Rabbit 10, Fate 0

I took Fate out last night for her final walk before bedtime and, as often happens lately, we ran into our new resident, a wily brown rabbit. I think her hide-a-way is out there, among the donkeys and sheep.

Fate has often given chase to the rabbit, although she doesn't really push it, and the rabbit usually zips under the pasture gate. Fate is a chaser, not really a hunter or killer. She loves to chase sheep too, but doesn't care to make them do anything.

When she saw the rabbit, I pulled out my Iphone and I was holding a flashlight, so I pointed the beam at the rabbit and took the photo. Fate went into her mighty-hunger crouch, but the rabbit didn't move. When Fate got close, she sat down and turned and looked at me. Then she ran back to me and stuck her head between my legs and stared ferociously out at the rabbit.

The rabbit decided after a few minutes to make a  break for it, and rushed right past us and under the pasture gate. Fate watched her intently, then barked. "You were dissed," I said. Fate is a lover, not a fighter. The rabbit has her name.

Shadow Time

It was just afternoon, and I was restless. I took Red and Fate and we went out and opened the gate to the rear pasture, through Lulu's crossing and up onto the hill. The donkeys and sheep and pony came rushing through, they were  desperate to graze.The curious winter weather – very cold, then warm – had melted the ice and snow, the ground was hard but the sun very bright and warming.

Red took up his position a ways off from the sheep, close enough to keep an eye on things, not close enough to rattle them. Lulu and Fanny came up right alongside of him and Red, as usual, paid them no mind. I loved the look of the pasture, the barn in the background, Maria's small studio, the house.

It all seemed timeless to me, I came  here to live as simply and fully and meaningfully as I can. i sat down on the still cold ground and let the sun caress my face, I closed my eyes, I trusted Red to keep everything in order and I sat still. I feel so small here, so insignificant. The troubles of the world are not large here, and I am too humble to be important.

The farm opens me up, quiets me. I have come home.

Projecting

My granddaugter Robin is more than three months old, and Emma sent me the latest photo today. Babies, like puppies, are a blank slate, we can project anything we wish onto them. Dogs have to live with it, but kids get to speak up and tell us we are wrong, or worse.

I do love this kids smile. She is either a Wise Old Soul, or a Hell-Raiser. If she is like her mother, she is willful, very smart, ironic,  and independent. I feel like I can talk to this smile, and respond to it.

Robin seems a bit of a rascal to me, good naturedl but full of mischief. I haven't seen her for several weeks, and I'm not likely to see her for awhile. Technology does make it easier for me to keep up, but I think it's too soon for her to remember me.

If I read her eyes right – they are pirate eyes, I think – then we will re-connect easily when we meet. I am contemplating a one-day run down to Brooklyn on the train sometime before Maria goes to India, but it has to fit with Emma's schedule, which is pretty intense.

More than anything else, Robin's smile and intense gaze are getting through to me, there is a lot of life in those eyes. People say she looks like me, God help  her, I do not see it at all.

I do wish I could be closer to her, but I am where I ought to be. This farm is my home now, the place where character and community come together for me. Family also, in many ways.

I wish to live life as simply and fully as I can, that is my wish in my work and leisure and love. It keeps me here on my farm.  I will see Robin when I can, and over time, she will reveal  herself to me, and me to her. In the meantime, smiles speak a thousand words.

Chickens On The Porch

One of the nice things about living on Bedlam Farm is that when you look out a window – any window – you are apt to see chickens or sheep or donkeys or a pony. That is a sweet way to begin the morning. The chickens love our porch, although they are gracious, they share it with the barn cats.

Halo Of Hay

Sometimes, Rosemary wears a halo of hay, she burrows her head deep into the feeder. Her wool is growing in, getting more beautiful by the day. A good move, I think to rescue the four Romneys. They fit in beautifully and the wool promises to be quiet special.