I told Maria when she called that it felt strange, standing out in the snow, taking a photograph of someone hauling a shovel full of manure out to the barn.

Maria snickered. “What’s different about that?,” she asked. A wise ass, even from Dubai. Still, she had a point. The sky was gorgeous this morning, the big storm seemed far away. Tomorrow, another storm, not as big as the last one. The farm is a living, organic thing.

No matter what we wish to project on them, the animals are primal and adaptable. If you feed them, they will love you and focus on you. It’s almost as if Cassandra Conety has been here for years, she just fits right on, as farm people do. This week I am already learning things about myself.

These two weeks, I am a writer, not a farmer or a writer with a farm. I ‘m a writer, just like when I started out many years ago. I have wanted to be a writer since I was eight years old, I love being a writer just as much now as I did when I started, and that is the meaning of these two weeks for me.

My editor and Maria were correct, this is what these weeks are about for me. We each get to have our own creative adventure.