When I first moved to Bedlam Farm, I was walking around the yard in a daze, wondering what to do first and how to fix the door hanging open from the basement. A big man, an ex-marine, named Don Coldwell came by and said I looked funny, and he fixed the door, checked the house, brought me soup, and smacked me on the back. “You’ll be okay,” he said, and he was right. Sort of.
  Don is a woodworker now and he makes me walking sticks to take on each book tour. I saw him bearing down the road today in this 1950’s era John Deere, and I got out of the way, as I’m not sure he could stop it. He was taking it home from a relative’s to fix it. People like Don Coldwell are among the many reasons I love living in the country. But it’s best to get out of his way.