Howard Hall Farm Blog

Visit From A Morning Prophet

Click on the album below to meet my strange visitor.

This morning, I was greeted by an unusual guest. I sat down at my computer at Howard Hall Farm, and perched on top of it was an enormous Praying Mantis. She stared at me calmly and followed me with her eyes. The magnificent creature was inches away from my face, and longer than my hand. She looked around at the scenery. The way she moved was stunning and sinuous. She held her forelegs delicately, and moved them with the grace of a Flamenco dancer. When I sang to her, she moved the top of her body and swayed, arching and lowering her back. Her antennae balanced on a gust of wind. She was very aware of all of my movements, as I was of hers. ... following me with her large amber eyes. She showed me her underside. It was a stunning synchronicity of delicately monochromatic corals and reds, with iridescent copper filaments. We looked at each other. I was awed by the acuity of her awareness. We watched and tilted our heads together. I couldn't help but speak to her. She was like a fairy. When a mantis is threatened, it spreads its forelegs to allow penetration of the victim, fanning its legs and opening its mouth...hissing... This mantis did not do that. She danced: turning, swaying, and writhing. For twenty minutes this went on. Silences and sways. Communication. We shared one last gaze, then she flew over my head and away. Mantis means prophet in Greek.

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In other news, " WHY would some people willingly spend decades — and hundreds of thousands of dollars — renovating houses they will never own? " From By EVE M. KAHN, New York Times.

Labels: adventures, green motivation, howard hall farm, mantis, praying, prophet, visit

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Yesterday, we received a call telling us that our moldings were ready to be picked up. I had spoken to the man making them on the phone before, and even as no more than a voice, his Scottish accent and incredible kindness struck me. He had a familial quality to him that I think would touch anyone who read fairy tales as a child. His voice was woodsy and ancient but posessed a timeless jovial quality. Reggie had been telling me how amazing Ron is in person, but I couldn't have understood it without seeing him in real life.

I got in the truck with Reggie and Blossom (Reggie's little Jack Russel), and we drove for a long time, going deep into the forest to find Ron's workshop and pick up the beautiful moldings he made with his hands. The woods were straight out of a Celtic fairy tale, with a carving of the Greenman gaurding it, and a foreboding sign hung along the winding path:

"ANYONE FOUND HERE AT NIGHT WILL BE FOUND HERE IN THE MORNING"

The road wound and dipped and threw its pools of rainwater against the truck, licking at the cavities of the rolled down windows.

When we arrived at his clearing, Reggie introduced me to Ron, who is truly a man straight out of a legend and charming as hell. He grew up in Aberdeen, and his father was a game-keeper, and somehow, he ended up here, protecting this little patch of forest.

He let us into his workshop, all filled up with sawdust from making Celtic knot staircases and wooden puzzles (he designed one for every day of the year, and as little girls, his daughters used to miraculously solve them all), and our new moldings.

The workshop was filled with all sorts of curious things... cupric tints covered the tools, and there were sharp objects at every turn and lathe...devices that nick and sand....

He loaded the moldings onto our truck, and called me Lass, while refusing to make me help with the lifting, and was very kind to us all...I saw an antler hiding under the wood-scraps at the top of a shelf. They peeked out like an omen. Clean materials were all mixed in with the ancient looking tools and their teeth, and the smell of sawdust was so pervasive and refreshing that it became a personality of its own...

Ron's blades looked like a brainwave map, all in flux and tidy rows... Everywhere, were lurking teeth. Old world meets new, legend and life snuggling comfortably in their little patch of forest. The dust from all his projects created a fine film on the windows, and the way it filtered light and murk gave you the feeling you were looking through portals to a magical forest you couldn't enter.The forest in his window seemed older than the one outside his door. It was an altered place.

Ron showed Reggie pictures of the most beautiful Celtic stairwell....he built the thing with his mythic hands. It was a masterpiece. I don't care what logic says. In my memory, Ron was eight feet tall and lives in a magical forest where strange things happen, and animals seem to take on new power....

When we left, Blossom sat on Reggie's lap, and became fascinated with the road. She seemed particularly affected by the woods and the whimsical realm we were leaving behind. And then something strange came over her... she put her front paws on the wheel of the truck and began to 'drive'... It wore off as we left the woods... but for a while Blossom got to feel like a person.

We passed many old roads with names like "Gypsy Point" for a mile or so before returning home with our amazing new moldings, visions of Rob's world, and the scent of the forest in our clothes....