I’m happy to share the great debut of a promising new mystery series, the first Glory Broussard Mystery by Danielle Arceneaux. If you love mysteries set in a colorful small-town Louisiana, I highly recommend looking at this one. Glory Be is a great invention; the story is a wild ride that never slows down.

I was hooked from the first page. Glory Be describes  herself as “an old, fat black woman.” Not the usual brawny, isolated crime-buster.

This hero breaks the often dull form of the modern mystery ( a miserable and lonely detective with a dead wife, troubled daughter, and bad dreams.” Glory Be breaks the stereotypes: she is original and appealing. I’m guessing this book will be a big success.

The story starts on a Sunday in Lafayette, Lousiana; Glory Broussard (Glory Be, as she is known) is sitting at the usual table at the local bar, taking bets from locals as they get out of Church or come out for an early drink. Glory is profoundly religious and wears her Red Hat (she belongs to her Church’s Red Hat club) and laments the changes the barn owner constantly makes to keep up with young people.

Glory Be takes off from there and never entirely stops. Rural Louisiana is a star in this story; it’s good to be reminded of just how different one part of America can be from all the others. There is lot of atmosphere in this mystery.

Sitting at her usual corner table taking bets, Glory hears from a local police lieutenant that her best friend, a nun loved in the town, is dead, an apparent suicide, according to the police.

In classic mystery style, Glory doesn’t believe the police’s conclusion and sets out to find out what happened to her friend.

She ends up stirring up the whole town and sticking her own neck out,  taking shots at Southern racism, uncovering things nobody wants to see unearthed. There is no stopping Glory Be.

It’s a standard plot in a lively and rich new setting without any cliches that I could find. Good writers with rich stories are precious; Arceneaux is one of them

This is another creative book from a young writer who isn’t afraid to re-imagine a genre.

Being a bookie is a gift since many townspeople owe her money, and other customers know almost everything about what is happening..

Glory is working with her reluctant and moody daughter, who has her troubles. Delphine is a high powered New York City lawyer.

Glory undertakes a shadow investigation and ends up encountering Lafayette’s many hidden secrets and characters – oil tycoons, churchgoers and gossips, voodoo priestesses, nosy neighbors, slick cops, and down-on-their-luck bums, crooks, and troublemakers.

The characters in the book are memorable and distinctive, and Arceneaux does a great job of portraying them. The book is rich in local detail. I’m excited that this is the first in a series, a winner, and I’m in for the next Gloria Broussard mystery.

If you love mysteries, as I do, this is a great-to-read new series in a year that is kind to mysteries, thanks  mostly to a new generation of women mystery writers who aren’t shy about upending the norm. Seeing so many women at ease in a genre often dominated by men is fascinating.

Arceneaux gives Glory a great platform and background. From the first page, I never doubted that Glory Be, a character of depth and savvy, would figure it all out, no matter what.

The post Bedlam Farm Book Alert. A New Mystery Series That Is Funny, Different, Rich In Southern Lore, And Riveting: Glory Be Is For Real appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

I’m home today, no appointments.

This afternoon, I have another (Zoom) lesson in computer photo editing and how to enhance photos without changing their character. We woke up to snow this morning, but it’s stopped. I love rainy, cold days in a warm house in the dark. It’s suitable for writing.

I’m gearing up for winter pasture photos and for the beauty of the time. I like seeing St.Joseph staring at the landscape with snow on him.

I think this year will be different from last year, a year of medical surgeries, treatments, checks, and changes. For someone as addicted to color and light as I am, winter is a creative challenge. I’m up for it. Spring is close behind.

I have a good friend who just moved to Florida. He is happy there; he loves being warm and hates being cold. He said the town where he lives is booming, with people moving there every day.

It’s very crowded, he added, traffic is awful, and the heat can be brutal, even know. Politics there are ugly, as they are throughout America.

I also like being warm, and soon after we got married, Maria and I went to Disney World to be friendly and celebrate our lives together in a frigid winter. It was to be there for a few days, but it became tiring for me. I missed the winter, the white, the wood stove fires.

We went a second time, which was just too expensive; the crowds were overwhelming, and the rides had to be reserved months in advance. We are happy in our frozen winters and our peaceful lives.

I was thinking recently about Walt Disney, whom I wrote about while writing for Rolling Stone.

He wanted to make money, but he never stretched the idea of his park into a chaotic, crowded place, and expensive place. The kids came first to him. He was  no angel, but he loved to walk around the park, dropping to his knees to get the child’s view of things.

I was touched by all the parents, many of whom drove a long way and spent all their money to be there, trying to comfort screaming children who had to wait for hours to get on a ride or could not get on at all.

I think Disney understood the idea of enough being enough. Disney World can’t pause to take a breath, and it was anything but fun for us.

I’m glad people seem happy there, and I’m pleased it’s booming. I have no desire to go there or stay there. I am where I want to be for the first time in my life, and I’m digging in here. Corporations seem out of control to me; they can never earn enough or pay people enough.

When I first took my daughter there, it was a joy. The lines were not too long, the food was not too expensive, and children could soak it up in a peaceful and fun way. It was, to children and me, enchanting. As an adult, she has little desire to take her daughter there. It sounds too chaotic.

This being corporate America now, there is no Walt Disney to keep the park under control, just the usual greedy stockholders wanting more money. The place is nerve-wracking and overwhelming, at least to me, and I loved it once.

Many farmers I have met here rush off to Florida when they can’t milk their cows anymore. More and more, they tell me it’s too expensive now; they are looking for other Southern states to retire to.

Retirement is a very rough thing for farmers. Their wives tell me that without a purpose, some don’t seem to want to live.

They work all day and night all of their lives, and the transition to nothing is rugged. A number of the farmers  I know passed away shortly after going to Florida in an RV or trailer.

I have never thought of retiring and never plan to retire. It’s one bright side of writing. You can do it until you drop. And I will.

The post Bedlam Farm Journal, 12/6/2023. Morning Snow. Writing Until I Drop. Ruminations. appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

A Montana nun named Sister Lucy sent me a book by the Reverend James Martin, a Jesuit priest, a few weeks ago, just before Thanksgiving. The book was called Becoming Who You Are, and Martin focused on two brilliant priests whose writing made them famous worldwide, Thomas Merton and Henri Nouwen.

Both men were flawed.

I’ve never met or spoken with Sister Lucy and am not likely to ever meet her face to face.

But she has been reading my blog closely and following my steady and sometimes wobbly search for a spiritual life. I tend to connect with spiritual people because I believe they can often cut through the chaff and see the true me.

Sister Lucy did something difficult for most people to do: she sent me a book I wanted to read.  She seems to know where I am going. Martin wanted to understand what made these two men so successful and valuable.

I have read most, if not all, of the books these two men write, and I would credit them for the success of my blog and the troubles I had in figuring out what it should be and what I should be.

And most of all, it made me a better man.

I learned a lot from Nouwen, especially from Merton, a prolific author and a Trappist Monk with a hermitage and foul temper. His writings were like a long-awaited magnet; I was just drawn to his thoughts and writing.

To my surprise, Merton and I had much in common, religion aside. We were both angry and challenging, restless and uncertain in our faith and spirituality.  We both fought with everyone around us.

We both had (have) a genius for making people uncomfortable.

Neither of us could get along with our superiors or anybody who told us what to do.

Merton warred with his abbot for decades and antagonized him whenever he could. Merton and Nouwen had huge egos and a strain of intolerance and judgment. Both had a lot of anger, often spilling out in their religious lives. He taught his novitiates to curse at the Abbott in Latin without knowing it.

I learned much from them about writing, seeking a spiritual life, and being a good human with a meaningful life. I learned it was okay to be an outsider in the world as long as I didn’t lie about it.

In his book, Martin talks about why Merton became popular and, in many cases, beloved.

“First,” he wrote, “the two are nearly always honest about their daily lives. The most compelling passages in their writings come when they are candid about both the joys and struggles of their daily lives.”

Merton was almost schizophrenic about his monastic life. He loved to write about the beautiful trees in the hermitage that he bludgeoned his abbot into building for him. But nothing the abbot did for him was ever enough.

He wrote about how angry he was at the abbot, brother Trappists, or the Abbott again; he had to bear the brunt of Merton’s frequent bursts of anger and disappointment.

I’m struck when I read about Merton and how he is often described in the same language I am sometimes described – temperamental, intolerant, thin-skinned, and nasty. The accusations have often been correct.

But I learned so much on that mountain. Merton taught me that I didn’t have to be a saint to be spiritual or to do good. That was a big lesson, even as I have worked hard to shed the anger and judgment I often reveal.

Merton (and Nouwen) both did something most men wouldn’t ever do and which I never did: admit my flaws and try to overcome an overweening pride, sensitivity, and defensiveness.

Merton was well known in his monastery for getting angry and sullen when he wanted something and it didn’t work out. I doubt most of the saints would survive the scrutiny of our modern media.

I took these lessons to my blog; both men inspired it: tell the truth, stand your ground.

I wanted my blog to be honest, not just self-congratulatory and self-serving. I wanted to admit to the extreme vulnerability I sometimes feel, which causes me to be too sensitive and defensive. As we are learning that fear and trauma are vulnerability’s first cousins.

And I wanted to share the beauty of my love, my life, our animals, our farm.

I wanted the blog to be a living virtual memoir, like Merton’s journals, a journal of life, not just a vehicle for selling things or getting people to buy them. I wanted the writing to be me, not the writing a marketing department wanted me to be.

I left behind a trail of alienated and uncomfortable people.

I refused and still refuse to force people to pay for my work. I finally accepted the idea that they would support me if they liked my work and found it valuable,  and no other way. That is turning out to be the truth.

Sister Lucy seemed to get me, and I know that isn’t easy.

“Blessings on your self-discovery,” she wrote. “I Used this book on my Hermitage retreat in Kansas – I thought you might enjoy it. Thank you for all the good you and Maria do. God bless, Sister Lucy.”

How curious that a nun in Montana would understand me better than my family.

God bless you, too, Sister Lucy. I am enjoying the book very much, and thanks again for thinking of me.

Like Merton, I often write about the painful disappointments, conflicts, and battles of my life – and all of our lives –  and accept that my shortcomings are heartfelt and genuine.

I learned that to be a real man, I had to be authentic and write authentically.

My critics rarely say anything I haven’t said about myself. Merton was no hypocrite.  That is liberating. His humility was genuine, not false. His ego was enormous. So was his self-doubt. He was obsessed with writing letters and books, something Trappists are not supposed to do.

Merton taught me that honesty has a price – it draws resentment, criticism, ridicule, and even hatred. Men and women both find it threatening and often assume it’s false. It also draws love, empathy, and understanding.

We are never alone in this world; we are all part of a community.

We are all different.

Merton could be large, and he could be small, and I learned from him that almost everything is good if it is honest and leads to good and important work, to a vocation rather than a job.

The very first thing I wrote on my new blog was that I would be honest, and my readers would get to know the good me and the bad one. I promised that they would always find the real one. I believe I’ve kept that promise.

Some people ran from that, others ran to it.

I will never be perfect, and have no illusions about that. But being honest and showing vulnerability is one of the marks of a good man, a fundamental lesson. Merton and Nouwen did a lot of good. Notwithstanding my flaws, I hope to do the same.

I’ve often read Merton’s passage in his journal in October of 1960. He was about to move into his much beloved Hermitage but could not really manage to be accepting or happy about it. It reminds me of the good flawed people can do.

“It is exceptionally frustrating to have such a beautiful place as this one is getting to be – tucked away among the pines – and to have to stay away from it. Along with this, the conviction that the abbot has no interest in how I might feel about this is sure that my desires are absurd, and I even fear them. But in that case, why would he do something that would manifestly encourage them? I did not really ask for this; rather, I showed great hesitation and gave him five or six chances to reverse his decision and call the whole thing off. By now, he will have completely forgotten this. Meanwhile, I am having a hard time appearing cheerful and sociable. I can’t say I’ve tried too hard, either. Complete disgust with the stupid mentality we cultivate in our monasteries.”

Reading this, I winced at the intolerant and ungrateful response I often had to people who cared for me and valued me. I drove them all away, just as Merton called his abbot stupid. I could picture myself doing just that, and at several points in my life, I did do just that. At times, I thought Merton was an alien; at other times, a spiritual brother.

Merton got what he wanted but burned his bridge at every chance. I learned how to do that.

I took a lot from his writings. I understood that I didn’t need to be a great or perfect man; I just needed to be a calmer and more temperamental me, warts and all.  I needed to listen. I needed to file down my anger and push away my fear. I needed to see my weaknesses and be open about them.

In Merton, I had to perfect a role model, a short-fused and intolerant author and spiritualist who could never stop writing. He wrote a score of books and journals and thousands of letters.

I didn’t wish to be him; I wished to be me. I never wanted to be someone else, just a better me.

I learned a lot from Merton about the importance of being who you are, standing up for it, and never being ashamed to be honest or grow up and change.

I believe I learned to be a better man without becoming someone else. That’s what becoming what I am is all about.

The post What I Learned About Being A Man From Thomas Merton. appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

Zip is becoming a fearless Barn Cat, feeling his oats and standing his ground.

Both dogs (Bud doesn’t run free outside) love to harass Zip. Zinnia charges at him to get him to run or hide, and Fate likes to rattle him by getting close and staring at him as border collies do with sheep.

This week, Zip decided to turn the tables. Zinnia and Fake pretend they are tough sometimes. They aren’t, and Zip is calling them on it.

When Zinnia rushes at him, he doesn’t move; if she gets too close, Zip swats at her nose and runs off. Fate never gets close to him; she pretends she’s tough, as with the sheep.

Zip is not impressed. He stands his ground with both, running Zinnia off, getting close to Fate, and staring back, going where he wants. In the tradition of barn cats, he has seen it all and doesn’t rattle. Flo was like that; the dogs were terrified of her.

Nobody was afraid of Minnie.

Zip is interesting because he is also hyper-alert and cautious. He looks where he is going to make sure he’s safe. Then he goes where he wants.

Maria took this video this morning and captured Zip’s evolution into a tough guy. I’m proud of him. (Zinnia would never hurt him, and he knows it, it’s become a game.) Maria took the video.

P.S. The photo above of Zip in the Chicken Roost is now a magnet for sale in Maria’s Etsy studio. She’s sold over 150 magnets for $7 apiece (free shipping) and has 40 or 50 left. You can see them or purchase them here.

The post Video: My Tough Little Barn Cat Backs Down The Dogs appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

I ran into a small child and an older man at the Farmer’s Market. I couldn’t help telling him how happy they both looked together. They touched my heart.

I asked the man if I could take a photo, and he was pleased and proud to say yes. The man could not have been happier. I loved the look on her face. This was a happy ending to a story I didn’t know.

I didn’t ask any more questions; it just looked like such a warm and happy picture I wanted to share on the blog. He said that was great.

Beauty and love are everywhere if we look for and are open to them. I call this a smile photo, one of my favorite kinds: you have to smile when you see one. I smile every time I see it.

The post A Smile Story At The Farmer’s Market. appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

Zip has explored every inch of Bedlam Farm and the woods and marshes on our property. He never ventures off Bedlam Farm but has four or five warm, dry, and copy spots to sleep in. In the morning, he always comes out to greet me and Maria. Then he disappears until his morning and evening meeting with me.

Zinnia tries to chase him in the morning, but he sits there and waits for her to get close so he can swat her on the nose lightly, which causes her to turn and run. Zip is not a fighter, and Fate pretends to be tough but keeps her distance. Then he chases Zinnia big; it’s a game they play.

Every morning, I see him slide under the gate and into the pasture; he loves exploring the marsh.

I wasn’t home for our regular morning meeting, but we’ll probably get together this afternoon. Maria always hunches down to greet him; he is spoiled already.

The post Good Morning, Zip. He’s Always There For Breakfast, Gone For The Morning appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

“It’s all so nice!” Sue Silverstein told me yesterday, “Such a good job on the furniture, and I love the two-tone pajamas. They are so cute with their Christmas ornaments.”

Sue sent me seven photos of her student’s holiday art and thanked the Army Of Good again for donating all the materials. All these works, including the furniture, were done with donations and discarded materials shipped to the school by you, the readers of my blog. None of this could have happened without your great heart.

Don’t listen to anyone who claims Americans are heartless and selfish.

Sue’s love for her work, students, and art is palpable and infectious. Just look at what she has done. Art programs nationwide are being canceled for lack of funds and upside-down priorities. The art program at Bishop Gibbons is roaring.

I can’t tell you how good it feels to see a blog used positively and meaningfully and to see so much enthusiasm from young people who are believed to care only about TikTok.

Sue has set the young artists in her program on fire with her great assignment ideas and openness to letting the students choose their work. None of these inventive works would be here without these donations of discarded materials, mostly rotting away in attics and garages.

Sue and her students will make art from almost anything.

Merry Christmas to the young artists and Sue, the angel: Send your discarded stuff to Sue Silverstein, Bishop Gibbons High School, 2600 Albany Street, Schenectady, New York, 12308. Thanks, and Merry Christmas to you all; you are all angels doing God’s work. Please send your donations in January; the school will be closed for two weeks. Great work, people.

A discarded desk comes back to life. This was beautifully restored.

Two-tone pajamas as a Christmas gift.

Christmas ornaments from discarded materials.

Tree ornaments from discarded materials.

This table is another excellent furniture restoration. It was rescued from the junk pile and rebuilt. It’s going to somebody’s home. Some art goes to the students, some to poorer people who need help, and some to grandmothers and grandfathers, siblings, and parents.

The post “It’s All So Nice!” – Merry Christmas And Thanks, From Sue Silverstein’s Bishop Gibbons Art Program, To The Army Of Good appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

Our new sign found a home yesterday, right underneath our “Books” sign on the back porch. I think it says it all, and I am happy to have found it and found an excellent place to put it.

It’s a cold cloudy, November morning, damp and dark. My dogs always cheer me up.

I went to take a picture of Fate at Rest, and Zinnia moved right on.

Portrait, Maria and hay in the afternoon sun.

The post Bedlam Farm Morning Journal, 12/5/:2023. “This Is Us:” Our New Sign Finds A Home appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

I decided to close my blogging day by offering three images of the farm.

One, above, is of Zip, who joined me for our afternoon meeting and cuddle.  He crawled up on my shoulder, his favorite cuddling spot, and I started scratching. It’s a sweet moment for me.

As he was purring, I saw him freeze, followed his eyes, and saw a chipmunk 20  yards away popping his head out of a hole.

Zip flew off my lap, rushed to the gate, slid under, and slowly and quietly headed for the chipmunk, who seemed oblivious to him.

As he got closer, the chipmunk sores him, squeaks loudly, and dove under the hole. Zip stuck his head down there, but no luck. It was cold and raining, so I waved goodbye and went back into the house to finish writing.

That’s Zip, lots of love, lots of distraction. He is having a great Barn Cat life. I love his fierce and angry look. It’s just a pose, unless you are a rat, mouse, or chipmunk.

Lulu stuck her nose out as I walked away, pleading for an alfalfa cube. I stopped to give her and Fanny one, of course, and left to the sweet, some of them chewing on it.

I yelled good night to Zip, who was paying me no attention by then, and then came in and picked a color and light photo for tonight.

I decided to throw in the two others. Nothing on my blog is more popular than Zip at the moment, certainly including me. I get it. He is great fun and quite the challenge to any photography. Everything he does, he does quickly.

He is also insanely photogenic. I’ll keep taking the pictures.

Lulu has mastered the art of hustling Jon. She’s been doing it every day for nearly 15 years.

The post Color And Light: Zip, Lulu, And A Beautiful Flower. Sleep Well. appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

We had an “Ugly” sweater gathering at the Mansion this afternoon; Maria and Paryese, the Mansion activity director, and Robin, a Mansion aide, helped the residents apply the Christmas decorations we brought to make their “Ugly Christmas Party” sweaters uglier.

It was a blast. Maria loves this stuff. My job was to make smartass remarks and take a lot of photos.

I’m not sure I ever saw the residents have more fun than that. The sweaters will be worn to an “Ugly Sweater Christmas Party.” Maria and I will be the judges choosing the ugliest and most creative sweaters.

Robin used hot glue to fasten the Christmas ornaments to the sweater.

We got most of the sweaters done. The pictures speak for themselves. Come and take a look. And thanks for donating some of your “Ugly” Christmas sweaters. We have enough.

We are very much looking forward to the party. All three of us, Maria, me and Zinnia, are invited and have accepted.

Our Mansion work is a joy to us and, hopefully, to them. Paryese says they very much look forward to our visits. We do also. My Meditation class is moving to Friday.

Tomorrow morning, I get up early to get some bloodwork done before my meeting with Amy, my primary care nurse, on Friday. It’s my regularly scheduled visit.

Claudia worked on her “ugly” vest.

The room was full and everyone was excited.

Art loved his sweater.

Robin and Paryese helped Jane to get her sweater fixed up.

Robin, Ruth and Zinnia worked on Ruth’s sweater.

Mansion Aide Kelly stopped in to give June a hug.

Claudia’s end result, a vest with all kinds of decorations.

Nancy picked out the decorations she wanted from a basket full of Christmas tree decorations. We got them at the Senior Center Thrift Shop.

Paryese and Art glue his decorations onto the sweater he chose.

I’m unsure who got this sweater, but Activity Director Paryese was proud of it.

June’s sweater.

Robin glued the decorations on a sweater.

Maria has experience in untying knots.

The post Sweater Blast: Making “Ugly” Christmas Sweaters Uglier – The Mansion “Ugly” Christmas Sweater Party Is Close. Maria And I Are The Judges appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

People often ask me if I ever enhance my photos.

The answer is yes; I enhance my pictures if they are too light or dark. I rarely need to do this, but I’m not going to ignore the wonderful new editing technologies that make pictures look better.

With the Leica or the Iphone,  I have no problems touching up a photo in my computer program, as long as I don’t deny it or alter its character.

I never use programs that fake the picture, alter it from its present form, or move people’s heads around.

I took a class today on how to use my new program, Photomator. I like it better than Lightroom or Apple Photo, which is faster and easier.

I want my photos to look as good as possible.

Still, I think it’s important to acknowledge that I use two computer editing programs, Lightroom and, as of today, Photomator, a new made-for-Apple program that is strikingly easy to use and effective for making minor touch-ups to photographs.

My Leica pictures (a mirrorless full-frame camera)  rarely require enhancement. My Iphone 150 Pro Max is a terrific camera, but I sometimes need to highlight the colors in strong or weak light. (A full-frame camera is an SLR or mirrorless camera with a full-frame sensor. They don’t crop a picture automatically.)

One Iphone in 20 needs me to enhance or clarify a shape or enhance a color.

I take a lot more shared photos than almost anyone but TikTok users, and I need to keep up with the amazing new photo editing software. I don’t want to get lazy or left behind. Landscape photography is tricky, and so is animal photography.

If I remember to bring the right camera lens, I think I have the portraits down.

The Leica now allows me to buy lenses (L-series)  from other lens companies, which has been a boon to me since I can’t afford Leica lenses as a rule.

I never use enhancement photos on my color photos like flowers; they are colorful enough, and my cameras are good enough to reflect solid and rich colors.

The other day, I acquired Photomator, the Apple app of the year, and today – I went over it carefully with Andrew Kohler of MacNurse in Vermont – my first lesson.

Andrew is going to give me several lessons. I’m cranking up for Spring 2024.

I like the program very much, and Andrew and I experimented with enhancement using the Photomator color brush and selection software.

I took this photo this afternoon in a darkening sky with a foreground that was having trouble picking up the light.

I liked the effect of this enhancement. I used a Leica photo because it is softer and enriches the colors already in the photo.

You can see this in the foreground, where the camera naturally softens the greens and the brownish colors of the marsh, the greens of the pasture in the distance, and the blue in the sky and the hills.

This photo looks like one of those photo paintings I always rant about; it’s softer and dreamier like a painting might be.

I see nothing wrong with using enhancement software, but I prefer to have cameras and know how to use them to the point where enhancement is unnecessary.

I’m very close to that situation.

Wednesday, I’m taking another enhancement class; it’s something I should know how to use when necessary.

With climate change, the sky is often dark and gray from the steady rains we are having. It rained all day today, so I chose this picture to experiment with enhancing. More to come.

One of my favorite kinds of photos is the soft ones,  I like how this turned out. Using the same image, I enhanced the photo to soften it and balance out the rich and different colors.

When I enhance photography in anything more than the most minor way, I’ll say so.

The post Photomator Class: The Rules Of Enhancement appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

It still seems strange that Thomas Merton, a devout Catholic author and Trappist Monk, could have so strongly influenced my life. On the surface, we had nothing in common. It felt like Merton was giving me a language for my life, as if we were restless brothers.

When Henri Nouwen writes about the false life, he describes it as being “clothed” in the bandages of the false self, like the Invisible Man being wrapped, mummy-like, in long, winding strips of clothes.” That’s what it felt like.

This idea struck the most profound chord in me, as I felt I was suffocating inside of those coffins of lies. I wanted to discover my true self; I never wanted to be someone else.

I took all his books, retreated to a cabin on a mountaintop, and wrote about him. My year on the mountain made me think in solitude and silence about who I am.

The book I wrote about that year was called Running To The Mountain, and the stars were Thomas Merton and two Yellow Labs, Julius and Stanley. The book was not a best seller, and my publisher didn’t like it very much and didn’t support it.

The three of us were alone for half a year; it was almost a monastic life, and no better guide exists than Merton. I read his books and journals every day.

After the year of isolation,  I sold the cabin and bought a farm. My life changed, piece by piece, until I had left the familiar behind. I am beginning to recognize myself.

Merton’s book “No Man Is An Island” also made a deep impression on me, along with his other writing, and I still think of this passage, the one that changed my life the most:

“Why do we have to spend our lives striving to be something we would never want to be if we only knew what we wanted? Why do we waste our time doing things opposite of what we were made for if we only stop to think about them?”

I had no answers, just questions. I knew I was leading a false life and needed to find the real one, for better or worse. That process is still underway and will almost certainly last for the rest of my life.

In his book “New Seeds Of Contemplation,” Merton wrote:

“Thus, I use my life in the desire for pleasures and the thirst for experiences, power, honor, knowledge, and love, to clothe this false self and construct its nothingness into something objectively real. And I wind experiences around myself and cover myself with pleasures and glory, like bandages, to make myself perceptible to myself and the world as if I were an invisible body that could only become visible when something visible covered its surface.”

Like Merton, I feel that I was clothed in the false. I was a best-selling author with a dying heart.

I needed to discover who I was and become my true self, not the false one I was paid handsomely to be.

The life I had been living was not the one I ever imagined, sought, or examined. That person was nothing more than a mask that I wore. My curse was that I was so good at it.

And I saw that and knew it right away. Since then, for almost 20 years, I have been working to be the person I am, not the person I had somehow allowed myself to be. It is hard, fruitful, and exhilarating work. It is the most rewarding work I’ve ever done.

I’m not quite there yet and may never fully arrive at that truth. But I’m getting closer and getting better. My spiritual work has helped me see and face the reality.

When I consider myself now, I feel different. I think I am gradually moving towards becoming my authentic true self and away from the false one. I feel lighter, stronger, happier, and much more honest.

Before becoming my true self, I had to confront the false one that many of us spend a lifetime constructing, nourishing, and hiding from.

Merton got me started. Maria helped me along. So did my farm and the animals in my life. But only one can cast aside a false self and live in pride with the real one.

The post Becoming Who I Am. Shedding The False Life. appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

It’s a November Gloom day – rain, clouds, cold. This is my least favorite month.

The sheep gave up on grazing for fresh grass in the back pasture; there was no more grass to speak of. Disgruntled, they came up the hill when I entered the pasture to grump at me and wonder where the grass went. It’s haytime now, friends, I told them. Hay for months.

No sign of Zip, he often disappears in the morning.

This morning, Maria and I are going to the Mansion to help the residents make ugly sweaters for their “Ugly Christmas Sweater” party. Tomorrow, I get bloodwork done for my bi-annual visit with my primary care nurse, Amy Eldridge, who is leaving the practice to try different things. She will be missed. I’m seeing her and saying goodbye on Thursday.

She helped greatly to get me to a good place, healthwise.

I’m running low on my cannabis, which has helped me sleep at night. I will help Casey finish painting her refurbished horse trailer, which will soon be a classy breakfast food cart.

My daily morning landscape.

Donkeys hang back to scoop up every bit of the hay scattered on the ground.

Portrait, Maria, woman of a thousand faces.

The post Bedlam Farm Journal, Monday Morning, Monday, Dec. 4, Rain, Dark Clouds, November Gloom appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

A friend gave us this curious and enchanting Mexican cigarette holder six or seven years ago. It’s been sitting out next to the front door all this time, and we decided to bring it in. How can you not love a donkey who pulls out a cigarette when you pick up the tail on his butt.

This donkey has character and belongs on our dining room table, where he has found a permanent home—a strange figure but endearing. We are a donkey-friendly community.

The post New Smoke appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

I was heartsick to learn that Hisham Awartani, a 20-year-old student at Brown University, is now paralyzed from the waist down; his parents have launched a GoFundMe campaign to raise money for his rehabilitation and care, which will be enormous.

The man who shot him in Vermont last week and his two friends for no apparent reason is in jail awaiting a trial.

It is a bitter irony to me and to others that these students, who left the Middle East to be safe in school in America, were injured so brutally and pointlessly in America, a land awash in guns that kill tens of thousands of people, including many children.

I have nothing to say here about the awful war raging in the Middle East; I’m not interested in writing about the politics of that tragedy. I was deeply affected by what happened to these three young man, and I was grateful to support their new GoFundMe campaign.

I don’t believe in telling other people what to do, and I’m not appealing to anyone else to do anything. I’m just sharing what I am doing. People must make up their own minds about what is right and compassionate. I’m happy to be able to help this family and Hisham, even in a small way.

I suspect and hope the family is about to see the generous and empathetic heart of the real America.

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Since my love affair with Zip, I’ve considered the difference between dog and cat love. Although they seem to trigger the same emotions in us, they are two very different animals. I am working to learn as much about cats as I know about dogs.

I thought Karla’s post below (she is a cat lover and longtime blog reader) was interesting. My experience with dog love is not as contained as hers – my dogs do not always need worship and acknowledgment; I think of Red And Rose and Zinnia, who never bothered me or demanded attention and have lots of things they love to do rather than sit with me.

But I think her point about cats is interesting. I see that cats choose people and do so often on their terms.

If they are well trained, dogs generally try to please human beings; they have lived closely with them for thousands of years and are smart enough, unlike raccoons and squirrels, to have learned how to please us so we will treat them well, better than we treat almost any animals on the earth.

Cats are only partly domesticated. They do not exist to please human beings.

This is what Karla wrote in response to a piece I wrote about loving Zip:

“This is why cat love can be so good – when they choose you, you know you’re chosen, and they don’t tend to smother, unlike dogs, who seem to need to be worshipped or acknowledged. There are exceptions, of course, in both the cat world and dog world to these behaviors. We’ve had 12 cats over the 23 years of our marriage, and only 2 of them “chose” me over my husband. I am the practical of the two of us, and I prefer that cats not sleep on me, walk over me in bed, etc. They all knew to stay off of me if uninvited and give me my space. My husband had no such boundaries and would wake up twisted like a pretzel with cats all over him. The two who chose me would simply come to me and politely “ask” for attention. I much preferred it that way. Perhaps I was a cat in a previous life.”

I enjoy and appreciate the many messages I’m receiving about cats and what they are like. As with dogs, most experiences and conclusions differ. Generally, people tell me cats “choose” their humans and are more independent than Zip. Zip is very fond of Maria, but he does seem to have “chosen” me in specific ways.

My dogs are also independent and will also veer off to pursue interests other than mine. So does Zip. Every dog is different, and I suspect every cat is too.

I notice that Zip is very much like a dog in the attention he pays me, the way he follows me around, and the affection he seeks and offers. I also notice that after a few minutes, he feels pretty free (and is) to wander off and look for something to kill. I hope it’s most often a rat.

Other differences I noticed:

Dogs are pack animals who usually closely follow human orders and training. Cats rarely share that level of obedience.

Cats’ memories also last much longer than dogs’, and training sessions with a cat must be consistent, continuous, and short. I have trained Zip to meet me on the used garden beds when I come outside and yell, “Hay, Zip.” Zip is more intelligent than most dogs I have known. He does much more on his own.

As I write this, Zinnia is lying at my feet, as she often does when I’m working. I can’t imagine Zip doing that, and I wouldn’t want him around when I’m writing.

Cats are solitary hunters. They are very independent creatures and often don’t rely on humans for much beyond their basic food needs and a clean litter box or an outdoor place to eliminate. They are content being alone for hours at a time. I think they insist on it.

I felt I needed to take the first steps to connect with Zip. He seemed to need someone like me, who is prone to scratches and rubbing and wants to be left alone most of the time. It took him a week or so to fully trust and accept me. When he was satisfied, he changed.

I should also add that cats seem generally more vicious to other life than the dogs I have known. Zinnia and Fate have no interest in killing things (Bud accepted); I’ve already seen Zip playing with and torturing mice, chipmunks, and moles. I know him as a sweetie, but mice know him as a kind of human Dracula.

Dogs and cats enjoy eating. However, cats need to ingest smaller and more frequent meals than dogs.

I think independence is the most significant difference.

Zip cares about me, but nowhere near worship or obsession. He has a lot of interests out there. I like that. I also find that I relish the affection and trust he shows me. But I wouldn’t enjoy it all day or all night. I’m like a cat in that way; perhaps that’s one reason he and I connect.

I see we have each ignited something substantial in the other. We give each other something we both need, something I didn’t quite realize that I needed. Zip did notice.

I’ll be writing more about the difference between dog and cat love as I experience it and read about it; thanks, Karla and others, for your thoughts, ideas, and insights about cats; they are helping me understand Zip and learn something I didn’t know. I’ll share what I learn.

The post Dog Love And Cat Love Are Different. How? (Flower Included, Color And Light.) appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

The Cambridge Farmer’s Market is taking off, even on a cold and rainy day, inside their winter headquarters in the former town fire company building.

There is a new energy to the market,  a deepening sense of community, with new vendors and energized old ones. Many of you have been reading about Casey working day and night to get her renovated horse wagon into shape and selling coffee, tea, baked cooks, and sandwiches.

New vendors are signing up all the time, even in the off-season of winter. And Casey is getting closer and closer to her dream of a classy food cart in town every day.

Casey’s mother has worked for years at the Adirondack Seafood Company in Glens Falls,  an Adirondack city north of Cambridge.

She and he mother got Adirondack to experiment with being a vendor at the rapidly growing farmer’s market. Thanks, Casey. I don’t think you know that Lobster Rolls are my favorite food; I’ve driven hours to get one.  Casey plans to open her refurbished horse trailer over the next couple of weeks.

She plans to open up the car in February.

Casey is expanding all of the time. Last year, it was coffee and cider. Now it’s coffee, cider, tea, bread, scones, muffins, winter hats, and more. Thanks for the Lobster Rolls, Casey; you made my day. She’s found a location for her cart and is asking for permission to bring her food wagon there.

Every time I see her table, there are more and more good things to eat.

Emlyenne is a regular at the farmer’s market; she sleeps happily in the infant sleeping bag Casey keeps. The baby is four months old and I have the sense she will be an integral part of Canteen/ Coffee, Inc. I love seeing her almost everywhere Casey goes.

Two workers from the Adirondack Fish Company showed up at the Farmer’s Market today. It was too noisy for me to pick up on their names. We did shake hands and I begged them to return.

Lobster rolls, joy, joy. We had a great lunch today. I hope the Adirondack Fish Company comes every week forever.

Christmas music at the market

Cindy’s goats are not milking this time of year, so no goat cheese, but she has many other things to sell, including her top-rated soap. She has an open house and sale at her CAZ  Acres Farm next Saturday, and we’ll be there. It’s her third open house.

We’ve become friends with Cindy; watching her soap business take off is a pleasure.

It’s the best soap I have ever used, and I’m excited for Cindy and proud of her. She is focused and hard-working, a dreamer who walked the walk and didn’t just whine about her hard life.

She’s also a lovely human being. She and Maria (and me) love to catch up with her at the market. Her e-mail is 1cazacres@gmail.com. Have a great holiday season, Cindy; you deserve it.

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It was a beautiful fall morning, cloudy, then rainy; I loved the mist on the hills. I’m giving up naked photo taking; the Amish bought the property across the road and often came walking in the morning. I don’t want to scare or shock anybody. I ordered a new flannel bathrobe online, and it’s coming in a couple of days. I’ll keep it hanging downstairs for when I rush outside to catch the sun. An era ends, I guess. It was undoubtedly a bracing way to start the day.

The big news (photos later) is that the Adirondack Seafood Company sold lobster rolls at the Farmer’s Market, my all-time favorite food, thanks to Casey.  I hope they come all year. I bought two and some shrimp; we’re eating them for lunch. The local farmer’s market is rolling. Cindy, our friend, the Crazy Goat Lady, is having an open house at her farm on Saturday. We’re going.

I have some lovely photos from the market I’ll put up later. The market is taking off; it’s cold and wet, but the indoor market was jammed—lots of new and exciting food, wool, scones, and caps. More later.

(Above photo: Maria kissing Asher. I’ve never kissed a sheep, but I often kiss donkeys on the nose.)

The mist on the Green Mountains is lovely.

Zip came over to say hello; he was startled by my bathrobe but got over it. Maria kissed him on the nose.

The sky suddenly turned dark, the sun vanished, and the rain began. It was beautiful.

The sun was out for a few minutes, and Maria, the dogs, and some sheep kept her company.

Hens In The Rain. In bad weather, they huddle up (under the bird feeder.)

Maria calls it Blue Baling Twine art; she adds twine to the piece daily. She has always been an artist, morning, noon, and night. I asked her if she minded shoveling manure in the morning. “I love it,” she said. She was meant to live on a farm with animals.

The post Bedlam Farm Journal, 3/12/2023: A Rich Sunday Morning, Beautiful Sky, Rain. Kissing A Sheep, Meeting Bud, Cleaning Out Closets, Getting Lobster Rolls At The Farmer’s Market (YES!), Shoveling Manure appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

Every afternoon, around 4 p.m., I go outside to the chairs out back, no matter how cold, and sit in our oversized blue Amish Adirondack Chair. In seconds, a small black figure appears out of nowhere and jumps into my lap.

It’s Zip; he hops up, puts his head near or under my chin, and then curls up in a ball on my shoulder, where he fits comfortably.

Zip curls up and begins to purr. And most afternoons, he goes to sleep. He is a restless creature and is never still for long, but lying on my shoulders or stomach, he feels soft and warm. Zip is good for me for reasons I don’t understand and may never understand, but I am feeling and appreciating.

I love it when he purrs and closes his eyes in bliss. I’ve figured out his sweet spots – under the neck and chest.

Zip is hyper-vigilant and notices every moment around the farm. Only when he sleeps on my shoulder is he really at ease. But the meetings are important to both of us, and we make sure to be there when we can.

(Photo by Maria)

This kind of cat love is new to me, and it still is surprising and sometimes strange. Our meeting was over after 10 to 20 minutes when I got freezing, and he saw or sniffed something he wanted to investigate. I won’t see him again until tomorrow, and some days he is off in the marsh and I don’t get to see him at all.

I miss him on those days, but I’m glad he doesn’t get obsessive. That would bother me. He looks for me but is happy to run off when something newer or better appears. This is a good thing.

But those days are unusual. He’s doing a great job as a Barn Cat. Only two pigeons are left in the barn, and they stay out of the way. I find bits of dead rats around the barn, and we’ve only seen one in the past couple of weeks and killed it in a trap.

He is getting it done in the best traditions of the Barn Cat. I’ve never had regular meetings with a cat or dog before. I do like it.

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