“We have been called to heal wounds, to unite what has fallen apart, and to bring  home those who have lost their way.” – St. Francis of Assisi.

Maria and I just looked at one another this morning, and I said “wow, there is a lot of life going on here lately.” She nodded, she looked very sad. Flo, the barn cat who captured my heart, is very sick.

She vanished over the weekend and re-appeared this morning on the back porch, disoriented, unable to eat, and she looks emaciated and worn. I am no vet, but I have a bad feeling about Flo, she appears to me to be dying.

Perhaps I am wrong. I have seen a lot of dying animals in my time on the farm, there is something familiar about it to me.

She’s coming with us to the vet this morning. Flo is a barn cat, a free and independent spirit and barn cats often simply vanish when they are ready to die. Flo came to us, we will  take good care of her, but we will not prolong her life or her suffering or subject her to numerous or invasive tests or treatments.

If necessary, we will bring her home. If possible, we will care for her.

Either way, we are her stewards and we will protect her from prolonged pain and fear out of selfishness. We can do that for pets, we can’t do it for people. Hopefully, my instincts are off base and some pills and medications will take care of it. I will be very happy to be wrong.

I will be her advocate against the prolonged suffering so often wrote by modern medicine.

There is a lot of life going on.

I am a great admirer of barn cats, a kind of animal unlike any other I have known, fiercely independent, loving, murderous, mystical and mysterious. Flo hid in the woodshed for a long time before she revealed herself to us, and worked her way quickly into our hearts. She is the reigning queen of the farm, all of it is hers.

We are dealing with life this week, and learning from it.

Our friend Ed Gulley is slowly succumbing to his brain cancer.  He meets his illness with grace and courage.

Yesterday, we went to see Mary Kellogg, the poet and one of our oldest and dearest friends.

She is in an adult care residents in Granville, N.Y., she asked to see us and we wanted to show her the proofs of her fourth book of poetry, which is called “This Time Of Life,” and which we will publish in time for our Open House in October (Columbus Day Weekend.)

Ed Gulley says he hopes to be present also at the Open House to show and sell some of the art he was working on when he became ill.

Mary fell and broke her hip a few months ago, and she fully expected to return to her beloved hilltop farm when she got of rehab. But it seems Mary has been experiencing some serious memory problems and some frailty and was struggling to keep up her farm even before she fell.

She is 88, soon to be 89. She has always known where she is.

Mary told us it is increasingly apparent to her that she may not ever be able to return to her farm, and we both felt the pain of this dawning reality for her, she is one of the most independent and self-sufficient people either of us have ever known, and a witness and supporter of our love and marriage.

Mary is one of my oldest friends in the country, and an inspiration to me.

Her phone and power was often knocked out by storms up on that hill, she would think nothing at age 85 of trekking down to the stream with a bucket so she could use the toilet. She lived quite contentedly without a phone for weeks.

Mary knew loved every bird, butterfly, squirrel,  flower and deer that came by or lived around her.

This is a profound turning point in her life, and she knows it, and we have begun to understand she is not going home again.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought of Mary on her farm and taken strength from that, her evolution as a poet is a stirring creative story.  i can’t count the number of times I’ve been grateful for Ed Gulley’s friendship, I really can’t imagine who I might call when there is a dead bear in the pasture, or how we can ever clear a path out to our woods.

Both of these people are profoundly connected to the natural world, and see its deepest secrets. Ed is determined to spend his remaining time being creative and productive.

Mary likes where she is, the food is good and the people are friendly. She said she can’t really write poetry any longer. She wanted to talk to us about this and break the news to us. She asked for some books to read.

We live in the age of victims. Victims have found a way to be superior to others. The rest of us must concede them moral power – at least if they are victims in fashion at the moment, the nature of victims changes and  evolves over the years, but it seems almost everyone gets their turn.

Ed and Mary are not victims, and will never be victims.

Neither will Flo, for that matter. Barn cats live lives of great freedom, but their lives are never long.

Ed and Mary do not complain or lament their lives, they respect and accept fate. “I understand where I am,”Mary told us, trying to keep us from being sad.

“And I know it’s only going to get worse,” Mary said with a nod and a smile.

There was no trace of self-pity or complaint. Both of them have lived good and long lives, both of them know that  a human being cannot really ask for more than that. Both have asked that they be celebrated and not mourned.

And while I love Flo dearly – she was the first cat who truly seduced me and made her way into the house – I am no victim either.

Life can be oppressive and grindingly sad, or it can give us the opportunity to choose between hope and darkness. I’m with hope.

She has also had a good life, should it come to that. No barn cat can ask for more either, and few get that. I don’t pray for Flo, I just wish her peace.

I am avid follower of the life of St. Francis, and of the Pope who has taken his name. I like so many of Francis’s ideas, especially his notion that we should s eek not so much to pray but to become prayer. I know just what he means.

“All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle,” wrote St. Francis of Assisi. “For it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.”