I’m sitting in a renovated chicken coup in upstate New York about 30 minutes away from the spot where a friend was memorialized earlier this week and about 45 minutes away from where we gathered to do the same for another friend just three weeks ago. The first was a middle aged mother of three taken too soon. The later, an 84 year mother and grandmother taken just in time. I am nearing middle age sitting alone in a check coop feeling very much alive.
Surrounded by the sounds of birds, insects, ducks and pony’s just outside the door and the occasional field mouse scattering up or down the chicken wire in the center of the coup, as if to give me a little jolt, I can’t help but celebrate the life that is all around us. The sky is the bluest of blues and the clouds thick pillows of white with dark heavy bottoms that remind us that things can change in an instant. Whether it be in the coup, on a hammock, or hidden away in a tiny room somewhere, here, new life is breathed into one’s senses reminding me how fortunate I am to be here, alive and able to use this environment to fuel my creativity.
I came here to work on a play that my collaborator and I have been developing for some time. I love the characters in our story so very much and am proud to have created them. I feel humbled that he and I are working so ferociously to challenge a world that is actively infringing on the very same beauties that I am on this farm taking inspiration from. I am intimidated by own voice just enough that when it comes out, it is often unpredictably a whisper or a scream, but when I write all intimidation falls away.
The beautiful women who have come before me and have recently been laid to rest were both artists, writer’s, gardner’s, stewards and so many things that I hope to be. So in honor of Marlene Linz and Allelu Kurten, I find myself here upon Ryder Farm, ever so quietly, writing out loud.