Thursday, September 4, 2014

Ever changing.



On the day of the fourth anniversary of my marriage to Laura, many things are running through my mind. 

In the year following our wedding, I finished my college degree (lovingly known as the 33 1/3 plan, referencing the number of years it took from start to commencement), we sold our house in Massachusetts, bought a house in NY, I moved our entire household and orchestrated the move of our horses, Laura got pregnant, I opened a gallery and we went to Portugal for a last "just us" hurrah.

The gallery is now closed, and prints from the equine photo workshop in Portugal are piled in my basement but also displayed on four continents. The degree languishes, but the knowledge helps me every day in raising my son and striving to be a good father and husband. 

The horses moved home after boarding for a year, as I fenced in a few acres and brought in a run-in shed to shelter them. New water and electricity lines make their home easier for us to manage. The garden has tripled in size. I am now known to the state of New York as Farmer Number 1909, accepting WIC and Senior Nutrition checks (as well as cash, thank you) at three to four farmers' markets every week. I haven't ridden my horse in a couple of years, but he is still dear to me and as honest and sweet as ever. And, he and his pasture mate sure can make compost. They are a part of my spirit, they nurture my inner nurturer, and you can't beat the soil in our gardens.

And, the "baby". He's just shy of three years old now, and last night he joined in a bluegrass jam when a young woman offered him a washboard to strum along with the music. If we're foolish enough to leave the TV on during dinner, he is likely to jump out of his chair to dance to a theme song. Every week we go to "concerts"- music events where he can dance and play and clap, and flirt. People marvel at his willingness to entertain. As the saying goes, to Jay "there are no strangers, just friends he hasn't met yet."

Our marriage has not been easy. My wife's job is very stressful, and we are raising a child as members of slightly differing generational viewpoints. Sometimes I think our biggest connection is that we both frequently feel socially awkward, but are pretty comfortable with each other's energy and boundaries. That's not always easy to find, no matter how passionate and loving two people may feel. We continue to approach some sort of breaking point, cool off, and try to "re-set". It's work, wearying and wondering work, and yet it somehow does work.

And, my parents are very much on my mind. Their 58th anniversary approaches. I know they have had their share of work with each other. At the moment, my two concerns are for my mother's ailing heart and for my father's declining body and spirit. We had planned to visit in January, but I'm feeling an urgency to go soon. 

So many forks in this road, all of them requiring paring and pruning, and not always with a clear view of the road ahead. Faith keeps the feet moving forward- faith in my resourcefulness, faith in my family, faith in the power of love to overcome the power of sorrow and anger.

Ever forward, the only sin is sitting still and waiting to die. My 95-year-old neighbor fires up her wood chipper and mulches the rakings from her flower beds about once a week. Friends older than I am continue to strive for knowledge and growth. 

The lexicon of my new farming vocation says that I am a "grower". I like that title. I plan to keep it, even when I can no longer kneel in the garden.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Washboard duet



Bluegrass music is literally in Jay's blood. I can tell you that his grandmother, my mother, was born in the hills of eastern Kentucky, and that we had many an evening of mountain music when we visited early in my life. But all you really need to do is watch him when the music starts.

We have been feeding this interest for some time now, with visits to the Adirondack Fiddlers, and to various fairs and events nearby. There are regular and spontaneous hoedown throw-downs all around us- at the farmers' markets, art events, festivals, bluegrass is alive and well right here in and around the Green and Adirondack Mountains. Since we are positioned smack between the two ranges, we get it all.

This summer we have discovered Little Theater on the Farm in nearby Fort Edward. It's exactly what the name says, a little theater on a farm. The stage and a seating area are in the back of an old dairy barn. They hold regular bluegrass jams, as well as gospel jams that are thinly veiled bluegrass jams with maybe an extra nod to the spiritual roots of the music.

A few weeks ago we had our large animal vet, Lauren Marsh, out to help me with some infected scratches on my horse's legs. As we worked, we chatted about the area and the culture. Lauren asked if we knew about "Pickin' in Pawlet." I said no, but we were happy for the tip.

Tonight we went to our second Pickin' in Pawlet, in the Tavern of The Barn Restaurant. Yes, I took my 2-year-old to a bar to dance and chase women. Okay, well, I took him to eat and dance. The other part he did on his own. And hell, he's almost three, right?

He is becoming a big hit among the locals. and tonight he joined the jam. A beautiful young woman who regularly sings with the musicians, also sits by the stage and strums a washboard when she is not singing. She loves Jay, and gets up to dance with him when he hits the floor. Tonight she got out a second washboard, and invited him to play along. He was in seventh heaven. He studied her closely (technique is very important- must get it right!). Soon he was strumming along with the band in between the local ladies' frequent dance requests.

It's a beautiful thing to watch, spontaneous and fun, as a jam should be. He already "gets" the spirit, and why not? It runs through his veins, it makes his very heart beat. It is his lifeblood.


Native Pickle.



I threw down a big fifty cents on an old-school metal Spiderman lunchbox for Jay at a 
garage sale last weekend.

It is now his most important possession.

And, now, most things are food.

Laura has been going through boxes of her childhood toys. Among them is a canoe 
with two Indian chiefs, in full head dress and regalia, paddling along. The canoe is 
dark green and mottled. I explained what is was to Jay, and said "Can you say 
'canoe'?"

"It's a pickle", he said, and slammed it into his lunchbox next to an apple.

End of discussion.