I keep waiting to have something interesting to say, but it doesn't seem to be happening this week. I think I'm too tired from all the promotion. So here's just a mish-mash of stuff:
1) I have 11 promotional events in June---3 left, and then I can hibernate for six weeks. I'm having lots of fun, and people have been very gracious and enthusiastic. I am, however, getting a little tired of the sound of my own voice. Talking about myself does NOT come naturally. The morning after an event, I always feel a little funny, as if I'd talked too much at a dinner party the night before.
2) Mr. Bodgepie (the duck) is proving to be elusive. We drove to the neighbor's where he's been hanging out. There he was, in the entrance to a big equipment shed. We pursued him deep into the shed as he scooted under the equipment. It was dark and confusing, with all the tires, etc. We were on our hands and knees. "Do you see him?" Melissa calls. The neighbor replies from the front of the shed. "He's out here." The little @#*& had doubled back on us. Melissa approached with the net and he took flight. Clearly we're going to have to be smarter than the duck...
3) Melissa, lover of delicate flowers (which, I might add, doesn't describe me!), is at it again. Found these scattered around the house the other day.
4) A few years ago Melissa planted a wild rose on the south side of the house, in an odd place. You couldn't see it from the front yard or most of the back yard or the driveway. Why there? This spring, while sitting at my computer, I turned my head to the left and looked out the window. Oh, that's why. What a sweetie....
Here's to a wonderful summer for everyone, a summer full of surprising wild roses and other romantic stuff.
At one of my recent presentations, a man in the audience asked if I would do it all over again, meaning choose to farm.
It was a fair question, but hard to answer. I can't 'un-know' all I've learned during the last fifteen years, so if Melissa were to once again ask me to help her start a farm, I can never again be that young, fairly clueless woman of 37. I can only start from here. If Melissa were to say to me tomorrow, "Hey, let's sell the sheep and start a dairy farm," I'd say, "If you want to remain married to me, I wouldn't recommend it."
But as I think about the question, I realize he was really asking me if I have any regrets about my choice to farm. Americans tend to get all twisted in knots about our decisions---am I making the right choice? the wrong one? For years I've tried to side-step this anxiety by just accepting that I make a decision, something happens, and I make the next decision. This feels easier to deal with than worrying about right vs. wrong.
Do I regret being a part of this farm? There are hundreds, if not thousands, of blogs now being written by men and women who've moved to the country and started farming. These blogs are written by people who clearly want to be there, who thrive on crazy hard physical labor, sweating in the sun, etc. I'm not them. They aren't me. I seem to have made a career out of being different, of being a somewhat reluctant farmer. It's a weird spot to be known for doing something that doesn't always feel comfortable to me.
Do I regret being part of this farm? Since we started farming, eight out of the eleven books I've written since then have been influenced/inspired by the farm. My three novels were an escape from the farm, so the farm influenced these as well! I cannot regret something that has given me so much to say, that has shaped my writing voice and helped me connect with so many people touched by our stories.
I live in a lovely location, surrounded by wildlife and livestock. I feel closer to nature than ever before. I'm more aware of both my strengths and weaknesses because farming shines a relentless spotlight on both.
No, I don't regret saying 'Yes' to Melissa all those years ago. I feel as if I have one foot in the city, and one foot on the farm, and if that turns me into a bridge between the two worlds, then that's where I'm supposed to be.... for now. :-)
A month ago I wrote about our duck, Mr. Bodgepie, being startled by a neighbor's dog and flying a mile to the south. Neighbor Bill saw the duck and called us. I 'visited' Bodgepie several times, but couldn't catch him. And Melissa agreed that if she went down there with a net, she'd be so determined to catch him she'd end up in the swollen Zumbro River.
So we let go.
I just got a call from another person on that road (Bill's daughter) who said Bodgepie has been showing up in their yard late at night, and early in the morning. They live about half way between the river and our farm. So Bodgepie is making progress.
The good news is he's still alive, and he gets off the river now and then. I just called Melissa and she's SO excited.
This weekend's activity? Duck hunting...with a fishing net, not a gun.
James Frey (A Million Little Pieces) and Greg Mortenson (Three Cups of Tea)? Move over. There's a new memoirist in town who's been caught lying.
In my first memoir, Hit by a Farm, I wrote about a doll I had as a child. The Jane West doll had bendable arms and legs, ugly tan plastic clothing, and a horse. I sold her years ago, and regretted it because she's now sort of an antique.
Last fall our friend Karen pulled a Jane West doll out of a box of junk her father gave her. Karen generously gave the doll to me. But in our discussion, someone raised the question---was there more than one doll of this sort?
I jumped online and found the truth. Jane West looks like this:
She's tall and blonde.
My Jane West, however, looks like this:
Oops. This isn't Jane West. She's Jane (and Johnny) West's daughter, Janice West.
Call the New York Times! I've lied! Punish me by putting my memoir on the bestseller list! Frey and Mortenson have survived the punishment (and have become incredibly wealthy,) so if that's the fate I must suffer for lying, so be it.
It's been a week since I've posted. Darn. And I was doing so well there for awhile.
The good news is that I'm managing. I'm keeping the animals fed, moving them from pasture to pasture. I'm weaning the baby calves---down from 3 bottles a day to one. I know which ones are likely to sneak up on me and put their noses in inappropriate places. (If they weren't my animals, I'd report an assault.)
I'm not afraid of the four massive steers, and lead them from place to place like they're babies. (They ran up to Melissa one night in the dark and startled her, so she's been a little skittish around them. The next time we passed through their pasture, I volunteered to hold her hand if she was afraid. I'm so bad!) The other day they were so excited to be moving to new pasture that they thundered toward the gate, inspiring me to start humming the theme song from Bonanza. They must be at least 700 pounds now.
I'm appearing lots of places to promote my new book. And I've started a new novel and am playing with a few ideas for a new nonfiction book. Our capacity to create in the face of so many other distractions amazes me. I wonder if the distractions actually help focus our attention.
I've always wondered how parents juggle jobs and kids and kids' activities and house/bill needs and sleeping. I see now that you just do it because you have to. Just because we're having a bad day doesn't mean we can sell the animals or stop taking care of children.
In the past, if I'm not feeling well or am lacking energy, it's been so easy to let Melissa take care of whatever needs doing. I can't do that now. Other than a few minor meltdowns, I'm doing what needs doing. If the animals need checking on in the middle of a 100 degree day, I do it.
I think everyone should take a minute to give themselves credit for stepping up, and doing what needs to be done even if we'd rather make a batch of popcorn and collapse on the sofa....
which I plan on doing tomorrow... :-)
