September 21, 2007 –  Warm, damp. A farm is a collection of small and large chores, rituals and rythyms. One of my favorite is getting up early on a misty morning, going outside with the dogs, and being greeted by a strange assortment of creatures. Mother and Minnie the barn cats are always by the back door, hoping I will relent and bring out some tuna or cat food. The donkeys bray loudly until I bring them cookies. The cows, hearing the doors close, moo up in the pasture, expecting something. The chickens, industrious scavengers and opportunists, come waddling on the run. And now, just like in all of the farm comedies, my comings and goings are chronicled by curious and mischievous goats – Ruth, Murray and Honey – who act like a Greek Chorus commenting incessantly on my many foibles and shortcomings. They also expect some food – bits of bread, donkey cookies, popcorn. I have become surprisingly fond of these creatures, who, like the other farm animals, stick to their own kind, miss nothing and closely follow my comings and goings and those of Annie, whose pockets are always stuffed with goodies. The Greek Chorus was waiting for me this morning, and like the original one, provided running commentary and criticism on my life.

The Bedlam Farm Greek Chorus