Moving the donkeys to the new farm yesterday made our leaving the old Bedlam Farm very real. Partly because our donkeys are not easy to move and where ever we move them they are going to stay for a while. But it’s more than that. The farm is empty without them. The pasture and barns loose their purpose. In a way, there’s no reason to be here without them. Donkeys can hold you to a place, in their size and our responsibility to them. They are grounding and can be a burden. I spent a good part of my life fearful of responsibility and commitment. I guess now I welcome the stability the donkeys bring. They live a long time, and I’m looking forward to growing old with them in our new house. I’m liking the idea of never moving ever again, an idea that used to send me into a panic.
Me and Jon and the animals living and dying in this new place. We’ve come here like settlers making their way out west. Finding our piece of land and digging our heels in. It has nothing to do with where we are geographically, and everything to do with were we are psychologically and emotionally. And in those terms, we’ve circled the world to get here. Not that this is the end of something, or just the beginning, it’s a continuation that doesn’t stop until we do.