I love Bedlam Farm and my life here more than I can say. Sometimes I forget to say it. Not today. This morning is one of the reasons why.

Maria and I got up just before dawn this morning, I decided to take some photos of the morning, and I’ll save the flowers for later in the day.

Mornings at the farm have a spiritual beauty to them.

There is a soft sweet smell to morning, the dew, sense of so many things coming to life.

Our mornings, to me, are all about love and trust. We have a Peaceable Kingdom. It feels sacred to me at times.

The animals don’t rush to the gate to get hay; they walk slowly and steadily behind Maria, the love and trust between them have taught me a lot about people and animals and how we can communicate with them peacefully and lovingly. This is a place of connection and love.

It was hushed this morning, peaceful. A respite from the loud and chaotic world. The prophets were correct; humans must be around nature and share their lives with animals.

The sun was just rising over the pasture; we could hear the songbirds saying good morning and watch the sparrows and barn swallows dive and sweep over our heads. The animals were glad to see us; they were braying and bashing, and they knew we were going to the pasture for some grass. They didn’t need to run.

We open the gates and return in 90 minutes to get them out and manage our pasture grass. We do rotational grazing; the grass must last until October or November.

Maria is the leader here, all eyes are on her, and she moves slowly and quickly. So do they. They trust her; they know she is taking them to food. It is a beautiful time and an excellent way to start the day.

Maria usually stays behind for a half hour before making her art, spreading manure over our pastures – this helps to grow grass – as the sun rises in a beautiful arc about the field and our pasture apple tree.

It is quiet there; we don’t speak much; Fate runs around the sheep, and Zinnia tries to gobble down as much manure as she can until I  yell at her to stop. She does stop.

While Maria cleans the barn and shovels the manure, Zinnia swims to the pond.

Fate runs until she is exhausted, and her tongue drags on the ground. I think I figured out why Fate doesn’t intimidate the sheep. I used to think her blue eye was Merle’s dye, common in some herding dogs, but I was corrected.

It’s a genetic condition. She doesn’t have the BC eyes of a wolf, so the sheep aren’t afraid of her, and she can’t herd them.

There is no question that she wants to. For years I’ve been struggling to figure her out. I’m almost there.

She is a perfect companion dog for Maria; they are in sync, as I am with Zinnia, Red, and my other herding dogs. Soon Fate will join Maria in her studio; Zinnia will join me in my office as I write. They are not our furbabies; they support our lives and keep us company.

Border collies present themselves as predators, so the sheep obey them so quickly. I think her eyes don’t send that signal; that explains a lot to me; she has all the instincts in the world. She doesn’t look like a predator to the sheep. Red taught me many lessons about the border collie’s eyes.

But she has terrific instincts, befitting a border collie from Wales.

Maria is soft and patient, and gentle with the sheep. She has the most beautiful smile. It lights up the world around her.

When Red died, I learned that we didn’t need a working border collie, as efficient and helpful as they are. The sheep are happy to do what they are told, especially if they have learned to love and trust us.

For years, they only saw me when I was with a border collie; they started moving the second I entered the pasture. It’s taken two years, but they trust me now, although not as thoroughly as they trust Maria.

The farm has been a powerful laboratory for Maria and me when communicating with animals and learning their trust. I am careful to keep my voice low and soft. I make time to be with them so they can get used to me. Maria and I are considering trying to train our donkeys to carry sacks of manure and firewood in a cart or backpacks.

I thank Fanny will be easy to train. I’m not so sure about Lulu. It will be fun to try. We’re starting the experiment by putting special donkey backpacks on their backs to get them to get used to carrying some weight. We’ll see what happens. Stay tuned. They trust Matt, the farrier; we don’t need to put restraints on them.

We ought to be able to do it.