Bedlam Farm Blog Journal by Jon Katz

Sara Bareilles is a respected singer and musician who scored a hit Broadway play that lasted for six years. She sang on Saturday Night Live last night, I just got her new album, Amidst The Chaos, and became an admirer and fan.

Her bio says that after the 2018, she decided to make music especially for women, she saw and heard how upset so many were. She says she wanted to write an album that would inspire women to hope, and to also never give up.

This struck a chord with me, I was also affected by that election, and made some decisions that changed my life. I decided also to never give up on hope, and to nourish and sustain my hope by committing small acts of great kindness and doing good rather than arguing about what good really is.

I am not as famous as she is, or as talented, But we made the same choice, and for many of the same reasons. So her music is about me too.

Bareilles was as good as her word, she studied artists like Paul Simon and Carol King and offers an album of comfort and hope.

Whatever has happened to me, I have never  given up on hope.

I can make my own hope.

I believe hope is one of the human emotions that exists very visibly in dogs, if you have a border collie and sheep or a Boston Terrier and food, you see hope almost every minute of every day. This is one of the things I love about dogs, they have always inspired me to hope, even when people have disappointed me, or seem to lead us down hopeless paths.

An artist or writer  hopes every day to create and live to create another day. It is impossible to do without hope.

As a former journalist and police reporter, I think I have a clear understanding of what human beings are capable of.

I am no Pollyanna.

But I have come to how much hope comes from doing good. From helping a gifted refugee child  get a full scholarship to a private school. From helping a farmer save his farm from ideological zealots without any humanity. From getting underwear or a bra for an elderly person without any resources.

In getting the lights turned out in a  refugee apartment or paying for car insurance for a family fresh from a refugee camp. Or buying sneakers for a very elderly woman whose shoes are coming apart.

. Or encouraging an 84-year-old with so much life in her to start her own blog.

Or from planning a commitment ceremony for two older people in love.

I see reasons for hope everywhere. In the great stirring touching every woman who I now. In the great awakening that challenges us to remember our values and  fight for them. In the compassionate  people from all over the country who rush to help every single time.

I hate the choices I have, to watch their news or fear it. To hate or despair or hide. But I won’t ever surrender to it, or confuse it with the truth. The truth is with the Army Of Good and the things we have done and will do.

I have to find the hope inside of me, and in the things that we do together. It is real, and it is there.

The 2016 election wakened me, not to get on Facebook or Twitter, not to hate people who disagree with me, but to do what Jesus and Gandhi told their followers to do, but  to reach out to the needy and the vulnerable and offer them whatever measure of comfort and support is possible.

To encourage the gift of the Creative Spark whenever I can. To hope.

To share what we know and what we have, in whatever way we can.

To do the best I can for as long as I can.

I never tell anyone what to do, I can barely figure that out for myself. But I do have a wish for people out there who are struggling with fear, anger or hopelessness.

I wish that they don’t give up on hope, and  never surrender to despair and hate. There is a great stirring out there, and I am a part of it. I believe so many of the people reading this are too.

On sunny afternoons – the thermometer hit 60 – we haul two chairs out and go and sit with the donkeys for a while. They come up to us and lean into us, presenting their heads for scratching, and then they shift to get their backsides scratched.

Donkeys are among the world’s great meditators, they love attention, and they love to be groomed and scratched. They stand still in the sun, they set the agenda. They are scratched for as long as they want to be scratched, and when they want attention, they mean to have it.

These are sweet and treasured moments for us.

My first donkey was the ill-tempered Carol, who died of a stroke, the second and third were Lulu and Fanny. Simon came later, so did the baby donkey Jesus and his mother, Jeanette, they were not with us long.

Four donkeys was too much for me. When I cracked up, I sent Fanny and Lulu off to a Vermont farm for a while, then, missing them, I brought them back to the farm, they have been with me for nearly 15 years, minus a few months in exile.

Lulu was ticked off for months, and would have nothing to do with me.

I love donkeys, their intelligence, intuition and their independence. With a donkey, it always is their idea, never yours.

Maria and Lulu and Fanny have the most beautiful connection, it is spiritual and deep. I love to see them together, soaking up one another’s affection and energy.

The New Dog, by Linda Pastan

“Into the gravity of my life,

the serious ceremonies

of polish and paper,

and pen, has come

this manic animal

whose innocent disruptions

make nonsense

of my old simplicities

as if I needed him

to prove again that after 

all the careful planning,

anything can happen.”