4 July

Carol Gulley And Rudy, A Lucky Orphaned Turkey Jake

by Jon Katz
Lucky Rudy
Lucky Rudy

Life at Bejosh farm is never dull. Last week, Ed Gulley was haying out in one of his fields and the tractor mowed over a nest, empty except for one jake (we think he is a male). The mother fled the nest, and turkey’s wont return to a nest if their cover is taken away. So the baby was an orphan.

Ed, an animal lover and animal mystic, brought the baby home and he and Carol have been caring for it every day, they named him Rudy. They have it in a glass incubator in their house. They give him water and regular chick starter grain. They have also begun putting crass in his new home and he has begun picking at it.

Ed and Carol also talk to Rudy, sing songs to him and hold him in the enveloping way a mother would cover the nest. He is doing beautifully and will one day return to nature and make his own way, although knowing the Gulley’s, they might just have a turkey hanging around the farm. It wouldn’t surprise me.

Farmer’s are the worlds most fervent animal lovers, they know animals in a way few people ever get to know them. The Gulley’s are are veteran, hard-working dairy farmers, they have started their own very popular blog, the Bejosh Farm Journal. It is honest, original, poignant and entertaining.

7 October

The Gulleys, Ed And Carol

by Jon Katz
Ed And Carol Gulley
Ed And Carol Gulley

The Gulleys have been married a long time, they work very hard, every day all day, seven days a week, almost always side-by-side. They are dairy farmers, their work is brutal and endless. Ed finds time to work on his art, Carol takes care of the farm and cows, tends to her chlldren and grand-children. She and I went through cardiac rehab together and became fast friends. Our friendship has expanded, now it’s the four of us – me, Maria, Ed and Carol.

These two are a love story, one of those great love affairs, they care deeply about one another, share a great love of almost any kind of animal. Ed is a handful, he has his own ideas about the world, when Carol wants to get his attention, she calls him Edward, and he snaps to.

When the truck pulled in, Carol was laughing, she said she was laughing so hard she was in tears. The truck was filled with Ed’s junk art sculptures, and she said they felt like the Clampetts, so they started singing the theme to the “Beverly Hillbillies.” Carol started laughing every time she thought about it.

This weekend, their first art show, at our Open House.

30 November

Carol And Ed Gulley: Living In The Real World Of Life, Of Animals

by Jon Katz
Living In The Real World
Carol and Ed Gulley: Living In The Real World

 

I met Carol Gulley while walking on a treadmill in cardiac rehab, she leaned over and told me that my swiss steer Elvis, an animal I unwisely acquired at the first Bedlam Farm, had come from her farm. We became instant friends, and Maria and I were eager to get over to her farm and meet her husband Ed and the goat Sadie, and the cow Sweetpea that she was always talking about. Carol is a pretty shy and quiet person until you mention one of her animals, and then she lights up. Turns out her husband Ed is the same way.

They are one of those couples that complete one another, that define connection and love and loyalty in marriage. They represent something that has become important to me in recent years, as a writer and as a human being: they live in the real world, the real world of life, of animals. They are open and honest and direct. They represent a precious and vanishing way of life, as a culture we are forgetting what a life of independence and individuality is like, what it takes, how important it is to support it.

Farmers are beset these days, encircled. The farmer and author Wendell Berry writes that we have forgotten what people are for, the economists and politicians have decided that the small family farm is no longer efficient or feasible in the new global economy, small farmers are beset by government bureaucrats, unfair and outdated regulations, arrogant and unknowing people who claim to speak for the rights of animals, and they have been abandoned by the rest of us, most of whom are happy to stuff their shopping carts with food without knowing or caring where it comes from.

We get what we deserve, and we will all be the worse for it when these farms finally disappear and give way to the factory farms who represent nothing but mass production and profit. Carol and Ed Gully birthed most of their cows, and know every one by name. They work brutally hard, beyond the imagination of both of us. A few months after her open heart surgery, Carol was on her tractor helping Ed harvest the corn sileage for their cows.

I have a rule at my farm that people eat until the animals do, and Ed and Carol have lived that way for years. I was reminded yet again that people who work with animals are especially blessed, and so are their animals, who have great care, purpose and need in their partnership with people, in the joys and travails of life. Carol and Ed Gulley do not need a wiser and more mystical understanding of animals, they have that already.

This is what people are for, we owe them more than this, we forget it at our peril.

9 August

Thinking Of My Friend Ed Gulley. The Tin Man Head Gets A Place Of Honor

by Jon Katz

Our friend Deb Glessner just sent me this photo of me, Ed Gulley, and his wonderful creation, the Tin Man. Her picture brought up a lot of feelings.

Ed was a farmer and artist, and sculptor. And, for a while, my best friend.

He recycled the Thin Man from old factory parts from his cow farm. He filled four barns full of broken-down tractor parts.

That’s how he made all of his art.

Deb, a gifted photographer, took this photo of us with the brand-new Tin Man at one of our last Open Houses. Ed, a larger-than-life human being, had become a much-loved fixture at our Open Houses. Like me, he loved to talk to groups of people and always had plenty to say.

He had a lot of fans.

Mostly, he ranted about milk prices, even after I told him this was the wrong crowd for that. Ed did not care. He stood his ground wherever he was and whoever he was talking to. I can’t be sure why I loved him so much; we were Mars and the Moon.

He loved me back; our friendship was instant, deep, and kind for all the kidding; we did love each other. I never had a friend like that. I will never have another one like that. I was never good at making friends; it was easy with Ed.

I love his passion for making art out of farm junk, and he loved my independence and determination to live my life. Maria was his art manager and adviser; he trusted her completely. She thought he was very talented and was on the way to being a successful artist.

He was planning to host his own art shows when he got sick.

Ed was a dairy farmer in the bone, and when he came to our open houses, he loved to give his milk prices speech, which I learned by heart. He was one of my best friends ever, and I miss him. There will never be another Ed.

When he was diagnosed with brain cancer, he went home and never saw a doctor again. He didn’t want to die in the way people who get brain cancer and get treated sometimes die.

I visited him daily during his illness, bringing him fruit, art supplies, and books.

When he got home, he built an extension to his small farmhouse and put a bed in it. That was his home for the rest of his life.

He wanted his wife Carol and kids and grandkids to share in the process, and it was beautiful to see them all come in and visit with him as if nothing had changed. Most people hide their deaths from their families. Ed invited them in. His four big and fluffy dogs were also there for it.

There was no way, he said, he was going to die in a hospital.

Ed never stopped joking and pontificating. He humanized death, and demonized it for his family. They were happy to love him to the end.

I think I made the family uncomfortable,  as I make a lot of people, but he insisted that he wanted me to come every day. We never had any trouble talking. Once or twice, when he was suffering,  he asked me if I could help him to die. I had to say no.

Ed was neither intimidated nor impressed with me. He just liked me. One of the family members stays in touch with me, but I haven’t contacted the others or heard from them.

We did get in a last lunch with each other. It was a struggle for him, but he did it without complaint.

We still made each other laugh, almost up to the end, when he finally accepted hospice care.

Again and again,  Ed insisted I write a book about his life; he thought he was fascinating. He was right. I always gave him the same answer. He wasn’t Winston Churchill, and I didn’t want to write a book about him.

But honestly, his life story would have made a pretty great book. Ed rescued every animal in trouble, and they always knew where to go. He had four peacocks strutting around in the backyard. And a goat that picked pockets.

I never let on that I was tempted.

The man had a huge ego and the life to back it up.

Ed was a strong as a bear before he got sick, and he loved to help people.

He showed up whenever something rough needed to be done on the farm.

When we had to call the police to shoot a wounded bear in our pasture, he decided to take the bear home and skin him, and he picked up the bear and tossed him into the truck like a stuffed animal. He was amazed that I didn’t want to keep the body.

There was only one Ed.

He thought nothing of carrying huge pieces of wood down to the creek and building a hand-made bridge so we could get out to the forest behind our house.  We called it The Gulley Bridge.

It lasted until last week when the rain finally got it, and the flooding creek took it away. Maria says she is going to rebuild it herself.

And she will. She says Ed taught her how to do it. I think she wants to build it in his honor.

He invited me to come over to his farm one day and help him castrate a newborn male. I passed. I did agree to milk the cows if he would show me how to do it. I did well but got kicked in the head. “You’re fine,” said Ed, telling me to hurry up.

Ed respected that I was a pussy, and a city child,  as he put it. There were no hard feelings.

We trusted one another and could – and did – say anything to each other. I realize now that cancer was growing inside Ed’s brain when this photo was taken, but he never complained or showed the tumor-killing him.

Love you, Ed, and I miss you. You loved being an artist and always knew what it meant to be a real friend. You taught me a lot.

There will never be anyone like you in my life. Life is full of crisis and mystery.

The Tin Man fell apart, I’m sorry to say,  but his head is still intact, and I put him in a place of honor, my garden bed. He’s front and center; it looks like he grew up there.

 

Rest in peace, pal; now I can remember you daily. Thanks for selling me the Tin Man. I know you could have gotten a lot more money for it.

You know right away what it would mean to me. Please don’t bore the angels to death with your endless milk price rant. I doubt they will care any more than the people at our Open House did.

12 February

People I’m Glad To Know: My New Friend, The Crazy Goat Lady Of White Creek. She Loves Goats And Makes Great Soap And Cheese

by Jon Katz

If I didn’t live in the country, I would never know Cindy Casavant, The Crazy Goat Lady, as she calls herself, or anyone much like her.

That would be a shame, as she has become one of my favorite people; I make it a point to see her at the Farmers Market on Sunday (every other Sunday now,  every week in the Spring and Summer).

It’s a lot of fun to talk with Cindy, who has excellent goat stories to sell (she has more than 70 goats and sells their cheese all summer and makes the best soap I have ever bought or used.

Cindy always has something new to offer.

She is inventive and adores working with her goats. She is one of those blessed people who does what she loves daily, and it shows. People like that never have to go to work.

Today she brought some Truffles that she makes (I can only eat one), which were delicious beyond description. She also has some cheese and got something different – small round soap balls you can squeeze for children in the bathtub.

I’m sending one to Robin; I am sure there is nothing like it for sale in Brooklyn.

 

I also got a bar of soap with a heart in it. Maria and I don’t pay much attention to Valentine’s Day; I didn’t realize this is Valentine’s Day soap. But I bought some for Maria anyway. It was irresistible.

Cindy’s goats have begun birthing; she had three triplets this week. We are invited to see them this week and are eager to go. Cindy’s farm is on the same road; we are only 10 or 15 miles north.

Her favorite goat is Shaggie, who I also want to meet.

Cindy says she has a lot of personality and admires her mothering. During some lousy weather, Sue and her husband Larry had to get all the goats into the barn together, which goats don’t like.

Hers were restless.

She came and sat with them for an hour to keep them company.

You get the type. She loves her goats. Cindy is a lot of fun. Her e-mail is [email protected].

Her farm is called CazAcrez.

More goat babies are coming, which means more cheese, yogurt, milk, and some new things I haven’t thought of. God knows what else Cindy will come up with; she’s having a lot of fun. Larry told her I can get her to smile in my photos, but I suspect she does it quite often.

(Triplets just born, photo by Cindy Sasavant.)

I found out a couple of weeks ago that Cindy was a good friend of Ed and Carol Gulley. She sees Carol often.

I’m looking forward to seeing Cindy’s farm. To me, she represents the best of the farming world – hard worker, creative, and an animal lover, and she sells excellent cheese, soap, and something different every week.

Cindy proudly showed her new soap balls. ([email protected]). You can bet I’ll try to take photos of those goats.

Bedlam Farm