interests have widened, and the new blog logo reflects that.

Inside, the blog will not change much more than it has, but I am devoted to the changes we have made, and the response has been wonderful. Sorry, trolls, I’ve just lost interest in fighting with cruel and often hateful people. I just don’t need it anymore; I have better things to do.

Thanks to my readers for your support of my blog, one of the first of its kind on the Internet. It is and will remain the story of my life with Maria, the dogs, donkeys, and sheep that have enriched our lives.

I will continue writing on my blog until the end of my life, and I have asked Maria to take it over when I’m gone.

She will take it to a richer and beautiful place, as she already has. In the meantime, I love my logo and what it stands for. I love change. The new logo will be up shortly.

Thanks to Abrah for making my vision come alive in art, and thanks once again to Chris Archibee for helping us along.

Chris has been my friend and mentor ever since I started the blog. He is retiring. I will miss him, but I will continue to annoy and harass him every chance I get. What a wonderful friend he has been. Setting up the new logo is the last task Chris is working on for Mannix Marketing, and that makes it sweeter for me.

There would not be a Bedlam Farm Journal without Chris Archibee.

And thanks to the good people reading this. The blog is for you, and I promise an honest and open accounting of my life, and what it has become,  no matter what is happening in the world outside.

Special thanks to you, loyal readers, who have supported me from the beginning. I love you and appreciate you.

I love this kind of heat, the farm has an eerie stillness about it – even the bugs are hiding out.

If you are curious to see how farm animals deal with severe heat, come along with me while I walk through the barn. Nobody was moving, animals like sheep go into a kind of coma when it’s this hot – one of the hottest heat waves in my time here.

I’m supposed to be doing the same thing, and mostly, I am, but I’m walking around taking pictures that reflect the heat and then going to the pantry to see the weekly truckload from the Regional Food Bank. The heat is brutal, the animals’ stillness is wise. They wait until dark to move and otherwise don’t budge.

I might sneak out for some wildflowers if it cools down. Zip made a brief appearance on a chair around my garden bed, but once he checked on me, he was gone. This morning was beautiful and strange at the same time. The donkeys, desert animals, went out to graze as usual. The dogs are staying inside. Maria went swimming in a nearby river, and she was spent.

I know I have to stay inside, I’m not playing games with it. I feel it when I’m just out for a few minutes. You are invited to come alone on the morning walk.

Heads down, in the corner of the barn.

Cleaning up. The sun moves fast in the morning, and there’s shade there now. They won’t be leaving.

Maria went out to get the donkeys back into the barn. They are the only animals that went out to graze this morning, which is very unusual. They follow her out when she tells them to.

Sheep stay still for hours in heat like this. We’ll let them out to graze tonight.

Self Portrait: Photos in the heat.

I was startled to look up from my camera and see a donkey – Lulu – staring up at me. Donkeys are curious; they always want to know what’s going on.

Zinnia came with me for my daily pastoral photo in the backyard. She has conked out by my feet as I write this.

Zip goes under the front porch when it gets this hot.  He popped over to say hello when I checked on the raised garden bed. Then he was gone.

A great clothesline day. It’s a wonderful smell.