My name is Anne (“Farmer Anne”). My custom of writing stories, personal essays, if you will, about life on the farm must entirely be given credit to Mr. Newman Goat, a most remarkable muse.
Mr. Newman arrived at this farm not a month after I did, in 2002. He began, with one hard lesson after another, to show me just how much of a city slicker I was. Suffering bruising, humiliation, and hair-pulling frustrations, this hard-headed woman finally comprehended that she was no longer in Kansas. Or Washington, DC. Fences busted, back porch annihilated, gardens eaten, trucks broken into: Mr. Newman tested my grit. Without his help, I would never have come face to face with the weak image of myself and would have not stuck with it – and crafted the farm that is, today, Star Gazing Farm.
Writing was my only escape. And my only revenge. So there you go.
