Suspended Animation

Our first haying time is in late May before it gets too hot and humid, as it is now.

I have been reconsidering my relationship with the computer of late. It is a necessary tool for me and I can't imagine writing without it. (Although this is entirely possible, even if I do not want to return to the thought of banging out articles, double-spaced with liquid corrector, as I did with college papers on my electric Olympia. My father had given me this as a high school graduation gift, thirty years ago this month, in fact.) However, I've been wired on the internet for about 13 years now, have blogged for five, and Facebooked for one. I have countless emails that I have sent and received--less prolific than I used to be so that is a start. I have withdrawn from Facebook somewhat, with occasional check-ins, and I refuse to Twitter. So there's all of that. I text occasionally, always to my daughter, on a very primitive off-the-shelf basic version of my basic Verizon cell phone plan (which I'm also reconsidering).

What has been designed to be an effective modern tool, even time-saving, is actually a modern day Prometheus or an incubus in Mac's clothing. Either way, I have been sucked into this world and not always effective in my own real time. So I'm reevaluating how technology and the ability to reach anyone, or find almost anything, with my finger tips is actually not necessarily a good thing for me right now. I have enjoyed blogging but for the past few months the idea of it has felt like a chore. I continue to photograph my world, often with the idea of "oh, I should blog this..." and then I never do.

The view of our farm from the edge of the knob field where we placed some of the hay from our first cutting this year. Our new hay shed looms over Ida's old farmhouse that we intend to renovate to live in when we can. For now it is a place for summer meals, guests and a makeshift writing studio, sans internet.

Summer here is a busy time: haying about once a month for several days, lots of meals and ferrying of picnics, our boys home from school, canning and preserving what I can get locally or am growing in the garden. So there's that.

So I've decided to just take the pressure off for a time. I still have books available and will respond to any orders that come in. I might still blog on occasion in the next few months but no promises. I appreciate everyone who reads and follows my blog and hope you will continue to check in on occasion. I welcome you to join me on Facebook [under "Catherine Seiberling Pond"] where I will also be popping in on occasion [mmm, maybe Facebook and its necessary brevity has made me less of a blogger?].

I do follow other blogs but not as much as I might like to do: I suppose I could find a reason to be on the internet all day if I wanted to. Here is a recent blog called "Nothingness" written by Susan Orlean, a staff writer at The New Yorker among other accomplishments (author of The Orchid Thief for one) who, lucky duck, has a summer fellowship at the MacDowell Colony in New Hampshire, amidst my old stomping grounds. She is musing about the same thing, more or less, as she is without WiFi by design and circumstance. As artist and writer's colonies were designed for escape from the everyday so that their colonists can write, compose and create unhindered (think summer camp with endless free time and great meals and lunches delivered quietly in a basket to your studio), the internet and social media have presented a modern problem there, too.

So here is to "Nothingness" for a time and to making choices that can provide everything.