8 June

Decisions: Managing Our Lives

by Jon Katz
Managing Our Lives
Managing Our Lives: Maria with Mongo

We made several decisions recently about animals. They were good and important decisions and they reminded me that the ability to make decisions, own them, and let them go is one of the foundations of a meaningful life. I believe that fear and indecisiveness are close cousins. Making good decisions about my life has transformed me, and I think Maria feels the same way.

People who cannot make decisions and move on are, by definition, fearful and unhappy, often angst and guilt-ridden. There are small decisions and there are big decisions. I stayed in a failing marriage for a long time because I could not decide to end it. I did work I did not love for some years because I could not decide to change.

I make decisions differently now. I am not always right, but I am always clear, and my life is so much better in so many ways. Making decisions is key to a meaningful life.

Two recent decisions:

We were going to get a half-dozen purple guinea hens, and I canceled the order. We were going to take Maria the calf from the Gulley farm.

Maria the calf was born on the same day as Maria the human, so Carol Gulley called her Maria. We went to see her and the two of them connected (the photo above is of Mongo the steer, not Maria). We were planning to take the calf for the summer. But then we learned that she was too small – somewhat stunted – to be a milking cow, and the Gulleys would probably have to send her for slaughter, sell her for meat.

On farms, animals are much loved, but they are not pets, farmers cannot survive keeping animals for any other reason than that they earn their keep and are healthy. For us, an important decision. We are not farmers, we are a writer and an artist. I write about animals and they help inspire Maria’s work.

The freedom to live our lives and do what we love is to a large degree dependent on our making good decisions.

We also both believe in our ethical notion of animal and farm life.  To me, animal hoarding is an awful disease, destructive both to animals and humans. And getting animals one cant really know or care for is a kind of hoarding. We pride ourselves on running a good, clean and well-managed farm.

We have a small farm, 17 acres, with limited pasture, good fences, and shelter. We have frost-free water lines running to the pasture in the winter. Although we love our animals, our work is not totally centered on them. During the day, I am in my study writing, Maria is in her studio making art. But we have a good number of animals. We can eyeball them, be with them, watch them, every day.

We both work hard, and nearly continuously. At the first Bedlam Farm, I acquired animals impulsively – at one time, I had two steers and a cow, three goats, 36 sheep, two barn cats, six or seven chickens, a rooster, four dogs. I lost perspective and was filling a need in me that had nothing to do with animals.

It was too much. Too much work, too much money, it was not about the animals but about something else. I sent the steers away, most of the sheep, and even, for one year, the donkeys.

I cracked up, woke up, and learned about managing animals well. There must not be so many that we can’t get to know them, care for them, work with them. Monitor them and keep them healthy. Respond aggressively and pre-emptively to health issues.  We know our limits. Maria and I work, we don’t wish to run a rescue or retirement home. We don’t want so many animals our lives with them are frantic.

We need head space for our work, time to be together. Relationships need attention also.

Animals are expensive. They require excellent fencing, solid shelter, grains and special foods, warm and running water in the winter, fresh and running water in the summer, good medical care, hay and fresh grass. They need their hooves trimmed and their coats shorn, if they are sheep. The domesticated animals need personal attention, they need people, they need to be groomed and worked with and socialized.

In my other life, decisions were always easy for me at work, hard otherwise. I agonized over decisions, doubted myself, had trouble letting go of them. This morning, a day after we learned that Maria would probably be slaughtered after her summer with us, Maria and I talked about whether we should take her. Maria knew right away that Maria should not come here under those circumstances, because we both knew she could never bear to part with her at the end of the summer if she knew she was going to market.

Maria knows herself, she had no apologies to make, no agonizing to do. It wasn’t right for her, for us, for the farm. We didn’t really need a pony either, but Chloe is different from a cow. She can be ridden, is intelligent, also a good story for me to write about and photograph – the blog is hungry, it needs good stories.

We had to change so much about the farm when Chloe came – new and strong fencing to keep her in, to promote rotational grazing, different hay and in different quantities.

A good and clear decision, Maria knew it was right and didn’t agonize over it or dwell on it.  She has already moved on. And she is very attached to this calf. We both know that letting go and moving on is not an act of coldness, it is quite often an act of love.

Every day in the  warm weather, we go out twice a day to move the animals out of their grazing pasture. Maria has to put a halter on Chloe, Red has to round up the sheep, I have to wave my arms and get the donkeys out. Chloe needs grooming and brushing, we apply special fly ointments to the equines ears and around their eyes. The ointment (SWAT) kills flies and repels them and  heals their bites. It works beautifully for us.

We have to give the chickens water and feed, clean out their roost, feed the barn cats, work with the dogs, tend our proliferating gardens, mow the lawns. It’s enough. Making decisions is so important to good health, the body and the mind.

I made a different decision a few  weeks ago, I called the farm in the Midwest where we  had ordered six guinea hens and cancelled the order. On this farm, we now have a pony, two donkeys, two barn cats, four chickens, two dogs, seven sheep.  Guinea hens are fun but loud, they might tip the scales and make the place feel overrun, another six lives to pay attention to and monitor and worry about.

Sometimes when you live with animals, saying no is just as important as saying yes. Sometimes more. So for now, no more animals coming to Bedlam Farm. This weekend, we’ll go to Bejosh Farm and see Ed Gulley’s new art and maybe say goodbye to Maria.

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