You don't need to know where the butter dish is to be happy

'Chaos' has sort of a negative connotation, yet I can't think of another word, yet, to describe the new set of pieces I am working on and mulling through. Perhaps I will do a few and move on, but right now chaotic lines and colors are being registered by my muse into my hands.

When I lived as a single person, I was able to keep an organized little closet, and kitchen and garage. I wasn't a neat freak, nor did I label my closet drawers like some. But I knew where everything was pretty much, and had control over where something belonged, in order to maintain my sense of order, as I knew it SHOULD be. I had one shovel, one hoe, one rake, and no need for a wheel barrel.

Fast forward ahead....Marry a man. Move to a farm. Organization ceased to exist as I knew it SHOULD be. I now have multiple copies of everything- shovels, spades, hoes, buckets, rakes, ropes, boxes, crates.... I also have 3 wheel barrels: one is blue and is my barn barrel, one is grey and has a flat tire most of the time and is for making cement, one is not worth keeping but Frankie likes to sit in it, as do the cats on a warm day if there is compost in it. I spend a lot of time re-arranging piles of old beams in the barn, piles of fencing, piles of bricks to be used on a someday wall...I rearrange the multitude of buckets, feed bins, recycle cans, nail bins, hoes, axes, electric parts, pieces of metal barn roofing until I have it in somewhat of an orderly arrangement.

Then my husband spends a day on a project in the barn, and re-arranges my arrangements.

As three years have gone by, I have learned that certain chaos on the farm must be accepted. Unless you are Martha Stewart with Martha Stewart's staff, there will always be 'stuff' sitting in the barn. There will always be a burn pile growing, waiting for the right weather to burn it, there will always be old posts and boards around because one always needs old posts and boards here, and there will always be a pile of rocks waiting to be made into something.

At the moment, my husband is in the kitchen demolishing the cupboards. Soon, the windows will need to come out. The flooring is gone. The butter dish is not where it SHOULD be, nor is the silverware, the wine glass or the cat food.

But it's all fine. I did a 48" canvas today, sold a bunch of Etsy stuff, brushed my horse, spent time with my donkeys, and it's only 3:30. I specked windows for the kitchen, did a post office run, and spent a bit of time figuring out new cross fencing for the upcoming lambing season. Many things collide daily here - animals, art, business, life, family - but the trick is to approach this 'chaos' as a treasure hunt. I awake with more anticipation each day than I ever did in my life. There is always something to do here, something new, something challenging, something that will feed me internally like the city couldn't. The trick is to remain calm, but alert, with one's head up, and one's mind open. That way, when you are walking by all the stuff sitting in the barn, you won't really notice it much, rather you will make a mental note of the exceptionally nice blue color in the sky.

Anatomy lessons, and spring fever

I have added 'anatomically correct' rag dolls to my repertoire. I had way to much fun making this raggedy lavender filled creation . Just when I thought I was done, I felt she needed a navel which led to other girlie features. I have memories of beautifully made dolls of my mother's, where the clothes are hand made and even the undergarments are distinctive, so my little farm girl had to have some undies too. Who knows where this will lead. A new Muppet empire, made of farm girls and animals....Anyway, I listed it on the Etsy shop ....Stay posted for more farm friends. I'm pleased that little Goldie the Chicken is off to live in Colorado...

The weather has turned spring like, I'm pleased to say. Just a rise of 15 degrees or so and the animals turn childlike, playing more, the donkeys play tug of war on their dirt mound with their rubber dish, and when I went to feed Sky Flower last nite, her Palomino body was no longer Palomino, but rather a mud caked color which she was quite pleased with. Today I let the 'boys" [Joe Pye Weed, Mr. T, Milkweed,Chickweed, Paco, and Pino] all run out in the area between the two barns. The ram's pasture is helplessly bleak on grass. While the donkeys and goats are quite content with weeds and blackberries, I find the sheep like to eat lower to the ground. Joe Pye Weed has not been looking his best. He has mystery marks on both sides of his body where hair has been 'chewed off', or rubbed off, but excessively. A couple farm friends have seen it, and it is still somewhat of a mystery. Not mange. Not lice. I've tried tea tree oil, and this week I'm putting Destin on him- a diaper rash solution of cod liver oil that does wonders for a variety of skin rashes I find, plus it's smelly so if an animal is chewing him, it might help. I haven't seen any animal chewing on him, and actually, we doubt this is the case, as the mystery shedding started back when he was confined on his own. It might be him nervously chewing himself, but I never see it.

I am getting excited for March lambing. Daisy already looks big, and I really hope she is not carrying triplets. I have started re-reading my sheep books, and it is time for my 'read all the worst case scenarios of lambing incidences and freak the shepherd out' - which is turning into an annual ritual around February.Perhaps this is why I doodled these little odd creatures this week - part lamb/part me/part fairy?...I framed them and put them on Etsy too.

As I awoke this morning, Billy the pug came into the bed with me. He likes to get under the covers in the morning, and snuggle his face into my armpit as I hold him. He has done this since he was 8 weeks old, when I use to carry him in my overall pocket [he weighed 1.3 pounds when I got him]. Huck came running in and smashed his 5 pound wet nose in mine, another morning ritual - and it came to me that dogs are so consistent. They are unlike children. Dogs are born and are puppies for about 1-2 years, then they are who they are. They have personalities unique to themselves, but each day, you can count on your dog to be consistently who he/she is. They never let you down on that. Billy will never reach an age [he's 8] where he says, "You know, Mom, I'm thinking it's too girly to snuggle with you in bed, so I better not." And Huck will never cease to run in to the bedroom each morning to greet me and the day with incredible gusto. It is good to have certain beings in one's life who never let you down.

Sewing messes and a quiet donkey

To hopefully satisfy my sewing hankerings, I have opened an Etsy shop. I am going to be making lavender items and will be putting them mainly on the Etsy store rather than my own art store. Not to complicate my loyal shoppers, but the traffic on Etsy is growing, and I hope it will work in our farm's favor. There are so many talented knitters, sewers, crafts people at Etsy that I almost cringe to put my messy little monkey house creations on, but it's the love and energy that go into these things that means something. The people on the site are so helpful and encouraging, which is nice. I really encourage you to visit there.

I am working at developing more of the dryer bag/sachets with our lavender bud, in my style, that aren't counter productive to my time, energy and budget. The dryer bag is the best selling bud product, I think because it is easy to understand and is simple and not all fluffy like many of the sachets out there - girly girl isn't usually in my wardrobe. I hand sew them all which I enjoy, but I have lofty goals for our lavender empire, so the possibility of working with some contract sewers is hopefully a future reality. And also increasing my one-of-a-kind lavender stuffed raggedy doll objects...yes, more donkeys are on the horizon.

So visit Etsy, and keep visiting, often, as I will be making new things all the time. I will always maintain my art store site for the majority of my art work, but will post some art at Etsy - I'm just not sure the price point will do well there, we'll see. Feel free to email me and give me your thoughts on my Etsy shop.

Today, the weather is warming, enough to hopefully keep the black ice away that has socked the whole state in. We have had to carry buckets of warm water to all the pastures for the animals, and we are encouraged by the weather. The cold, combined with the state's hay storage, is making for a harder winter. Pino has not brayed since we returned on Monday, and I am somewhat concerned he is not feeling well. I have spent each morning hugging his belly longer than usual, and making sure he is getting his hay ration. Paco has also been buddying up to me a lot, which is not like him, and I think he is finally settling into the herd.

And in honor of the passing of a great writer and man, I am calling all the animals "Art" for one day. Art Buchwald, he was a good one. I'm sure he is bringing laughter wherever he is.

Home

Traveling away from one's daily environment and routine brings a fresh perspective and outlook on things. I am a notorious homebody. I'm happy here surrounded by things and chores and rituals that I have chosen to bring into my life for meaning and happiness. Every now and then, I need to be dragged away, to remind myself there is energy and life all over, not just in my little realm.

So we took 7 days and flew to my old homeland of Minneapolis to visit my parents, celebrate my mother's 81st birthday, and see old friends. Leaving a house with a couple of dogs had a certain amount of preparation, but leaving a farm of pregnant ewes, and other creatures in the middle of winter has unique challenges. We were fortunate to have probably the best and most reliable and loving person take care of our animals while we were away - the birth mother of Pino Blangiforti. As if her huge heart and animal sense weren't good enough, her husband is the founding vet in town where we vet our cats and dogs. I had absolutely no fears about the animals being cared for properly. Still, the days leading up to the trip had me anxious: "Will they think that I have just left them? Will Miss Pussytoes the cat get enough to eat if I'm not there to place her food in a corner of the hay bale away from the more bossy cats?" My over the top imagination imagined the worst of the worst, until finally, we were on the plane. Once on the plane, I was fine, but I did ask God to get everyone on the plane safely to their destinations, and get me and Martyn back home to Huck and Billy and everyone else. The pilot was standing at the cockpit door, and he had this really nice smile, he was about 60, and I thought how if something horrible happened in mid air, I was sure he would get us out of it safely. As I sat and did my crossword puzzle, one of the clues was "donkey" - I was sure it was Pino reaching out to me...

This is why it is better for me to stay in my little realm...Air travel makes my creative energy turn to death and all the things I want to do and make and paint. Eventually, I slap myself in the side of the head and join the masses of living.

However, as I stated initially, travel also brings huge leaps of inspiration. Sitting in the plane, looking down on the land patterns reminded me of my paintings. And some new ideas formed in my head for future pieces. We spent a good deal of time at the Art Institute and I was especially inspired by an exhibit there on abstract drawings by various painters. We had a wonderful meal of catfish and sauerkraut prepared by fellow artist Heinz , sitting on cushions in front of the fire, with his huge and wonderful cat Blue Boy sitting near by- a painting if there ever was one - and we played a lot of great music and shared stories of everything from families, art, and politics. We ate like pigs, and drank well. We were also able to visit at a fellow fellow shepherd's home which was much fun. We caught up with family and old friends and slept late in the morning. I coveted my parent's nice shower and their DSL line.

The city had changed, or increased on the same onward and upward path it had been on when I left 4 years ago. It looked good, exciting, vibrant, energized. It was a nice time and I'm glad we could go. But like they say, it was nice to get there, but also nice to come home. We left on a cold, sunny day. A new snow had blanketed the highways, and we got a ride to the airport from two of my dearest friends, who picked us up with their Bloodhound - my friend and I sat cuddled together as the bloodhound took up the back seat, it was fun. It was a nice way to ride to the airport, all cozy with good friends and a 100# animal. Home was close now.

Flying in over the mountains, seeing Mt. Hood, Ranier and St. Helens, being able to recognize the city areas from the plane, seeing the farm land near the city, it felt like home. The airport seemed so quiet compared to the huge Minneapolis airport, and we easily made our way to the tram to take us to our parked car in the Red G lot, which we remembered by saying 'Red Goat' as a reminder. As we drove the hour to get to the vet to pick up Huck, Billy and Big Tony from boarding, I was excited to see them. Huck road in the back seat with his head leaning on my shoulder the whole time. As we drove up the driveway, the house was there, the trees were all standing, and my little realm was just fine. Our animal caretaker had left us a basket of fruit and delicious homemade coffee cake - still warm. That was nice.

I didn't venture out to see the barn animals that nite, as the caretaker had fed them all, and I didn't want to disturb their sleeping. But when I awoke, to a dusting of snow, I jumped out of bed. It was like Christmas. I went to the barn and greeted everyone. They were all safe, and well fed, and happy. So was I.

D is for dust

D is a good strong letter. The last name Dunn sounds good as a last name, especially with the multiple syllable name Katherine. I also like the word 'donkey'. Some words are just great words, sounding wise.

If I am not making sense it is because I have dust in my head, lungs and nose. The dust came from ripping up flooring in our kitchen. For two years we have been planning, re-planning, altering plans, giving up, and starting all over again on our kitchen. Hopelessly outdated, and not in a charming way, our kitchen suffered from 1970's bad country style, and to be blunt, a lot of crappy material. I primed all the cupboards when we moved in, just to lighten up the fake looking oak veneer. That was about it. I mean the place had fluorescent lighting...I look yellow much of the day. The cupboards are rotten in areas from leaking drains, the wiring is outdated and dangerous, the flooring was put in over too many layers of other crap so not to be level, and to top it off, they added the wonderful piece -de- resistance of fake brick siding in places.

We spent all weekend over the holidays planning, determined to make a real stick with it plan. And we did. We thought we'd wait until May to begin. But Martyn awoke Saturday and announced casually, "I'm going to rip the floor out, and that wall. So we did. It was marvelous. Hard work, but there is nothing like getting rid of old crap. This house had virgin fir floor boards under bad carpet and two layers of bad linoleum. Surprises any home owner lives for.

It was also good therapy for me. I have been doing quite a bit of letter writing and work on the sub development that has been tentatively given county "preliminary-approval". It is being appealed to the next level, and I have no doubts it will go to the State Court of Appeals. I can't go into more details right now. I go back and forth about writing in detail about this whole thing here- I started my blog with the purpose of sharing stories about my farm, my animals and my art, and the mix of all three. Writing appeal letters and spending time on this whole thing is so draining. It upsets me, it unbalances me, but it is a fight I feel I must put energy into. But for now, I want my blog to be a haven from it, for my sake, selfishly. With the new state legislature now in session, and Democratic majority, we are hoping to get some changes to the original pro-development Measure 37 law that so many voted for without understanding what they were voting for. I have hope that it will make a difference for many sad cases around the county, and hopefully on our road too. We and the neighborhood are not giving up.

So, a new kitchen is on the horizon. With a new layout, and refurbished cabinets, a pantry I don't have to get down on my creaky knees with a flashlight to discover what food I have, mouse proof drawers, new lighting so we won't look jaundice like - and the laundry will be incorporated into it so I don't have to squeeze myself into the basement to do clothes. It will take months, and in between we'll have some lambs and fix some fences and weed lavender and make some art.

Poodle period continues, and more

Some new things over on the store. My poodle period continues and the final two pieces of that threesome are now available [the first one sold already].

I've also added a section called On Paper. This section will sell pieces that are created traditionally by painting and drawing layers that are then assembled on the scanner as collages - hence the only original is the digital original. This is often how I create my illustrations. They are printed on archival paper with archival inks. I do not intend to pull large quantities of these, but will hand pull and inspect each print as they are ordered. I have decided to only offer work that is created in this way as prints - in other words, I do not intend, at this time, to take an my original paintings on canvas and reproduce them as archives. These pieces in the "On Paper" section will not be offered for sale anywhere else. The colors and quality are like a silkscreen, just fabulous.

Blue skies predicted

New year, new ideas, new art, new experiences. I love the new year. The week between Christmas and New Year's usually finds me cleaning the studio, reorganizing desks and sock drawers and shuffling things about. Preparing....it is a time of hope, always, for me. I am always relieved to see the actual holiday season over, as I would rather be working , and I would rather know other people are out there doing their prospective lives work. Life's to short to flutter around. If you are doing your life's work, the work is always full of flutter, I feel. We had a nice quiet Christmas, with a donkey walk to deliver lavender to neighbors. A nice day alone together. Quiet. Good meal, good wine.

While tonite is New Year's Eve, my favorite night to stay inside, last night we went to a lovely little get together at the nearby home of the people that bred Pino and still raise donkeys. It was good food, good conversation and just a nice time. It was really fun meeting some other couple, like minded in many ways, who live around here. Perhaps the best part of the night was reminiscing with the host and others about old concerts we had all been to in the late 60's and early 70's. I was only 10 in '68, but our friends were 17-20, and they had seen Jimi Hendrix live. I felt like bowing down on my knees. One woman had seen the Beatles, and she said they were tiny dots on the stage, and all around little girls were screaming and fainting, and the music could not be heard. We laughed about drugs and rock and roll. I am so glad I got to live in those times at the age I was.

We talked about generators, pump issues, difficulties of fencing for buffalo, the difference between goats and sheep, and how to get rid of mange and what to apply to a goats teats when they had been abrased by milking. There were cats looking in from the wrap around porch, sneaking in from time to time, a couple toddlers plodding around, laughter, twinkling lites, good smells, and intelligent, educated young adults who are just beginning their journeys in their lives. One young woman was studying acting in NYC and lived near my old Brooklyn neighborhood. She relayed how wonderful it is too live in NYC, and told me about her acting teacher and classes. She was full of spirit and optimism that made her beautiful. Some day she will attend a party and stand in slightly older mid life shoes. She will listen and look intently at the beautiful skin of the younger person who is talking, and be energized by her spirit, and she will think of herself many years earlier. She won't feel regretful, she will just make a mental note of it, "My, life is grand, but how did I get here so fast?"

It was one of those homes that when you are there, it invites you to come in, and invites you to stay a bit longer. Warm spirits reside there. I slept so peacefully last night.

The dog knows

All week I had intended to write some kind of Christmas story with heartfelt messages of peace and kindness, but was busy with many things. Today I was able to free myself of the lavender orders, computer work and holiday details to give myself the freedom to just draw. I started out with the simple exercise of drawing a profile, and ended up with this , after covering the paper at least 5 times with black gesso. I like this drawing, and I am not sure why. I had a standard poodle when growing up, and my brother had a wonderful black standard for many years who I adored, but I certainly didn't sit down and think about them consciously today. After a couple hours, I rested with this one, and knew I was done covering it up once more with black gesso. I added the small piece of paper that says 'the dog knows', and hand sewed it onto the watercolor paper. What does the dog know? I don't know what it means. But I decided after looking at it over time today, that this piece was meant to be my Christmas story to you. I guess some time down the road I might know what the words to this story are, but for now, all you that read this blog can look at it and write your own Christmas meaning into the drawing.

On Christmas day, Martyn and I will take time to deliver some lavender bundles to nearby houses, via donkey. We walked them on Thanksgiving Day as a new tradition, and I thought Christmas is a wonderful day to take your donkey out to bring gifts to a few people. I have some bells I'll add to Pino's halter and red ribbon for Paco. We are going to prepare a leg of lamb from our own sheep, and serve it with vegetables and...something. My mother is sending me some of her home baked cookies so a little bit of my parents will be with me. I miss them.

Enjoy the story you tell yourself when you look at this drawing, and share it with others if you care to. And from all of us at Apifera, we hope you, your families and your animals can find peace in your own hearts so you can share it with all you encounter.

I'd like to thank the electricity

I feel almost torn about putting up a post, showing I have electricity again, while many in our area do not. The wind storm that came through last Thursday night was powerful, beautiful in ways, but deadly and serious. Most of Oregon and Washington were without power - and the national news is not reporting it, but many of the rural areas are still without it.

So, you get the candles out, and the storm is almost exciting at that point. The candles are pretty and it's a good excuse to sit and sip wine - which is what we did. Martyn cooked pasta by candlelight. But the wind gusts were scary. I feared for the barn roof and our windows getting broken. Going out the next day showed tree tops snapped at the top, signs bent in two and electric fencing strewn about pastures.

I had an appointment with the dogs at the vet, and they too were without power. Without lights, we got the dogs out by the window light and did all their shots and Huck was thrilled with the party like atmosphere. I decided I better get bags of ice for the freezer - I was not going to lose 2 lambs worth of meat. Every where I went I heard of trees in houses, near death escapes from falling trees and cars ruined. Barn roofs ripped off. I knew we would be without for some time, and once you resign yourself to that, you get on with it.

My laptop is a lemon and I've never replaced it, so I started panicking about not being able to pick up email and answer any online sales. But at some point, you just give up the struggle. At the same time we were without power, there were three climbers fighting for their lives on Mt. Hood, and my predicament seemed silly compared to theirs. We could still cook, the animals had ample water in their troughs from heavy rains, and we had the stove for heat. Martyn decided we should be relieving ourselves outside since our well doesn't work without power. I thought it was sort of silly, but agreed, and when I made my first trip out, Little Orange and Plum rushed to greet me as I did my business. I must say, doing your business under stars and crisp air, amongst a group of cats did make me feel like part of the group. By morning it was about 45 in the house. A tad nippy. The power came on about 10 am - we rushed around doing all the things you desperately missed, and now so appreciated. Warm water, the electric toothbrush, washing the dishes, coffee. I kept saying over and over, a little thank you. When we sat down to relax come nitefall, ready for some movies and wine, a nice dinner, out went the lights again. Crueler the second time! At that point, I allowed myself to actually believe I was the center of the universe and started whining, pretty much for the rest of the nite. I blamed it all on over population and deemed I would take the donkeys and go live somewhere else. I announced the power was gone forever, really forever, and decided I was better off in bed.

Without power, life does slow down to some extent. But it also makes one remember just how hard basic survival is in the world. Getting water, making it drinkable, staying warm, feeding yourself, family and pets. That's about it. But without power, that can often consume the day. As I was cleaning the barn in the dimness, I thought how the animals go on with the day and night like they always do, with or without power. Their day is clocked by sun and moon. Their day is always about being themselves without man made things - without whining. Like the baby owl near the barn at dusk.

A fond farewell to Ragweed

Yesterday we all gathered to bid a fond farewell to Mr. Ragweed [the brown ram on the right]. Ragweed will be living about 10 miles from here with a very nice young shepherdess and her young flock. It always helps when the buyer shows up and you like them. I had gathered the young rams in the morning, and explained to them for about the 10th time that Ragweed would be leaving us to live with his new flock of girlie sheep. But they never listen. When the the time came to take Ragweed, he was very cooperative, until his feet made it outside the paddock gate, and he did a four-feet stop - "Wait a minute, missy, this doesn't seem right." Daisy, Ragweed's mother, was in a nearby pasture and bleeted to him- instant recognition of her son- and he recognized her bleet and returned a farewell. The donkeys stood by with that Eyore look - "Here we go again, we're losing another one - 'Be brave, young ram! See ya! Nice to have spent the first 7 months of your life together!"


You can say all you want about not putting human emotions on to animals or livestock, but when you separate them from their own, it's gut wrenching. We got almost to the transport van without much trouble, until he got near the car and he went down on his side. He'd had enough. "No thank you, I don't know these people, I'm not getting in that van...I'll just rest here while you people work it out". With that I let him rest calmly for awhile - first time I've ever had a sheep just lie down and rest - even a foot prod didn't budge him. We eventually just picked him up and put him in the van. His little face was pressed against the window as I stood and chatted with the new owners. "You'll do great Rag," I said through the van window, "You get to make babies now! "...."Babies? I am a baby," his facial expression said back to me.


One day you put two sheep in a pasture, 5 months later you get another sheep - that's the story of Ragweed. He's just a ram going off to make sheep of his own now, as it must, and should be. But as I walked to the barn last nite and witnessed the beauty of the ice and fog landscape, it was apparent Ragweed wasn't there. Each animal has a distinctive energy - felt when they are there, and recognized as gone when they leave. The nightly feeding of the donkeys made me glad to be me - have you ever fed hay to a donkey and then leaned down and put your arms around their belly to listen to their tummy rumble and heart beat? It's a nightly event here.

Huckleberry Pie declares farm snow day

I awoke feeling like a child again. I knew we were to have rain storms, but when my eyes opened it was to the 100 year old Doug Fir tree out my bedroom window, its arms draped in heavy snow. I sort of had a moment of confusion, as it felt like I was still in my old homeland of Minnesota. Waking up to the 'sound' of snow, it has a silence one can hear, and I just felt like I was back home. Huckleberry Pie and I [we both enjoying saying this over and over] declared it a farm snow day, Billy seconded the motion, and so after a few quick yoga poses, coffee and yogurt [due to the 3 pounds of extra material in my body consisting mainly of pecan pie], I did barn chores and took my camera. As usual, my camera didn't capture what I saw. The sky had this silver tone in the background, with layers of fog on top of it. There was some blue early on, but the silver came back. Beautiful.

Since we rarely get a lot of snow here, I had this naive notion that the donkeys would be out frolicking like dogs in their first snow. I made them, along with the young rams, eat outside, like donkeys must do in Minnesota, so they could experience the joy of snow. The goats were somewhat perplexed, unimpressed really. But Miss Pussytoes the cat was up early, playing with little snow globs. All the fences, all the manure piles, all the posts created new patterns with snow - I will play with some white on white patterns today, I think. The new bamboo screens Martyn just made looked nice too.

Our Thanksgiving was relaxed. We had dinner in town at Martyn's family's but were home by 6pm, allowing us to take naps in front of the TV before going to bed. The next day, we worked in our garden which was so nice, and then took time to take Pino and Paco for a long walk. We made a visit to our favorite winemaker to buy some of his Pinot to enjoy with our first meal made of our own lamb meat. We had lamb chops, and they were wonderful. I was so proud. I wonder if other farmers shed a small tear the first time they cook something they raised - not out of sadness, but pride for both the animal and the farmer. I mean, I was just proud!

Giving thanks

Giving thanks takes on a new meaning this year, as we eat our first home grown meat. Martyn and I will prepare a special meal for each other on Friday, of lamb, our own vegetables,and homemade pie, of which Billy Baker the one eyed pug still fancies. I'll use our own walnuts this year instead of pecans. We will go to our favorite local voigneur and buy a bottle or two of his Pinot, and drink it with our paté appetizer.

I had heard a chef on NPR who started growing her own lamb because she couldn't find any in her area that was organic. She said that cooking took on a different feeling for her, that after raising the animal, the cooking prep was still like having a relationship with the animal. Cutting the meat, seasoning it, all were acts of respect, and thanksgiving.

I will be missing my mother's cooking on Thanksgiving Day though. She makes the same menu every year. A couple times we suggested she add this or that - absolutely NOT - why mess with the perfect meal? How many times did I awake in a nearby bedroom, only to smell the stuffing being prepped in the morning? Or how many times did I get to test the pie crust with her pie crust cookies? How many times did I hear her say after the meal was over, "Oh, the gravy wasn't that good this year", when of course, it was perfect. Food and cooking smells can take a person back to other times, and pleasant memories - in that way, food is a thread to all our friends and families.

So Happy Thanksgiving to all beings - little pugs, donkeys near and far, old dogs gone, families gathering, or not -it is a day to come together, and remember where you came from, and where you are now, and hopefully somewhere in the day you will share of yourself.

Kisses to share

Lest anyone think I have completely loss my sense of humor or whim over the past few entries, I treated myself to the joy of making some new holiday designs for cards, honoring some of my muses.

The last weeks have been full of county politics - a bit too much for my sensitive little heart - and animal passings. While 10 of the latter were cows going to feed people, and two were mice murdered in my kitchen, it still seemed at times a bit heavy around here. And thank you to all the nice messages and emails from so many compassionate farm lovers. Like I Heart Farms, one of my favorite farm blogs, loaded with information and wonderful things.

So, to remind myself of who I am, and where I am, I did two things for myself this morning. I took some white gesso and painted "Neil" on my jeans, to remind myself that if there are answers to be sought, or air guitars to be played, I only need turn on Neil Young music- yes, and you people that follow my little world know that the Neil Young music must be played - LOUDLY. The second thing I did was take Pino Blangiforti for a walk [for those who wonder where his compadré Paco is, he is still in halter training, and sometimes, a girl just wants to be with one donkey]. We walked down to the road to visit with a neighboring horse, Rudy, who stands alone day and night in his field, sore feet and all. The local horse people have been keeping tabs of sort on him for years, and we all give him treats. He is lonely I think. So I took little Pino down there, and he reached cautiously up towards this HUGE head of Rudy's [he is exceptionally big, bigger than Sky even]. The two of them gently sniffed, although Rudy has been known to show his stuff, so I was cautious and ready to step in - one large bite and Pino could have lost a nose. But instead, the sweetest, most gentle demonstration of 'nice to meet you' transpired: Rudy took his lips and just puckered, and gently engulfed Pino's muzzle - not a rough equine play nibble, not a dominance nibble, just a gentle little kiss. A soft little kiss like two little butterflies would give each other upon greeting in spring.

We all need little kisses like this. So, the rest of morning was spent kissing everyone. All because of one old lonely horse and one little donkey. So 'pass it one', and write to me and tell me who you kissed today. I will share it with Rudy when Pino and I walk down to greet him again.

The quest for comfort

I was lucky to attend a very good school as a child, and from that school and those teachers I learned the value of seeking knowledge - get all the facts you can by reading, exploring, researching, asking questions - and then you will have new knowledge, and a new comfort level abut the subject, or task, at hand. Approaching challenges and new things this way through my adult life has helped me work through rough roads.

When we first began raising sheep, I was like many [I am told] novice shepherds. "Oh, we'll just raise breeding stock, and the other sheep will just stay on for pasture maintenance. We won't do meat." Early on, a very seasoned shepherd and farmer said, rather tongue in cheek, "They all say that in the beginning". "I'll show him..." I mused to myself...And so began my quest to seek that comfort level I had always found I could attain simply by asking enough questions, reading enough books, gathering facts. For the past year, I have been preparing for yesterday's slaughter of some of our lambs. Many of my wiser and more experienced shepherd compadrés - from Vermont, to Minnesota and Missouri, and throughout Oregon, have helped megrapplee with my discomfort in taking the lives of these animals. I sometimes yearned to just wake up and be like them - they seemed stronger and more practical about dealing with a basic fact in raising livestock - some of them have to die. I began to doubt my ability to sustain this lifestyle year in and year out. After all, I am the person who saves flies and puts as many outside as possible. In the beginning of my quest for knowledge and facts, I asked generic things of farmers, like, "What age is best to butcher them?" or "Do you have a butcher you prefer."

I mean, they don't have long chapters about your first slaughter in the sheep books, and they should.

The more I asked the basic questions, the discomfort starteddissipatingg, and I ventured on to asking even grittier details about the actual process. I labored over articles about the pros and cons of taking ones animals to a slaughter house, versus having the mobile slaughter unit come out. I tried to interview the local rendering house, much to their dismay - 'a city nut, a farmer wannabie', I imagined them all whispering. In the end, I decided having a mobile unit come to our farm and kill the animals here was the least stressful for the animals, and that was therefore the best for me too. I had witnessed the shootings of the cows next farm over, and saw how professional, and fast it was. After gathering all my facts, and picking the butcher that would do the task, I rested a bit, convinced I was hard as a rock. After all, we were growing food for others, and ourselves, a good thing. We raised the lambs in sun, on grass, with no hormones or over crowding. They came into a small to medium flock where they were given attention, the comfort of a barn and ample room to romp and grow. Yet, with all my facts in my bag, as I penned the meat lambs up in a stall to have their final night of sleep, I didn't feel bad, but I didn't feel good. I didn't feel comfortable at all. I thanked them for giving us food, and I assured them the next day was going to go quickly and smoothly.

We had planned that the day of theslaughterr, I would stay in the house, and Martyn would show the butcher the barn and answer necessary questions. The butcher arrived 2 hours early and Martyn was off the farm doing errands, so I ended up showing him where he could set up. I am so thankful it happened that way. Highly recommended and used by several of our farm friends, this man did not make me feel like a newbie, or a city farm-girl wannabie. He reassured me it would be fast and no one would suffer. It was helpful to meet him, and know he was in charge. The reality of the soon-to-happen event came home though, when he asked me if I wanted the livers and organ meat. Gee, I hadn't thought about that. I went back to the house, expecting to hear the shots in about 5 minutes, but none were heard. When they kill the cows next farm over, it is loud. I took to pacing around expecting to hear the shots, and finally thought, this is stupid, I have to get on with the day, so went to my studio which looks towards the barn. I hadn't realized he had moved the truck there, and from a distance I could see him sawing. I could see the other lamb bodies.There had been no shots, it was over. Martyn drove up at this point, went out to meet him, and when he returned to the house, he had a baggie with livers in it. It was sort of surreal, but it was a turning point for me - And that was when I realized how special this all was. As I held that liver, I realized I knew exactly where it came from, and what foods did and didn't go into it. I felt very respectful of what I was holding - it is just so different than anything I have ever experienced.

I felt relieved, and workedquietlyy the rest of the day in my own thoughts. All my months of fact gathering had come to a close, and another new experience from living on the farm was under my belt. Next year, I will know more of what to expect, and while the discomfort of the day will probably never completely go away, I think the respect for the farm and our animals and what they bring to our lives will only grow each year.

Look closely at your food tonight. Ask yourselves where it came from, who cared for it. Did it suffer through life in a stockyard, was it treated humanely the day it's life would end so people could eat? Seek out locally grown meats in your area by visiting Local Harvest and ask your grocery stores to support their local farmers.

Really, the emperor has NO clothes

Despite the gloomy weather and flooding ravaging some areas, the donkeys are celebrating after I explained to them that donkeys have taken over the House. To honor the new wave of optimism, I plan to read 'The Emperor has No Clothes" to all the animals later on today. It's always difficult getting them settled in one area, but is worth seeing their faces as I read them good literature.

It's been very, very busy here. Working on illustration pieces, improving the portfolio, and working on the appeal that our neighborhood group will bring to the County about the proposed sub development up the road. The latter has taught me a lot about local politics, not all of it pretty. Some of it I knew, but seeing it in your own backyard is always depressing. So the election last night at least made me feel like people got mad enough to vote, and speak up at the emperor . I mean, just vote, people. At least do that. You can bet that if voting rights were stripped form people, there would be an outcry. Many of those voices would be from the ranks of those that find many excuses not to vote, I am sure.

So, since perhaps donkeys will see some resurgence in the marketplace, I am thinking my new little children's book might be good timing. This is not why it came to me last month, but I have had two ideas about a children's book in my head. One is on paper only, no drawings, and the other I am playing around with the art first, with the plot evolving. In a nutshell, it's about a little donkey who lives happily, accompanied by his best friend, a brightly colored beach ball named Ball. Together they play and romp, until one day the little donkey decides his ears are different and odd and he wants new ears.

Pino of course thinks he is the donkey in the book, Paco thinks it is him. I told them not to buy new halters for the Oprah Show just yet.

Rain on a barn

The winter rains, thankfully, have come with full gusto. It was a long hot and dry summer, people's wells went dry, we lost a lot of plants and a second hay crop seemed to fade for many. I worked in the rain all morning transplanting and reworking our beds, and the soil is still like dust. Funny how even though summer ended not too long ago, one can still have a flutter in the heart thinking about the plants, and how they will do next season. Gardens are hope.

I had a nice morning. It was raining a lot, but was warm. I did my barn chores and then spent time just hanging out and putzing around the barn. I love that rain on that tin roof. All the animals inside munching on hay, some at your feet. Martyn built Sky Flower the most wonderful new stall. I always say, it is the nicest room on the farm. Now she has access to come in and out of her stall on her own from her pasture, and I can choose to lock her in at night or not. Before, I haltered her and led her in to her other stall. Her new stall has an overhang with a tin roof too, and she can hang out right outside the stall and still be dry. Because the barn sits up on a hill, she can see everyone coming and going on Tupper RD, and she also can join in barn activities by just sticking her head out the stall door or window. The barn cats sleep nearby on the hay and she has them for company. So this morning after chores, I just hung out with her in the stall, grooming her, watching the comings and goings of the neighborhood.

It was hard to pull myself away from her beautiful head. "See you later most beautiful horse ever", I say as I leave.

As I walk back to the house, I hear three shots. The neighbor's cows were being harvested. I just kept walking.

The pleasure of early moring waffles

I awoke about 4 am thinking about homemade waffles with a side of bacon. Actually, I think I first thought about it the night before. The kind of waffles my dad would make me, whipped up really well, with extra butter in them, and on them. Some Saturdays, one must indulge in one's hankering. So as Martyn slept, I indulged, with Huck, Billy, and Big Tony, at my feet. I was up early enough to catch the rising of the sun, coming in over fog clothed forests above the farm. Sky was already up having her pre-breakfast grass hor d'oeuvre. The farm in early morning is special, especially on these fall days. One must savor them, so, with a belly full of waffles I set out to enjoy the morning, simply by doing my routine barn chores.

Mr. Pumpkin Head was once again sleeping with what he thinks are his
brothers. Like I explained in a previous post, Mr. Pumpkin Head does not understand he is actually just named after a pumpkin, he truly believes he is a pumpkin. Why ruin such a harmless belief. As I set out from the house, the barn cats met me at the center gate area, and porch cat posse follows close behind me. Some nose rubbing, some jostling ensues, but mostly the tails are raised high in greeting. We greet all the boys - rams and donkeys - and head to the barn. It is a strict order of giving hay out - set in stone. If I, God forbid, step out of line once and feed out of order, a symphony of displeased goats, sheep, horse and cats rings out. So, all within about 1 minute, I open the stall for Mr. T and his 3 ladies to go out, throw cat food out for cats, give Sky a flake of hay, let goats out, and two young ewes not being bred, carry out hay for Joe Pye Weed, Rosie and Daisy, throw hay precisely in the right spot for goats so they don't try to go over fence for Joe's hay, run hay over to donkeys and other rams. Clock work. Everyone is content.

By the time I was done cleaning out a stall or two, Sky was done with her flake of hay, and I took her to the corral for a light workout. A perfect morning. With all the waffles in me, it seemed ironic she was the one running in circles, but
someone has to keep heir figure around here. It is the last weekend for deer season, and as I walked back to the house, I was relieved to see Ethel and her twins. The last weekend and the first weekend of deer season are sort of the same, a lot of the imbeciles come out for one last try. Like the guy who stopped across the private property across from us about a mile, got out of his pickup, shot towards three private properties - all with horses, livestock, children and pets, shot his gun, then jumped in and sped off, dust flying. Yelling was heard right before and after the shot. I was walking with Sky at the time, the rams scattered nearby. One always sort of looks around to count toes, sheep and pets. But the look of the fog lifting over the oaks reminded me - imbeciles with guns are everywhere - better off here with all this to look at.

Country ride for the soul

Our neighboring farmer up the road has 6 Percherons that he employs for all his field work. He also does a lot of educational events where he takes his team to historical events and fairs to demonstrate how our ancestors worked a team. He takes people on overnight wagon rides, following the historical journeys or settlers. So, he thought it would be nice to gather neighboring farms and properties and invite us all on a 14-mile hay ride up to a local lodge on the mountain. The day was perfect. We rose just as the sun was rising to feed all the animals and get to the wagon for the 8AM departure. Frida and Betsy were the chosen Percherons to take us on our journey, and the weather could not have been more perfect. All sun, but crisp, glove and sweater weather. The temp decreased as we rose in elevation, but we were all prepared and it was just wonderful seeing the beauty of the leaves and forests, and hearing the clip-clop of the team. All the people on board were participating in the fighting of the near-by sub development mentioned in the previous post, and we actually drove by the property line at one point, noticing the survey stakes.

But it was a nice way to gather, and being with horses makes one remember, there are still wonderful things to surround oneself with, developers or no developers. They can't take that from a person.

After all the little children had departed, I sat up front with Joe who drove the wagon. We talked about the horses, and how all their tack worked. We both agreed, it's a much nicer view - that of a horse's rear and tail - than the tail lights of a car.

The nearby development possibility had me thinking of the land around us, how it might change. It made me think about how the arial view of the whole area will change over time, and already has, and how the birds and leaves see that before we do. That is where "If I Were a Leaf Falling" came from, a new little painting that is a love letter to the land.

Surround your animals with prayer flags

We are fighting a sub-development up the road, thanks to the sad passing of Measure 37 two years ago. Having come from Minnesota, land of beautiful farm lands and small river towns eaten up by developers, I was pleased when I moved here in 2002 that Oregon set such a good example for land use. Two years later I was shocked and saddened by the passing of Measure 37, an amendment so poorly explained to the voting public, so pushed by a small, wealthy group of opportunists, that it divided Oregon, and still does. I knew it's passing was a road that Oregon would not be able to do a U-turn on. We felt when we moved to Yamhill [at that time, the Measure 37 had not even come up for voting] we were somewhat safe for about 20 years from any hint of large executive type McMansions , or worst yet, sub-developments. Sadly, we are now faced with a forested 50-acre parcel being turned into 12 small lots. This is 1/4 mile up our road. Traffic from the development would go up our road, traffic that would include the usual number of cars, and off-road vehicles the the 'average' family building a 5,000 SF home costing over $700,000 usually require for their chosen lifestyle. A sub-development is completely out of place for this rural/agricultural area, and all we can do is voice our opinions and see it through. I have written 3 letters, we've taken part, as have other neighboring farms and properties, in the local county process. I won't go into details on this specific case, but visit 1000 Friends of Oregon to read about the impact of this Measure 37, and learn about land use issues. And on a national level, this update site is invaluable.

So as I worked in the studio the other day listening to a new Greg Brown CD, the words "feels like the wind, and trees and stars are on trial", caused me to pause and write them down.

The farm felt different. I feel unsettled because of what will happen in the area. It is, I guess, becoming what they said it would, another Napa. It took me over 40 years to find a farm, live a dream, and the dream never had a sub-development in the middle of it. Two nearby properties of long time residents have now sold their places, not wanting to deal with it all. I don't blame them. On the upside, their places sold for very good amounts, and our property's equity will profit down the road.

So, I turn to things that give me joy, and comfort. Pino Blangiforti's face is like a stuffed animal. When you see it, you want to hold it, and squeeze it, cry into if you are feeling blue. He was very patient with me when I sat with him in a pile of hay, and shed some tears into his neck. I came in and drew this portrait of him, and I decided to add little prayer flags for him, and all the animals, and our farm. For we all need prayers these days - all living things - even the wind, the trees and the stars.

If I were a bird

If I were a bird this is how the farm would look today. One of three new abstracts just completed.

It's grey out, it's comforting. I turned the fireplace on in the studio for the first time yesterday. I worked all day in the studio, then we did a burn outside and had a glass of wine while sitting on the bench watching the fire. The donkeys sat nearby, enjoying it, it appeared.

This morning, I worked with Sky Flower for a change. She was sleepy, but attentive. I asked her if she was feeling blue, her eyes shut as I rubbed her forehead.