Bedlam Farm Blog Journal by Jon Katz

8 July

Beautiful (Warm) Morning At Bedlam Farm, Monday, July 8. Maria Slings Manure, Zip Has A New Man Cave, Sheep Shade One Another, Just Another Day

by Jon Katz

Another warm and humid day. Spring lasted a couple of days. We are luckier than many. I’m thinking of the people in Florida getting destroyed again. More later. It is cooler in the morning, though, and we both get up early to walk around the farm, check on animals, and take our photos and videos. I realized that I was missing a lot of the feeling and beauty of the farm by waiting until later in the day, when I also go out, often in my bathrobe.

(This photo speaks of heat.)

Zip is a genius at drawing attention and being part of whatever happens. We’ve been bringing wood out to our pagan celebrations of daylight. Zip has made the sood pile his new cave, watching the world and peering out, perhaps hoping to catch a mouse. Could you come along for the walk? This is a beautiful place, no matter the weather. The animals all tell their own stories. I hope to get to the Mansion this morning for my meditation class.


Zip, always a good and eager poser, has found a new cat cave underneath our burn pile in the pasture. He has many hiding and cooling places.

Portrait, Maria cleaning up the Pole Barn.

I am giving shade to one another in the heat.

Asher is scratching an itch.

Talking with Robin.

We were standing still in the heat.

Maria’s garden.

 

7 July

Me And Zip: Dogs Don’t Want An Independent Life. Zip Demands It.

by Jon Katz

Zip has grasped and embraced my love of flower photos; he is present whenever I step outside to take a picture or walk over to the garden bed. He jumps onto the table to say hello, gets his rubbing and stroking, then leaves abruptly to sit on the table or nap and hang around my feet.

He stays close until I get up and walk away. He leaves quietly and without complaint.

Sometimes, while on a murderous hunt, Zip doesn’t show up, and I miss him. Zinnia, as wonderful a dog as she is, is not interested in my photography; when I take the camera out, she heads off towards the barn, hoping for something disgusting to eat.

The animal rights people think me cruel for not bringing Zip into the house at night in the winter, but Zip and I have a beautiful contrast. We unite, exchange love and affection, and then separate.

I have a human I love to sleep next to, and Zinnia occupies the rest of our bed. I don’t need anything else at night, and I told Zip today that we each had our secrets and love lives, and we both respect that.

I’m not ready to hug him, but he thinks of something. That’s the thing I most love about Zip. He shows his interest and affection, and I love and respect his independence, which I find fascinating. Dogs don’t want independence. Zip demands it. He is a barn cat.

He is my associate and muse when taking a flower photo. He gets it; I see it in his eyes. (Photo By Maria Wulf)

_____

 

“Winter. Time to eat fat
and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat,
a black fur sausage with yellow
Houdini’s eyes jump up on the bed and tries
to get onto my head. It’s his
way of telling whether or not I’m dead.
If I’m not, he wants to be scratched; if I am
He’ll think of something…”

by Margaret Atwood

 

7 July

Flower Art: Study In Bright Sun, July 7, 2024 – Flower Paintings. The Wildflowers Meet The Garden Flowers And Dance Together And Squint Together…

by Jon Katz

One of the many things I am learning to love about flowers is the way they die so beautifully. We, humans, live way too long and take so much longer to die that we lose some of our characters. Flowers begin to die almost the minute they start to bloom. They often become more beautiful and have great character.

I love how this Calendula flower from my garden bed is beginning to die; it is more beautiful than ever.

Today began an experiment in bright sunshine and how it impacts light coming through – right through – the flowers.

It was powerfully beautiful and about 90 degrees; the sun was blinding and drove me inside after 15 or 20 minutes. As a diabetic with heart disease, I’m again warned to stay inside on days like this, but I go out for short periods, drink lots of water, and then go inside in front of an air conditioner. I’m not going to hide inside all day every time it gets hot.

I wanted the exposure to capture the brightness and strength of the light; we were in the middle of a heat alert.

Tomorrow, I am told, will be hotter, a day for me to stay indoors except for some brief forays out in the morning.  I’ll try. I hope you can sense what I did with these flowers; they stirred and inspired me. The lighter, the more beautiful it is, at least for me.
I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.

Tomorrow, a good friend and a great storyteller are coming over to learn how to start their blog, and I’m excited. She will be wonderful writing on a blog. As almost everyone gets frightened at first, she used to say that she didn’t want to ever be on the Internet; she was afraid of social media. Aren’t we all? I said, you learn to get past it – the freedom to tell your story is worth it. The delete button is a friend. So is the blocking button.

Wildflowers

Bee Balm in the sun.

More Bee Balm in the sun, I was hypnotized.

Lily at noon.

 

Willdflower

Meteing of sisters.

Mixing colors. Just like a painter does.

7 July

From Sarah Harrington: Hope For The Future – “Good Job, Army Of Good, I’ll Post New Items Tomorrow…” The Cambridge Pantry Wish List Is All Down For Today.

by Jon Katz

You did it once again. I love and admire you all. Thank you once more.

Please look at the good you did this morning and afternoon.

You got Sarah Wallington to take down the wish list for the second time ever. The AOG bought everything on it, she messaged.  Every item was gone, and as she watched the receipts come in from Amazon, she took them down one after another. It’s a pretty sight.

Most items were inexpensive—one or two dollars—but they meant much more than their cost.

It is pure joy to see that list blank; it means everyone coming to the food pantry in the coming week will have all or most of the food they want ready to go home.

I’m sure they’ll run out of some of it – most of it – quickly, but that’s life  – we do the best we can do for the longest we can

A lot of people took some deep breaths today at the Pantry. The demand for food has been so strong lately that the items she requested we donate were gone, off the shelves, and unavailable to the pantry.

Nothing makes Sarah and the volunteers sadder than shelves barren of things wanted badly; they go home only with food other people choose.

All of them are things the “customers,” as she calls them, loved and missed or their children wanted or needed or were used to before trouble came. The people who come there often tell me they sometimes don’t feel human for asking others for food. This is about their sense of humanity.

Thank you for helping these people regain some pride, standing with their children, and helping them get the foods the family knows best and is most comfortable with.

Meals can be comforting and familiar again for them. We get the food that falls through the overwhelmed cracks in the food support system—small acts of great kindness. It makes a huge difference.

Sarah’s keeping the list down until tomorrow morning when we start again. We’re not asking for anything more today; you all deserve applause, recognition, and rest.

There are not enough words to express my admiration and appreciation for what you have.

I had been waiting to hear from her for an hour and was getting impatient, so I texted her. She had gotten busy, she said, as she always does. “Good Job, Army Of Good,” she wrote. The list isn’t up anymore, ha-ha.

She was delighted. I was proud. She is thinking about tomorrow’s list.

Thanks. That’s about as excited as Sarah gets. She is a joy to work with, and she gets it—everything we send to the pantry is in the service of others.

I watched the news this morning, which was grim and disheartening in almost every way. My work with the pantry has helped to keep me grounded, feeling strong, optimistic, and worthwhile.

You give me and so many others hope for the future, and I am proud to see and feel  America’s true spirit—we help the downtrodden and needy. We always have, and you demonstrate yet again that we always will.

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