Paul Moshimer’s last trip was to Vermont to pick up Sarge, a blind trail pony headed for slaughter. On the way, he spent the night with  Maria and me at our farm, and he and I went to Pompanuck Farm that night to see Scott Carrino in his sugar house boiling his maple syrup.

It was the first and only meeting of the Fabulous Old Men’s Club, a group I launched because I had met some Fabulous Old Men, beside myself – Scott Carrino, Paul and Doug Anderson, a brilliant poet and one of Paul’s closest friends. Doug has become attached to Blue Star and he and Paul spoke often.

I don’t make friends easily, and don’t have many, Paul made many friends and they were loyal to him, they stayed in touch. I don’t have the need for a lot of friends, my life is full, but I was delighted to find such good ones late in life. The idea behind the Fabulous Old Men’s Club was serious, even if the name was ironic. We were men who were getting older, but up in our neck in life. At a time when many of our peers were thinking about slowing down, we were speeding up.

We all had our aches and pains – I had open heart surgery in July, Scott broke his back a few years ago working on a building, Paul complained of severe pain in his hips and legs. We shared the view that life need not shrink later in life, Paul was excited about Blue Star and the horses, Scott had just stared a new cafe and I just moved to a new farm, was building up my blog and photography,  and signed up with a new publisher. We got a new puppy a few weeks ago and a new pony today.

None of us were planning to downsize. This was the first time I spent hours alone with Paul. I was very easy talking with him, he talked very openly about the farm, he was very guarded about his feelings about life. Scott enjoyed him as well, he found him fascinating and charismatic, and a brilliant conversationalist.

I had the sense that Paul and I were kindred spirits, yet quite different people. I sensed his life was challenging, even chaotic, it’s hard to imagine living with more than 30 big horses, Maria and I are stretched taking care of two donkeys and some sheep. Paul carried a heavy burden, his mortification at having been arrested for assault years earlier and sent to jail for 30 days. In a sense, it had ended his life. He found a new life at Blue Star.

We sat up half the night after the gathering at the sugar house, it was a luxury. It was hard for Paul to find that kind of time at Blue Star, he and Pamela worked so hard, from dawn to dusk. When I got up the next morning, Paul was out in the pasture, using his new and much-loved camera, photographing the donkeys and the sheep. We talked some more, about fatherhood, the hard work of being good men, our plans for the future. He had so many, one of them was to come and spend time at Bedlam Farm regularly, he enjoyed our talks and so did I. We connected, and very strongly. We had many more things to talk about, I imagined we had quite a bit of time.

The next morning, I followed him to Vermont, and was deeply moved at how gently and confidently he handled Sarge, an anxious horse who was totally blind in one eye, and losing the sight int he other. Paul approached him gently, led him  through a large pasture and to the Blue Star trailer, got him inside,  took him home, kept me posted on his progress. Paul, a former fire chief, had great authority, and the horses seemed to sense it.

It was hard not to love and respect Paul, watching him earn the blind horse’s trust, walking him out of that pasture where he had been for nearly a year and onto the Blue Star trailer. He seemed to sense he was going to a good place with a good man. He was right.

A little more than a week ago, Paul published a photo album of Sarge at Blue Star and sent it to me, he called it “What Sarge Knows,” he told me the horse was doing wonderfully, and you could see Sarge’s amazing journey at Blue Star in the photos. He was in with the other horses, accepted by them, navigated comfortably with the herd, was active and happy there, he already had a bunch of girl friends.

Sunday, I spent some time with Sarge, and Paul was telling it right. I barely recognized the horse, he was so easy, confident and playful. He was at home. It would be easy to think of him as having full sight, if I didn’t know. Paul and Pamela had worked closely with Sarge, he could be the poster boy for Blue Star. They don’t give up on any living thing there, human or animal. I had this feeling -a fantasy perhaps – that Sarge missed Paul and was looking for him. They had been on quite a journey together. Paul’s absence was palpable, you could reach out and touch it.

That was, I am sure a projection. I have no idea what Sarge is really thinking. I think it was me who missed Paul and was looking for him. Every time I see Sarge, I will think of Paul and remember that long and sweet night we had together, the last meeting of the Fabulous Old Men’s Club.

Sitting in the sugar house at Pompanuck Farm, I was excited about this new beginning, about finding something I had wanted all of my life – some good and open men I could trust and love, a group to help each of us sustain the other as we moved towards the final rich stages of life. I did it, I thought, I found it. . Every deep thinker knows that life has it’s own plans, and pays little attention to ours, Paul seemed to easy and engaged in his new life –  Sarge sensed it too.

At Blue Star, I came up to Sarge while he was tethered to a fence for grooming and special feeding. I told him what happened to Paul, I told him he would not be back, not in this world. Sarge turned his head and ears to locate my voice, and his eyes looked right into mine. I felt a chill up and down my spine, and he nodded his head two or three times. He might have been wanting some food, he might have been sending Paul a message, he might have been letting me know he understood. I think that’s what Pamela might say.

I have to be honest, I can’t say for sure. Something passed between us, I am certain of that, even if I don’t know what it was. Thinking back on it, I think it might have been Paul, sending me yet another message, his last:  I loved what you wrote about me and Sarge, he might be saying, I’m looking forward to the Fall, to our next visit, you promised to help teach me how to write.