A man came by the farm yesterday to check it out for a relative, who wants to buy a farm like mine. We went through the house and the barns, and then he turned to me on the path, and put a hand on my shoulder. Can I ask you something?. Sure, I said.

Why would you ever want to sell this place? I’ve been looking at properties up here for two years and haven’t seen anything near it – the view, the house the barns. It’s great. You put your soul into it. Why would you move?  You wrote all these books here.  You’ll never have a place like it, he said.

I was surprised, and then, pleased. I have put my blood and soul into the place, and it is great. But I told him the truth. I want a different life. I want a simpler life. A good place to write. A place for Maria to work. A good space for the dogs and donkeys, a good barn for hay and shelter. I am not sure he understood.

The realtor suggested I take a look at a place that is very different.  Maria and I went to check it out. I went back there by myself, to sit with Lenore, get a feel for it. A house, a cottage, two barns by the woods, near a river. It is so different. It is surrounded by trees, by forest. The horse pasture is now overgrown, but could be reclaimed. It is small, private, beautiful. I like it. We’ll see. Things are moving, I can feel it. Things are going to happen, and I am not in any way in control of them. And I like that. I don’t want to be in control, I’ve lost the appetite for that. But I am sure it is time to move. We are sure. I believe in rebirth and renewal. It is time for a New Bedlam Farm. Good space for the donkeys, and for the dogs.

This might be the New Bedlam Farm. You just do not ever know. Life is wonderful that way, crisis and joy and mystery, all just around the corner. She is not a meek person.

I have a whopping good and messy cold. I feel like an old dog bed.  Time to go to bed, before Maria catches me at the computer and brains me, as she has threatened to do.