For more than a year, we have faced the loss of our farm, it was a difficult cloud to live under.

Today, we went to see our attorney in Glens Falls, N.Y., and we signed an agreement with our bank to keep our farm, shed or re-organize the debts associated with it, and have a mortgage we can afford now and that Maria can afford if and when I am finally gone.

It was a significant Christmas gift to us, the culmination of a long and sometimes frightening round of negotiations, decisions and agonizing discussions. We were, in the end, fortunate to have a bank that wanted to talk to us and work things out with us. We were lucky to have a good lawyer we could trust.  Many people are not so lucky, many banks are not so inclined.

I am relieved to be writing this, I am also proud of us. We stood firm, we were honest, we stayed close and supported one another. We did not waver or equivocate. We have nothing to be ashamed of, we did our best every step of the way. We never lied or blamed anyone else for our struggle.

That mattered, I think.  We are happy to keep our farm, which we love, and immensely relieved this looming uncertainty is no longer hanging over us. I am glad my heart is stronger than it was, I needed it every day.

The second Bedlam Farm fits us and our lives like a glove. It is a small, sturdy farmhouse built in the mid-1800’s with 17 wooded acres behind it and six or seven acres of fenced pasture. We have worked hard and creatively to fix up the farmhouse and the grounds insofar as we are able. We cannot yet do as much as we might like. We are very happy here, this new home fits our animals and lives perfectly and we are very happy being part of the community of nearby Cambridge. We have been made very welcome here and try and return the favor.

I am sorry to report what many people still do not know, and that is that we are in considerable company. Since the Great Recession in 2008, more than seven million Americans have already lost their homes, or nearly four per cent of all the homeowners in the country. In January of 2007, there were four million foreclosures, in December of 2011, there were 8.2 foreclosure starts, many millions more since then.

I believe I have always been mindful of the poor and the troubled and of my duty to try to help them, but the threat of losing our home gave me a level of empathy that is precious to me. Even the most conscientious and hard-working people can slip into difficulty, I am ever more mindful of the poor and of the shameless hostility and indifference to them that has spread throughout our country. Maria and I will not join that tribe.

More than anything else, Jesus devoted his life to advocating for the poor and giving them hope, something I will not forget at Christmas. We were not impoverished, we never starved or froze, we were not ever without resources and support, but we found ourselves living in a new and different realm, on the precipice of ruin. That is a lonely place with no net. We do not have or want families to turn to for support in our trouble, we want to deal with it ourselves.

I must say that Maria and I, in response to our blogs and our work, have  powerful and loving communities everywhere that support and uplift us. That mattered, very much.

Still, we will not ever see the world in quite the same way. And that is a good thing to me. Sensitivity is the pathway to spirituality and love, empathy is the foundation of creativity.

We never imagined we would be one of the those people fighting to keep our home, and wondering where we might be able to live with dogs, donkeys, chickens, a pony and barn cats. More than once, we came to believe we would not be able to keep them. This was unbearable sometimes.  Where could Lulu and Fanny go? Would Maria have a studio? Would I have a study? Would we have a pasture for the dogs to work with sheep? Something for me to photograph and write about?

Firewood to keep the stoves burning in the winter?

Like so many people, I was caught in a number of storms I did not foresee. Most occurred before Maria and I was married, she walked into my firestorm. One was my divorce, the other was the collapse of the real estate market, another was the drastic decline in the purchase of hard cover books. We put the first Bedlam Farm on the market four years ago and we finally sold it last October, for about 40 per cent of what we had first asked and expected to receive.

All along, we believed and were told – by bankers, realtors, lawyers – that Bedlam Farm would sell, it was a beautiful, largely restored property with a historic old farmhouse and four restored barns. The farm had a grew view and a mile-long walking and hiking path into the woods. Neither of us ever imagined it would take four years to sell. We were counting on the money from the sale to move forward with our lives and pay for the costs of maintaining two places. By now, a familiar story, I just never thought it would be my story.

Did I make mistakes and misjudgments. Yes, a number of them. I am still sorting that out.

The experts were wrong, I was wrong, the house did not sell. Most of the people who came to look at it were curious readers of my books.  A lot of obnoxious New Yorkers looking for two-car heated garages and bigger bathrooms. I was determined to keep the farm out of foreclosure,  it was  matter of great  honor and meaning for me. Perhaps I should have run up the white flag earlier.

We struggled to pay two mortgages, pay the upkeep on two farms, two sets of taxes, insurance, etc. We fell into debt, had to borrow, we were certain at every turn the house of the farm would resolve it all. Finally, we came to accept that were were in a position we could not ever get out of by ourselves. We couldn’t make all of these payments, pay back these loans. We filed for bankruptcy in August,  we had already been negotiating with our bank for months.

The bank and us never stopped talking and when the bankruptcy ended, the talks resumed.

We found a good lawyer named Ed Adeson, he works out of Glens Falls, N.Y. He went to bat for us, he guided us through bankruptcy and also through our negotiations with the bank. None of us knew how it might turn out, we were told again and again to be prepared to leave our home and look for another place to live.

Coming out of bankruptcy meant, of course, that we could not buy another home, we would have no credit, we would have to find a place to rent.

There wasn’t a day that I didn’t feel a pit in my stomach at the thought of having to move on short notice and hope for a good place, good fences, and  clean and large barn. I worried about Maria, the animals, our work together. But I also knew – we also knew – we had to get to a  better place.

A few weeks ago, we reached an agreement all of us could live with. It is interesting that this agreement came the week before Christmas.

So we are keeping our farm. We can’t wait for the Spring Open House.

We can hopefully now begin the serious process of getting back on our feet, restoring our credit, we still have some financial issues to face.  We have no desire to lament our lives, dwell on our troubles, bemoan our misfortunes. We mean to recover, get on with our lives, do good work every day, encourage others to do the same whenever we can. Every day is precious to us, we meant to live it meaningfully and lovingly and well.

Before last year, I had never missed a payment on any bill my entire life. It is not something I want to get comfortable doing, it is not something I ever plan to do again. I am appreciating the opportunity to view money, spending and need differently. We have not had a credit card for months, we have not missed having one. We buy what we can pay for, that is a profoundly liberating experience.

I am enormously relieved that Maria, who can take very good care of herself, will not have to struggle with a staggering mess and lose her home if I am not around. That is not something she ever worried about, but it is something I worried about. She tells me not to worry about her, she can take care of herself.

I know that it is true, but it is also true that am 17 years older than she is, and I will never stop worrying about her, and should not.

So that’s our Christmas story, our Christmas gift.  I am pleased to be able to share this happy ending with you. Those are the best stories.

At times I have felt like a character in a Dickens Christmas story, but a home is a pretty sweet Christmas to have, something even for a yearning spiritual wander to celebrate.