(I met Veronica Hallisey at a reading in Ohio while I was on a book tour. She is 90 years old, brilliantly creative, a poet, mystic, writer, blogger, and quilter.
This poem she reminded me of and sent me this morning – I hardly ever look back at what I write – speaks to what was going on in my head in 2012, when I was climbing out of the blackest hole in my life and learning how much I loved the first Bedlam Farm.
Veronica is an inspiration to me and many others, as generous and kind as she is gifted. She lives a meaningful life, every single day. The quilt above is hers.
___
“Jon. . . Do you remember writing this? In my terrible housekeeping, utmost chaos, it was in a file lost in time. I wondered when I had written this. It was not mine of course but could have been my thinking because it was my wavelength. It is a wonderful piece of writing and shows a beautiful heart. I hope its memories are good. I hope my red barn quilt copies well. Thank you for this gift in time, Jon. much love, Veronica.”
Can You Leave A Farm?
Out of the ashes of a broken spirit, a noble son struggles to break out, and he asks the red barns,
can you leave a farm?
and the barn whispers back to him, son, you can never leave a farm,
and a farm can never leave you.
You can leave a house, maybe, or a car behind,
but not a farm. A farm enters your soul, sucks some air out, and blows some back in.
A farm fills you with colors and inflates your spirit like a big red balloon.
A farm is a window into life, it wakes you up, smacks you upside the head with truth,
kisses your tired soul with the taste of love and earth,
takes your virgin spirit and puts some miles on it,
and makes you blush like a young and happy bride.
wears you down with failing barns and broken fences
flashes the nature of life and death, litters the ground with
rusty pipes and muddy tires, tricky fences, and hidden rooms.
washes your dreams away with tears,
brings them back with the dawn,
You can leave a lot of things in this wasteful life, my barn snickered at me,
but son, do not ever think you can leave a farm,
or that a farm can leave you, any more than you can
screw your heart out of its socket and leave it in the trash.”
Jon Katz October 18, 2012
Jon,
This such a moving poem. Maybe especially for me as I may have to leave rural life behind soon. How wonderful your friend Veronica is ninety and still where she wants to be.
She’s quite great, thanks Lynn..
Oh how this spoke to me.deep reach real. Esp the last lines, I needed to see that today
This is a nice poem and a beautiful quilt. Anyone who yearns for the country will understand your words.
Wow! This poem spoke to me so well. I grew up on a farm until my 16th year. My father realized that he had no sons to take over the land and animals and realized he liked to repair the machinery more than love the animals. So he sold it and began working as a mechanic in a trucking industry. I, at age 82 mourn for the fields and streams, polywogs, frogs, chickens, ducks, pigs and you name it. They were an education in themselves. A farmer’s daughter I am at heart and always will be even though I have lived the so called life of a “suburbanite” since age 16. Our children, grandchildren and great grandchildren will never know what I experienced. Fancy plastic toys and electronics will never replace the second-hand rusty scooter and the kittens who became my living baby dolls. I guess I will never know how disappointed my grandfather probably was that his son was the last one to farm that land that my great great grandfather probably received as a reward for his Civil War service long ago. However, my sister and her husband live in a 2 1/2 acre parcel of that land, so maybe one can count that. I can visit there and look over the acres that lie unattended and waisted by whoever pays the taxes (or not); more than ready for renewal.
This poem reached deep down into my heart. I am 80 years old and grew up on a small farm in Northern California, left to go college and never returned. But the memories of living there are etched into my soul and gave me a great love of nature; animals, trees, flowers, grass, fresh air,
all of those things I still relish to this day. Thank you, Jon, for bringing some new thoughts about
these memories and why they remain so vital to my appreciation of life. My barn was not red but that old brown building, in which I spent many hours of play with the animals is still real and alive.