I get a lot of messages and e-mails but in the past six months or so I’ve probably gotten more suggestions about what Bedlam Farm should be than about anything else. Unsought advice is the stepchild of social media and it is an unusual day when someone isn’t writing to tell me what I should do with Bedlam Farm, on the market for some months. Spring is approaching, the market is stirring, and I expect we will find out soon enough what Bedlam Farm ought to be, and I can promise you that I will have nothing to say about it, nor should I.

I see that other people do have something to say about it. There are a lot of fertile minds out there. It has been suggested that the farm become a bed and breakfast – by far the number one suggestion. That is be a writer’s retreat, a center and refuge for abused women, a country inn, an animal therapy and rescue center, a center for homesteading, a meditation retreat, a dog breeding and research center. That I rent out the various barns, set up a horse riding stable, lease the pastures out to the cows of nearby farmers, grow organic vegetables, breed Alpacas, house starving artists, become a bicycling center.

I ought  to say – Red and I visited the farm again today – that it is not my business what happens to the farm. Once it is sold, it is not my affair and I do not dwell on the past or wonder what other people ought to do with their homes. It is time for me – Maria, also – to let go of this wonderful place, and time for it to let go of me. I will not be looking over anybody’s shoulder. It will be a delight to see what somebody else can do with a restored farmhouse, acres of fenced in pasture, and four barns with new foundations and wells. How lucky for someone.

I guess of all the ideas thrown around, the bed and breakfast makes sense to me. So many people have said they would love to hang out there, walk the paths, take in the view, sip coffee on the porch. So many people drove long distances to drive by and take a look.

I can see that people would love to stay there, it was so restful and beautiful to me. And for some, a rich history, to see where Rose ran the sheep, where Orson sat and watched the traffic, where Izzy lies, where Elvis crunched his hay and drooled. The farmhouse is big and roomy and gracious. The farm was also built to house and maintain animals, and I have always seen that as a part of the farm’s future. Cows could be happy there, and it is perfect for sheep, who love to graze on hills and slopes, have shelters to eat and find shade,  and have their lambs in strong barns. It was perfect for donkeys too. And of course, it was very much restored with dogs in mind. Bedlam Farm contained a lot of strong-willed dogs in solid fences – a fence that contained the Helldog Frieda in her prime is one helluva fence – and one of the pleasures of my life was walking the dogs daily on the path, which they loved. A safe and beautiful place for them, and they even learned to love fresh berries there. In my time, those fences never failed to contain a single goat, ewe, cow, donkey or dog. Not too many farms can boast of that.

But see how easy it is to fall into that old trap, nostalgia? To drift backwards into the realm of me. I have no wish to maintain Bedlam Farm or turn it into anything but a wonderful home for somebody else to re-invent. Isn’t that the point? When I have visited the farm recently, and especially today, I felt a great stirring there. I felt the farm ready to say goodbye to me, I felt it reaching out to the next person, the next thing. It is ready.  The farm is the mother, bigger than me or any one of it’s many owners. Many farms have withered and died, this farm can take care of itself. It survived wars, blizzards, the ravages of time. It even got itself all gussied up.  It does not need me to make decisions for it.

That is the farm’s history and its destiny, for more than a century-and-a-half. And at least another century to come.