This is a sweet story, a true story from Bedlam Farm and the quite remarkable woman I married a decade ago, who surprises me day after day in ways I never imagined when we first met. To me, this is an unusual story. In Maria’s life, it is an everyday story.

This is the tale of how she saved a praying mantis from being trapped inside the house and then from getting his foot caught in a spider web on the porch. Yesterday, he was rushing to pull him away from Zip, who was rushing to eat him. Maria lunged between them and got Zip back off.

The praying mantis seems to know her now and sits on her hand while he rubs water off (she pulls him out of the animal’s water tank the other day). He looks at her as if he knows her. He even poses for her.

I don’t know what it means to be the friend of a praying mantis; I’ve never done it and probably never will. But Maria loves all living things except flies and mosquitoes (or rats), and she sees nature in a way I have. She looks for it and sees it, and nature talks back to her. She has a gift for speaking with animals, loving them, and being trusted and loved in return.

She is no saint – neither of us is looking for that – but she has a big heart and sincerely loves life.

The praying mantis story is one of many; she pulls insects out of water tanks and bird baths, re-homes ants and spiders, carries moths outside, holds them while they scrape the water off their legs and wings, and flies away when they can. If I didn’t know better, I would say this praying mantis knows her and trusts her.

When I met Maria, she struggled to get back to the one thing she has always wanted the most – to be an artist free to make her art and meet someone who could understand and support that passionate goal. For years, life had pulled her away from her art (she got a master’s degree in art but couldn’t have the freedom to make some.

I loved her almost right away—we became best friends first, often the key to love—and I saw how feared and beaten down she seemed. I offered her the use of one of the three barns I had on my farm then, and she accepted, but only if she took care of the animals for me on weekends in exchange.

The rest is history, I imagine, but what has stunned and mesmerized me about the woman I met is the woman she has grown into—a successful blogger, videographer, naturalist, photographer, woodsman, animal lover, and, yes, belly dancer. She has great friends who love her dearly while I struggle to make one or two.

But most of all, she has made her dream come true—she is a gifted and famous artist. People often write to me to say she and I are lucky to have the lives we have, but they don’t know Maria: She has worked hard and fought hard for her life every day.

Luck has nothing to do with it. It’s blood, sweat, and tears. She creates her own destiny; no one has given her anything.

She is not only the person I love so much; she is also a woman I respect, admire, and learn from every day.

I thought I would need to help Maria meet her bliss, but she took off like a NASA rocket heading for Mars. She has a strong sense of empathy and is a strong woman who takes pride in taking responsibility and caring for herself.  I used to worry about how she would fare when I died; I don’t worry about that. She will take care of herself.

I don’t know anyone who is friends with a praying mantis or repeatedly saves them. She sells everything she creates, often before she even finishes it. People send her vintage fabric from all over the country. Then she will take their mothers and grandmothers fabric and make something beautiful with them.

She has fallen in love with the woods, the trees, the mushrooms, the bugs, and the birds. I can’t tell you how many she has saved. In the morning, for most of every day, she goes into her studio and makes quilts, hanging pieces, potholders, scarves, and pillows.

Then she walks in the woods or paints the porch, fixes a broken door hinge, cares for seven different gardens, stacks firewood,  photographs mushrooms, talks to crows and birds, drills holes, builds composting lights, brings back bones, talks engineering with the Big Men in Trucks, and now helps me with tech support on computers that I have been using for years. She makes sure every windowsill has beautiful flowers and plants.

There is nothing she doesn’t love or empathize with and very little she can’t do. She is no more perfect than I am, but she has built a love she loves and works hard to keep it every day.

She also grows as a writer, photographer, and visual artist almost every day. Her connection to a praying mantis—I have never touched one—reminds me yet again that the shy and unhappy young woman I fell in love with has become a symbol of the Divine Feminine—the love, caring, and kindness that women have consistently shown the world and are trying to do it again.

Dreams to come true, as Mickey Mouse has claimed for years. Hers and mine. And one praying mantis who ought to be dead.