When I moved to Bedlam Farm in 2003 I did not realize the powerful lure of the farm fantasy. A farm, in many respects, conjures up the very things many people feel they lack in their lives – a live with animals, a connection to the natural world, independence, a sense of autonomy, the feeling of list values returned, friends, family hard work, meaningful chores, a feeling of freedom and of being valued and of great satisfaction. A family farm with old barns and acreage is a very, almost purely, American thing, a foundation of the American dream. In the corporate world, the one taking over more and more of American’s lives and work, these feelings are often lacking. People have a sense of doing work they don’t love, of struggling to keep up with the costs of the things, the need for health care and insurance, education. They are often isolated from the natural world, from the animal world. A part of them is broken.

I learned in my own life that fantasies are dangerous, often illusive. I learned not to covet anyone elses life, other lives are rarely what they appear to be on the surface. Working as a reporter teaches that quickly. In a sense I market the farm  fantasy – the beautiful vistas, the photogenic donkeys and dogs, a sense of being separate from the fragmented and intense world on the other side of the pasture. I love my farm, but I do not see it in any longer the context of a fantasy, if I ever did. It is the very real world.  A farm is life itself, with all of the good and bad things like has to offer.

A farm is not freedom, it is intense responsibility that never ends. Chores that are never done. Animals that never stop changing, buildings that never stop being needy. There is the God thing, you are the God of your farm, the absolute ruler. All things bow to your will.

Fantasies are powerful elements in our lives. I fantasized about being a writer, and became one. I felt a strong call to return to nature, and so I did. When people began telling me I had their dream, the perfect life, I began to see the awful lure and danger of the fantasy. It turned out the farm was the right place for me, a place to write, take photos, share my love of animals with Maria, who was always drawn to the farm. It was also a good place to let my worst impulses run away to with me, to be isolated from my world, to run away and hide.

Sometimes it is good to pursue a fantasy, it can take you places you need to go. Sometimes it is a dangerous illusion, a place to hide and escape from the reality and truth of one’s own life. Every life is different. I have learned to stand my ground and face up to my life. Otherwise I just kept bringing me with me, and that was no fantasy.

Mostly, I learned this about myself. Authenticity means being honest with myself, owning up to the true motives behind my fantasies and inspirations. I have lost the capacity to bullshit my way through life, lost the ability to be around people who do. It is not that I am pure or noble, quite the opposite. I would like to be. I can see it up there on that shining hill, even if I am not yet there. Whenever I fall into the dreamy realm of fantasy now, I stop, pause and ask myself some difficult questions: what is missing from my life, that I want someone else’s? What magic does a farm bring me that life in the other world cannot?

Fantasies are a rich part of any writer’s psyche, sometimes his friend, sometimes his enemy. I think a farm fantasy is one of the most powerful of all.