Happy Thanksgiving, Ed,

Knowing you, I’m sure you are aware that your Tin Man, one of your best and most creative artworks, stands tall and proud in our yard, snow and all.

We are waiting to Spring to replace his left arm, the one damaged during last winter’s windstorms.

We miss you, of course, and I know your family misses you acutely. You were a much loved man, and still are. As we discussed, I practice the radical acceptance of life, and death is not a shock to me.

I don’t mourn your absence, I am more inclined to celebrate our friendship and be grateful for it.

Life has its own ideas, and doesn’t ask me for my preferences.

Death is a part of life and you had an exceptionally  good life, filled with work and love and connection and friendship. Most people on the earth are not so fortunate as  you, or me, for that matter.

I wish we didn’t live in a world that allowed you to suffer for so long and for little reason at the end.

You had a great sendoff, afterwards.

There were about 50 times the number of people I would expect at my own funeral, it was powerful to see how many people loved and admired you. You made a big and good mark on the world.

To me, you not only represented friendship but you were also a symbol to me of the kind of rugged individualism and independence that helped make this country so great.

There are not many like you in life, and not many who can replace you. You were admirable in many ways to me, you lived the life you wanted and seemed to love almost every day of it.

That is something to be proud of. In the Corporate Nation, you stood out.

Farmers helped create America and shape it, and knowing you helped me to see how important they are and how much they will be missed when the big corporations finally gobble up the last family farm and turn the last cows into milking machines and production units.

For you, they were so much more than that. But as we discussed so many times, life is about change, and no one – no one – can escape it, not in our time not in any time.

I believe I kept almost all of my promises to you, we did our videos, I wrote about your decisions regarding your own life and death, I have faithfully recorded and published the things you wanted me to write about.

As you wish, I think the way you died inspired and moved many people.

Your art graces our yard,  your bench sits in the woods, your tin man greets visitors to the farm and welcomes us at the beginning of every day, you wind chimes sing to our souls.

I regret that your life as an artist did not get to blossom and grow in the way it would have had you lived longer. You were really on the way. You were very brave about your creativity.

I miss your strength and humor and creativity, I don’t think it’s an overstatement to say I am not likely to know another like you.

I always smiled thinking of you in my life.

There is one promise I could not keep. I have not really been able to keep an eye on your family and help them through this hard time. I don’t think they want that from me, and it’s not my right to intrude or barge in on their family issues and decisions.

I have not seen much of them or heard from them. I know they have been struggling over the future of the farm.

Carol believes you are in heaven watching things, if so you must know the farm is in grave trouble. She believes you are sending messages to her all the time, so you may know all of this.

The family could not come together to decide how to run the farm, and frankly, even though I know none of the details, I wouldn’t blame them.

Running a small dairy farm is not something I would wish on my family these days, not with milk prices and government indifference. It is grueling work in the best of circumstances, and these are not the best of circumstances.

I can’t imagine a way forward for Bejosh Farm, but I am not a farmer or a cow person.  I hope those good people can let go and get on with their lives if it should come to that.

It is really none of my business now.

I have let your family all know I’m here to help in any way, but no one has asked me for help. Either way, that is their choice to make, not mine.

I don’t feel at ease injecting myself into other people’s profound decisions. That is never helpful, and rarely works. They know a lot more than I do about what needs to be done. They sure know a lot more about running a dairy farm.

Friendship is not a transferable thing, not really.  I think I was there at the right time, and gone at the right time.

I have no idea whether or not Carol will sell the farm or should sell the farm. How could I know that?

I do follow her writing on the Bejosh Farm Journal, and she seems to be determined not to sell the farm under any circumstances. “I won’t give up,” she wrote today.

She says many people online are urging her noe to give up, she is grateful to them,  but honestly,  I don’t feel it’s my place to do that, one way or the other.

I don’t believe in telling other people how to live their lives, lots of people like do that.  To me, that is not a favor.

In my mind, Carol should do what works for her, and not for you. You are gone, and cannot return.  I told you that was my opinion, you might remember. You asked and we argued about your farm plans after your death for some days.

It looks as if the cows will have to go, when the time comes and the price rises. A hard thing to face.

I will root for  Carol in any way I can.

I do know that what you most wished for everyone in  your family is peace and happiness and safety. I believe they will get there. Your legacy is long and rich, no matter where the cows go.

So Happy Thanksgiving, I hope you are at peace and gassing off to all of the angels about your many theories of life and the scandal that is dairy farm milk pricing. You were quite eloquent on the subject of farmers getting screwed and screwing themselves.

One of your gifts to me is that I can give the milk speech by heart.

I do miss that. When you descend to check on your family, stop by. I will know you are here from the wind chimes.

Love, J