Everyday we name the duck

She is the last surviving duck of The Bottomtums-the clan of six ducks that arrived some years ago to Apifera, along with their elderly goose, their matriarch of sorts who herded them like any good mother figure. One by one the ducks died or met their natural demises. We said goodbye to old Priscilla the goose last week. I do miss her, I must say. The ducks and goose came to us because their owner at the time was going through cancer, and had to leave their small farm-so my vet put us together thinking I was the perfect person to take them on, and I have cared for them loyally for all these years.

So now we have one duck. At first I felt a bit sad for her. But in the past days, I have to tell you she seems so content. I really think she has come into her own a bit in the past days. She has an entire swimming bucket to herself and waddles out there every morning for her first bath, she has many creatures who spread their grain around so she gets lots of good eating and doesn't have anyone quacking in her ear either. There are no males mounting her and grabbing her by the back of the neck-rough little lovers they are. At night, I put her in a stall for safety and she is just as content as can be, in my eyes. I've never bought into the idea that you need two of something to make them happy. I believe that if an animal of any species has other creatures, and nature, and daily routines and interactions with others-that is what makes them feel comfortable. That is my experience here.

So, I decided that being the solo duck is very special. And every day, I give her a new name, but always with the word 'duck' at the end. Today I called her Beautiful Rainy Duck to celebrate the water drops on her back-we are all relishing in the wet, and hope it continues.

Lonely Duck lonely no more

I knew her time was coming in days not weeks. Saturday night Lonely Duck had made her way down the long drive again, alone, to find her small pond-the pond that her male companion had perished in by raccoon a few nights before. When I found her, she once again went passive and lay her body down in a submissive fashion, not fighting her capture.

I carried her to the night stall and she settled into a corner, ignoring the other female duck and Priscilla. Her behavior struck me as a creature that had let go. I considered leaving her in the pond, as it just felt she was dying and maybe she wanted to die there, away from the crowds. Animals are like that, they don't want bedside drama of the clan. The next day I had a plan, to revamp an area near the Martyn made pond in the lower Misfit Village. But when I came to the stall I knew that was pointless, Lonely Duck was in a corner, alive, but clearly checking out. I left the two ducks and old goose together there for the day with their cherished water bucket they love to swim in. This morning, I found Lonely Duck beautifully posed in the corner of the stall.

I wanted you to experience the peace and beauty of her body, her head turned and laying on the ground, making an abstract shape of her elegant neck. Her sweet orange feet spread out back just as you see them here. I sat with her sometime in the stall this morning, petting her-ducks are so soft, softer than chickens. I was glad for her. Did she die of a broken heart? I don't think so. But she died ready to move on, her body told her and she sank into the next step.

I was going to bury her with her mother in the pumpkin patch, but decided to return her to Earth in the same spot I left her male companion some days ago. I know she will be eaten but it felt like the place she probably would have waddled too if she had the strength last week.

And so, The Bottomtums, once numbering six, are now one. And the old goose lives on.

The story of the lonely duck

The Bottomtums, as the original six ducks were named [if you know ducks, you'll understand the name] were brought to Apifera by a woman who had to leave her farm when her husband was entering hospice. The 6 ducks came with their very own elderly goose, who you all know as Priscilla. We lost one of the ducks a couple years ago to mysterious circumstances in broad daylight; and this past month we lost one of the two males to an eagle strike, and another female died of natural causes. These ducks are old, they have had very good lives being able to free range and have someone shepherd them inside at night for protection. So that left us with 3 ducks–2 females and a male.

A couple nights ago I had finished my barn chores but was missing a male and female duck. I knew they often squeezed under the barnyard gate to our front yard area seeking the longer, cooler grass where they can nap and snap bugs. But they were nowhere. I quacked for them–yes, they come to my quacks, Martyn is always impressed with this and in some ways so am I, I didn't train them, they just seem to understand my quacks are to guide and help them.

So Martyn had come home around seven and I asked him to search the streamlet that goes alongside our drive. There are still some small pools that haven't dried up for the summer. And sure enough, there was the pair, happily paddling in the six by six foot pond. They looked so content, I hated to bring them back to the barn, but that was Raccoon's private fishing hole and I knew they would be his dinner. I easily grabbed the male. I headed back up the drive, quacking, thinking the female would follow. But the female stayed put in her little pond. I returned to get her, but she waddled under the small footbridge we had built there. She was able to squeeze way under it, so even if I stretched out on the ground [while holding my other duck, no easy task] I could not reach her. Martyn came down and we both tried for a half hour to get her, no luck. With a lot of talk, we decided to leave the male in with her under the bridge, knowing either way, it was a risk. I was not as optimistic as Martyn about their night.

The next morning I found the female swimming. When she heard me coming, she flayed herself out on the shore like she was playing dead. This behavior showed me she had experienced something last night, as the ducks never showed that behavior of fear and submission. I saw some down feathers on the bank. I knew the male was gone. I walked up about 30 feet knowing the inevitable had occurred, and there were three mounds of feathers.

His beautiful body, with limp orange feet, lay there, his inner carcass eaten. I buried him in the bramble.

I left the female there for the day but early evening went to get her. She swam into some inner pond under blackberry bramble and I had to crawl on my belly and reach in under the thorns to get her. But what I noticed most was her attitude. As I carried her up the drive, her neck was hanging low, her head down. Usually she carried it upright.

It is not a world of Disney here, but I must say that I firmly felt her sadness. When she entered her nighttime stall, she went to an opposite corner from the remaining female duck and Priscilla.

Just now I had to do some watering in this incredibly dry weather we are having. I was in an area of the gardens the ducks never wander to. But I kept hearing a quacking. Ducks can smell water from long distances and since I was spraying about ten feet from her, she let me know she was there. But I couldn't find her.

And then I saw her, squished under an old fireplace that we use as a sedum garden. I thought she was just hanging out, but she was actually stuck. I managed to free her, carefully, and hosed her down in case she was hot.

Why she picked that odd spot, I don't know. I had always thought the ducks were from the same hatch, but now I feel she was more bonded with that male and perhaps they were more mated as a pair, versus siblings.

Last night I also found Old Mama Sugee having a seizure. I stayed with her but then heard Priscilla in distress, and turning around I saw her with her head stuck in a fence. She had really curved her neck in a way that made it impossible to get free. I managed to free her, but looked at the sky and expressed something to the Universe,

Is it now the time of the Apifera fowl? Have you spoken?

Priscilla used to have control over the flock, and would herd them about, and protect them. As she grew incapable of squeezing under gates, the ducks would wander without her. Now Priscilla is mainly alone, free ranging, and she comes in at night with the others. But the flock of two is in a quiet chaos without her.

Kidnapping out of the sky-goodbye dear duck

Sunday afternoon update: It's official. We saw the a bald eagle swoop low over the barnyard this afternoon. I'm proud to say The White Dogs made a run for him and made a raucous, he turned and flew up and in another direction. Part of me is relieved-because I know what I'm up against, and because I can't out smart an eagle. I'll try keeping everyone in lock down for the next couple of weeks. But when you live on a river, it's their river too. I'm just glad his carcass wasn't a waste, as the eagle would have taken it all.

We lost a duck yesterday. Out of the blue, out of nowhere, unseen by either of us as we worked outside all day. He was most likely plucked out of the sky and didn't see it coming and if it was an eagle as we suspect, it was a quick kill and he didn't suffer.

There are two consolations. One, his body most likely will feed baby eagles, or a mother brooding them. Two, he lived a long life, much longer than your wild duck, or cooped up duck. He died in Nature, in a field, eating grubs, amongst his little flock.

I was wishing I had witnessed it. But then thought it would be a haunting image, even if I adhere to the philosophy this is what Nature does, it recycles. It does not judge, it simply takes and gives, over and over. We are the graced ones for her bounties, and in return we need to be good stewards to the land.

The Bottomtums arrived at Apifera in 2011, after one of my vet's had a client call me–she had to leave her farm after her husband was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The old goose that had been the den mother to the ducks also came, and her name was and is Priscilla. Priscilla was over 20 then and is now in her elderly years but still pops out an egg every now and then. We call them Granny Eggs. When they arrived, their wings had been clipped and I didn't want them to leave the barnyard, even though my vet wanted me to let them free range and eat slugs and snails, which can host parasites that infest the sheep in spring. But the ducks and their old goose were very content in the barnyard, and never ventured to the fields.

Until this spring.

I don't know what possesses a duck to get up one day and declare,

"Let's go to the lower fields for a picnic! Come on!"

But after spending four years in the barnyard, maybe they sensed there was an entire world of mud and puddles down there. So for the past few months they have been free ranging about, with the piglets and lower Misfit Village gang. Some days they go to sleep in their old duck hut, and some days they randomly return to the goat barn where they wintered. I let them decide.

Last night when I did feedings I noticed a male was missing. They never separate. I looked everywhere, and just couldn't believe he'd been nabbed out of the skies. But that is the only possibility, unless he dropped dead, which chickens often do. He is old. While you might think we would have heard a lot of commotion, I have seen the animals over and over show that they respond to death so calmly. Fear makes them act up, but there might not have been a reaction because an eagle might have nabbed him about ten feet from the others and they didn't even have a chance to fear since they were busy eating with heads down. I wondered if it was a hawk, but researched it and I guess that would be too big a haul. We've only had one hawk strike, right before my eyes, and I think the body would be there without the head, the usual hawk evidence. I am going to do another walk about to see if there are any feathers but didn't seen a sign yesterday. We have a farm friend down the road who constantly loses big geese to eagles, and we've seen him on out riverfront.

So The Bottomtums are in lock down in the Lower Misfit Village where they can swim in the piglet puddle and roam about. I am not sure if they will be venturing into the fields again. Then again, I can't control Nature. We live with her.

The male ducks have such beautiful colors, so many variations in their feathers. The iridescent qualities int he sunlight are gorgeous. Their little curled tail tips [the females tails don't curl] are like carefully coiffed bottom bow ties. I appreciate I got to live with such a fine duck, and that he had a good long run. I will miss his waddles and beautiful neck, and how he loved his private bucket to float and splash in. But I will also enjoy the remaining Bottomtums. I would feel dreadful if I lost Priscilla to an eagle, and feel I must do my best to protect her. But that is the human in me judging Nature's way-to die by an eagle is just as worthy a death as lying in a hut and not waking up.

A guy and his ducks

Raggedy Man takes a moment to reflect on....who know what goes on in his little head. The Bottomtums assist.

Grumpy Farmer Syndrome

It's been horribly cold. As a Minnesotan I often get a bit cynical with the West coasters–a dusting of snow usually shuts everything down. But there aren't the same infrastructure resources here for winter weather, and heaven forbid the state consider...sales taxes to help with road crews for storms.

However, it has been one of the coldest snaps on record, and we have had to haul warm water twice a day to both barns and all paddocks. It is especially worrisome for the elders, the cold. I was relieved that everyone appears to have made it through, and we are hoping for a thaw tonight into the week, with rain coming, but at least above freezing.

The Bottomtums just go about their day, taking frigid baths and accepting the weather presented to them. What else can one do? I did leave them and Priscilla in their hut for two days straight, which was kept warm by their huddling body masses.

I think more than anything, hauling water creates the Grumpy Farmer Syndrome. Martyn stayed home in the cold too-not much a landscaper can dig in this weather-and I'm so glad he's been here to help. Now, if I was just hauling water to one or two buckets, that would be less grumpy accumulating. But I have ten areas to keep water in–so I have a lot of time to grow my grumpiness.

And my sciatic nerve got tweaked from hauling buckets. More grumpiness.

By night time I am so ready for a fire and a glass of wine and it makes it all the sweeter. But I forgot, I have to carry warm water to the multiple outdoor cats–more grumpiness.

So, I was watching the ducks, bathing, dipping and drinking water in the frigid cold. They did not dip a toe in to test the temperature, they leapt in. This is the only cure for Grumpy Farmer Syndrome-dive into the cold and get it over with.

I am less grumpy today, as it feels down right balmy at 30 degrees.

Duck poetry of wits

To tuck your head inside your bed

and nap amongst your own feathers

To let the rain roll off your back

in the worst stormy weathers

Hail! To the quackers in our midst

As they teach us how–so humbly–

to better keep our wits

The hills are alive with ducks

I spent time trying to teach The Bottomtums a specific whistle just like the Von Trapp children had to learn. My hope was to teach the fowl to line up composed and tidy for photo opportunities. Eventually, I gave up.

Blue wings for Doris

We lost Doris over the holiday. She was an old duck, the mother of the other ducks collectively known as The Bottomtums.

I buried her in the pumpkin patch after laying her out for the others to view. She'll feed the worms and grubs now and her fowl clan will graze above her. They did not mourn and accepted her death as part of the lapse of a day. Good role models for me, I'd say.

I gave Doris beautiful blue wings and new shoes to go about her next journey.
Farewell,Doris! You were a very good duck!

Graveyard of life

The yin and yang of nature is clearly depicted in the daily scene of the winter pumpkin patch. Old friends lie deep down beneath the dirt, their bones and skin providing a perfect meal for slugs and worms. Along come the The Bottomtums who dig with beaks, gathering up the once squirming mud dwellers.

I like to see the living mingling with the dead. It helps to see life as a circle, not a line. And in times when I miss a creature or person that has physically left, I can remember that the body feeds the dirt that feeds life - a body simply moves on to another form, vaporizing into air before it lands on something before it's lapped up by chicken, fish or mouse. We will all be eaten one way or another.

Upon thy neck shall I gaze

There is no more beautiful neck than the old goose's, unless perhaps Grace Kelly stood beside her, but knowing the little I do about Grace I think she would humbly agree with me.

Such a marvelous road way for her food to travel through - Perhaps the worms understand this somehow as they slide to her gullet. I watch her twist and conform this neck under gates, or twist and turn it to communicate pending danger to the Bottomtums.

I had never held a goose or stroked one's throat until I came to know old Priscilla. I am glad our introduction happened.

{ Priscilla came to Apifera after a woman's husband died of cancer, leaving her no choice but to sell her farm. She asked our mutual vet to help find a forever home, and he contacted me. Priscilla was the matriarch of a herd of 6 ducks, known here as The Bottomtums, and they too live in the Barnyard of Misfits with their own lakeside cabin.}

Duck Days of September

The winds have been here all day - and since we don't have any outstanding forest fires in the area, I can say they are welcome, blowing the warm air around feathers, hay strands, and a farmer's braids.

I went to the barnyard to see if there were any worthy photo opportunities, but ended up sitting with the ducks and chickens and a smattering of goats around the makeshift compost hay pile - which doubles as a bed for pig, goat and fowl. I had planned to move it to the 'real' compost area, but the animals enjoy the warmth that emanates from it so much, I keep putting it off. First threat of rain and I'll scramble to move it.

The wind and warmth combined with crisp, fallen leaves and the ripe scent of grapes and unpicked blackberries always takes me back to being in one of our childhood homes - my favorite childhood home - a small 5 acre parcel cut out of a larger country estate. There I had a myriad of paths into forests - or forests to me, they were more or less groves of sumac - where I could retreat and explore on my own clock. I can still feel that place and I remember the smell of the small cottage as it was the day we moved in - a combination of outside air mixed with vintage linoleum counters. It was the beginning of Apifera in some ways - there were white dilapidated pasture fences, old barns and horses in the distance, ducks and geese graced the nearby pond. I had space there.

So I sat on the concrete with the fowl today, on my own clock. I wasn't making any money doing it - just like I wasn't earning a dime as that five year old back on my old homeland - but I was deep in feeling.

Official barnyard business

Official decree from The Head Troll

A gaggle with goat

The Head Troll reviews the day while the gaggle and flocks make their way home at evening rush hour.

Old and elderly mingle at lambie daycare

Breakfast with the Bottomtums

In the morning as they plod out of their Bottomtum hut. They relish the muck, prefer it to the dry straw I place inside. The rain pellets stand on their necks and backs, like little natural punctuation marks, but who needs words for filler?

The neck of Priscilla, so Grace Kelly like, or was Grace Kelly like a goose. I sing to her sometimes, "Beautiful old goose, beautiful old goose, will you swoon for me, twist your neck that way you do, beautiful old goose."

Floating while grounded

More than ever before, except perhaps before I was born, I am working in tandem, often unconsciously, with my life's elements. I have not been painting as of late - visuals seem to be coming to me in words and fabric - but I went to sleep two nights ago and an image came to me very clearly. It was not exactly this image before you, it was courser with the donkey holding, gently with his teeth, by my long braid. I awoke thinking of the image and felt I must put it to paper with color to embellish my emotion of the day.

Sitting down to work, it evolved, and although I still might go back and do the other image that came to me, I was urged to add the mystery face alteration. I have been watching my old goose, Priscilla, very closely in the last weeks. She is old, yet beautiful and has an orange globe on her head. She was with me most certainly when I conceived this painting. I am very moved by the whiteness of the donkey and the hair.

When you name a duck

Naming the ducks has been a challenge. For starters, I've never named a duck and they are very shy around me even after a few weeks. This has allowed for only short, cocktail chatter rather than longer intimate conversation one really needs to name an animal.

Old goose still has it goin' on

The woman who relinquished her old goose and ducks to me mentioned that the ducks were laying regularly and that even the old goose still lays a couple times a week. I'd never seen a goose egg until this morning.

It's big.

I thanked her and must have caught her right after the act, as she was away from her ducks and was just leaving the scene of the crime. I spied from a nearby crack in the hen house and watched Priscilla as she began dosing off, her neck slightly curved allowing her beak to rest in her wing. I'd nap too if I just laid one of those.
[In the picture, from L to R, bantie egg, Orpington egg, duck egg, Priscilla egg].

I bought the fowl gang a new temporary wading bucket today. The chicken pen is now full of buckets in a variety of sizes and colors to accommodate the ducks. It is a scene you would not see at Martha's, but then again I doubt you'd see anything from Apifera at Martha's. Martyn wants to build them a real pond in the ground, with rocks to rest on. I will be relieved when that happens, as the hens are very upset with the temporary chaos of their hen yard. They tried to schedule a meeting with me, but I said it had to wait until after Pie Day.