Maria and I believe that there is no distinction between our life and our work, and our back porch reinforces this idea for me. We originally meant to sit out there in the warm weather, but we never have, not once.

First the barn cats took it over and used it as their daytime headquarters – there is lots of sun there.

Then, art and creativity began to happen.

Now, I see it is becoming a gallery of our creative lives in some ways. To the left, a “Hope” cross by the artist LV, then Ed Gulley’s “Mr. Blockhead” brick man (he will make one by request). Ed’s work definitely speaks to me, I have one of his metal turtles in my office.

Next is the wooden box Maria made as a day-time cat house, complete with custom-made cushions. Then Ed Gulley’s “Milk-Can Chair,” it is surprisingly comfortable and sturdy. And different.

To the right of that, an old milk can from the first Bedlam Farm, it was in the old milkhouse, and then Maria’s now famous Fiber Chair, a work of art in progress.

So our little back porch is no longer a porch but a living gallery, the heart of the farm. The chickens love to hang out there also.

I am thinking “Mr. Blockhead” belongs in my office corner, he is definitely a muse, I connect with his steadfastness and calm. I might trade the turtle for him. Above this, the “Books” sign I bought from an antique dealer and hung on the porch at Bedlam Farm 1.0. It replaced a “worms” sign I had to take down because so many fishermen stopped by asked me how much the worms cost.

No one has ever stopped by to ask how much the books cost.

I saw “Mr. Blockhead” on Ed and Carol Gulley’s wonderful new blog, the Bejosh Farm Journal. I can’t say enough about how much I admire Ed and Carol and their creative vision. When I mentioned a blog to them a few months ago, neither of them had any idea what a blog was, and they looked curious but slightly horrified. I did see a gleam of awareness in Ed’s eye.

They talked about the idea, asked about it and then just went for it. They didn’t  argue about it.

Life-long Luddites, Carol rushed out to buy an Iphone, then a computer, our friend Deb Foster went to their farm and helped them set up their blog. We had a few meetings with them both, and Ed joined my writing class at Pompanuck Farm to figure out his voice.

They both write on the blog almost every day, and the Bejosh Farm Journal has a wondrous authenticity and originality to it. Check out Carol’s hilarious piece on Ed’s love affair with his girlfriends, the cows.. There are very few farmers in the world who would speak out in this way, and they both do it with grace and humor and honesty.

I am advocate for blogs as a means of individual expression, creativity and voice. But not a fanatic. Very few of my friends publish blogs of any kind. Many wrinkle their noses at the idea, find it somewhat unsavory.

I can’t tell you how many people are horrified by the very idea of a blog that also shares a life. People tell me often they like to read it but wouldn’t dare to do it. That is changing, I think.

A year ago, I had lunch with an artist friend, a carpenter, he was struggling to figure out how to sell his creative work. He complained about poor sales constantly.  I suggested a blog as a way to reach beyond his small town, as I have, and find a larger audience. Maria has done the same thing.

He was insulted by the very suggestion that he might become a blogger, as if it somehow diminished him and his work. He told me the idea made him uncomfortable and he actually got angry. It was quite clear that I had made him uncomfortable, as I have a genius for doing.  I haven’t talked to him since, the conversation just freaked him out.

Somehow, I had insulted him.

A few months ago, I had lunch with another friend, a landscape painter who was discouraged by his poor sales at craft fairs and shows. I made the same suggestion. I could see it was much like suggesting he smear himself in sheep droppings. He was shocked, he believed in “brick and mortar” things, people who buy his paintings must see them, touch them. He found the idea of sharing his life disturbing, somewhat repugnant. “I don’t care to ever do that,” he mumbled, abashed to even be discussing it.

He is a good person and a wonderful painter, I like him very much, but he did not care to explore the new world in which technology helps connect artists to people. He would rather complain about not selling his work and see doom in his future.

Last year, I gave a talk to a writer’s group at Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs, and I talked about the urgency for writers to start using blogs to keep their existing audiences and find new ones in the turmoil of modern publishing.  With bookstores and newspapers closing, writers needed to scramble to find ways of selling their books.

The writers were horrified, several said they would much prefer to give up writing books than write on blogs. “I write books, not blogs,” sniffed one professor, as if I had suggested him taking an enema. Thank God I am not a tenured professor with a pension and health plan, I told Maria afterwards,  I would proabably never write a word.

They were singularly unimpressed with me, but then snobs (like mobs) in any form make me uncomfortable.

Everyone must make their own choices. It is not for me to tell others what to do, unless asked. And even then, it’s probably not a good idea. Smart people don’t need advice, and fools don’t take it. But the Gulleys have affirmed my vision for the blog. And 30 million people now publish one.

A blog is not a faith, it is not a religion, people should find their own way. I tell the stories to show that many people – most people over 40, in fact – find that kind of change very uncomfortable, they run from it. It is most fear that causes that, I know, but still. I have seen so many creatives perish in their work or give it up rather than change. I would rather die than give up my work or become irrelevant if there are creative ways around it.

Technology is just another tool, like a hammer or saw. It is no more or less than that. There is nothing sacred about bricks and mortar.

And I have made the opposite choice of my artists friends, and so had Maria. I will fight for my life as a writer, i will change and change and change rather than vanish and fade away into the mist of lost dreams, just because the context of creativity has changed. It has always changed, it will always change.

Change has altered my writing life, and I am grateful for that.

I am impressed that the Gulleys, two-life long dairy farmers who never even owned a computer, grasped this idea so quickly and skillfully. Their blog is already popular, I saw “Mr. Blockhead” on it, in fact, and Ed is now beginning to share his life as an artist, a creative who takes the “junk” of a farm and re-imagines it as art, while others see it as trash.

It is not, to me, an exaggeration to say there is something historic about their blog, even  ground-breaking. Farmers have whined for years that no one understands how unfair government regulations are, how difficult their lives are, how dis-connected from the source of food most Americans have become. Ed and Carol working to change that, they are telling their story every day now, their work is their life too, and their life their work. And they are loving it.

How striking to me that this big, gruff dairy farmers sees this while other artists, highly-educated and seemingly sophisticated,  cannot even imagine it. And Carol, his shy, hard-working wife turns out to be a lovely and insightful writer, she is giving voice to the life of family farmer, something hardly anyone in the so-called media has ever done.

We have become good friends with the Gulleys, on the surface perhaps a curious thing, but on closer inspection, quite natural.  There are not many artists and writers in our lives. Life is full of crisis and mystery.

We are very much a like, the four of us. We are connected at the center.

I am very proud of them for what they have done with their blog.