Barn speaks woman listens

I was taking pictures this week in the donkey area and turned to see Paco licking the grave of Giacomo, our old donkey who died a year ago and is buried in the main donkey paddock. I have spoken often how it is a gathering point for guests, farmers and donkeys, a quiet place to reflect on life, or the moment by moment sensations of the creature in front of me.

We all have our belief systems and my post today will not try to tackle putting mine into a descriptive narrative. But I've been noticing the electrical "skin charges' in the old barn on a more frequent basis. I call them "skin charges" for lack of a better phrase - a physical sensation accompanied by a sense of something watching, participating, checking in on me as I work in the barn. Often, there is something out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn, it's not visible to me. I have always had experiences like this, but the old barn and a few other places on the farm seem very electrified. From the day we arrived to look at the farm [I write about this in my illustrated memoir that is being pitched], the old barn spoke to me, always in a caring way, or a meloncholy way - "Do you know how many cows I've birthed, and buried?" she asked me. "You must come now, dream deep with me."

With each new arrival, or parting, the energy is shifted slightly - sometimes softened, but it can also feel stronger on a given day or month. Lately my little "skin charges" have been abundant, and while it's comforting to think it is Giacomo - and often I sense it is- I also feel the presence of a man, non threatening, someone who just misses his barn and is checking in on us.

Each animal has his or her own relationship with the living, and the dead. When Paco licked the stone of Giacomo's grave, he might have tasted salt or the appealing scent of something that had rubbed on the stone. Or he might have had a "skin charge".

Part 1: The eve of magic is upon us

As a child, we always put out carrots and cookies for Santa and his reindeer. It was a kind gesture to leave nourishment and sweets in return for the sacrifices Santa and his herd were making that night. The magical feeling of getting up the next morning and seeing those cookies had vanished, along with the carrot still resonate in my memory.

I have begun a new ritual for Christmas Eve.

The donkeys are in on it with me, but I didn't share it with anyone else, not even Martyn. 

We gathered some items that we felt any visiting entity would enjoy, especially if they were going to have to fly over barn roofs which can be very slippery. I am not convinced that Santa comes in the same form every year, I think he can morph into anything he sees will be most fitting and poetic for the particular place he is delivering gifts or messages to. So with the help of the donkeys, via their astute ear language, I chose meaningful symbols to place on Giacomo's grave. This way our dear old friend would be part of the ritual. A beet from the garden represents the heart of the farm, and the love for our fallen friend, Giacomo, and all friends who have come and gone this year. A herd of animal cookies surrounds it, protecting, entertaining, communing. An Apifera egg represents new beginnings and nourishment and a herd of animal crackers celebrate with it, chanting for the new year to come. A feather, donated by Clara, will give the magic visitor better flight, even if he walks to his remaining Christmas Eve destinations.

I decided to put the offering out tonight. Rain is not forecast, and besides, the donkeys have agreed to stand guard until at least midnight on Christmas Eve. You can see by this picture they have taken this duty very seriously. I have secured the goats in other areas, for Stella and Iris are much to easily swayed by their curiosities to participate in properly.

I feel like a girl again. I can't wait until Christmas morning to see if the cookies are gone and to see if clues will be left behind helping us know what magical entity came through to gift us with Christmas love.

Stay tuned....Christmas morning will tell.

Introducing: Chicken Jack

If you follow the blog, you may remember that Apifera was gifted with surprise chicks, born in the hay loft away from the everyday bustle of barn activity. While we suspected secret chicken activities had been taking place, managed by Alice Waters the hen, we were finally let in on the secret after hearing teeny weenie chirps. There tucked under Alice were 6 chicks, most likely born a couple days earlier. And that day coincided with the sad day I released Giacomo the old donkey to the skies above.

Upon seeing the little chicks, so soon after Giacomo's death, I of course felt they were a gift from him, a thank you of sorts. While we didn't need any more chickens, having brand new life to care for was healing in many ways. And I immediately noticed one chick stood out, his blackness reminded me of the old donkey I'd just said goodbye too. I always suspected Giacomo was in that chick, temporarily, just to make sure I'd be okay. So that one black chick, well, I've been watching him and was sure he'd turn out to be a rooster.

For awhile, I thought we might have 4 roosters and 2 hens. But after we lost the two small, rather sickly chicks, the four remaining grew and grew, and one day I heard an odd crowing. And sure enough, it was that black chick, practicing his new voice. While Martyn and I referred to the young clutch as Giacomo's Chicks, I named that black rooster Chicken Jack.

Chicken Jack appears to be the only rooster of the four, which relieves the Dirt Farmer immensely. I look forward to seeing him fill out in the next couple years, as it takes a rooster time to get his complete "I'm a rooster and what do you think about that" appearance. I also love the redhead, shown here, who needs a proper name soon.

A humble spot

Last night Martyn came in and told me to go to Giacomo's grave. He had created a beautiful sitting area for me directly on the burial site. Its simple design also functions beautifully, for when I sit on the stones, arranged in a circle, the three donkeys naturally surround me. I had casually mentioned putting a bench there of some kind, but a straight bench would have the donkeys in front of me. This circular sculpture allows us to be one form.

I was so moved by the humble quality of it. I consider it a place of peace, and life, and hope.

The donkeys have been taking their dust baths there, which also pleases me.

"Blessed are they who see beautiful things in humble places where other people see nothing." 

Camille Pissarro

Old donkey sends love through a chicken

I always knew he was magical and had many stories to tell me. But what we discovered on Saturday in the old barn, three days after our old donkey's death, was clearly love letter from our dearly departed Giacomo.What a roller coaster of love this week has been.


I didn't think I'd hear from Giacomo so soon after his death, I knew he had things to do in his new realm, things that didn't concern me or the earthly loves he left behind. But before I can explain the magical occurrence of Saturday, I have to tell you about one of our chickens, Alice Waters. Alice is a very independent Aracauna who often goes off to roost on her eggs in top secret spots. Of all the hens, she is the cleverest hider of eggs. Now right around when dear old Giacomo was failing, and I was spending all my energy helping him, I remember noticing I hadn't seen Alice lately. Even when she hides her eggs, she usually comes out for breakfast. But I quickly forgot about it, I had Giacomo to care for.

Saturday morning Martyn and I were working in the old barn near where Giacomo had spent his first, and last moments at Apifera. I looked out at his grave, and held Martyn and said, "Sad."...But we quickly went on with our work. I noticed the tall ladder leaning on the upper hayloft, and it reminded me that Alice once hid eggs up there. Since I couldn't remember seeing Alice for a few days, I decided I better make a real effort to find her, either dead or alive. I crawled up to the loft, and peeked under the floor boards where she last hid her eggs, and sure enough, there was Alice. She didn't make a peep, but somebody else did.

"Chicks!" I gasped. Martyn ran and got one of my rescue crates and we carefully pulled Alice out, and there was a young chick, and five others!

As I helped mother and chicks to the safety of the "Chicken Training Area" of the hen house, I realized these chicks were no more than 2 or 3 days old. And of the six chicks, 3 were a beautiful black, just like our old donkey.

"Giacomo..." I thought. If you don't believe in gifts in the form of magical coincidences, read no further.

I am quite convinced that at the exact moment Giacomo died, and his ear tips reached his destination, that the combined magical powers of both universe and of that old donkey himself, collaborated into a beautiful gift of life, as a love note to us. If words had been involved in his message, I'm sure it would have said something like,

Dear Apifera, Thank you for your love, and I felt all your tears over my body. But remember to focus on the living, that need you, like these little chicks. Those rooster feathers you put in my top knot were magical indeed, just like you said they'd be. Love, Giacomo.

The surprise of the new chicks lifted my spirits, and although I'm still amazed Giacomo is gone, he lives on in those darn little chickens. While adding roosters into an existing flock can create problems, I am convinced one of the black ones is a rooster and has a bit of Giacomo in it. I have no scientific or biological evidence to back up my theory. Nor have I consulted with a buddha, minister or clairvoyant. I don't need too.

But as those chicks grow, I know I'll be naming one "Little Giacomo".

Shock and sadness at Apifera

To all of you who bought prints to help bring this wonderful old donkey to our farm, take heart, his time here was short, but he felt the love.

We laid Giacomo to rest today. We are shocked, although preparing a large animal for burial is sobering, and allows the living to slowly comprehend, "Oh, yes, he's gone on." He was only with us 19 days. But those 19 days encompassed an entire journey, not only for him, but for us as his final caretakers.

Having lived 20+ years in a variety of situations [we can only assume] , and having endured abuse in his final years, if not longer, my main goal was to give this donkey a true sense of home, the kind of home that is always there for you, no matter what weather blows in. The kind of home where a person comes out the door in the morning and sings your name, and you know, no matter what, you will be fed, and touched, and respected. No one will strap you to a post and leave you in heat without water, or rope your legs and flip you over like a fried egg.

On his first day with us, I talked to him about my intentions. I told him, "You can stay here forever. I'm not going anywhere. You can die here." I solemnly believe old creatures, and old people, need to know they have a safe place to die. In the wild, they seek it out. They might seek out a quiet place alone, but it might be in earshot of all the barn animals they've communed with over time. As usual, the universe and its wisdom was bigger than me- while I was busy imagining all the stories he would share with me, and walks I would take him on to show him the river and upper Apifera, he was winding down. He took my words to heart.

I noticed something was wrong about a week ago, even on his first day. His sheath was swollen. Since the rescue had not done a blood panel on him before adopting him out and since he was old, I called my vet immediately and had him check up on some things. All seemed okay but certain things weren't functioning right for the old guy The next day, he had drops of blood in his urine. I had the vet out again, immediately, to do a test or whatever he suggested and on the day the vet came, I noticed even more blood in the old donkey's urine when I fed him. Not good. He had had plenty of hay and fresh water here, so the fact he was still eating and drinking well was a good thing. But looking back, we all agreed, that was just one miracle that was presented to us- for if I hadn't seen the urine, I'm not sure we would have immediately done the tests we did that day. And those tests showed us how truly ill Giacomo was and it was damage that had happened from years of neglect according to the vet. His kidneys were beyond help, with liver issues too. He was anemic, but with a non functioning kidney, treatment wasn't going to help. Within the short 12 hour period we waited for test results, I saw Giacomo in more and more pain. He had arrived very damaged.

Just yesterday morning, it seems so long ago now, I went out to feed him, and I still didn't know the results of the tests, but I had slept with hope in my heart. When he first saw me, he tried to let out this bray, but it was more like a plea. I saw more blood, and I saw him stretching his neck, gritting his teeth and lifting his lips, a true equine sign of pain. He followed me around as I did chores, just like he always had. But he tripped once, and when we found the place on the grass he liked, he lay down, and put his head in my arms- another of his favorite positions. But he then laid back and I could tell, he was in such pain. I went to call the vet, hoping the tests were in, but also to tell him what was happening. Upon reaching the house, the vet had just called, and the news wasn't good.

We acted swiftly to keep him from being in any more pain. My vet dropped everything to come out and help him on his way. I walked him to the old barn, where his time at Apifera had started, just 19 days earlier. I had already said many good byes. Just an hour earlier, I told Giacamo how the night before I had been working on a little painting of an apple tree, and had been wondering how to finish it. The apple tree looked like it floated, so I put clouds around it, and then I thought, "This is like donkey heaven," so I added an old donkey. I told Giacomo, "When you see that tree, you'll be home." I placed a rooster feather in his top notch.

He's buried with tokens to help his journey forward: rooster feathers to help him fly better to his apple tree, a small piece of my art of a woman and a donkey, a ring to show my commitment to him, some chicory flowers, and of course, his favorite, ginger snaps.

We had a private burial, with the donkeys and Stella and Iris. Perhaps one of the most endearing things was watching the donkeys jump in the newly dug empty grave, and standing there, at attention. They climbed out, and watched the entire procedure, ears forward, not a peep or movement out of them. I returned to the old barn to watch and watched while the earth was returned over our old soldier. And then Pino came and stood with me, until it was over.

Why did it happen this way? Oh, there were reasons. Some we'll never know. But there were reasons, and I was honored to be part of his final days on earth. I read in a hospice book once that, it's important to tell the dying, 'It's okay to go now". None of us knew how sick Giacomo was when we first met him, he is like any donkey, so stoic. I truly believe, he held his pain in through out is many ordeals of neglect and abuse, to save himself. And when he realized he was finally in a place where animals wouldn't bother him, or people wouldn't hurt him, he let go.

Oh, he is missed! The most noble, the non replaceable old donkey of many names.

Morning with old donkey

I've been spending quiet time alone with Jack, bonding, which we seem to have accomplished. He follows me around like a dog. He is a loner, but mainly because he can't kick out anymore, and isn't able to defend his food around the three minis, who I call the 'possee'. He has two special spots in the pasture he has claimed. He loves to have his head held. His ears remind of a brown bear so sometimes I called him Fuzz, or Buzz. But I've been calling him Giacomo. He's like many old men I've known- when you get to be this old, you've seen a lot of loss, and you accept it, but it starts to take its toll.

Old men only

After residing at Apifera for a week, the old donkey has begun a morning routine. He starts out in the lower field, sunning, then wanders up to the barn when he hears me leave the house. He has taken to the cool, dusty floored enclosed area I call the "Clubhouse". Only now the by laws of the Clubhouse have been rewritten with the following addendum: Donkeys entering Clubhouse must be at least 20 years of age. Younger donkeys must only stick their noses in. Shepherdess is allowed in if she presents ginger snaps to residing donkey. He sticks his tongue out after he drinks, however, he might have been sending Paco a message.

Home

All is well. It was such a smooth introduction. The old donkey spent the afternoon looking, and smelling, a little eating, a bit of roaming. But he hasn't even discovered Donkey Hill yet, or been in the private clubhouse. He hasn't met the Old Goats of Apifera, nor does he know their is a big red horse out back. He does understand there are still ginger snaps at this new place. Perhaps the most amusing thing for human two footers watching, was how funny the three minis looked with him. More stories will follow. For now, rest assured this is one special donkey, and now he just needs to understand he's here, and is safe.

Anticipation

I thought it was fitting, for both Cracker Jack, and his temporary rescue parents, to be welcomed to Apifera on Sunday in a proper manner. I don't know why, but when I nailed the sign to the fence, I got all teary eyed.

I know this donkey has much meaning on many levels. Just wait. I know he is going to teach us all a lot of things. But most importantly, he will learn, in time, that Apifera means home, home forever.

Stay tuned. Many pictures will follow after the wise old donk arrives Sunday. Sleep well, Cracker J., everything will be just fine.