Bedlam Farm Blog Journal by Jon Katz

I got up early this morning to catch the sun. It was—30 degrees—(oops, sorry, Beth, it was 10 degrees), and I was going to go out. I looked out the window and saw the most beautiful morning light. But before I left, I realized some of the most beautiful light was all around me. I had to open my eyes and see it, so I did.

The sun may be the world’s greatest painter, insight, and out. Come along.

The sun shines on this kitchen window for a minute or two each morning. I finally caught it today.

Our friend Bliss makes Christmas angels out of corn silk every year. Ours has been hanging on the kitchen wall all year, and the sun lights it every morning. The Holy Spirit?

The exploding Amaryllis – the Windowsill Gallery.

Sun on the living room wall, 8 a.m.

Sun on my Calla, on the dining room table.

My farm is sweet and pleasant, but the world seems grumpy to me these days. Duh.

I must own up to being dangerously grumpy in the early morning, especially when my Sleep Apnea Mask wakes me up hissing and complaining. The cherished Maria has been known to growl a bit in the morning as she heads out to shovel manure. Only Zinnia retains her good cheer through Hell and Fire Water.

Yesterday, I received an angry message from Beth, who claimed to live near me and was displeased with me. Since I knew everyone who lived near me (there aren’t many), I was puzzled but surprised to be scolded for getting up too early in the cold and unknowingly enriching the experience by a few degrees.

Seventeen degrees felt cold, but it was an honest mistake; it wasn’t zero. I’m Dyslexic and make a lot of errors, plus I’m old. Also, I love embellishing stories a bit, as writers love to do; it’s a habit. I was annoyed that Beth was correct, and because of her haughty message, I changed the blog to be more accurate and agreeable. I also like the truth.

Beth was very disturbed when I wrote that it was below zero on the morning blog report; she said it was “nowhere near Zero” and believed it was “important” to tell the truth.  I had no idea.

I thanked her for writing to me (I have been repeatedly urged not to be nasty and to be either nice to annoying people or ignore them, and with this in mind, I wished her a happy holiday and fixed the blog report.

Social media is becoming one of the world’s capitals of correction (a/k/a  annoying people) and the world’s center for minding other people’s businesses, which may be what it is all about.  Big Brother will love it. I am a rich and irresistible target, but I did not say that to Beth, who, I sensed, wasn’t into friendly discussions.

I foolishly thought everybody’s mind might be absorbing the news out of Syria or Washington. But the big news was the weather right here on the farm.

But I was not annoyed (yes, I admit to lying right here, I was annoyed) but polite (I was that, at least).

Zip was waiting for Zinnia and me when I came out, and he seemed annoyed that I had slept late. Another woman wrote that if I was going to publish colorful photos, I was ethically advised to name them. She found that annoying. I didn’t think she was interested in Dyslexia, either.  Who is?  I was not unkind to her either; I just deleted her. It was just another morning on the Internet. (I love deleting people; it’s like snapping a mosquito and getting it before it bites.)

So I took my alleged neighbor Beth and told her I would henceforth use an accurate thermometer and not guess, which I do like to do or embellish instinctively, as I sometimes do. I might be stupid, but I am honest. Of course, I should have offered her a refund, but I am sure she never donated to the blog.

When I looked it up, the temperature this morning was 17 degrees when I sent it out (it was 15 degrees this morning). Ernest wrote from Miami, suggesting I was a fool for living in upstate New York. “Be like Jews everywhere,” he said; get to Florida, where it is warm. He said he hoped he wasn’t being annoying. Not at all, I said, making sure to be friendly, “but I’m never moving to Florida; what would happen to Zip?”

Some people are not grumpy in the morning, as I often am. David messaged me from Hawaii to say he loved my morning farm photos and hoped they would never stop coming. He also loved the flower photos. Bless you, David; I hope you never stop writing to me.

(I expect more messages tomorrow from people annoyed that I was annoyed with people who annoy me. The wheel turns and turns. I need clarification on this. I relish being a grumpy older man sometimes; I might be getting what I asked for.)

I showed this to Maria, and she read it, stonefaced and without a chuckle.  She didn’t seem to think it was funny. “It is funny,” she said, “but I’m in a grumpy mood and can’t laugh.” Okay, I get it. I will go to the living room before the fire and read a new book about a devoted but very annoyed cop who pursued a serial killer in Ireland during the Troubles. It sounds perfect.

This is what it looked like this morning. COLD.

I love and admire this woman. Every morning, she shovels out the pole barn in the cold, singing her “manure song” to the animals and claiming to love every minute. How did I become so fortunate?

Zip has a warm corner that the donkeys love; the stones warm up by the sun.

The sun paints shadows every morning, and they are beautiful.

The morning sun lights our flowers and the old candelabra on the table.

First feeding. Cold is beautiful.

Zinnia is waiting to go out with Maria to eat manure and play tag with Zip. We have a lot of fun here.