For the mothers...

Gallery Event

I'm participating in a group show at Mary Lou Zeek Gallery in Salem. The show promotes biking as an alternative form of transportation, as well as a way to see nature, get out and exercise, and just enjoy the qualities of biking. The opening is Wednesday, May 7th.

My piece is called "Bird Bike" and can be purchased through the gallery. I bought a bike back in Minneapolis and named her Bella, as she was taking me places of beauty I wouldn't have seen without a bike. One is as close to flying while on a bike I think.

Bella has been hanging, dust and cobweb covered, in the barn for 4 years. I'm going to clean her up and take her out again. Maybe get a basket and deliver eggs on occasion. It would do me good, and I think she deserves to full fill her purpose again - to help me fly.

Yes

Ladies and Gentleman, presenting...

There is a crow that lives near our farm. I see him flying from the place in the sky where the main county road touches the horizon line - if you're standing in the right spot on our land. He seems to canvas the area and then always retreats to the area where he begins his circling maneuvers. I now realize that his purpose is to guide particular cats to our farm. The conversation between crow and cat can not be relayed to my readers here in typed words, as the computer wizards have not found a way to make symbols that represent the animal language - and I doubt they are anxiously trying.

So I can only assume what the human translation might be - "You, cat, who just got thrown from the car - over here. Come this way. Up that hill. Watch the curve, log trucks. Inside dogs. Don't be afraid of the small goat like creature - strange but harmless. Head for red barn in the back. Wait for sing song woman sounds. She's the one you want."

And so, this giant, beautiful, regal creature has walked onto the farm. By the way he presented himself to me, I could tell immediately he had at one time worked in the theater, and not on a small scale. He also had been loved, and within literally 2 minutes, he was in my arms. He looked a bit thin yesterday when I fist saw him. But after 3 meals looks better. His wounds are minimal, a few scratches, a small hole that is healing. He is definitely part Siamese, as he cries out as only one of that kind can.

As theatrical and noble as he is, this cat was humbled from whatever journey he had just been on. The back woods is one riveting sound after another in the night time - and the sensitivity of the feline ear, together with his sense of smell, must be exhausting for this fellow, who probably sat on a pillow most of his life earning lines for his next off-off-Broadway play. Normally, when a new cat arrives, I let it be for some time. They come to me on their terms. I feed them, waiting at least two weeks of feeding them before I attempt a tramping to spay/neuter them. As he clung to my shoulders, humming, I swear I heard him thinking,"Go ahead, take my manly pearls off, I don't need them and I'll do anything, anything if you just don't send me back to the outback." His name is not apparant yet, as we humans must wait to allow the cat's true name to come properly to the surface. This can take weeks, sometimes months.

Excited to get to the barn this morning, I was disappointed the new theater cat was not waiting for me in the hay bales. I was sure I had expressed my intentions properly and clearly. As I was almost done cleaning the sheep stall, I heard him calling from the outback. He was standing at the edge, with just two front paws into the small paddock, in the same spot I found him in yesterday. A friend mused he might have been a gift from above - this morning I remembered my father had a Siamese when he met my mother. He had to give the cat away shortly after that.

All I know is, I've known him one day, and he is a significant part of the farm.

I didn't steal him...yet

One of the good things about our farm is that it is 2 miles down the road from another farm where many lovely donkeys live. One of the BAD things about our farm is that it is 2 miles down the road from another farm where many lovely donkeys live.

This young fellow was born to Gabriella and Angelo, parents to my beloved Pino Blangifroti and Lucia. He is as charming as any small ass can be. And at this tender age [4 days] his hair is as soft as a bunny. And he leaps, and jumps, like a bunny. Which makes the entire package very sweet, like a ...bunny.

If you've been visiting here awhile, you might remember my moral crisis when I first met a then baby Lucia. Since that writing, I of course put stealing Lucia aside, and bought her. It was the best thing I ever did with my money, besides bringing the first two donkeys home [even grumpy Paco adds a certain twist to the barnyard that I cherish]. I don't know where this whole donkey life is headed, but I'm holding on and enjoying the ride.

The weather is warming. My focus is scattered, like the seeds I haven't planted yet.
I think the death of a parent takes a lot of creative energy away - or perhaps it's that the death of a parent allows the artist to rest that creative energy for outward purposes, and use the energy to plant new seeds internally in the worn heart. From that will come a summer harvest. I am not a faucet. Nor is it my purpose to create and create only for external showcases.

I will go to the barn now and see if the new beautiful silver tomcat is back - a definite dumped pet, a real beauty, who cried all morning in the woods, and then suddenly rushed to me and let me hold him and carry him back to the barn. He was very hungry. He told me of his journey - it was shocking, he said, to have been left at the road. He didn't understand it.

Yin Yang

"....God is in the roses, and the thorns..."

R.Cash

More wind visits

I just finished this piece "Spring Winds" and am wanting to just sit 'within' the painting. But then again, I already live within this painting. How graced I am for that - even on the rougher days of life. When rough days have so much good, I can't complain.

Available now at the store site.

If look closely, you will see donkey ears. But of course.

The thread of order

One moves to the farm for the first time and makes many mistakes - especially animal lovers like me who have waited years, decades, to get that first farm and fill it up with animals. It is easy to have things grow into complete chaos - even when the new farmers are well intentioned and compassionate people. I've seen it happen, and I've certainly made many errors in judgement, but fortuantely, as I continued to learn, and watch others and learn from their successes and failures, I've managed to maintain a peaceful barnyard, and a healthy one [knock on wood].

I learned the first year that those cute little ram lambs grow into large testicled beings with one job - to breed. If they aren't breeding, it is not wise to have them. We also quickly learned the value of cross-fencing. I think cross pastures have kept our animals healthy and have given me more options on a daily basis for animal management. We are slowly increasing our fenced pastures. It is expensive, and if I had money, I'd do it all at once. But we chip away at it - just this weekend we added another 1/2 acre to the existing area where we put our meat lambs when they've reached that 'I can jump on you missy and make a baby' stage. I know I live on a farm because the one thing I notice most when I drive anywhere out here is...fencing. Good fencing makes me drool with envy. Bad fencing makes me feel like running up to the farm's front door, and say, 'It's ok, I know you're doing your best...want to come over and have some pie?"

I sometimes feel like I am doing everything 'not as good as I should be', - or maybe another way to say it is, I sometimes feel like, "Phew, I did everything well enough today so that no one died, including me." It's a constant learning curve, and a constant shuffling of creatures to keep a nice balance. We had thought about growing our flock up to 50, we have the land, but after getting some lambing seasons under my belt, I feel like the number we have is a good balance for now. And we can't afford the cross fencing right now.The main flock of 10 grows up to 20 with lambing, and then I whittle it down to 10 or so again by fall through sheep sales and butcher dates. Any more sheep and I think I would be doing everyone a disservice - me, my art, the sheep, my husband, and all the other animals I love to spend time with. I know that my mistakes can adversely affect these creatures. Perhaps there is a special place in the after world for farmers to go and meet up with the creatures they have mistakenly damaged, just to apologize again. For when a farmer hurts an animal without intending too, a little needle becomes wedged in his heart - it doesn't feel good.

When I'm in the barnyard, I can breathe in and relax that in that very moment there is a thread of order keeping it from chaos. I've learned many things - like the language of many animals. This picture is a visual representation of how Paco says, "Excuse me, please, could you stop what you are doing immediately and rub that one spot on my rear end that feels so good? I'd really appreciate it."

When roosters come to mind

I sat down to paint. 50% of the time, I don't know what I'll paint. Then as I start, something inside squeaks, urges, cajoles - and out comes...a rooster. A very dignified rooster. With deep meaning of course.

It made me want to paint all the animals in this folk style. Paint, sell it, say good-bye. Paint more, sell it, say good-bye. This piece has asked me if it may stay for awhile, in this home, where it was created. It seems to want to be with me.

I will hang it in the butter yellow kitchen.