Fanny was limping and in excellent pain yesterday; we called our farrier, Matt Ross, who is also turning out to be one of our favorite people.

A community of honest and highly skilled young people is working around here – the logger, the septic specialist,

Mike, our mower and logger (and everything else), and Jamie, the roofer who repaired our roof during that last awful storm. They make our lives here possible.

We have come to know these men; it isn’t just business, but community and connection, and trust.

I have known Matt only as a farrier and a good one. He generally refuses to treat or trim donkeys; he has had so much difficulty with ornery and stubborn ones. He says Fannie and Lulu are the sweetest donkeys he has ever met and agreed to care for them; it took a lot of pleading.

This was our good luck and theirs; Matt is often shy and quiet. Like all carriers and shearers, he loves to tell stories, and we love to hear them. And the donkeys, often wary of strangers, loved him at first sight.

If the donkeys are in trouble, Matt comes right away. He can’t stand knowing an animal is in pain.

I didn’t realize Matt has several other dimensions than hoof trimming. He lives on a nearby farm with his wife and six family horses. He welds and builds truck beds. He’s been around horses his whole life.

He figured out that Fanny had two, not one, abscesses. He got to work, opened them quickly, and got a heavy bandage over them so they could dry. It’s the mud, he said; the abscesses come when the donkeys are in the mud.

That’s almost always the cause.

I know he doesn’t like close-up pictures of his face or head, so I don’t take any.  He’s shy, not a public person. But he surprised Maria and me yesterday.

At the farmer’s market, we ran into Matt’s mother, who sells gorgeous flowers, specialty oats, and organic popcorn. We got our purple iris from her for $12.

(Matt’s “Little Sunflower…”)

As we paid, this unique metalwork on her counter caught my eye. It is a yellow sunflower on a stand.

It was bright, uplifting, and skillfully and perfectly done. It was labeled the “Little Sunflower.” Maria saw how much I loved it and bought it for $50.

It was made out of nails and metal parts from a farm.

I couldn’t help but think of our late friend Ed Gully, who also made beautiful art from the debris and metal of his farm.

Ed was an artist, and so obviously, is Matt.

I knew if I offered these for sale on the blog (he gets all the money), they would sell, just as Ed Gulley’s sold.

I also doubted he would want to do that – it’s too open, and Ed Gulley was born with the ego for it.

Matt is a lot quieter and more self-effacing than Ed.

Almost everyone else I’ve made this offer to up here has jumped at it; it is challenging to promote one’s work in a rural area – no local TV or daily newspapers.

As a reporter, I learned to push. As a different person and evolving human, I’ve learned not to.

The last thing I want is a photo of someone who doesn’t want it taken. That never works.

When Matt came to trim Fanny and Lulu’s hooves this morning, I told him how much I loved the piece and how much he reminded me of Ed Gulley. I said he was clearly an artist.

Maria and I love supporting rural artists and creatives when we can and believe in their work. The blog has done a lot of good in that way, and we’re happy to give other creatives some space when we can.

I suspected that Matt, who is shy and private, wouldn’t be interested in that, and he isn’t, at least for now. It’s just not something that appeals to him. He loves what he does and is happy in his life.

Over time, he has opened up to us, and we to him, and we have rich conversations when he comes. We love his stories.

Matt is different from Ed Gulley, who was weary of farm work and made for self-promotion.

Matt said making those sculptures takes a lot of time and it’s hard work. He said he mostly makes them give to people who are sick or have suffered a stroke; he sees the flower as I do – as uplifting and healing. The idea of selling some on my blog fell like a wet balloon.

But I’m pleased with my small sunflower. I put it right by my desk to see it when I write. Usually, Matt said, people put them outside.

I was going to ask him if I could take a portrait of him holding the sculpture, but I decided not to. I’m not a reporter anymore, and I have no interest in photographing people who aren’t uncomfortable with it.  I don’t have to get every story anymore.

That never works out.

This was why I stopped spending so much time with Amish Moise and his family; I didn’t trust myself or want them to mistrust me.  And I couldn’t be me and be their close friend.

Journalism doesn’t teach sensitivity but can always be learned, like anything else.

Being with Maria helps.

I love running into people like Matt and Ed in the country. Life here is nothing like the stereotype urban people put on country life – a bunch of bigots, lugs in bit trucks,  gun-toters, and Trumpists. That is not the truth I have found in my town.

Character is not just a sermon in church; many people here have some.

One day, Matt may want to focus more on his art – he is very busy with welding, horseback riding, and horse and donkey farrier and hoof work. If he does, and I’m’ still around, I’ll be happy to help.

In the meantime, we are lucky to know him and have him available to help care for our donkeys; he loves them almost as much as we do. And they both know it.

We don’t even need ropes or harnesses to keep them still when he’s trimming their hooves (we did today, Fanny was tender). Lulu leaned into him and practically sighed.