While I wander the Left Coast gathering adventures and wonderful memories (photos with posts to follow soon) magic is happening on the East Coast too. Enjoy !
… on a very, very small wedding
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on July 15, 2015
https://dhrahalski86.com/on-a-very-very-small-wedding/
What does it mean to be creative?
So fellow travelers, some thoughts on creativity.
Author Jon Katz, recently posted a piece in his blog about the importance of creativity. He framed the topic with the issue of taking time to be creative and focuses on the struggle of women’s creative expression. His post got me thinking. He makes valid points regarding women putting off creative expression being related to society’s marginal attitude towards creativity. I would add this is as true for men who would benefit equally from creative expression yet push it aside in the pressure to achieve worldly success. His message, “You don’t have time not to be creative” is universal.
From the responses to his post on the CGBF* page he hit a few chords. One of Jon’s best traits is his willingness to accept differing opinions provided they are not shrouded in hostility or personal attack. Those parameters are what make the CGBF a reliable haven for creative exploration and allows for some lively and thought provoking dialogue.
I added my own comments, something along the lines of my own growth allowing me to see creativity in many forms. I listed examples of teachers, dog trainers, computer programmers being creative in their own way. For many people “living (their) life in a meaningful way” may not take the form of a poem, painting or photograph. When a bio engineer creates a better prosthesis I see this as creativity from a different perspective. Still, some sliver of discomfort begged attention.
It was his opening reference to “hobbies” and “painting a watercolor on vacation once a year or so,” which stuck with me like a stinging nettle. For many years, working full time while raising two daughters afforded me very few hours for creative exploration. This is not an excuse; it is reality. There are no more than twenty four hours in every day. During those years when the girls were young, scrapbooking, which definitely comes under the category of a “hobby,” became my main creative outlet.
Were those scrapbooks less of a creative expression because they are seen more as a craft project than art? The question itself points to the way in which “arts and crafts” activities are marginalized. Here’s where the line between “creative work” and “art” begins to draw itself in the sand. Certainly I did not consider my scrapbooks “art,” even though the time I spent creating beautiful pages built around memories was every bit “an essential expression of (my) spirit” as if I were writing poems about or painting portraits of those moments.
Working as a special education teaching assistant for our local school district allows me the luxury of an extended summer vacation, something most working mothers do not have. It is a gift of time I consider worth the smaller paycheck. One of the things I did for myself was to set aside enough money to take summer classes, so over the years I explored everything from birdwatching, backpacking and orienteering to knitting, drawing and painting. I always had good intentions of continuing my art time beyond summer, but once we were back in the throes of daily life, consistent time for artwork took a back seat. So yes, I was “painting on vacation once a year.” To feel like that kind of creativity somehow doesn’t count points to the “falsehoods” we have been taught to tell ourselves about the value of what we chose as creative expression. Those falsehoods start terribly young too. I always feel a tremendous sadness when a student tells me they can’t fit art/photography/woodshop/creative writing/culinary arts into their schedule. I have been known to undermine the best efforts of counselors by showing kids a way to shift course loads so one of those classes can fit. I am such a rebel.
One gift of becoming a member of the CGBF was the opportunity to have a place where I could share the results of my renewed creative interests. I started taking photos of more than family events and “we were here” vistas, then I took photo classes to challenge myself to improve. When my commentary on the posted work grew longer or generated clever haiku, with some gentle nudging from fellow members I realized I had enough to say to consider starting a blog. Now, two years later not writing is no longer an option. I hope I am becoming a better writer in the process too.
So there’s the crux of the matter. It comes down to what we tell ourselves about being creative. If we believe we should only be creative if our stuff is good enough to be called art, we will not fell compelled to find the time to be creative. If we just give ourselves a chance to take the first steps of creative expression and turn a deaf ear to the voices of judgement. both internal and external, soon we will find “don’t have time not to be creative.”
*the Creative Group at Bedlam Farm can be found on Facebook. Our contributions can be viewed by the public. Come visit and be inspired to be creative.
Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on July 7, 2015
https://dhrahalski86.com/what-does-it-mean-to-be-creative/
Return to Bedlam Farm Conclusion : Love and Magic
So fellow travelers, do you believe in magic?
By the end of the evening, all anxiety about driving the winding hills back to the loft apartment had completely evaporated. Basking one’s soul in the warm camaraderie of kindred spirits and the careful honing of perception from creative focus will do that to negative energy.
My roommates sat at the dining room table, discussing various life changes currently underway in our lives. The diversity in age, gender, background, profession and personalities within the Creative Group make for a kaleidoscope of perspectives on life’s many crossroads. In addition to all the good creative work, there are underlying stories of birth, death, career shifts, physical and emotional healing, family and adventures on and off the road.
I gain more than creative inspiration from my “farmie” family. Every time we gather, whether for an open house or an impromptu lunch I come home with insights on work I need to do on myself. I would soon discover hitching rides with various friends provided the added benefit of extra discussion time. When we are on the grounds of Bedlam Farm an engaging discussion is likely to be brought to a sudden shift as Jon announces a herding demo or a poetry reading. Extra one on one time offered some gifts I had not expected to gain and I hope it will be reflected in my creative work going forward.
Of course, those events at the farm, along with the art show in Maria’s studio, are a major reason we come to the Open House. They are a celebration of all things Bedlam.
Fanny soaking up some love
Tom Atkins reads his ernest poetry from his book Madman’s Courage
Jon working with Fate on sheep herding
Team Bedlam, Fate and Red
and as always photos of people taking photos, Me and Candy in photo ninja mode, photo courtesy of Audrey Gegg
Joshua Rockwood’s visit on Sunday, with his beautiful family was a moving experience for me. His brief, simple and eloquent statement of gratitude for the support he has received (read about his ordeal on Jon’s blog here ) moved many of us to quiet tears. I will carry the experience with me as a reminder of the importance of truth, compassion and kindness.
And yes, beyond my wildest expectation not only did I meet Jon and Maria’s new dog Fate
(Fate surveys her latest water bottle sculpture)
at one point, when I felt her nudging my backpack as I sat listening to one of the poetry readings I turned and was smothered in sweet puppy kisses. That and some gentle love from Red are blessings of joy I will hold in my heart.
Jon knows many people come to the Open House events to see the animals. Although none of us spoke directly of it we missed Simon, Lenore and Frieda. The farm feels significantly different in the way life has of nudging us forward.
What hasn’t changed is the heart of love at the core of Bedlam Farm. It radiates from Jon and Maria
Our gracious host and his queen. photo courtesy of Joe Gegg
It ripples out from seasoned members inspiring our creative beginnings
It shines bright and forges connections created online into links of true friendship
photo by Jon Katz
Love, encouragement, friendship, family.
Over the two days I spent with this gloriously funny, warm and often wacky group of creative souls I gathered the courage to dig deeper in my writing, filled my heart with examples to strengthen relationships and soaked up enough laughter (I hope) to carry me over the waves of change I still have to weather before we meet again in Autumn.
Magic, pure magic for which I am ever so grateful to be a part of.
Photo courtesy of Beth Heffern who excels at capturing moments of childhood joy and innocence and whose friendship is one I treasure deeply.
Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on July 5, 2015
https://dhrahalski86.com/return-to-bedlam-farm-conclusion-love-and-magic/
Return to Bedlam Farm Part 6 : The Golden Hour Walk
So fellow travelers, something magical is about to happen, something we have waited for so long I hardly dare believe it will come to be…..
In his book Letters from the Hive: an intimate history of bees, honey and humankind , author Stephen Buchmann describes a concept called biophilia. It’s premise is humans have genetically based physiological and neurological structures which “respond to differing habitats, flora and fauna in selective ways.”
A fitting framework as we head north to the homestead of writer, photographer, recently turned bee keeper, Jeff Anderson.
Beekeeper Anderson checking on the hive. Can you say “late night sugar run?”
Since October of 2013, on the Friday before each Bedlam Farm Open House, Jeff and his gracious wife Laura have hosted a potluck barbecue at their hilltop home in Granville for members of the Creative Group*. For many of us, this event is the first face-to-face encounter with people we have come to know so well through our on-line interactions.
Faith Mayer, who attended her first Open House this weekend described it as meeting people “inside out.” In a post on the CGBF page she explained
“Normally, we meet people in person first. We make judgements based on looks, actions and often mundane conversations. If we are lucky, we form friendships from these initial “body” meetings. The CGBF is different. I loved all of these people already. I knew their souls, their thoughts and what made them tick – on a most creative level anyway – perhaps I am being presumptuous, but when I met them in person it was like finding a long last friend.”
Old friends who’ve just met; sounds preposterous but having lived this experience repeatedly I know it truly does feel like Faith describes.
Add in the mystical beauty of the natural landscape where we gather and it’s no wonder “newbies” and seasoned farmies find themselves coasting through a Bedlam Farm Open House weekend in an altered state of mind.
Then again maybe it’s the food, because gosh darn it every year the table is laden with delights, like Kate’s delicious rhubarb pie, Candy’s bacon wrapped apricot appetizers, fresh salads loaded with produce from local farm markets, some years even homemade breads. And then there was this year’s masterpiece from Beth Heffern
a mouthwatering combination of pork fat, sweet citrus and fork tender meat which when posted on the group page had generated a colorful comment from Jeff thus creating it’s name “The OMFG Dish” and yes it was Oh my freakin’ amazing. I wholeheartedly agree with Jeff’s post dinner comment that we need a Hall of Fame for people like Beth who bravely go for the creative gusto in the kitchen and share the results with us lucky pot-luckers. (There will be more about Beth’s many talents to come.)
Once the feasting slowed to appreciative murmurs, Jeff called for the shutterbugs to gather. I turned to Candy and whispered “This really is going to happen.” Her smile echoed the waves of joy lapping at heart.
The Golden Hour Photo walk was something we had planned for several gatherings, but not yet succeeded in doing. A change in weather, delays in timing or dwindling light had always brought the evening to a close without the anticipated photo ops. Last year we did fit in a brisk, chilly twilight stroll; this time we would linger to capture sky paintings
the Angel cloud
Yes, last October Jeff offered a photo workshop on the morning after the open house, an opportunity I am grateful I was able to have,
Milkweed Fairy my favorite shot from the October photo workshop
still mid-morning light is not quite as golden as summer’s eve.
This time dinner was done early enough to catch the golden tones of the sinking summer sun. Off we went, old and new friends chatting
and clicking away
Jeff graciously gave us a tour of his phenomenal market garden
photo courtesy of Deb German Young
horse pasture
and fields.
The light was magical.
truly magical
Even the Christmas Star showed up,
a Heavenly prophecy of more blessings to come.
(look closely above the center of the sky line for the bright spot of Jupiter, fainter just to the left and slightly above is Venus. This conjunction, which would grow closer and brighter in the coming nights, is associated with the bright star which guided the Magi.)
to be continued
Walk Gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.
*Readers, you will find the Creative Group’s Facebook page here. It is open to the public for viewing and readers will find a steady stream of really “good stuff.”
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on July 2, 2015
https://dhrahalski86.com/return-to-bedlam-farm-part-6-the-golden-hour-walk/
Return to Bedlam Farm Part 5: Training the Mind’s Eye
“The seed of suffering in you may be strong, but don’t wait until you have no more suffering before allowing yourself to be happy.”
― Thích Nhất Hạnh, The Heart of the Buddha’s Teaching: Transforming Suffering into Peace, Joy, and Liberation
So fellow travelers, the voice on the other end of the cell tower connections was my friend and fellow farmie Kate Rantilla. Just hearing her speak settled my fractured nerves, even though Kate herself sounded a little harried, as she was leaving far later than she had planned from her home in Keene, New Hampshire.
Since meeting at shared accommodations during the Bedlam Farm Open House in October of 2013, Kate and I have roomed together for each event as well as a few other local farmie gatherings. Our connection quickly evolved from “roommates for life” into a sister-friendship of true depth.
The room plaque at CTK Retreat which proclaimed us as sisters.
This weekend Kate would be reading selections from her soon to be published book of poetry. It still floors me every time she mentions she wrote her first poem just two years ago when she realized her “writing had a kind of rhythm to it.” She writes as if she has been carving hand crafted word art her whole life.
As we discussed when and where we would meet later that afternoon, I felt my resolve put random fears securely in their place. Publishing a first book is a landmark achievement and I wanted to be here to celebrate. Right after Kate and I finished making plans, my phone lit up again. It was our other roommate for the weekend, my favorite intrepid adventurer Jennifer Bowman. She was literally headed down Main Street just minutes away from the apartment and I convinced her to make a quick stop to get keys and unload some bags. One hug and a quick sharp witted tour of the gallery was all the hot glue I needed to stick my vision of the weekend back together.
I knew I may have felt like I was loosing my mind less than an hour ago, but no way could I be crazy enough to let random fears send me packing before this adventure even started. Jennifer headed for Bedlam Farm and an evening of wood fired pizza at the Round House Cafe. I would meet Kate at the Now-a-Tradition Potluck Barbecue hosted by Jeff Anderson, our Creative Group photo guru.
With a little over an hour to pass before I had to head out, I wanted to keep my mind from wandering back down the staircase of fear. Our experiences come from where we focus our attention. So I grabbed my camera and started snapping photos of the eclectic art and atmosphere of the gallery and loft. As I worked I sorted through my thoughts and emotions.
A rattling tail pipe would not send me home when I had plenty of options to get around this weekend.
Asking for help does not come easy when years of steel plated self sufficiency locks in certain mindsets, choices and behaviors. I am someone who is always ready and willing to assist when help is needed. Now it would be my turn to seek assistance. I could get rides as often as possible and limit driving the noisy loaner to reduce the risk of scattering car parts along the scenic roads of Washington County.
Changing roles might not feel comfortable but growth requires an open mind. Creativity requires growth and creativity was the reason I was part of this amazing community. Already my energy was shifting, quickly finding expression in what I was seeing through my camera lens.
Besides, if I went home now I would miss the Golden Hour photo walk and the amazing food art of another cherished farmie friend.
to be continued
Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on July 1, 2015
https://dhrahalski86.com/return-to-bedlam-farm-part-5-training-the-minds-eye/
Return to Bedlam Farm Part 4 : Angels and Demons
So fellow travelers, proof not all demons live in dark gallery basements.
detail from a quilted wall hanging in the gallery loft
Arriving back at the loft apartment in Greenwich, I left the noisy but drive-able car parked under a shady tree and stopped at the little cafe across the street to grab something sweet. As I turned the key in the front door I noticed I had left the lights on in the gallery. Right…… I had gone out the back door of the apartment this morning without going downstairs to the gallery. As I walked out of the utility closet which housed the bank of light switches I noticed another set of stairs going down
way,
way
down
into a dark abyss of a wide open basement.
A sudden chill ran through my bones.
I scampered up the stairs to the loft apartment like a startled chipmunk making sure to bow as I passed the Buddha on the altar. Turning on a few extra lights, I fired up some music on my laptop and sipped the mango smoothie from the cafe while scanning my phone for texts from my two roommates who were on their way. My plan was to leave the car parked here and bum rides for the rest of the weekend, thus limiting driving to the trip home.
It was a perfectly reasonable plan and yet I could not shake an insistent feeling I needed to go home now. I texted home to check in. My daughter responded all was well, she was headed to work and then to a few grad parties with friends. Still, I was sweating, breathing rapidly and could not stop pacing. I recognized the early signs of a panic attack.
Several years ago, while on a trip out of town, I was in a minor car accident. No one was hurt, no tickets were even issued but our car sustained enough damage it had to be towed to a shop for repairs. I often say, for moments like these I have a triple A membership but the fact is that membership had always been used for dead batteries, flat tires and keys trapped in locked cars. I had never been in an accident and getting hit left me shaking. It happened in an intersection in downtown Philadelphia seconds after two cars in front of me collided. I am certain the other driver did not see my car because of the first accident. The police officer who came to the scene indicated the same thought.
Although I was unhurt and our car was repaired within a few days it would be weeks before I could pick up a set of car keys without breaking into a cold sweat. For months I woke at all hours from nightmares I couldn’t remember, heart racing, sweating like I was breaking a fever. I avoided driving the car which had been in the accident. Two months later when our other car broke down on the NYS Thruway during my first attempt to attend a Bedlam Farm Open House I became convinced I was possessed by some vehicular curse.
I am not ( or at least I had not been ) a superstitious person. In fact as far back as I can remember I have always believed in God and angels not because of what I was taught in Sunday School but because I had a consciousness awareness of a loving Presence around me. In fact most of what I was taught in church did not correlate with my personal experience and I would soon learn the main lesson traditional religious instruction had to offer was a directive to stop asking questions. I never stopped, although I did keep quiet in church school. No matter, I knew my experience was real. Certainly in over half a century of living there have been some dark times of doubt. My late teens and early twenties were fairly cynical but I believe my exposure to Eastern spiritual practices when living in Southeast Asia helped me find ways to maintain my inner gyroscope even in the darkest valleys I have walked.
Which is why the post accident PTSD responses a therapist helped me identify really threw me off track. At first I refused to accept the diagnosis. PTSD was something heroes and survivors could claim. I hadn’t come home from a war or suffered abuse. For heaven’s sake I had been in a minor car accident, dammit. After all the life experiences I’ve been through, with all the options at my disposal from years of spiritual and alternative healing studies I should be able to bounce back without claiming a badge of honor I didn’t deserve.
But there was no denying the uncontrollable, visceral reactions I was experiencing. It was clear I was having panic attacks and as our therapist explained since they had been triggered by a specific event, not a general condition of anxiety, I was dealing with PTSD. For a good long while nothing in my arsenal of techniques helped, not t’ai chi, meditation, aromatherapy. There were moments I thought I would never recover my peace of mind. Over time the episodes diminished. I even survived a terrifying tire blowout while driving my RV, but as I paced the beautiful wood floors of the loft apartment I knew the panic demon had not really gone very far. It did not matter one iota that I had not been an any kind of accident, or that the car was drive-able, loud yes, but still quite driveable, thanks to the kindness and good work of the mechanics in town.
I forced myself to take the keys, get in the car and drive it around the block. I needed to move it from the “two hour limit” parking spot in front of the gallery anyway. I shifted the rear view mirror so I could look myself right in the eyes and said “Under no circumstances are you going home before Sunday.”
I walked back into the apartment just in time to catch my cell phone ringing.
to be continued
Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on July 1, 2015
https://dhrahalski86.com/return-to-bedlam-farm-part-4-angels-and-demons/
Return to Bedlam Farm Part 3: an Exhausting Afternoon
So fellow travelers, I am about to discover the Cambridge spirit of generosity author Jon Katz often writes about in his blog.
When I pulled the very noisy loaner car into the parking lot I knew what I found would not be good. As suspected I saw an exhaust pipe hanging loose. I shook off needle pricks of panic by reminding myself these are the moments for which I have my triple A membership.
However when I got through to emergency road service I was told even though the car was driveable it would have to be towed to a service station. I knew that would guarantee a delay of several hours and I was literally ten minutes away from Bedlam Farm. I said I would call back if I wanted a tow truck.
Shooing away angry thoughts of how could this problem have been missed during a recent brake check, I forced my mind to focus. I knew all I needed for the moment was a way to secure the pipe to keep it from hanging lower and dragging on the road. As my mind started racing through my options of how to get help I caught sight of a tiny building on a corner across the street with an auto repair shop sign. Inside the open garage door was a young man working on a truck up on a lift. I drove my car over to their parking lot and went inside.
“Hi there,” I chirped in a squeaky attempt to sound calm, “I need some help with my car.”
The young mechanic grinned “I know, we heard. Let’s take a look.”
He went out, looked under the car and came back. ” Exhaust came apart at the catalytic converter. ”
“Mmmm, I know my brother-in-law the mechanic would say that’s not good.”
When coping with automotive emergencies away from home I make a point of working in a reference to having a brother-in-law who is a mechanic. In fact he owns and operates successful two service stations. I refer people to him all the time. Honest mechanics are a precious find worth sharing.
Nodding in agreement, the young man went on to explain it would not be difficult to fix, but they didn’t have the parts in stock (“because Ma’am it IS an older Toyota”) so they would have to order parts which would take several days to arrive. I explained I was just visiting the area and I asked if there was anything they could do so I could drive the car until I could get the exhaust fixed. He thought for a few minutes and asked how far I had to go. I told him home was about 175 miles west on the NYS Thruway. He went into the garage, talked with the fellow working on the car out there for a few minutes and stuck his head in the door.
“Boss says we’ll see what we can do. Just sit tight.” Relief flooded my eyes. I blinked rapidly hoping it wasn’t obvious.
Less than ten minutes later I was on my way with their confident assurance I could drive across several states and not worry about losing the broken pipe. They said there was no charge, but I set a twenty on the counter even as they protested it was not necessary. I insisted they just go get themselves a pizza or a few beers after work as my thanks for helping me out when I needed it. Did I mention good honest mechanics are priceless?
When I pulled onto the road, instead of heading left into town towards Bedlam Farm, I found myself turning right and driving back to the loft apartment.
“Where are you going? The Farm is that way” I asked the Deborah at the wheel.
“Shut up,” she snapped. “We need time to regroup and figure out our options.”
to be continued
Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on June 30, 2015
https://dhrahalski86.com/return-to-bedlam-farm-part-3-an-exhausting-afternoon/
Return to Bedlam Farm Part 2: the Evolution of Experience
So fellow travelers, a new day brings new perspectives.
I woke to the cheery serenade of a song sparrow perched in the grape vines which festooned the windows off the back porch. Relieved I had not been spirited away by demons from the dark gallery basement, I said a few prayers of gratitude at the Buddha altar while my coffee brewed.
As the morning chorus of birds cleared the fog of fear which had descended on me the night before I began to feel the rising tide of joy in my heart as I thought of the reunions and new connections about to unfold. I had already shared a wonderful dinner and conversation at Marigold Kitchen with my friend and fellow “farmie” Candy and the blessing of many sweet kisses from her beautiful dog Tess. These reminders of the profound connections which would be forged and reinforced among our creative circle gathering together this weekend had me smiling as daylight graced the darkest corners of the loft.
The first time I attended a Bedlam Farm Open House, the focal point was the almost surreal experience of “being there.” I have a distinct memory of standing along the fence watching Red herding the sheep as Jon Katz spoke and finding I had tears in my eyes. Someone, it might even have been me, whispered ” We really are here,” and I turned to see several of my newly met creative group friends also dabbing at their eyes.
There is something magical about seeing stories come to life. This is why books are made into movies and while the transition is not always successful or accurate (Jon Katz has written about his own experience of the HBO film made when he lived at the original Bedlam Farm) it’s a consistent source of material for the entertainment industry. When people come to the Bedlam Farm Open House weekends, they are for at least an afternoon not just seeing, but actually living Jon’s stories from his books and his blog.
Beyond this element there are the friendships which come to fruition out of the connections made through the online Creative Group Jon started a few years ago. “Old friends, who’ve just met,” we say. I see it happen every single time a “newbie” comes to their first open house. I never tire of the incredulous exclamations of how grand it is to find out fellow members are as warm and encouraging in person as they are on line. “Farmies” are as authentic as they come.
Christy Dale Wilson meets the Creative Group’s youngest published author*, Miss Abby Meyer and her mom Faith. Christy and her husband John came all the way from Mississippi for the Open House weekend.
As our friendships have evolved, the “ministry of encouragement” which Jon intended to support our creative growth has increasingly been extended in support of personal growth as well. While there are well justified boundaries which keep the Creative Group’s on line pages from spiraling into therapy sessions, personal interactions are not bound by those parameters. When we meet at the open house events certain people naturally gravitate back to each other, drawn by common bonds of personal experience past and present. The threads of conversations started at the Round House Cafe or between herding demos and poetry readings at the farm are picked up again online after we disperse at the end of each weekend. As unique and genuine as the online interaction is, it is not the same as the heartfelt exchange of energy when we can sit close enough to feel each others souls.
me, Jennifer Bowman and Beth Heffern at the Round House Cafe. Photo courtesy Anne Wilson Sweeny.
As the mystique of visiting Bedlam Farm has blossomed into a more organic experience of personal interactions, I find myself looking forward to the reunions, hugs and anticipated new connections with growing joy. I know whatever my state of heart and mind are I will come away feeling renewed, the sparks of creative ideas fanned into life by fresh inspiration. This year I was coming with a deeper need for renewal and inspiration. In the past two months I have realized my feelings about the impending departure of my college bound youngest daughter were more powerful than I expected. She is not the first child to fledge from the home nest. Independent and fiercely determined to experience life on her own terms, she has done a good job of pushing me to the point of feeling ready to have her leave home. So some of the waves of emotion have caught me off guard.
In the process of working through these emotions I have uncovered a nagging sense of fear I managed to bury quite deeply for years. As I scurried around the loft preparing with increasing excitement to head over to Bedlam Farm for the afternoon, I had no idea an unexpected turn of events would bring it to the surface. I danced around the kitchen as I prepped the dish I was making for the potluck barbecue at the beautiful hill top home of Jeff Anderson, our group’s photo guru (some of Jeff’s equine photo art is displayed in the Round House Cafe shot shown above.) I washed dishes, popped the salad in the fridge to chill, tucked my cell phone into my camera bag and set off to convene with fellow farmies at Bedlam.
The road between Greenwich and Cambridge is a winding, hilly journey with breaktaking views at every crest, but not many spots to pull over and get a photo. The car seemed to strain a bit going up the hills and the engine sounded loud to me, but as I was driving a borrowed vehicle I did not think much about it. I was focused more on the spectacular views of the Green Mountains which run just over the New York Vermont border a few miles away. At least the view commanded most of my attention until the last hill before coming into town when the engine sound grew distinctly louder even when cruising downhill. As I coasted into town, I heard a signature rattling noise under the car. I pulled into the closest parking lot, shut off the engine and looked under the car.
A pervasive sense of panic began to creep up my spine as I realized my plans for the afternoon, perhaps even the weekend, would have to be changed.
to be continued
* here is a link to Miss Abby Mayer’s book. Do read her work, it’s quite good.
Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on June 30, 2015
https://dhrahalski86.com/return-to-bedlam-farm-part-2-the-evolution-of-experience/
Return to Bedlam Farm : Living in a Gallery
So fellow travelers, I was on the road again last weekend for the Bedlam Farm Art Show and Open House.
Several of us are stayed at a very unique apartment in Greenwich ( that’s Green-like-the-color-Wich not Gren-as-in-Connecticut-Wich see sign below for verification. )
That’s ok. I took me a few seconds to laugh too
.
The “Loft Apartment on Main Street”, as it is dubbed on Air B&B, is spacious and truly unique.
We were surrounded by books
art
sacred icons
and some eclectic items
Indeed yes, this is a large vertabrae. I realized when editing I needed something in the shot for scale. For reference my hand would fit inside the center circle.
From a photographers perspective the space is challenging because it is so cavernous and diversely, even dimly, lit. Good practice for working with camera settings.
SOC image of the first try on manual settings.
And I will be honest, being there alone the first night was more than a tad eerie. The mind does crazy things once it gets spooked. I passed on the scenic art views and easy access to the kitchen from the central suite and opted to bunk in the rear bedroom which had the door to the back deck. You know in case one of these fellows started talking and I needed a quick exit point.
.
The bed in the back room also featured a set of two beautifully embroidered pillows
Great Blue Herons are one of my spirit guides and guardians. Spotting one is always an affirmation I am on the right path, so finding these gave me a feeling of peace. I set out on this trip acutely aware I was carrying more than the bags I had loaded in the borrowed car I was driving. Processing change leaves me feeling vulnerable and I was grateful to know who stood watch at the foot of the stairs as I slept that night.
to be continued
Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on June 29, 2015
https://dhrahalski86.com/return-to-bedlam-farm-living-in-a-gallery/
Puppet on a String
So fellow travelers, sometimes the answer we seek is simply hiding in the shadows.
In the quest for light
Shadows reveal hidden truths
Fear’s puppet no more
Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.
Posted by Deborah H Rahalski on June 26, 2015
https://dhrahalski86.com/puppet-on-a-string/