Witness to Withness

The Farm the oasis in the desert

The Farm:

          This was one of the places that our family gravitated to so that makes it important part of the narrative. My mother’s parents found a place in Canaan New Hampshire and decided that it would make a perfect family retreat. At one time it had been a farm, but had since been retired due to the lack of need for a farm in the area. All persons concerned were to pay for a portion of what it would cost to keep the family connected.
          The farm, as it was called was in an idyllic location. You could look out at the mountains from the front window as you awoke. There was a lot of land from which all concerned could explore. In the back were the woods. The woods went on for miles. The well that became the source for water was in the back. Over time the place was modernized. In the beginnings we were all familiar with the two seated outhouse.
          This place was the Camelot from which all family adventures began. The farm was the place where we all gathered for family, fun and adventure. Many days were spent catching frogs, grasshoppers and fireflies. In the morning Papa would take us fishing for trout. Many times we caught our limit and ate the fruits of our labor. Nearby were some tennis courts at a private Mt. Cardigan school. On occasion we would get permission to use their indoor courts and Dartmouth college clay courts were not far away. There was swimming, boating and many nearby venues to visit. It was the closest place that any of us knew to heaven on earth. We often referred to the place as God’s country. It was the place where we courted our wives and as often as was possible brought our wives.
         In the seventies a lot was in the throes of change. Neither my mother or Uncle could any longer afford to help defer the costs of the farm. My Uncle had gone through a painful divorce and was headed out to Virginia where his new wife was stationed. My mom and dad were getting ready for their seventh child and funds were scarce. We went, but the rule was different. Nana and Papa became the new rulers and they expected everyone to behave, which was becoming more difficult as they grew older. Events were changing the way family perceived the world. Kurt had been the first casualty. He grew up in a world in which he was favored by his grandparents. Kurt was into sports, very extroverted and laid back. He would never hurt a fly. It was in 1971 that he was diagnosed with schizophrenia. This was very unsettling. Life somehow had become less idyllic. The emphasis went from lets have fun to how do we make somebody we see as sick get better.
          Another one of my other brothers was being affected by dyslexia and was hospitalized for a while. He came to the farm looking for healing and wholeness. At one point we all remember how much he wanted to hit a baseball. He prayed with my grandmother and sure enough he went after and hit the baseball. As all this was going on I was fighting to maintain an intellectual edge. I read books in near dark in a covey next to where our sleeping quarters were. I was the odd one in those days, because of my obsession with books. It was at the farm that my religious interest was honed. One of the stories I would later share was about how I was lost deep in the woods and cried out for mom and dad and then to God. I came out into a clearing soon after I heard the sounds of civilization in the distance. I was enraptured with joy. I was lost and found and yet my internal world was the only place that could contain the truth. I began a process of gravitating toward being blessed to wondering if God loved me at all. It was hard to understand this without someone alongside. For whatever reason it did not happen until after I was well into high school. I lived in this strange place of trying to understand why? Mom would call us to times of prayer. I would develop a ritualistic private prayer time of my own. I was convinced that God had something special for me to do. Unfortunately I was not finding anyone to share this idealistic vision with. I was on an island looking for truth. It was not long before the vision of a spiritual “Camelot” experienced at the farm was deep inside me waiting for someone to share my spiritual experiences with. This was one of those places that gave me hope in the midst of my wilderness wanderings, wherever they would lead me.