Harry, a blog reader, he says, and for a long time, was skeptical about my seemingly abrupt passion for flowers. “You never wrote about flowers and say you’re not a gardener or care about their names. So what are you?  Harry wasn’t being snide or nasty; he was just curious.

Well, Harry, I replied, that’s a good and fair question, but I’m not sure I will ever be able to answer it. I think of myself as a life in perpetual motion that has finally landed. The only things in my life that I know will be permanent and have remained consistent for a long time now have been my marriage to Maria and my desire to be a writer. I also expect to die on this farm.

Before that, I moved to 14 different places in over 12 years. I’ve done at least a dozen other jobs and done many things I’ve never written about and rarely even think of. Everywhere I went, I wanted to be somewhere else. The problem was that everywhere I went, I came also.

Until I got to Bedlam Farm.  Now, I don’t ever want to be anywhere else.

Those two things I mentioned – Maria and writing and blogging –  are written in stone. I am where I have wanted to be, and it only took a generation or so to get there. I have never been one of those who see stasis as honorable. The most intelligent people I know see their mistakes and shortcomings and change, and they rarely know where they will end up.  The mind was meant to be used, not a means of sleeping.

That is what intelligence is: the ability to change, not to be static and to stick to just one thing. I also had to learn that it’s okay to be wrong, and say so, it’s a part of being human. When you can’t do that, I learned, that you can no longer think.

Life is much too varied and interesting not always to be looking, thinking, and changing. Now, I have a core that I have never had before—my wife, my farm, my animals, my blog, my photography, and now a food pantry and some needy immigrant children as a focus.

When I started taking pictures over a decade ago, I mostly took photos of dead leaves. That was my mood then. I was severely and dangerously depressed. Photography showed me my need for color and light, and I never had enough. It has been perfect for me.

I have often written that we need to get the dogs we need. I have also learned that we get the life we want—and it’s not about money.

When I started getting mesmerized by the beauty of flowers, I knew I had to grow up, start learning, pay attention, and stick with it.  The flower photos paid off in ways I never imagined, and it’s just beginning.

All I can say, Harry, is that this is me; this is where I belong, where I am doing what I should be doing. That’s the best answer I can think of to your question.

 

 

Photography and the joy of my life  – Maria – have gradually opened me up. My real life began when we met.

I see all kinds of things I have never seen before, flowers being the only one. I love being another. We do different things, but we are creative together.

I started noticing flowers and photographing them when the politics in our culture turned ugly, and many people began hating many other people. I wanted to capture the new beauty of my life.

I decided to look at the color and light of life and fight back the impulse to judge, leer, and hate. I was very angry for much of my life, but I don’t recall hating one human. I went the other way.

I still can’t answer Harry’s question and am not much of a gardener. As a dyslexic, I hope I never care about the names of flowers. The color, light, and astonishingly beautiful souls have caught my eye and brought out the artist in me. I appreciate the question, Harry; it was asked with goodwill and fairness.

What am I now? One word comes to mind.

Happy.

I can’t say why, but my flower photos are a substantial part. Stay tuned.

This boat will never dock for good. I am working on getting happier. Life is too short to hate. And sometimes, the flowers whisper in my ear: “Protect Love. You have the right to be happy.” They do talk to me.