My friend Ed Gulley came over yesterday to harass me and muddle over how to pick a spot in our newly-accessible  woodlands behind the farmhouse for a bench to sit on, rest or meditate in our woods. We’ve been thinking about this for years, but were stumped because of a fast-flowing stream between us and our woods.

Ed came over with a tree stump, some boards and a drill and nails and put a bridge together in about five minutes. He returned with a metal pole he drove into some rocks for me to hang on too. I call it the Gulley Bridge.

We can now access our woods. Ed is not finished. He refuses to discuss this with me, mostly because he knows I am seriously challenged when it comes to mechanical things or details. He will only talk to Maria about it and he will translate for me.

The new idea in this very fertile mind – the say agriculture is the mother of all arts – is a bench built into the base of this leaning tree, I can’t really explain it, Ed was acting it out. Ed is into the arts, they are his world, and he has become astonishingly creative, as many farmers with little money and lots of work become.

Sometime in the future, I will have a bench to sit on out in my woods. Ed described it in great detail, I do not understand a word he said. A friend once told me I am very lucky to be alive, given the way my mind words. It would be a good spot to meditate and think about what I am going to write. Maria and Ed understand each other, I know my place.