Beauregards Farm

Loved writing this blog for several years now...with farming and photography and other dreams I have not mastered yet, I have certainly and finally decided to let True Calling rest.  Visit me at Beauregards Farm on the web and see what's new, what's up and what's what.  Thank you for your consideration and kindnesses through the years...therapy came from nowhere I could see but everywhere, from you- I could feel love and concern;  it made all the difference.  Semper Fi.

A New and Now Time

Heck if I know...might have to spend the rest of my life wondering.  To wonder, to ask questions as to the why and the how, scratching my head a bit and then finally go on with the love of living.  Good as answer as any, I suppose.

I know it's been awhile since I've been on here.  Who needs to write a blog anyway?  Similar question to the photo above.  Heck if I know, I just do.  It helps in some ways not to think too much, because I am riddled and rifled with that process.  Writing is like a spitting it out, exercising the brain, squeezing my mind muscle that produces an energy that builds thoughts into words and out...splerrrrt!  Here it is.  Oh my.  It's been too long since I have written, so a spittoon may be in order here.  

Looking back over the last year, much had caught up with me.  Or, had weighed me down, I'm not sure- feels the same either way.  I got too far away from me and my particular spark and tried to light the way for so many others...exhausting.  See, I can't do that. See, that's not what this True Calling is about.  Our true calling is to ourselves, to what lies within us.  And it is here, now and only here, now.  Not there- not back.  Right here, right now is the truest calling I know.  And I'm it.  Rather- I'm in it, up to my eyeballs and seeing what it's like to truly see things as they are.

On the wall, a clock is ticking.  I don't care much to mark time on days like this, I just like to hear that sound.    Behind me the blower of the fan on the woodstove whirs on and on, encouraging the orange flame to glow and heat the place up;  this is sure a peaceful way to start a day.  I've already got a pot of soup going in the crockpot.  Swiss Chard, Italian Sausage, homemade Turkey Broth, garlic from the garden (oh I hope my supply holds out...!)

The beginnings of a good day.  A new and now time.  Every moment.  Thanks for visiting,

Take care-

5:10 In the Deep A.M

The thoughts that occupy my mind these days are mainly on seeds, growing, transplanting and mowing.  There seems to be little to no time for any sort of non-productive recreation, the time to plant is now and seedlings- much like infants, demand full care and attention.  Thankfully, I arise very early.  My coffee break begins then around 5:10 in the deep A.M, just as the sun peeks over the Pocomoonshine knoll.  I travel to a spot in the yard where I might sit in the finest first sunspot, out by the chicken coop- near the Wysteria yet nearer to the Oak tree.  It is so early that the owl in the west woods still calls and the chickens barely whisper as they must hear too, an early warning of mealtime talk from a great predator’s beak to her babes-

“We are not only nocturnal, little ones.  In this first luster of light, many new and bright young things wander out into the sunrise glow and welcome the new day with songs that announce their position.  Breakfast time chicks, I’ll be back soon…”

The old hens stay put, but the young carefree rooster flies up to crow on a fence post…just like his brothers did and I can’t help but wonder if he wonders where did they go?  One morning, they were here too- the next, POOF- out of the thin air something plucked them up in mid-crow.  This farm does not much need a rooster so if he crows and goes,  I’ll heed to nature’s way and not make a big deal out of it. Although that fine cocksure Bantam is sure a welcome sight with his glistening black long tail feathers and white though dappled plumage.  Truly, I would hate to seem him go but what can you do when there are hungry babies in the woods with a sharp-eyed mama owl always on the prowl, vigilantly feeding her young?

Sip my coffee, listen to the birds- breathe deep and long and never shallow for the work of the day waits patiently as a keen eyed owl and can overwhelm just as quick as her swooping nature- one must be fit mentally, physically and perhaps most importantly to this wide eyed grower- spiritually attuned here by this light, this new day sun to take in each grateful breath and exhale just as thankfully for the opportunity to work with the earth. 

I am one year older- true, but my back is stronger and holds up better or perhaps I move slower and surer- maybe it’s the fluid way I work into the day, no longer rushing head on in but first, adjusting my heart to the love of the doing.  Every day I wonder still…and am filled with just being.

 Here…now.

Take care-

Pay Dearly

we already are

"It is what it is"

I have been keeping a running journal, farm news, poetry and pictorial life essay going for three years.  There were times I'd just as soon every one would quit looking at me, through me or even to me and then there were times when I found through the keyboard- a clarity that I would have never stopped to reflect upon had I not tapped it out.
Two hundred and seventy four times I have come on here and laid bare a story.  Does it matter to the universe that I do this, write a blog?
  Yes, in a way I think it does.  There have been times when my heart went out to you, when it reached out in order that someone might say- "there there now..."  When it beat excitedly with news about leaves or sprouts, sunrises- moons, mice and men, children and dogs...   Sometimes my heart was breaking, could you hear that too?  True calling is nothing but a toll, a ringing...it has made a difference to me in that as I was changing, growing- hell, going to seed!  I chimed in...that's all.  This blog is the clear sound of my own music, the thing I was made to play.  I'm a little off key at times, a little flat, sometimes shrill- still it is my song you are hearing, the chord I was meant to strike as only I could.
See...I think that we all have a note to play, a chord that can be struck or strummed by no one else but us.  When we become that instrument, it is only then that we can truly sense the true rhythm of this world, of each other, of every thing.
But what do I know really?  I'm just a hayseed, and truly- I'm quite happy simply being a part of it all.  I'm glad I have my place here, though I would definitely share it if someone had the need to join the chorus...when you get right down to it, we all do have that need.   To be a part of it.   Thing is- we already are.  But we all too often silence our own joy, our own belonging when we silence our stories, our songs, our parts...

Just my two cents, thanks for listening.

Take care-


(Two hundred and seventy four dollars will be distributed to my son, his father and a local charity in honor of the anniversary of True Calling.)