Apifera Farm - where art, story, animals & woman merge. Home to artist Katherine Dunn

Apifera Farm is a registered 501 [c][3]. #EIN# 82-2236486

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©Katherine Dunn.

Thursday, December 03, 2015

When you tell Oregonians you're moving to Maine

Today's fog fit us all like a glove, it seemed.

It's funny what happens when you tell people you are moving, especially when you are moving from Oregon to Maine. As one person I work with here said to me,

"Well, we could grasp it more easily if you were going to Montana, or Florida."


I'm finding it's very similar to when you had in your resignation at a company, which I have done several times in my life–at an ad agency in NYC, an architectural firm and a graphic design firm in Minneapolis–that when you give your resignation, people who were once allies quietly begin detaching themselves from you-for a whole variety of reasons. I feel that now. People are detaching, and I am detaching too, and it leaves my feet not feeling firmly planted.

I've been focusing so much on feeling for my wings in the past months and helping all of us here find our wings so we might have a softer landing once we leave the West, that I have forgotten about my feet, which need to get grounded again. There are many details to the move, and to be honest, it's pretty much up to me to make it happen. It's not that Martyn isn't helpful, but he has a full 12 hour day of landscaping, so it is up to me-and to be honest, it is for the better. Martyn's plan of attack to moving an entire farm coast to coast is

"I'm waiting until this place sells first."

Now there's a plan. We'll just figure it all out in a panic-hauling, logistics, places to live...

I admit it, I am a bit...distracted. But all is well. It will be fine. It will. Really.

When you make a bold decision, a life changing decision, other people react with their own set of issues. There has been the "How could you leave that property, it's your dream?"

Actually it is-but that person works in the city and has always wanted what I have here, and she doesn't seem to be making any efforts to get what I have so part of here dream lives through me. I don't care, but that happens all the time-people choose their dream keepers through blogs and online sources. Dreams evolve, they expand-if you let them. I for one know that no land or following can hold back my path, or Martyn's and my path.

Apifera will change in Maine. It has too. I want it too. That is part of the puzzle now-how will Apifera change? I don't have all the answers for that, but I do know the essence of Apifera will always be about sharing story, loving animals in my chosen way and bringing healing to people through art and nature. As one wise woman said to me, encouraging me,

"Your work has always been about relationship, and that will continue."

I've said a lot of goodbyes on this land. I think it needs a rest, as do I. The Misfits will be coming with us, but what new Misfits arrive at Apifera East is also part of the puzzle. I will always be attracted to misfits, and as importantly I draw them to me with my intention. I'm excited to see what the new Apifera will look like.

When we moved here in 2004, the place hadn't formed yet. I managed to create a perfect blend of a life-art, land and animal. But it took time for what people might know as Apifera today to form, and it has never stopped forming. You can see that if you have a week to kill and start reading the blog from the start.

I remember our first night here. We had a horrible moving experience, and the moving van couldn't make it around the culverts, and all our belongings were on the truck-dog food, tooth brushes, clothes, bedding, pillows. They had to leave us with nothing, except ourselves, and a blind terrier and pug. We went and bought a sleeping bag, some crappy wine and beer, and two pillows. We slept on the living room floor that night. I remember how discombobulated I was. We had left our adorable little vintage bungalows for a house in ill shape. I lay on the ground that night near tears.

What had we done? I thought.

In the morning, Martyn and I awoke with the dogs, and our backs were sore and we creaked our way to standing up. We had slept in our same clothes. And Martyn said boldly, with humor,

"I feel like a million bucks!"

I know we might have some bumpy moments, but it's going to be fine. So many stories to come, and many more million dollar moments. I hung a prayer flag last night for a man having some scary health concerns. The Little Prayer Flag Tree continues to carries messages of love and hop out through the breeze. I'll hang one for us too.