on warren pond farm; not a place a purpose

The next 10 days are my last here On Warren Pond Farm at 6200 Deer Run Lane. It’s limbo land. Everything I plan to bring with me into the next chapter of my life is boxed up and stored in the sunroom. I am going to be leaving the most perfect place left on planet Earth and that makes me very sad. But that sadness is nothing compared to losing Sam. I’ve suffered the worst. Nothing is difficult in comparison. Now I am soaking up the spirit of this place to take with me deep in my heart, etched into my eyes, inscribed in my memory. What I will take with me are good memories, deep life lessons, and a purpose. To live life to its fullest, to take on every challenge, to check off  all the items on my bucket list; because you can’t make more time. You can always make more money. But time is the most precious of non renewable resources.

Shapeshifting

The owl who sits upon the telephone wire on North Buck Hill Road greets me most mornings as I drive into Trumansburg. I know it is Sam watching over me. I knew it more than a dozen years ago when we first fell in love. Sam didn’t believe in cellular phones. We had a spiritual connection and he would appear to me in the shape of an animal; most often birds. His thoughts would pop into my head as I recognized the animal as him. The blue heron who resides on the pond, a goose flying west into the sunset solo, the red winged hawk, the red cardinal who sings from the top of the windmill tower, the turkey vulture, the golden eagle. He’s also appeared to me in the form of deer, rabbit, fox, red cat, and turtle. He still comes to me today by shapeshifting in nature. One morning in the fog while I headed around the pond dyke I thought I saw him standing in the pavilion, leaning against the ledge, as he had done so many times before. I started running toward him and the dogs started to bark. An optical illusion. But I feel his presence there in the pavilion. The last photographs I took of Sam he stood there in the pavilion. The first shot was a great one: he was relaxed and leaning his chin on his hand with his elbow resting on the ledge. He looked calm and peaceful and he smiled at me. Then he stood up and turned his back to me. I took the second shot of his cold shoulder. The last few weeks he didn’t want his picture taken. He shunned the photographer from the student newspaper the first week of September. He said he had his reasons. Two weeks earlier, he’d posed with his arm wrapped around me for a Lancaster, Pennsylvania, farming newspaper photographer. What happened inbetween? Sam buried five horses struck dead by lightening.

Loving grief

Almost eleven months after Sam committed suicide, I begin to write again. For more than a dozen years I lived off-the-grid without the noise of postmodern life. Sam and I lived a full and rich life off the land and those wonderful experiences live on in my heart. I didn’t have time to read much less write while farming full time while Sam was alive. I was too busy loving and living life. Now it’s time to write.