Almost 12 years ago, Jack Metzger, the town’s antique and antiquities guru, drove by my farm in Hebron, N.Y., the first Bedlam Farm.

Jack (Jack’s Outback) was and is a much-loved character in our town.

He used to drive around in his station wagon with all kinds of auctioned and discovered treasures, one of them was this headless statue of a saint found on the grounds of an abandoned monastery.

Jack, now an artist as well as a collector,  only brought the head and shoulders.

Then, he found the robes and body later. I couldn’t figure out where to put it, so I placed on the foundations of an old concrete silo by the big red barn of the first Bedlam Farm.

He and I have a rich history, every book I’ve written up here has been written on one of his beautiful old farm desks, where meals were eaten, and babies were born. He still has his shop, full of wonders. I got Froggy the Gremlin there, and also my Lou Jacobs (famous Ringling  Brothers clown) wallboard poster, both of them live in my study.

I fell in love with it, even though Jack had no idea who this saint was, and after all of these years, no one has been able to tell me with any certainty who she or he is. I’ve scoured images of saints online, but no luck.

Some people say it’s St. Therese of Lisieux, others St. Francis, but I’ve always seen her as a woman. I haven’t given up hope that Jack will find the head one day, he’s like that. If I had to be, I’d say St. Therese.

I think the flowers may be a clue.

But I’m beginning to think I’ll never know

I love Jack; when Maria took over one of my barns do to her art, he pulled up in his station wagon with chairs and an old desk, we still use all of them. He kept bringing me things for her new studio; he knew I was in love with her and wanted her to stay.

I was thrilled when Jack came back one day with the lower part of her body.

Over these years and through all of the rough weather, our mysterious and still unnamed saint has stood watch over our farms.

I went out to say hello to her yesterday (I sometimes do pray to her), and I saw that the mold had grown on her over these years, it had given much more definition to the robes and her hands.

I’m mulling trying to clean her up in the Spring, but I like the weathered look, it has excellent character. And cleaning her up would take a while and a lot of muscle.

I think she does watch over our farm and us, and I do appreciate being able to pray to her and talk to her every few days. I think she likes it here, looking out over our little valley.

Perhaps she was the first angel.