Shortly after Abraham Lincoln was assassinated, the poet Walt Whitman wrote a requiem to him, “When Lilacs Bloom..” The sorrowful poem gave lilacs a legacy powerful this day for a flowering shrub. At the time, and partially to honor Lincoln, farmers planted lilac bushes around their houses, a custom that continues to this day. Florence has four lilac bushes on the property, on either end of the farmhouse and along the pasture gate. They are old and struggling.

I planted lilacs at Bedlam Farm – it was at the suggestion of my first-wife, who researched them carefully – and they have grown and flowered by the Pig Barn there. Maria and I went to a Granville nursery and picked out two that we could fit into the car. We thought it an appropriate Easter gift to the farm. It was a few hours of digging, hauling donkey manure, cleaning up and rolling the heavy root balls around to the right position.

I am especially appreciating the physical labor of the farm. It is sometimes hard, it always feels good and healthy. A farm does keep one engaged and vital, I am sure. We are happy to have them, and look forward to them bringing color and life to the farmhouse. Our Easter was quite and beautiful, and also meaningful. We visited with the donkeys, walked the dog’s, dig our lilacs and this evening will go out to dinner with a friend in nearby Williamstown, Mass.

I thought a lot about my family today, I always do on holidays, and I wish them all much love and meaning in their lives. I wish that of my new family online as well. We had an Easter lunch at Momma’s, our neighborhood hangout. It seemed the right place to be.