I’m mixing color and black and white tonight. I was housebound for a couple of days over the weekend, and I spent some time with Maria’s beautiful succulent plants, which are sometimes overwhelmed by the color in flowers. I am appreciating their beauty. I’m not religious, but I find myself praying at times, and these plants are what Maria might call Meditation or Prayer Trees. I like that idea. As they grow, they take forms that are beautiful for me. The picture aove is from our bedroom window flowers.

Black and white and color go beautifully together.

Below, the plant that is the most spiritual to me.

This is becoming my prayer and meditation tree.

The post Color And Light And A Bonus: Succululent Spirituality, Black And White Beauty appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

This morning, when I woke up King Zip was on his throne on the back porch, cleaning up. I suspect a mouse gave his life for that scene. Later, when I was in Maria’s studio, we looked out the window and saw Zip in the woodshed, keeping an eye on what we were doing from a distance. Zip is everywhere, seeing everything, watching everything.

He has changed, accepting all of the animals, befriending them, even playing with them. He is growing and changing all of the time. It’s surprising to accept how much of a presence he is on the farm and in my life.

The post Zip Report: Zip On His Throne, In The Woodshed appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

Organized religion tends to take itself very seriously, so much so that it seems grim and unyielding to me and many others. So I work on spirituality on my own, there is no dogma but mine, no rules but the ones I agree to or make.

A central element in my spiritual direction is meditating, silence and contemplation. To me, it simply means to be as aware as possibility about what is going on in my head and my body and to try to correct what needs to be corrected, and with me, there is always something that needs to be corrected.

My problem is that I never felt safe as a child, so I need to work on myself regularly to be safe. Anxiety can be a sign of mental illness, I was told some years ago, but this afternoon, my therapist said I was being too rough on myself. I just felt unsafe when I was young and carried that fear with me into adulthood.

There is no need to label myself or let anyone else label me. I came to that in meditation.

I am not grim and rarely take myself seriously, so meditation has been a Godsend for me, path to hope and good. The world is full of hunger, war and the threat of war, violence and sickness. The Billionnaire Warlords have given us a world that might blow up at any time. Climate change threatens our very way of life.

This can feel and sound overwhelming, and the election rarely gives us  cause for laughter and joy. Politics has become a frustrating and often fearful mess, a test of our endurance and strength.

But for me, the sunrise and landscapes are beautiful, my animals rich in meaning and the history of people.  The love of Maria and my dogs and cats and donkeys for me and my love for is wondrous.

In a sometimes fearful world, I have a lot to smile about. To medidate means to me that I can stay in touch with both aspects of living in our world, the good and the bad. This is a good time for my meditation practice.

I have learned in meditation to laugh, cry and search for the good in the world, something I believe exists in almost every human, no matter how much it is denied or buried inside of us. The reality for me is that I accept reality and joy in meditation and stay hopeful and happy. I’m surprised to say I have never been happier, and I credit meditation with helping me to stay grounded.

Life can be both dreadful and meaningful. I learned early on that I don’t need to be solemn, pessimistic or grim in order to meditate productively. In fact, in order to meditate successfully and meaningfully, I have to smile and laugh a great deal.

And I do. Meditation lifts me up, and makes me content, every time. There is nothing dour, dense or forbidding about it.

The post Meditation Does Not Need To Be Grim Or Solemn. It Makes Me Smile And Laugh. appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

I was dazzled by three wonderful projects Maria is working on, her imagination and confidence is soaring, we talked about it and showed it in the video. As always, she is open and excited about her work. I was much impressed. Please take a look. We always have fun doing videos together, she wowed me this time. Again.

The post New And Beautiful Work From Maria. Come And See Our Video. She’s On A Roll appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

I once gave a book reading at a small Vermont town in the summer that loved it’s dogs and rode everywhere with them and brought them to my reading. Some got restless and were put in their owner’s cars. It was a pleasant Spring Day, about 60 degrees.

The reading was interrupted, then cancelled because a couple of animal rights zealots went by and decided it was too warm for the dogs to be in the cars, even though it was cool and the windows were wide open for ventilation.

Some months later, the bookstore messaged me to say the same thing happened at the local grocery where some other intrusive nutballs decided no dogs should be left in cars after May 1st, and police showed up again. Nobody in town takes their dogs in their cars any longer for fear of getting arrested. I met some of these people at my readings. They adore their dogs and would never endanger them.

In America, the idea of minding your own business is being swept away by zealous and clueless people who hide their hatred of people behing the pretense of loving dogs. If you really love a dog, as I do, you bring them everywhere you can. Zinnia loves to come along when I go out of the house, and I love to have her with me. In the warm summer months, I leave her at home when it gets too sunny and warm. I use my common sense about it, and I never consider the business of other people or the police unless the dog is suffering visibly and seriously.

Car dogs are one of the sweetest and most beautiful American traditions, but I hear all the time of animal rights abuse of power stories and more and more people just don’t take dogs for rides at all unless it’s cloudly and cold. A woman in Saratoga Springs messaged me and told me that when she pulled up in front of a pharmach to pick up a waiting prescription, she was arrested, handcuffed and hauled off to jail for the afternoon.

Dog lovers ought to have the right to take their dogs wherever they wish for as long as they wish, period. It is illegal to abuse dogs and if people do it, they can and sould be punished. But it’s not up to roaming vigilantes to do the policing.

PETA, now one of the most extremist of so-called animal rights organizations, claims that “162 dogs and other animals” died in one recent year from heat exposure in the summer. Considering that there are an estimated 90 million dogs in America, the number is disturging but hardly horrifying or surprising. The figure includes homeless people who live outdoors and on the streets.

There will always be some careless and thoughtless people, we will never live in a perfect world.

As usual, there is no explanation for the date they use to raise money.

American dogs are the luckiest dogs in the world. People use to eat them for good and beat them to death as punishment. That is very rare in modern day America. I wonder how many dogs are saved by people who spend thousands of dollars to keep them healthy and safe? I don’t see any on PETA’s website. Nor do they mention that 19,215 americans died of traffic accidents in the first quarter of 2022.

No dog should die that way, and no dog owner should be harassed and persecuted for having dogs that do not die from heat exposure and are clearly not in danger. It feels like just another way for the movement to scare animal lovers into sending donations rather than educate them or help them understand how to keep their car dogs safe in warm weather.

Non profits – especially animal rights groups – have learned how to scare people into sending them money, often exaggerating alarms and statistics.

An animal rights group (not the real police) in a town near me patrols the shopping districts to brak open car windows and calls the police if they decide it’s too hot. The dot owners are not given an opportunity to protest or leave or take the dog out of the car. A new law in Saratoga Springs says the people inside have to be handcuffed and taken to the police station to be charged and ticketed for animal abuse if dogs are left even for a minute in a warm car.

I had a dose of this experience twice.

Once, last May, I took Zinnia with me to do a food shop. It was a beautiful early summer day, the sun was out, it was windy and the temperature was in the 60’s. Zinnia loves riding with me and I always leave the windows down all the way on both sides so she can stick her head out and smell things.

I’ve done this a thousand times including two days ago and have never done it when it’s hot, knowing how quickly a car can heat up. That time, I came out to find a police officer and an animal control  truck next to my car preparing to pull Zinnia out. A self-appointed animal rights vigilante saw Zinnia and decided she shouldn’t be there.

She didn’t think any dog should be allowed to drive in a car between May and the end of September, and since it was June, she was calling the police whenever she found one. she didn’t know the temperature or have any kind of veterinary training. She was a school bus driver.

An officer told me he had no choice but to get the dog examined and remove it to a local kennel.

Then a superior officer pulled up and told the first officer that he was not obliged to take any action and as he put it, “any idiot can see the dog is fine, not breathing hard or showing any kind of distress.”  Actually, not any idiot.  A self-appointed and untrained animal police officer thought otherwise.

And the day, the captain added, was cool and comfortable with a breeze. The animal rights hero said she would file a complaint against the superior officer for dismissing her complaint. Go for it, he said, “you might think about minding your own business, this man obviously loves his dog and would not hurt her.” It was her tenth call to the police in the last two days, he said. She patrols the parking lot as oftne as she can.

Lots of animal rights people love dogs and  fight for them, bless them.

Lots of them are just unbalanced and without any real knowledge of dogs, who have for centuries, and especially in rural communities, ridden around in trucks and cars. I see on in many farm trucks, and good for them.

I left and still bring Zinnia to the market when it’s cool enough and safe enough.

Unless there are signs of serious injury or suffering dogs, I will bring Zinnia any place  want and any time I want.

If I have to hire a lawyer and go to court, I’ll do it. Without some grievious evidence, Zinnia’s safety is my job, not every stranger who is looking for something to do.

The sergeat who pulled up used his own judgement and saw there was nothing there that called for police interference. This is why so many rural people hate the animal rights movement. Farmers love their animals and care for them better than many people care for their chilren. And they are constantly harassed and accused of animal abuse.

I was reminded of this when some animal rights idiot wrote to me in December demanding that Zip, our new barn cat, be brought into the house on cold nights.  She didn’t know me, had never seened zip or my farm.

I declined to answer her or educate her about barn cats and their mystical lives outside. The next week, a sheriff’s deputy pulled into the driveway and said this sad person called the police claiming I was abusing my new cat and endangering his life.

At my invitation, the deputy came out examined Zip, saw the heated cat house where he slept, and noted his smooth, clean coat and full belly. He is fed twice a day.  He joked he wouldn’t mind sleeping in Zip’s heated cat house.

He contacted the woman that day and said her complaint was baseless. He said he would be happy to live on our farm if we invited him.

She never, of course, apologized or explained herself.

On the extremist end of things, the animal rights movement has become just another hate group in America, shoving aside truth, perspective or common sense.   Hating people with animals does not improve the lives of animals or protect their “rights” to live and be with people.

This woman was both a liar and a coward, hiding behind the anonymity of computer messaging and take no responsibility for her ignorance. This would have done Zip and us a grave disservice if a different officer had taken the cat away and send him to animal control or a rescue group.

There is abuse of animals, of course, and the people who do it should be punished. But for me, animal welfare is not about hating people and lying about them. This does animals or people no good, and it breaks my heart a bit to see that the beautiful tradition of dogs riding around in cars is fading rapidly – I can see it – because the animal rights movement continues on its deepening campaign to drive animals away from people, even when it is clearly either unnecessary or a cruel thing to do.

I’m sorry about those alleged 162 dog fatalities. Tens of thousands of children due by guns each year in America, many more in car crashes. I don’t see any persective here. These deaths are not profitable. More than 60,000 children were killed or injured by gunfire in 2022. But dogs can’t ride around in cars in the summer ,please send a donation to PETA.

What kind of country are we becoming?

I won’t fall victim to this stupidity and overreaction. It’s  wrong to take the exception and use it to make it the absolute rule and seperate dogs from the world world of people. I won’t do it.

I called the bookstore where I gave the reading last week and asked if anyone brings their dogs to readings anymore, or to the town grocery when they are buying food. No, he told me, “people in town tell me they don’t ride around with their dogs much anymore. They fear getting humiliated, threatened, seeing car windows broken, or handcuffed and jailed for something their families have done for more than a century. It’s safe just to leave them at  home.”

This makes it a very sad story to me.

The post The Importance Of Car Dogs appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

My daughter Emma was thoughtful enough to send me some photos that tell the story of Robin and the tooth she pulled out of her mouth last night, and also of her letter to the tooth fairy. She left the tooth fairy a message and named her “Sparkles.”

The way it usually works, as I recall, is that the tooth fairy leaves the kid a note when the first tooth comes out,  along with some money or a gift.

Robin being Robin, she decided to do it her way (yes, this does seem to run in the family). She not only names the tooth fairy, but suggests that there should be a tooth fairy flag, and designs one.

I like the flag. So far, no response from the tooth fairy. I do think there is some royal blood in Robin’s veins, and that does not come from this grandfather.

Robin was thoughtful. She wrote the note, wrapped it up neatly, and awaits a  response. She may well get one from me. This kid is going far.

The post My Granddaughter Robin Pulls A Tooth. She Names The Tooth Fairy “Sparkles” And Designs A Flag For Her. appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

Color and light, two

Fate at rest, beautiful as always

A shy moon I ran into driving around this afternoon.

The post Color And Light As Promised (And Bonus Photos! – Fate And The Shy Moon) appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

Physically, I’m back to myself. I realized I took too many edibles last week, and it brought it all back, things long buried and best forgotten. I’m told I should try some cannabis again; I’m not good at quitting when I start something. Sometimes I need to let go.

I took too many edible gummies last week, as is now apparent to me, and I paid for it.  I got awfully sick.

But the important thing now is that the emotional damage is surprisingly deep and hurtful, and it makes me very sad. My body seems fine, but my mind is not yet healed; I have more work to do.

The cannabis edibles brought back memories that I never wanted to bring up again.

Neither do I want to jump on the growing American victim train, and so many people – I think of women and immigrants and enslaved people – have had it a lot worse than me and have a very legitimate claim to suffering.

I’ve had a lucky life for the most part. Everyone suffers in one way or another. I feel joy all the time.

But I promised to be honest and have been whenever possible. So let’s be honest.

I suffered severe physical, emotional, and sexual abuse as a child, and this weekend brought all of it back – the terror, the shame, the loss of bodily control, the nightmares, the anger, the sick stomach, and the out-of-control body.

I don’t need to offer any details.

I was watching the mystery Shetland last night with Emma, and after one of his deputies had been raped, she told her boss Jimmy Perez,  that she was trying hard to be strong and well, but it was so painful and exhausting she could barely stand it.

I turned to Maria, and she saw my face and asked what was wrong; I said, “I can’t compare myself to anyone, let alone a woman who was raped, but when she said that, it was as if a dam burst and a flood of pain, terror, and degradation just poured through me. I felt dirty, ashamed, and guilty, as if it was my fault.”

That’s what it feels like,” I said, “It feels like a violation again, like something entered into my very being and body and violated my spirit and pride.” And it all came gushing back, and it was awful.

Tosh, the deputy in the show, spoke to my heart, much to my surprise and confusion. I am not a woman and cannot ever feel what so many have felt for so long.  But what I did feel hit me like a hammer and chewed up my insides. I was right back there.

Degraded and helpless and terror-stricken were the words that came to me and that I still feel, and I had to turn off the show and sit with Maria and talk to her.

As always, Maria was patient, listening, and loving. We turned off the stream and talked and then went to bed. I slept very little last night, and then I remembered how well I slept the first time I took the cannabis.

I felt that through my laziness and ignorance, I lost something good, something I have worked hard to leave behind.

So I know I’m okay, but I see this will take a little longer to heal. This other stuff hurt too much. I just can’t whistle and pretend it’s over. I was caught in a dread recreation.

I called my daughter Emma, who is wise and very honest with me. We are getting closer all the time. I told her some of what had happened, and I said one thing I regretted was the sleep relief the cannabis had brought to me.  She knows about most of what happened to me.

How curious, I thought, that a 76-year-old man was asking his daughter, who just turned 40, about taking cannabis. Emma is both intelligent and wise, and I listen to her.

She said the problem was that I took too many and much too quickly. I still needed to do my homework. She said it often happens; I had to learn from it. I should give it another try if and when I am ready. She knew several friends this happened to in college, and most of them learned to try it again, but differently.

She helped.

I’m not ready to jump back and may never try it again. First, I must be quiet and gentle with myself and others and return to normal. I need to remember the work I have done on this.

Tomorrow I talk to my long-time therapist, who I also trust and listen to. She knows all about my childhood and has worked with me to get to a much better place.

I am confident she, Maria, and I can get there again.

(That’s me. I’m four years old.)

I’m not the child I was or the person I was. In the past, I’ve been told to go back in time and talk to that little boy and reassure him that things got better and I ended up fortunate, happy, and well.

We know each other, this boy, and we have spoken before. A photo of me is hanging on my wall.

I have told him several times that things worked out; I got the girl.

He always smiles at that.

I don’t need to write more about these memories, and I don’t believe I will.  But I don’t want to be fake, either.

It didn’t feel right to me to move on so quickly and brush it off. It has smacked me down, at least for a couple of days.

Thanks again for listening and for all the good words you have sent me.

The post Three Days Later, The Nightmare All Came Back, It Was Another Violation appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

Physically, I’m back to myself. I realized I took too many edibles, and friends suggested I should try it again in a few weeks with a minimal dose. I took too many. I’ll think about it. But the emotional damage is surprisingly deep and hurtful, and it makes me sad. It brought back memories that I never want to bring up again.

I never want to jump on the growing American victim train, and so many people – I think of women and immigrants and enslaved people – have had it a lot worse than me and a very legitimate claim to suffering.

But I promised to be honest and have been whenever possible. I suffered severe physical and emotional and sexual abuse as a child, and this weekend brought all of it back – the terror, the same, the loss of bodily control, the nightmares and anger. I was watching the mystery Shetland last night with Emma and one of his deputies had been raped and she told him that she was trying hard to be normal and well, but it was so painful and exhausting.

I turned to Maria and I said “I can’t compare myself to anyone, let alone a women who was raped, yet when she said that it was as if a dam burst and a flood of pain, terror and degradation just poured through me. “That’s what it feels like, I said, “it feels like a violation again, like something entered into my very being and body and violated my spirit and my body.”

She was speaking right through my hear, much to my surprise and confusion. I am not a woman, and cannot ever feel what so many have felt for so long. But what I did feel  hit me like a hammer and chewed up my insides..

Degraded and helpless and terror stricken were the words that came to me, and I had to turn off the show and sit with Maria and talk to me. As always, she was patient, was listening and was loving.

So I know I’m okay, but I see that this will take a little bit longer to heal. I called my daughter Emma who is wise and very honest with me. We are getting closer all the time. I told her some of what had happened and I said one thing I regret was the sleep relief the cannabis had brought to me.

How curious, I thought, that a 76-year-old man was asking his daughter, who just turned 40, about taking cannabis. She said the problem was that I took far too many and much too quickly. I should give it another try if and when I am ready.

The post Three Days Later, Back To A Dark Place, It Feels Like A Violation appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

Bonnie from Old Saratoga Eye Care in Greenwich, New York, texted me today to say my new glasses were ready for my approval and to figure out which new lenses I needed.

I am eager to get rid of the ones I have; they are tinted blue to block the intense light of the sun and the blinding force of LED lights in trucks and cars.

Most days, when I want to take a picture, I have to take the glasses off if the sun is bright, and when I look in a mirror, which I don’t often do, they make me wince. Not only are they too dark in direct sunlight, but they look like the classes mob bosses sometimes wear. Everybody has their issues and tastes, but my blue-tinted glasses were a mistake.

Bonnie is holding up a measure to my face for measurement. She was great. I decided to take my Monochrome camera today; I’m weary of being too bright, but it means people can’t see the reddish tint of the glasses.

I like a little color there.

They will be better for a photographer. Bonnie and I went over some possibilities. My first choice was no longer available, but she said this reddish, round pair looked good on me, and I agreed. So did Maria when I texted them to her.

“I love them,” Maria texted back. Good enough for me, I thought; she’s an artist with good taste.

I asked Bonnie for whitish glasses, and she delivered.

She carries the most weight with her glasses. I don’t have to look at me much of the day; she does. So, I bought this pair; thanks, Bonnie, for your help, guidance, and patience. You know what you are doing, making the process informative, thorough, and fun.

You got me the precise glasses I wanted. I have two more weeks of the one I don’t want any more.

(Bonnie took the photo of me)

The glasses are off to the lab for new and clean lenses – the sunlight screening is not visible – and they’ll be back in about two weeks. I feel good about them. I’m in a mood not to put a cap on today; as Popeye once said, “I Yam What I Yam!” Me too.

I’ve learned recently that happy employees make for happy customers.

Most corporations are too obsessed with bigger and bigger profits to get that, and many of their employees seem grim and hassled. Steve Jobs got it.

Apple employees were usually happy to be there, and I’m typically excited working with them.

The same thing with Bonnie. She knows her stuff and loves her work. That makes it a lot more comfortable and happy for me.

The post New Glasses For Me Today, Thanks Bonnie. The Blue Ones Made Me Crazy appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

Saturday, we’re going to hear a speaker from the Adirondack Worm Farm talk about using Red Wiggler Composting worms inside of an odorless organic waste container to remove all food scraps from the garbage in the house or grounds and use it to make some of the best garden fertilizer available.

This involves building or buying (with Maria, it’s building)  an enclosed compost area inside in which worms consume food scraps, digest them, and produce worm compost, which the vermicomposter (that’s us) can use for ourselves to improve the health of the soil and gardens and help our struggling planet (we have seven gardens now, including my raised garden beds.)

We now have an outside compost container, but without the worms, it has not produced organic waste as a valuable fertilizer.  It’s just more garbage for the mice, rabbits, and chipmunks outside to nibble on. It’s better for the environment than sending it to a dump, but this goes further.

Now, we have to go outside in all kinds of weather to dump what we used to call “garbage” and now call “compost.” Maria was reading about the speaker from the word farm online (I love the name). She said she thought I would laugh about it and was surprised when I loved the idea. We’re going early Saturday morning.

When it’s decomposed, it goes outside and to the gardens. Like our new compost toilet, it is odorless and needs no electricity or water—just wiggler worms.

We are impressed with our new compost odorless and waterless toilet; we use it daily and find it practical, clean, odorless, and easy to use. I like it better than the traditional toilet in the downstairs bathroom. And I will never have to run downstairs in an emergency at night. This waste can also be turned into fertilizer.

I love the idea of having a small waste container in or near the kitchen to toss our garbage and let the worms turn it into fertilizer. And we won’t have to go outside in the cold or snow.

They call the worm composting Vermiculture. I am into it, and so is Maria.  I’m into helping the environment by considering how to contribute to the earth’s health. Stay tuned, more news on Saturday.

The post Next: Vermiculture: Reg Wiggler Worms May Be Coming To Bedlam Farm. Time For Worm Composting Inside The House appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

I had another great Zoom meeting with blog readers this morning; it’s pretty cold out there, but it is rumored to be warmer shortly. We might get some snow on Friday. Fatigue is the only symptom left from my bout with Cannabis.  I’m getting my writing voice back. More surgery on a toe on Monday is not a big deal.

The ground is frozen and cold.

Zip waiting in the cold for his morning meeting.

Zip rolls around when he wants to play with me, which is often.

The post Still Cold, Still Beautiful appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

Color and lights resume, as promised. I’m a bit shaken by the weekend but recovering. I’ve done a lot of thinking about me, the blog, and the farm: good thoughts and new ideas about my life. I feel a lot of gratitude and strength and good fortune. Sickness somehow always seems to do me some good, although I can do without it.

Zip is photo savvy. Every morning now, he watches for me to show up with my camera and takes on a regal pose. I can never resist, of course. Zip has figured out where his bread is buttered. He is the most photogenic animal of my existence, and I can’t help but take photos of him every day. He’s onto it for sure, as he is for everything on the farm. He’s become best friends with Zinnia, the hens, and some sheep. They lick and kiss each other.

This Mansion flower display was made by Mansion residents and sits on a window to the rear of the facility.

The post Color And Light, As Promised: And Zip’s Daily Royal Pose appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

Maria taught her drawing class at the Mansion this morning, and I decided to go and bring some clothes I bought at a consignment store going out of business. I got blouses, pants, and sweaters for $2 apiece.  Maria brought markers and instructions; she was up half the night planning for the class. She takes it very seriously, as she always takes art. While there, I asked Maria if I could take her art class, and she said sure. Her lesson was to teach the residents how to draw birds.

This was a timely subject for me, and the Mansion residents love it when we are together, joking and ribbing each other. I got high marks for my bird. I took some photos, of course, and they speak for themselves. Maria said I did well, but she doesn’t believe in grades. “Everyone gets an A for showing up,” she said, “even you.” Maria is a great teacher; she is patient, clear, and affirming. The residents love her, as do I. I loved the class, I will invite her to my next meditation class. They love us together. They love to hear our stories of the farm. There was a lot of love in that room.

Rachel is a good students, she loves to learn and was the first to finish her bird.

Jane is a gifted artist and a good friend of mine. She loves to pat my head and hug me. We worked together.

I was the last to finish my bird, it was, alas, not the best bird. No surprise.

Maria’s enthusiasm is boundless. She drew guides on the chalkboard and worked with every resident on their birds.

Ellen hugs Zinnia every time on her way back to Memory Care. They adore one another.

The post The Mansion: I Took Some Clothes To The Mansion Today, Then I Took Maria’s Drawing Class. We Drew Birds appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

The country I live in is not paradise, any more than most cities are. Most people get along, but some don’t. Cliques, social differences, poverty, anger, and political disagreements exist. But there is also great sweetness and connection.

I came because I wanted to be closer to nature and animals, and I felt uncomfortable with the coldness of cities.

Community still lives here. When there is trouble, somebody always sees, and everybody comes.

I live in a small town, a village on the Vermont border southwest of Manchester, Vt, and an hour away from Albany, New York. There are no box stories or highways here. The old mansions are mostly apartments now or used as homes for religious groups.

For years, I have wandered all over this area looking for photos, including the one above I took as a  jet-straked across the blue sky in front of the falling sun.

There is some movement from city people who fled here after the pandemic, but it is still an agricultural area, impoverished and struggling. These are the people time and the federal government forgot.

It’s a ritual for me, this picture-taking. I do it almost every day of my life, no matter where I am going. I am always looking up and around, hoping to see a picture. If I do, I turn on my blinkers, pull over, step out of the car, take my camera out of the bag, and step carefully out.

More than once, and especially at night, I’ve nearly been clipped by cars and trucks who don’t see me and come speeding by. A dog is always sitting behind me; these days, it’s Zinnia.

As I get older, I am more careful of ditches, snow piles, and mud; it’s easy to stumble while holding a camera up to the sky. I have the torn jeans to prove it. I’ve never fallen on a camera.

I’ve been doing this almost every day and many nights for over a decade, ever since I moved here.

It is the most wonderful place to be a photographer; it’s so beautiful.  I never come home without a picture.

Many of the farmers have come to know me. At first, when I pulled over around their properties, some would come out with a rifle, sure I was coming from the state to raise their assessments or taxes. Now, when they see me, they wave and sometimes laugh.

They think I’m crazy but not a threat. One said he admired my determination.

But here’s the point of this rumination. In all of those many hundreds, even thousands of stops, except when there was no traffic at all, every single time I stopped, a car or truck pulled over alongside me and rolled down a window.

It always goes the same way.

I look up and see a face in the driver’s seat. “You OK?” they say.  They always say the same thing, male or female, and women are as willing to stop as men.

Yes, I shout back, giving them a thumbs up. They nod, give me a thumb back, and drive off. If it is raining or snowing, which it often is, they shake their heads in wonder and then drive off. People out here don’t walk in the rain as a rule.

When I’m pointing at the camera, I hear the sounds of cars coming close and wait for the shout: “You okay, mister? You ok, buddy?

They never ask me who I am, what I am doing there, my politics, or my religion. They do what country people do in a remote, sparsely populated town. They check on someone likely to be a neighbor or a fellow resident. I can’t be mistaken for a country born. I’ll never be a local.

I’m a city boy. It doesn’t matter.

Community matters here; it has never died; it survives and transcends the hatred and argument sweeping the nation and even my town at times. I don’t know any of these men or women; they don’t know me as a rule, although more and more seem to recognize me or figure out who I am.

When I had an accident in New Jersey once, I waited in my car for an hour as thousands of cars thundered by until a surly state police trooper came by to answer my call for help.

Four years ago, when my car slid off the road and almost slid into a watery ravine, and I couldn’t open the door, it took three or four minutes before four or five faces appeared in the window.

They had pulled over, rushed down the icy hill,  yanked me out of the car (inches from the watery ravine), made sure I was all right, waited for the police, wrapped me in blankets, and disappeared as soon as the police arrived.

I do recall all these Trump caps in the window. All the trucks lined up in the run; they appeared out of nowhere.

I never knew who any of them were, and none of them knew me as far as I know. I never got to thank them; to my knowledge, I never saw them again.

I’ll always remember it.

This place is not perfect. But  I can’t help but love it. It makes it sweet. I have never regretted moving here. Somehow, it’s where I belong.

The post There Is Something I Really Love About My Small Town In The Country. They Always – Always – Stop To Check appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

I went to get my teeth cleaned at Dr. Jacob Merryman’s Merry Man Family Dentistry in Schuylerville, New York, this afternoon. My teeth are in good shape; my implant went very well. Everyone has a different story about dentists in America; mine was unpleasant.

I always dreaded going to the dentist; it was something I often had to do but hated to do.  This became a kind of rueful national joke.

I was struck by the fact that I looked forward to attending Dr. Merryman’s office today. It was surprising. I’ve always found the techs in dentist’s offices more helpful than the dentists.

First, there is the fact that he and his staff have produced, planned, and taught me to a great place with my teeth. They are healthy, greatly strengthened by a fluoride toothpaste prescription and a highly effective water flosser, rigorous cleanings every three months, valuable lectures,  space age X-rays, bracing, and very knowledgeable people.

(Ingrid, receptionist,  keeper and guardian of the gate.)

My teeth have never been healthier, stronger, or better. That is not something I expected to find at this point. I met Dr. Merry four or five years ago when he was considering opening his own office but was temporarily working closer to our farm.

I was not happy with my dentist; she was grim and brutal for me to get to know, and my dental problems seemed to worsen. I had cavity after cavity and a root canal or two.

Dr. Merry worked as a guest dentist in the office one day, and I was surprised and delighted.  He said he was planning his own office.

He has one of the heartiest laughs I’ve ever heard, and it is said it always resonates in any office he works in, especially his own. Wow, I thought a competent, caring, and genial giant.

We laughed together the first time we met, and I am not usually a laugher, but I always laugh around and with him. He is warm, empathic, and excellent at what he does. His preventive medicine is very strong.

I tried getting an implant five years ago, and it was a disaster for me. It got infected early on, and it took my then-dentist three painful years to figure that out before it had to be removed.

I swore I would never get another implant, but I came to trust Dr.Merryman so much I agreed to have two, not one, implants to replace two lost teeth that I missed. He said he could handle it, so the first one was finished a couple of months ago, and the second one is underway and will be crowned in June.

I’m not sure I know Dr. Merryman long enough to love him, but I love going to his office. I know my teeth and big mouth will be well cared for. And then there is his staff, the nicest, most empathetic, and most helpful dental techs I have yet confronted in my lengthening dental visits.

Dr. Merryman seems to have mastered the art of warmth and connection.  His staff is just as warm as he is, and they also love to laugh, even at my jokes.

It feels like family, not health care. Today, I went and poured out my troubles with cannabis over the weekend, and they seemed to want to hear about it. I feel important and heard there. Maria went last week and came home to say it was the best visit to a dentist she could recall.

It’s strange to say these things about a dentist’s office; I have never wanted to go.

I don’t discuss religion with Dr. Merryman, but I sense that he and many of his staff are people of faith and spiritual depth. They have all worked together for a long time. They love to do good.

It isn’t my business about his faith, but his dentistry is filled with people who care and love to heal. I ask if I can take a photo of the office, and everyone shrugs and says sure.

Zinnia is as welcome as I am and often more.

So he and his staff are on my list of portraits of people I like, respect, and may soon come to love. I already love being there. I never imagined loving a dentist.

And it is nice to know now that I will have almost all of my original teeth when I die.

The post Have You Ever Loved Your Dentist And His Or Her Staff? Life Is Full Of Surprises appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

I woke up early this morning, and a curious question was rolling through my hyperactive mind: of all the people I know who have done the most good for the most significant number of people. I had a quick answer.

Sue Silverstein.

I met Sue six or seven years ago when I began working for the refugee students coming to Albany from some of the world’s most devastated and troubled parts. At the time, Sue was a teacher at Bishop Maginn High School in Albany. She is now the Art and Community Service teacher in Schenectady, N.Y.

Sue and I have little in some ways; we are brother and sister in other ways. We instantly became friends, and she became and remains my closest friend.

I couldn’t begin to list all of the children she has helped in her more than 20 years of teaching in the Catholic School system. Almost every student I met has stories to tell of how Sue saved them, taught them, helped them, got them into college, helped when they were sick, comforted them when they were troubled, fed them when they were hungry, clothed them when they were wearing sandals in the winter, taught them English, got them jobs, helped with college applications, brought them to doctors when they needed medicine, fed them breakfast when they were hungry, cheered them when they were sad, got them clothes when they had gone, soothed them when they were attacked and vilified by soulless politicians.

This is a partial list; I don’t have the time or space to complete it.  Sue and I have become close friends, and I cherish that. I wish every student had and has a Sue Silverstein in their lives.

Almost everyone she has ever taught has a Sue story about how she helped or positively shaped their lives. She is the teacher everyone should have, a person of great faith and endless kindness.

I’ve commissioned one of her art students to paint a portrait of Sue for $50. I’ll hang it on my wall as an inspiration to do good whenever possible and as often as possible. Sue is my ambassador to good, a reminder of the goodness that lies in human beings.

The post Today, I Commissioned A Portrait Of Sue Silverstein, A Hero To Me. It’s Going On My Wall appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

The weekend felt dark to me; this morning was full of light, inside and outside of me. I’m feeling strong, heading to the Mansion later with a carload of clothes from a closing consignment shop and boxes of color markers from Walmart for the Mansion artists.

I’m a big wobbly but excellent and grateful for my life. Today’s photos are full of might for me, from the forest to our animals, who are such a big part of my life. The program today is life and gratitude. The world seems a mess to me, but I will move forward with our small acts of great kindness.

I’ll rest more this afternoon. Every day is precious to me.

Hungry and cold, waiting for food. They always eat first.

The morning light was hypnotic, lighting up the woods. I ran outside.

Our wood stove fire this morning.

Bud by the fire.

Fate at rest. Peaceful as always.

When Zip came home to us. First day.

The post From Darkness To Light appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

This is my color, and light delayed by my struggle with cannabis. I apologize but am happy and grateful to be back with my flower photos through the winter. I appreciate your patience. I take my promises seriously and am sorry to have broken one. Thanks to a good friend who kindly reminded me. She said she knew something was wrong when she saw I hadn’t posted them over the weekend. I was in La-la land.

The post Color And Light, As Promised (A Day Or Two Late, Sorry) appeared first on Bedlam Farm.

Yesterday, I think I was as sick as I ever remember being; I’m still struggling with it today. I still can’t eat much and am sleeping for hours. My problem is that I never take my “illness” seriously,  probably because I have lived with it for so long and also because I don’t want to have it.

I’ve learned more than once that denial can be a killer. And mental illness is something most people run from. It is rarely fatal.

Anxiety is nothing like cancer or other diseases, so I’m shy about taking it too seriously or whining about it.

Unlike many forms of illness, I can live my life generally while still being sick. Anxiety is not visible to me or others. It is a private and personal illness. Nobody outside my house has ever asked me about it or mentioned it.

This makes me too flippant sometimes.  I should have known better than to take this new and untested medicine without a lot more thought and research. Anxiety is not something to play with or take lightly. I just bought into it.

But anxiety has shaped and shadowed my whole life, and so I am prone to grabbing at instant fixes. There is no magic wand for this disorder or amateur solutions. I want it to go away. It won’t ever, but I can learn how to deal with it better.

I can control it if only I will. Sickness is a part of life; something can be learned from it every time it shows up.

When I think of this harrowing weekend, I think of images and animals. The photographer was always inside me, but for the first time in my life, I now have the chance to capture animals’ mysterious but powerful healing power. I can show what I feel.

This weekend, I think of dogs, cats, and birds. The list is getting longer (see the photos below). Three images from the weekend stand in my mind, but I can take pictures of them to show what I mean. I am a writer, but sometimes I tell stories better in pictures than words.

There is human love and animal love. They are both essential, and I am blessed to be loved by both. I must be a better man than I think I am. In a way, that’s their gift to me. Animals can’t be fooled. I am proud of their love for me. I never feel it’s unconditional, as most people do. I believe it is earned.

The healing power of animals has less to do with what they consciously are trying to do to help us than what we feel about them, which is healing in itself.

The significance lies in what they bring out in me, not what they might think. I never claim to know what animals think because they can’t talk and don’t speak our language or know our words. But I sometimes know what they feel.

Their presence when I’m ill permits me to begin healing and to feel and experience sickness and suffering in a kindler, gentler, and more hopeful way. Three times yesterday and today, animals gave me a reason to laugh and smile and feel love and comfort. They were there when I needed them.

People can do that also, but it’s different. These three short stories tell me a lot.

There is a spiritual quality about animals, a mystery for which no words exist. There is love without language, comfort without drama, and a feeling of love and loyalty, which is medicine of its own.

I don’t know how it works; perhaps it’s because humans have lived with animals for so long that they understand what is happening without being told.  Animals help in different ways, but as I become open to them, they transform and support me.

I’m lucky to live on a farm with different animals and learn how they help us heal and give us hope and joy, even on hard days.

I don’t understand it, but I feel it, and almost any animal lover knows what I mean. I see Maria with the animals and I see the purest kind of love every day.  It is not news to many people; it is news to me every time it happens, even though I’ve been writing about it for years. I’ve been healthy for years in most ways; aging has brought me closer to this beautiful phenomenon.

First, Zinnia. Whenever I am sick, Zinnia (pictured above) is alongside me for as long as I need her. She gets close to me, licks my hand and face, and lies down close to me. She is still; she doesn’t disturb me.

Whenever I look up, she is always there; she leaves only to eat and eliminate.  I get sick for brief periods; she is always there. She never gets bored or restless—the sight of her calms me. I am blessed with a wife who is a loving and natural healer, but she can’t and shouldn’t be with me every second.

Zinnia can and does. It means a lot to me to see her.

Next, the bird. I go out in the morning to study birds and figure out how to photograph them (above). They always – always – fly away when they see me. This morning, I foolishly went outside; I needed to breathe the cold, healing mountain air. I came right under the bush where the birds gather in the morning, and all but one flew away. One didn’t. They just stared at me, but I got her message. I know, I know, is that I heard. It’s just that simple. It’s just that powerful. How could this bird possibly know I was sick? But I am certain she did.

And Zip. And then there’s the newest animal in my life, Zip, who has turned my understanding of animals upside down, which is a gift for a writer.  Every animal I know makes me more peaceful and hopeful.

I always need new material, not to mention photography. Zip is loving and mystical.

When Zip and I sit down, he likes to climb up on my shoulder. I stroke and pet him for minutes, then he jumps off, or I leave. As I returned to the house this morning, I was startled by something heavy landing on my shoulder. I couldn’t imagine for a few seconds what it was.

Then I felt the soft, warm fur and knew it was Zip. He jumped straight up in the air, about six or seven feet to curl up on my shoulder and purr.

He has never jumped straight up in the air and onto my shoulder like that. He curled up in the very position we sat in together.  I remembered that last night, while I was lying in a living room chair, Maria looked out the window and told me that Zip was on the front porch looking into the living room (he doesn’t hang out there) and was watching me through the window. He was starting through the bathroom window this morning when I came in to shower.

There were messages in those happenings; I felt the animals I love were rallying behind me, showing their connection, empathy, and concern. They are not doctors or magicians but capable of great love and sensitivity. It lifts me; I feel less alone and frail.

I love our donkeys, but before Zip, the animals I was always close to were dogs. That’s different now. Zip and I have a connection that is both new and unexpected. But when he jumped up on my shoulder, purring and rubbing against my face, I knew I was in a different terrain, even if I couldn’t claim to understand it.

The power of animals is to bring out something in us, especially when we are sick.

And now a bird doesn’t run from me and my camera. It would have taken weeks or months before they trusted me, but this bird decided to trust me today. I have to wonder why.

I know little about cats and nothing about birds. But I am learning to see them differently.  In understanding animals, I am learning to be a better human.

And I am deeply moved by their understanding of me and what I can only understand as love and intuition.

I am back to bed now. Zinnia is at my feet.

Like most things, this weekend has opened me up further, and I will be thinking about it for a long time.

The post The Spiritual Power Of Animals. A Dog, A Cat, A Bird. How All Of Them Helped Me This Weekend. appeared first on Bedlam Farm.