The days run away like wild horses, a title by American poet Charles Bukowski, has been on my mind. Not that I ever read the copy a friend gave me for my birthday way back in college. I was flattered to think someone thought I would appreciate a book of edgy poems…but really? I wasn’t much “into” poetry; not then, not now. Although for years I could recite “Goodnight Moon” with a beautiful inflection guaranteed to put a child to sleep.
No, I’ve been thinking of the poet’s work because I figure he spent time on a farm where time really does “run away…” Around here I guess you’d have to say rather than wild horses it would be gamboling goats, flying chickens and dancing poodles. There’s a rhythm to every day here at Art Isle farm. Independent of heart breaking catastrophes in Haiti, political maneuvering in Washington, changing road conditions, the commencing of another semester of college and certainly not mindful of my own blind machinations with a website. Tend the animals: keep them safe, keep them fed. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Do it in the daylight, do it in the dark. Do in the rain and howling wind and you’ll be grateful for just a minor drizzle and dance with the poodle when the sun does come out.
12 days have flown by. Just like any good adventure, the lessons will continue to rise to the surface of my consciousness in the coming days and weeks. I’ll hone my stories until they’re much funnier than the reality. My long sufferings will assume heroic proportions; actually, there wasn’t the least bit of long suffering. OK, lighting fires is not my long suit but I hardly “suffered”.
I’m not sure I got done all that I wanted to get accomplished. But that could be said of every day of my life. I’ve discovered in the absence of human company I have a very hard time setting boundaries and forcing myself into time “off”. I didn’t take a single nap these past 12 days. That’s some sort of record for me.
My husband has decided that it is humans that wear me out; no need for naps when I’m surrounded by livestock. He may have a point. But I’m excited to get back to my humans. Cocktails with my Tribe, conversations with my cranky cat, someone else making coffee in the morning and yes, cozy naps in my own bed. I haven’t thought once of the prison-yard-streetlight in the pitch black of my island farm.
I’ll continue to post as I examine my “farm stay”. My biggest surprise of the entire experience? My affection for HRH Poodle. I’m not a “dog person” – which in some circles is like saying “I eat my young”. But Phoebe has been my companion and a comforting presence. She doesn’t care when I completely foul up the files on my server. A ride to the store or a walk on the beach, it’s all high adventure! Our thrice daily (and more) trips to the barn never leave her less than giddy, even if she does get chased by SuSu. She’s slept by my bed and greeted me every morning with what I can only describe as a hug. She’s a good girl. I’ll miss her.
I’m supposed to be packing as I’m off early tomorrow to make a meeting back in the city. But here’s a scrapbook of images of life at Art Isle farm.
(apparently here is NOT a scrapbook of images from Art Isle Farm…further technical details I’m afraid. Will add them when I can. Thank you for your patience!)
OK, it’s a new day…let’s see if I can get this scrapbook dealy-ma-jig to WORK!