Promise, Renewal


Friday was stunning, Saturday overcast, and today cold, rainy, and windy as hell. So windy in fact that a big whoosh felled a tree near the house (good-sized maple), bouncing off Handsome Chef Boyfriend’s new car—big damage—and hitting the ground next to mine, but not before completely taking out a tail light on my Subi and leaving a branch-shaped dent in its roof. So now we have stuff to deal with. Meh. Life goes on, and that part of it is dull as dirt.

What is interesting is the promise of a new life and a new community, vows renewed in a longish weekend that started Friday evening. That photo up there was my attempt to capture the vista—at a particularly delicious time of day—from the upstate New York farm of one Jeff Anderson, photographer, new friend, and fellow “farmie:” the self-describing moniker for a creative group that author Jon Katz jump-started via social media some time ago. Friday late afternoon and evening barbecue at Jeff’s included a trek on his sizeable piece of land, cameras snapping all around willy-nilly, while the photographers among us (I am not one of them) took advantage of incredible imagery near and far.


The promise of new friendship and community is intoxicating and meaningful. Saturday morning at the Round House Café in Cambridge was life-affirming and meaningful, as was the day spent at Jon and Maria’s place. There was so much to take away, important and meaningful messages exchanged with the gathering of friends yesterday. And today—today marked the (almost) end of my transition out of one place and into another, the loving HCB arising at dawn to brave the wind and rain to drive over to my old place with a friend for the last of my things—the difficult, big, bulky things. More renewal, more adventure.

There were baby woodpeckers nesting deep inside the trunk of the tree that came down this morning. We could hear them squawking, their anguished mother flitting about trying to locate them, and nothing for us to do about it. They will not survive, but will be food for somebody else; I walked away from Bedlam Farm yesterday with renewed sensibilities about animals, people, life. Nature has her own sensibilities.

Meanwhile, I am driven by the promise of not only renewed friendship and community, but also of enrichment, a fall writer’s workshop, encouragement from friends to pick up a camera—a real one—and learn how to make pictures. The creative group is a ministry of encouragement after all. So many new stories to tell. ‘Til soon.


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