Carriage Hill Farm

 

There is one in every flock that I have been a part of. The black sheep. The one that is the bad boy. The flaunter of rules. The one that walks their own road. In nature, the black sheep is the result of a genetic mutation. In our own species, they seem to be the result of the nurture verses nature conundrum.

All that I know is that I have always in some way admired the black sheep for their ability to be true to themselves. Assuming they don't break laws or hurt others, I am just fine with black sheep. As a matter of fact, I think I married a black sheep. I'll have to give that one some more thought. Hmmm… I think I'll just ask.

Me: Jodi, are you a black sheep?

Jodi: Babe, I am anything you want me to be. Are you going to hand me my coke or just stand there?

Me: If you are not a black sheep, then what are you?

Jodi: Pretty.

 

 

This past weekend, I had the chance to speak at length with a remarkable woman named Elizabeth, a volunteer at Carriage Hill Farm. I want to say young girl or young lady, but Elizabeth showed such poise, intelligence, and maturity that I found her age to be completely immaterial. I think my mother would say that Elizabeth seemed to have an "old soul". Still, there is no denying her youth.  

As I get older, I am sometimes presented with "opportunities" to feel my age. When in the presence of young adults, in their physical prime, full of hopes, plans, and wide open potential, the difference in age between us is difficult to ignore.

 

 

Don't think that I look at these remarkable young people with envy. I can remember the tough choices, and challenges that life inevitably throws in the way of each of us. They will change as life molds them. Sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. Some will be blown about, struggling to find a path forward while others will stick to their goals with tenacity.

So, I take these "opportunities" as they present themselves. Invariably, I think about my own life. The choices that I made. The times I was blown about and the times that I forged my own path. I like the person that I have become. I like the happiness that I enjoy. The home that is filled with laughter. My family. My friends. My wonderful wife.

In many ways, I am more creative than ever. I am comfortable in my own skin. Something that I never experienced when I was young. Middle age seems to have a lot of advantages of its own. Yes my joints sometimes ache and my feet pop when I get up in the morning, but those are small complaints.

Maybe, there is such a thing as "flush of life". And just maybe, there is no age limit to the flush of life.

 

I was working on this image over the weekend and thinking about the poor folks in New England that were hammered by the recent blizzard.

Our snow is now  a memory, as the thermometer climbs this week to the lower 40s. And as you can see form the photo, it was measured in a few inches and not in the feet enjoyed by the north east. For my good friends buried under all that whiteness, I'll be thinking of you this week. Thinking of all that shoveling and slushy roads, and general miserableness that comes withe lots of snow. I'll be thinking about you while I walk around with just a sweater or vest. I'll be thinking about how much I love Ohio and Ohio's lack of snow.