Blossom the elephant and her ears

Blossom is an optimist. She truly believes her ears are like wings and can help her fly. She wants to find her cousins and her mother. I hope this can happen.

Piglet named Rosie

A piglet named Rosie is ready for adoption here

I never knew Rosie as a piglet. I would have loved that though. There was much wondering what in the world made her so grumpy. Some of my old vets said they found most Pot Bellied Pigs disagreeable. My Kunekune pigs are the sweetest, all with unique personalities, but none are grumpy.

Rosie started her piglet life in a house, with an elderly woman in southern Oregon. The story is that she had her own bed and room and was pampered. When the woman died, Rosie ended up at a shelter and then was sent to live at Sanctuary One. There, she began her reign as a very grumpy pig. And that is where a very crippled goat named Stevie became her only friend, or only animal that would tolerate her grumpiness. Eventually, they both came to live at Apifera in Oregon. After about a year or two, Rosie began sleeping away from Stevie, and eventually, she was independent of the entire barnyard, after she told me clearly she liked living in Old Barn, on her own-although she had the company of sheep and donkeys and an occasional rooster walking by her suite.

In Maine, Rosie has taken a slightly less grumpy posture on life. I said, slightly. She is still grumpy. But after a few months here, and after her permanant suite was prepared for her with her own private outside yard, she began to lighten. And she began to greet me at the gate for breakfast-that was unheard of. Now that the air is getting cold, I find her in her suite at dusk, in straw, but I take time to gather more for her and cover her entirely. She grunts and snorts with,

What are you doing? Oh, fine, hurry up then, I'm sleeping.

It amuses me and makes me feel good to cover her like that-like an old lady unable to fully undress and redresss for bed, but she is very happy once I do it for her.

So I wonder what the little Rosie was like as a piglet? I can tell you that she must have had moments of pure innocence, and quieter, happy grunts. Either way, if you adopt this creature doll, she will require her own suite. And a blanket.

We three crones- a successful workshop

The Emerging Crone Workshop was a wonderful day for us all. We had a very intimate day, a quiet day with perfect weather, and the group was small due to some last minute emergency type cancels. At first I was bummed about that thinking the other attendees might feel let down, but I knew from experience that things usually happen for a reason, and that was the case yesterday.

Because of the small size the gathered crones were able to really share some intimate details of their lives, and it turned out, they had a shared experience of one being an adoptive mother, and another being a mother that gave her child up for adoption years ago. This shared experience allowed them to really help each other with their wisdoms in ways that never would have happened had it ben a bigger group. I felt like a conduit for them! It was really special-and we also just had wonderful conversation about family, death, aging, life....moving, changing, and finding sense of place and the importance of that.

And we sewed dolls. And laughed. One of the guests had a dream the night before about prickly throne turning to wings, so she brought rose stems and feathers for her doll. I loved that.

And as usual the backdrop of farm and Misfits was soothing and the weather could not have been better. Birdie the llama was a hit with guests, the flock was admired by the knitter in the group, and Rosie the pig was...well not that grumpy! People really love seeing the donkeys, Boone and all the other creatures in the real, after reading about them on the blog for a long time. I have to remind myself, this life is a storybook for many, including me-it's just I live within it, others get to jump on the pages from time to time and experience it.

I learned a lot too since this was the first small gathering here. I have logistics to work on, that is true of any event no matter how big. I remember that after each Pino Pie Day in Oregon I learned something to make it better the next year. That will happen here.

I also got got grounding from my guests, and it brought even closer to the realization...all is well, all is as it should be now, I am where I need to be now, all is well, all is well.

More emerging

I worked all afternoon on the doll I posted a day ago. As you can see, she evolved. Like an attempt, there was struggle involved. I layered and layered her face, with scraps. As I worked I thought,

Oh, so this is how it is going to be, she is made of pieces all put together, but still is whole.

As the day went on, I reworked the eyes and mouth a million times. As I added more layering, I realized her eyes had become wings. I like that. I felt the young soul in this doll, is part of my emerging crone self. She reminded me yesterday she is still here, still whole, although bits that might have felt loose or scattered are being sewn back in, to stay.

And her eyes see and create, and expand-like any functioning wings.

It is my time to recreate myself once again.

{Visit the workshop blog to read about the September 17th doll making day here at Apifera}

Emerging Crones

There is still plenty of time to sign up for the workshop. I am keeping enrollment open until the 15th. Today I started creating some forms just to loosen up and get ready for the class. I plan to have some beginning forms for students so they aren't intimidated by the blank slate.

The class explores our intuitive natures, strengths, wisdoms -through communing and doll making. There is no sewing experience necessary.

Read more at the workshop blog.

The Crone Cabinet

The Crone Cabinet-including a doll from Ireland my mother gave me when I was five.

There's an old cupboard in the house that I have named The Crone Cabinet. As I am now entering my emerging crone years, I have placed some things in the cabinet that remind me of the years ahead, and what will be important to me as I age. Animals, of course, warm cloaks of felt, baskets of flowers...a donkey I certainly hope, as Pino and the gang are only 1/3 of the way through their life. I hope I am in a position to have them with me. I try not to dwell on the future, but I hope there are animals for me.

The upcoming workshop in September is all about us emerging crones, how we are growing in strength...deep inside our bones so to speak. I hope to encourage a communal day where we share story, offer optimism to the pessimists, or peace to those who need healing...little wisdoms exchanged over needle and thread as we make our crone dolls, and surrounded with the animals of Apifera.

And I am SO EXCITED that I will have some fiber of one of Apifera's recent additions–one of the new CVM Romeldale sheep. It is fitting that her fiber will be available for the workshop attendees, as she is the elder matriarch of the flock. Her name is Annah Assumpta which is also fitting as "Assumpta" her birth name means one who is ambitious, independent and not easily influenced, with courage and boldness. Not only does this suit her personality, it certainly holds true of the wisdom of the crone. Her face just exudes strength to me.

I have adjusted the price a bit for the workshop. People who needed to travel far way have a lot to pay for, so I adjusted it downward a tad to help. August is never a time for me to get people too motivated, but I really think this is going to be an inspirational and healing workshop. I plan to start some doll work next week to get people excited about doll making– remember, you don't need to be an artist or sewer to enjoy this class, it is hand sewing and intuitive doll making. I will have forms started so people don't feel lost.

That's love

Just another visit from some of the many creatures that pop into my world, with story.

When those we love return

In which an old goat, and my father return to me out of thread and cloth.

I sat down recently to work on a new creature. I had it in my mind to make a llama doll in honor of Aldo. I worked for a couple of hours and it became very clear that Aldo was not with me that day, but someone else was. It was so good to see Old Man Guinnias again. Just like I imagine him at times, out for a morning walk in the cool air.

I also recognized that my father was with him too. Hence, he is attired in fine fabrics including a hodgepodge scarf made of fine linens-all from my parent's collection. Those yellow linen napkins were ones we used at many dinner celebrations since I was very young. I made a quilt out of some for my home, but now am using them as I feel the urge in other items.

I felt very calm working on my doll, I always do. And the creature that presented itself to me was the creature I needed to see. Perhaps my father too was saying,

"Hey, what about me, I'm here too, don't forget me."

This is something my father might think, whereas my mother would not. My father never really understood how much I loved him, how much I wanted him to be happy in his post retirement, and how much I admired his talent as an artist, draftsman, engineer and architect. I remember sitting on the couch with him, months before he would die, and we were talking about drawing. I told him he was such a good draftsman and could draw anything [which he could].

"Really, you think that?" he asked.

What in the world had I not said enough that he would still, at age eighty three, think I didn't believe that. i know I'd said it over and over. Perhaps he wasn't listening. Or, perhaps he was just as unsure of his abilities as I am sometimes. We had a good relationship, I'm so grateful for that. We had our complications like any father-daughter, but we had much in common which can sometimes conflict with peace.

The older I get, the more I understand the man. I talk to him all the time, but in a very simple way.

I'll be struggling with some of my own insecurities that might bring out a reaction in myself that I don't like, and I think of him and something he might have done or words he might have chosen under stress that were hurtful, and I just quietly say to him,

"I understand."

A friend once said that everyone is damaged, but some people are more damaged than others.

I thought that was a really powerful way to look at others, and ourselves. I am blessed to have had a good childhood, not with perfect parents, but ones who never scared me, belittled me or bullied me. I liked them. I got to have them around in my adult years too and that can add a lot of understanding to the child-parent dynamic. You think you have it all together at thirty? Get to forty. You think you really added some wisdom and grounding in your forties? Travel on into the fifties. My parents shared many lessons, thoughts, fears and stories as they grew into their eighties. I know for a fact, if I make it to eighty, I will think of them at times as I'm putting one foot in front of the other, and say,

"I understand."

The story of Fiorella

Fiorella is 105 years old. She spent her life, from birth, in a small travelling circus in Romania. She is quick to point out she had a good life there, and liked the long walks between towns with her mother and other family.

Her mother was a prized performer for the small circus, but not like you might imagine. Her gift was her ability to calm the restless. Each town that they came on, her mother could soothe a crying baby, help an elder feel less stiff, and keep young children from stealing candy. And she did it all by standing still. Fiorella learned early on that patience and calm could bring about good things.

But all mothers age and Fiorella's was no different. She lived to be 125 years old so mother and daughter had a long life together. After her mother died, Fiorella began spending more time with one of the costume designers of the circus. His name was Paulo and he loved to sew. He told her stories of her mother's youth to keep her spirits up. He would sew all sorts of things for the circus, like velvet drapes for the stage and outfits for the clowns. One day he was measuring drapes for a set and he asked Fiorella if she'd mind if he draped them on her large body, so he could hem them without bending over–after all, he was sixty and had worked his entire life bending and reaching to sew hems and such.

From that day on, Paola and Fiorella were a team, they did everything together and people teased Paolo that he finally found a wife, since he had been a bachelor forever. They didn't mind, it was all in good faith, everyone loved them.

About the time her mother died, there was an earthquake and many new rivers formed in the small towns where the circus travelled. It made it difficult, because bridges had not been built yet. As they were moving camp one day, Paolo fell into a deep crevice. They spent hours trying to get him out and he feared this might be the end of it all. But Fiorella remembered the drapes from the stage. She retrieved them, and back at the crevice everyone helped tie drape after drape together, and Paolo was able to pull himself out.

They went on together like this for many years. As Paolo turned 95, he had more and more trouble sewing, and his vision grew blurrier making it difficult to finish outfits and drapes. He knew in time he would not be there for his friend, Fiorella, and this worried him greatly. So he began to make her an outfit that could help her go anywhere she needed after he was gone.

He didn't tell her what he was making, she thought it was just another costume.

On the day he died, they found a costume on the bedside, with a note for Fiorella. They read it to her, as she paced and paced by her friend's body.

Dear Fiorella, my friend, please take this outfit and remember that when you wear it you can let your wings take you where ever you need to go, without danger. I know we will meet again. Yours forever, your friend, Paolo.

The circus took the week off so that Fiorella could come to terms with her loss. They had an elaborate parade for Paolo, and Fiorella was the leader, walking in front of a carriage in her winged outfit, his coffin covered in velvet drapes.

Several days later, the circus realized that Fiorella was gone. She left a note,

I have my wings now. Do not worry. I will travel, until I find Paolo. Fondly, Fiorella

The motherly nightie to hug

Eighty nine years ago my mother was born, most likely on a very cold day in the upper regions of North Dakota. While this day marks her birth, it also marks the fact I haven't seen her alive for two years. We had driven down to be with her in California on her 87th birthday and I can remember when we left, we got in the car and said our good-byes, buoyed by the fact we'd be back in May. As we coasted down the very long drive, I could see her out my rear view mirror, waving, getting smaller and smaller. She waited until we must have been out of sight to turn back to her apartment-and I too, watched, until I couldn't see her anymore. That scene comes to me over and over. If a movie director had orchestrated it, I would have begged him to make the car stop, so I could have rushed back and proclaimed I would stay another day, or month, or year. She died in April, suddenly.

I looked back at the grief blog I made in the days following her death. It is raw in the beginning, and it's almost heartbreaking to see how off kilter I was. I grabbed at anything that might get me to stand up in those first shocking days-like creating clay doll that I carefully placed under a quilt square she had made some 70 years earlier with her own mother-if I could not be with her to lay out her body I could do this from afar. The photograph of her nightie seems so ethereal and haunting, but still pure-it was the same nightie we found in her house, hanging where she left it the morning she entered the hospital for routine exams. I keep it in my bedside, taking it out to smell for her scent. There is still a little of her smell left, so in a way, the objects left behind must also be let go of, and taken off of the pedestal we put them on and just become normal again. But at this point, two years later, that darn nightie is like a shrine of sorts. I don't take it out much anymore, but sometimes I do, and I press it into my face.

The photo of her is one I keep on my computer. I used to go to it so often, but as one moves on, one carries the face and hands of the departed person deep in their inner psyche. Still, I will go to that photo and stoke her hair through the computer screen. She used to stroke my hair, even as I grew into a woman, and it always felt soothing. My mother was not a hugger or demonstrative person with "I love you" but she showed it in so many ways. I never doubted it.

So here are so many of us, motherless, marching on like dutiful humans-acknowledging we have a lump in our throats when we think of the mothers or fathers we've lost. We recite quotes sometimes, sharing our realization that it is the life we have now that is what our mothers would want us to focus on. And we do. But every now and then, like on a mother's would-be 89th birthday, I get to celebrate, but only after I sneak that nightie out of the draw and smell for my mother.

They do come to life

Her mother had taught her to sit still in a 
forest if she wanted to talk to her. Even though she was gone in body, she could hear her in the branches creaking and see her in the birds landing near by.

Sometimes she sat 

alone looking at stars, wondering, 

is that her too?

My work has grown to be story in all forms. I realize I really love making books, so right now, all the media I work with seems to want to be a book-even if it is a one page book.

I mentioned some time ago my internal muses pushing me to do more sculpture forms. The small kiln arrived this week and hopefully I'll be making clay forms by next month. I envision combining cloth, clay and wood to let animals come to life. I want to make settings for them, diorama like things-I shall see how it evolves. Right now, I need focus and time [a huge uproar is heard from the barnyard!].

When striped shrews meet striped donkeys

They met by chance. The donkey had been living alone a two mile walk up the hill, in the forest, alone. Donkeys do not thrive being alone and perhaps the stress of this turned the grey fellow into stripes-anxiety can turn us gray, so it makes sense to me.

Little shrew was born striped, he told me. He lived away from the other shrews-due to this abnormality. At least it was considered odd by his clan and he had been hoping to find others of his kind, to no avail.

He saw the donkey and watched him for a long time-being shy, and also scared, since he had little experience talking to donkeys-or anyone for that matter. But he was yearning for companionship after all these years and he decided that risking death was better than living another day alone. He rushed out from under his leaf and yelled to the donkey,

"Striped donkey! I am striped too!"

Startled, the donkey was stopped in his sad, slow foot steps.

"I am on my way to the farm house down the hill. I hear there are misfitted creatures there of all sorts and it is friendly. Hop on my back and we'll go there together."

And so it was some hours later, they knocked on my door. I had no qualms to take them in and they slept on an old sweater in the studio.

So I am busy making them a bed and proper pajamas. I will update you as things progress.

Quiet little sack of sadness

I am beginning a project blog - a project about the journey of grief which started suddenly on April 4th when my mother died. Of course I am not unaware of what grief is, but this loss is like no other I've experienced.

I am creating a blog "Quiet Little Sack of Sadness" to house and honor the art, dolls and other sewn/fabric projects stemming from this grief, along with a journal, healing quotes and other things I'm grabbing onto to help me swim to the next shore. I should have that up and running next week and will alert you here to all the details.

I am finding a need to really go inward and create - but also share. I find that Facebook feels like a cold and shallow place to post daily about my feelings. I want people to have a place to come and ponder and maybe find comfort in their own journey of loss. It will be an ad-free environment, quiet, beautiful and warm - and safe for all, including me.

And of course I'll still be posting here - always - about the creatures and land that wrap around me, the place called Apifera that I love so much.