Did someone say "Peep"?

Once again, the beauty of random life has entered the farm. Going out to start morning barn chores, I walked to the chicken house, remembering that it was exactly 21 days since I placed some fertilized eggs from another farm under my broody hens. Being a novice chicken owner, I was perplexed when they had suddenly quit laying about a month ago, but appeared healthy. As usual, I consulted my plethora of chicken books, online sources, and friendly chicken freaks [as one of my farm friends said, 'Chickens are almost a cult" - this appears to be true]. I learned quickly the traits
of a broody hen, and I had 4 of them. So what the heck, I gave them what they wanted, eggs. I guess many of us ladies at some point in life, have that instinctive desire to curl up and nurture an egg, protect it, and hatch it. I confess, I like children, but the gotta-have-a-baby thing never clicked on me. I'm grateful, as I am a much better mother to sheep and rodents and weeds. If I forget to put Rosemary in, she would head to the barn [I have never forgotten to do this by the way], but if I forgot to put the baby to bed, where would it make a nest? In the corner near the blanket where Huck often settles?



So, it was not a surprise, but it was a surprise, to open up the chicken house to see a teeny little head. Then another, then another, and another. "My God!" I gasped. "It worked..." I actually gasped this to myself... I was so excited I dropped my morning donkey carrots, and fled to the house like a school girl on the run for pancakes, ran into Martyn's office and said "Chicks!"...

I spent the rest of morning panicking. I had read - and read - about what new chicks needed, but had just not really expected any chicks...This is referred to as "Unexpected New Chick Syndrome"...Fortunately, after several emails to Whitey, an experienced broody chicken herself , and a call to the woman who gave me the fertilized eggs, I quickly created special little holding areas out of dog crates within the chicken house, so chicks and hens and remaining unhatched eggs are safe, and able to have water and feed.

I am now in the stage of "Post-Unexpected New Chick Syndrome" in which I am assuming all the eggs that are going to hatch, have. This is somewhat irrational, as there are 4 chicks, and 8 more eggs being sat on. I am praying for mainly girlie chicks.

One day you have some hens, the next day you have hens and chicks. Let's hear it for Henny, Henny Jenny, Henny Penny, and Zucchi for their setting skills. If I were lost in the woods, and I was really teeny, I would want one of these hens to keep me warm -have you ever felt the underbelly and chest of a mother hen? You must.

Breakfast with a Pygmy

I took my morning out near the barn and sat with Frankie while she ate her breakfast. She reminded me that during harvest, one must stop, if only for 20 minutes, catch one's breath, and actually relish the bounties we have before us. Frankie lives for two things, maybe three - scratches between the two horn stumps [left by a long ago owner who didn't remove her horns properly but just sawed them off], breakfast, and thirdly, dinner. Dining with her this morning gave me a fresh perspective on the day ahead in the lavender field.

We worked until 10 pm and have another 800 or so bundles to bring in today. The skies are overcast, perfect for my Irish skin, and the temps are cooler. We should be done with the main Angustifolia variety tonite, a day's rest, maybe two, and then the Hidcotes should be ready. Then the Grossos and Provences.

I wasted a bit of time last nite when we were hanging the bundles up in the drying area in the house [we still hang 300# in the house until the drying room is done]. When you bring in the freshly cut bundles, little bugs, mostly beneficial bugs, fall out onto the counters. Tiny little bugs. I decided this year to take time to try to sweep them gently into a box and release them outside. This brought much angst, as they are so tiny, many probably were half killed by the sweeping action, which made m me worry the ones I released were most likely suffering and I should have just killed them in the first place. Man's place on Earth, and our activities, unfortunately, kill many of our tiniest companions, I surmised, and I fell on the couch and had some wine. I decided I could figure out the tiny insect-saving-technique as I lay in bed.

Afternoon's work

This particular time

The bees have once again returned to the fields, telling us it is time. "Buzz. Buzz. Prepare your cutters." The lavender harvest has begun. I always forget - even though this is our 3rd summer- how huge the lavender harvest week is. It pretty much commands one's attention and requires much more than just cutting the stuff. This season, the first 1500 plants we put in the ground in late '04 are now nearing maturation, so our bundles are greater, which means we had to create more drying room - a 10 day process. Last year we were able to put 300# of stalks on the ceilings of the kitchen, this year our yield will triple at least. We took the old milking parlor of the old red barn and Martyn created these wonderful wooden doors - DUTCH doors, the kind that make us ladies swoon [why is that?]..So we are ready. We learn by doing each year.

This is the first summer here where I feel I am the farm. I am not who I was when I left Minnesota anymore. Nor am I the person that moved here in 2004. I want to be in the field - at least in the early morning or evening. I'm always ready to leave the field, mind you.We creek back up to the house and collapse - Martyn and I are doing all the harvesting this season - and our hands are tired too from clutching and cutting the bundles - but never tired enough to hold a glass of red wine at 9pm, or hold the Pug with one eye, or feel the ears of Huckelberry Pie.

Meanwhile, art gestates. June is a good month for me to allow the art and ideas to be within me, percolating while my body works on the farm - and later, when I'm ready I'll visit with it in a tangible form. I try not to get restless, and just let myself partake in full speed ahead mode with the farm and land. Sometimes, voices creep in - my own, or, often people on the outside who want me to be making art, want me to focus on what they want me to focus on - and I have to remind myself, I chose to live on a farm for a reason. The last two summers, I have fought this, always caving in, torturing myself that I should be painting, or working on something to get this kind of work or that kind, keep up appearances, keep up with the Jones. Something turned in me recently, good friends abounded with their thoughts and wishes, and I worked through it - I am done with that.

Whatever work I am doing in the field, or on the farm - there is a reason I am doing it - it may not present itself clearly to me or others at this moment, but there is a really valid reason why I am farming right now in my life. While I made a choice to move here, I really believe I was led to this particular farm with these particular animals and this particular mate at this particular time. Perhaps my medium will change, perhaps my output will lesson or focus on one book, perhaps I will choose to create with words only. Whatever it is, it's out there.

Go on now...

I went out to the front garden area this morning to check on a certain plant I am trying to identify, and as I stood examining it's leaves, found a wounded woodpecker right there at my feet. It's one eye was still blinking, and I had hopes it was simply stunned and would recover. After waiting a few moments, I picked it up to examine it, and found a contusion under one wing area,swollen, most likely the victim of a tooth wound of one of the cats. His right eye was shut, but he was still breathing.

I took him in my hands and went to sit with him in the shade, hoping perhaps in time he would recover. He still held his head erect, and was still blinking. His wings were fine, and there was no open wound. His little right foot was able to grab on to me. But after witnessing the slow 2 hour death of Tucker the chinchilla two years ago, I knew that certain body contortions meant death was progressing. I just told him to fly, go on now, just go, it's OK. Soon after he opened his beak and took a final little gasp. I hope if any of my animals are ever wounded I can be there to help them on. It makes a difference in one's day, life, to witness a death of any kind, even the death of a small bird. Any death, even of a bird only held for 30 minutes, can be symbolic of many deaths past and future - and one should stop, pay homage, and then rejoice at all the life still surrounding. But always, stop, shed a tear, treat it as a gift, pay homage.

I created a little death portrait of him, and buried him in a muslin bag with daisies. When I sat the little headstone down on his fresh grave, I heard coyotes in the upper hills. An unusual time of day to hear them, but a greeting, I'm sure.

In the eye of the beholder

One of the best things about living in the country is that people swap a lot of junk. Or bring you a lot of junk. Perhaps I have a reputation of accepting stray animals and stray machines parts - things always come in handy. As long as I can keep a certain amount of order to the junk, it seems a win-win situation. The other person cleans up his place a bit, saves gas by not having to haul it to a dump, and we get...a piece of junk to fix.

So, when our neighbor drove up with this beauty hitched to the back, I at first thought he needed his mower back we had borrowed. No, he had forgotten about this trailer that was overgrown with weeds and wondered if we might want it. "Needs a little work" he mused. I wasn't listening to him, I was too busy imagining the little cart all painted red, with lavender and pies in the back, hitched to a donkey, or with a donkey...."So do you want it?"...I came back to present tense - "Yea, sure"...He was thrilled, and I can imagine he and his wife laughing at the dinner table - 'Boy, that old Katherine, she'll take anything"...When Martyn drove home, I happily showed off my new, completely free, catch. I eagerly told him how easily it would be transformed into Pino Blangiforti's Pie and lavender wagon, and that if we got to it right away it might be ready for blackberry pie season, or at least apple pie season..."It won't take that much, do you think, just some paint..." Martyn put his arm around me and walked me into the house - I know this means my idea will sit quietly with him, and that eventually when he sees me with a red bucket of paint, he will come out and try to help me, before I create more chaos, or paint over already rusting bolts. In fact, I have some red paint, I always have red paint - it's essential.

Imagination is more of a blessing than a curse, for some of us anyways.

Consistency

What I really love about life on the farm is that there is consistency. It keeps a person in line, reminding them that while the world can swirl around out of control, each morning certain things are going to happen pretty much like they did the day before. I suppose it is like the office worker picking up the danish at the same corner shop and heading in on the same train to the same cubicle with the same people and their same habits. For me, it's much more pleasant hearing the donkeys bray than the guy in the corner cubicle slurp his latté. Morning means a bit of yoga and Martyn doing the dishes [Yes, ladies, he cooks and does the dishes in the morning...he came that way]. It means Huck thrilled just because, and a line of sheep descending from an old barn - usually in a pecking order that no one would notice except the shepherd. Morning means carrots for the donkeys, and to watch Pino Blangiforti eat his morning carrot is worth the mortgage. He does not simply eat the carrot - he 'smokes' it, like a fine cigar. I have seen him hang onto his carrot for 20 minutes or more, and then, s...l...o...w...l...y eat it, never dropping it, but chewing off one bite at a time while holding the carrot in his mouth. His father Angelo actually brays with his carrot in his mouth - like Art Carney screaming with a cigarette dangling off his lips.


There are some exciting new things happening around here - but I must run. I will share the newness in a soon to be post. And if you are having a bad morning, or a dull morning, perhaps you can just think of a little donkey smoking his carrot. Surely that is something to hold onto...

Walk with a daisy

We spent time meeting with some Riparian Specialists this morning as we are enrolling in a program that offers incentives and some paybacks for restoration plantings and clearing we do to the land on our parcel by the river. We will be planting about 400 trees, eradicating noxious weeds such as blackberry - all the while helping the river by giving more shade for it's waters. It's a really wonderful little parcel of land and we have thought of all the things we can do with it, but helping the river and water was always our main goal. It's choice soil, but putting animals in it would mean more erosion over time, possible issues with manure runoff into water, and it would mean a lot more fencing and out buildings.We hope to also build a little sitting hut where we can sit on hot nights, fish from, dream in...The daisies are growing there, the grass is above my ears and it felt like a giant fort. Little paintings were all over right in front of me. Take your hands and put them in front of your eyes and create a little square frame - look out from where you are, move your perspective at will, and you will see little abstract pieces all around you. And how can a daisy not make a perfect companion in one's morning.

There's is much happening on the farm and in life right now - I'll soak it all up for now and write later. And painting is the all week agenda.

To be brave

When the war on Iraq started 4 years ago, I started a series of tiny paintings, little 'prayers' to all the beings - people, children, gardens, animals, bugs - that were being destroyed, hurt or displaced by a senseless war. Needless war. I was moved by the story of a shepherd in Iraq who had noticed a sheep limping, went to check on it and was killed by a planted grenade. Killed being a shepherd.It made me think of what war would be like on my farm. How scared, distraught, helpless I would feel trying to keep my animals safe, or keep the old barn from burning, watching a field we'd toiled over blown up in seconds. Neighbors we've known, here one day and gone the next. It is impossible to really experience it in one's mind as it must be. It must never leave you.

So I did these little daily prayers, to pray for the safety of people's gardens they had nurtured, or old trees, livestock, pet horses...This is the last little prayer painting from that series. I naively thought my little prayers would help in some way, but I don't know if they have. Perhaps the people that purchased the prayer paintings will be moved to do something too, I don't know. Perhaps if I did a prayer painting for every single person in the world, it would be a different world. So, I will sell this last one, and start again.

And on this Memorial Day, the bravery and sacrifices of all veterans of the past, including my father as a Marine in the Pacific at the age of 17 to 21, must not be overlooked or taken lightly. Nor shall we forget the bravery of all those in Iraq now - and may they know that being opposed to the war does not mean we have forgotten their bravery or sacrifice.

Ears Leading to Somewhere

My compulsiveness for the ears of my donkeys continues.
The compulsion has led me to be distracted and to wander away
from the studio for large chunks of time, away from computer screens,
canvases and daily tasks. I can only have faith that the guides that
are leading me to focus on donkey ears know something I do not - yet.
I'm sure it is important and will open up doors of all kinds.

It also led me out with my camera, which led me by the chicken coop, where I sat with Henny Jenny, while Henny Jenny Penny wandered nearby. I now have 4 of the hens that let me pick them up and then will sit quitely on my lap. It is nice, it allows one to really examine how a chicken is built, how the feathers stick in their skin, like a big whisker on a man. Meanwhile, Miss Miho is now named Miss Crazy Miho, as she insists on picking out a new roost high above the ground where she religiously lays an egg, neatly and properly on a shelf, only to have it slowly roll off and be cracked on the floor each morning. I will build a ledge to keep it from rolling off. I have come to really feel badly when I take the eggs up from a roosting hen, all warm, full of potential. Miss Henny Henie Jenny Jenni is perhpas my most solid hen, calmest, always regimented in her laying, consistant. I always thank them for the eggs,but it as if they say to me sometimes, 'Can't we just keep one?'...

Lessons of Donkey Ears

I am on to some deep exploration of donkey ears. I don't know why. I just know when I start a new piece, I want to put donkey ears in them. I want to draw what I see looking directly up in the sky, so birds become flat patterns.

The ears of all equines are very special. ever since I was little I was enamored when sitting on a horse and looking at the ears of my steed. They are touchable, yet sensitive. They tell us all sorts of things - before we humans even know. I discovered if you put your ear up to your donkey's ear, you hear the ocean, or the universe, or something bigger than me anyway.

My post will be short today. I have been a lazy blogger. But life is outside right now, and at the wall where the canvas hangs. I am focusing on the August show pieces now, but also feel much exploration in my work. I have heavy thoughts on my mind and in my heart. Perhaps, the donkey ears are telling me to listen carefully to find solutions and comfort in those answers.

Tomorrow I am going to spend all day in the garden and having one-on-one sessions with chosen animal friends. First on the list - little Frankie. She spends a lot of time
now separated from the goats and rams she is pastured with. She is not being pushed around, no one bosses little Frankie around. She is the Aretha Franklin of that pasture. She just seems extra loner-ish.

I also learned that the eyes of a donkey are placed on its head so that it can see all four feet at once. I didn't know this when I woke up this morning, and it reminds me how much can come into one's day if we just seek knowledge.

A Goat Morning

When a goat gets up in the morning, it does not have an agenda. I have learned that when you live with goats, no matter how important your human agenda is, it will not impress a goat. Yesterday, rather than doing barn chores casually, I had an agenda - get the car packed with paintings and drive two hours to the coastal gallery for the Saturday show.

I keep the goats in a separate stall in the horse/sheep barn, and then walk them to their daily job of eating blackberries [which they take very seriously]. They share their daytime activity with the older rams. Most mornings, they trot right off to their duties, knowing some hay will greet them on the other side of the gate. But when one has an agenda, that is when a goat fairy lands on that goat and says 'You must confound the human this morning - be free! Be a goat!'.

Usually when my 'ladies' are being goat like, I am able to pull one of my many herding tricks out of a bag, and it works. On this morning, I did them all, including the one trick I use when all other tricks have failed - screaming at the top of my lungs "STELLA!!!!!!"...Marlon Brando must have turned over in his realm. The only thing this accomplished was that she stopped and looked at me with the calmest expression, as if to say, 'What in the heaven's name is wrong?' I then proceeded to lecture her, about how busy I was, how good Iris was [shame technique], how good I was to her [more shame technique] - all the while she listened patiently, but still no moving.

Finally, I let out a sigh, sat down on a stump, and she walked - slowly- through the gate. Least resistance pays off in most cases.

I then drove to the gallery, on a beautiful 75 degree sunny day, up through farmland, and then National Forests. At a certain point, one can feel the air change, the terrain becomes more ragged, caused by years of ocean winds and sea air. I treated myself to sushi while sitting looking at the ocean in my car. I hadn't been to the ocean for 6 months or so. That must change. It's like it said to me, 'Where have you been?" On the way home, I listened to John Prine cd's, good road music. I sang the old favorites, remembering how I was about 13 when I bought my first Prine album. As I drove, my head took me back to people I remember in college who I will never see again, and are nearing 50 too, but I see their faces as they were when they were 21. How strange, but nice too, faces caught in time. You can't paint that stuff, but a song can bring it out of your heart.

When I got back home, my ladies were eating, I greeted Stella and told her I was less hurried now, and sat near her while she ate. I then spent an hour grooming the little Small Rodent and Bird Cemetery, which has a nice new layer of fir mulch, and little English Daisies sprinkled throughout the friends buried there.

Newness

I've added some new things to the store site. I have been hunting down unique little frames that are wonderful to showcase the smaller archival prints. And some new things in the painting section...like this donkey friend

And I have added new paintings to my main portfolio site - including the first 6 pieces in the painting section, which are going up to the River Sea show in Astoria next week. The opening is May 12th if you are in the Oregon area.

Let's not forget Mother's Day. Make sure you order this weekend to ensure I can get things out on time. Ideas for the giver of your life -
lavender bouquets or sachets over at the Etsy shop , or aprons and more at the Cafe Press site.

Outcome

I recently gave this painting to an artist friend, a compadré in the qwest of sustainable living who yearns to return to the land and live in a yurt. He will succeed of course, as he has stated his intentions quite clearly to himself
and once that happens, all the powers get set into action. I can see the birds visiting him while traveling over his yurt village. I was very satisified with this piece, the process, and the outcome. Some seem to have the opinion that it is not the outcome of the painting that is important, but the process. If this were entirely true, I would not swoon over the beauty of a home grown strawberry,but rather would be content only partake in it's daily growing patterns. I paint for many reasons, and I have no qualms stating that I enjoy the outcome, as well as the sometimes struggle, sometimes flow of creating it.

I think May is one of the busiest months on the farm. Things must be done to prepare for the upcoming growing season, from vegetables to the lavender to improving the fields for better grazing. Martyn is almost done building another shelter for the lambs that will be 'chosen' to grace us with meat. We chose to not castrate this year, which means to play it safe I will have to separate them out at 3 months. They will have their own lush fields to graze on, sunshine as always, wind, the sound of the river, and a cedar shelter to provide a safe haven from coyotes at night.

Meanwhile, there is a couple tons of bark mulch in the front yard, which I am spreading 3" thick over our garden areas. Even though we planted drought tolerant plants, we still have water issues come July/August, and lost a lot of hearty plants. This will improve the situation greatly. We are also getting ready to put our trench in for our irrigation from the river, which will supply a holding tank up on a hill. It will supply livestock with water, as well as our upcoming greenhouse and newly planted trees. I've planted some more crab apples [the donkeys and horse love them] and Martyn surprised me with a 15 foot tall blooming wisteria for my door opening out from the studio.

So, with all that on our plates, it is no wonder this painting was so satisfying. It is so free and light and casual. Just like the yellow finches that have returned.

Hand Made Treasures

We received hand made cards from all the Brownies who came to visit last week. A basket of home made breads and the cards complete with drawings by the girls - it brought me to tears! It was so special seeing their art - I would prefer to post each and every piece, but time and space prevent that - each card showed something different - the horse, sheep, lambs, etc. Some of the cards had little windows that opened up to show animals inside the barn - I will cherish these. We will display them somehow, as our first official art/animal encounter here on the farm. If any of the girls are reading, please knw each card is special to me, each one is unique. Recieving art from children is a precious gift - thank you.

And this is a good segway to remind all of you to enter the raffles! I've extended it one week since my schedule is so hectic next week - so get to the raffle pages which are listed in the sidebar.

It's Friday, that means it's pizza nite. It's 70 degrees. I painted well all week. So it time to work a little this weekend with Sky, work in the garden and just enjoy the first days of warmth.

Gifts in Themselves

Tonight, sun setting, I came upon the neighbor farmer's Percherons, who like to come to the fence line to flirt with Sky. Sweaty fur caked in dirt they had just rolled in, they are magnificant creatures.

"We need another and a wiser and perhaps a more mystical concept of animals. Remote from universal nature, and living by complicated artifice, man in civilization surveys the creature through the glass of his knowledge and sees thereby a feather magnified and the whole image in distortion. We patronize them for their incompleteness, for their tragic fate of having taken form so far below ourselves. And therein we err, and err greatly. For the animal shall not be measured by man. In a world older and more complicated than ours they move finished and complete, gifted with extensions of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. They are not brethren, they are not underlings; they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendor and travail of the earth."

--- Henry Beston, 1928 (The Outermost House)

Breathing is a verb

Life is stuff I do right before I pick up a paint brush, or the thoughts that turn into words between me and friends, that often transpire into actions or new ideas. It's a verb. Love is a verb. Art is a verb. I don't have much interest in pontificating 'what art is'. I read very few blogs anymore. It starts to sound sort of like that Charlie Brown movie, where the adults are always in the background saying 'Wah wah wah'. I once had a fellow artist say she wished I'd complain more on my blog, that my days sound so 'peaceful'. I have many unpeaceful moments, I just don't share them in my blog.

The internet is a connector, and allows me to be make a living in the country on a farm - but it has no breath. I am so lucky I can just step outside and feel and hear breath all around me. I carried a cat around on my shoulder today while I carried hay to the sheep, all the while hearing his purring.

It's always something, isn't it, that keeps us all running around doing, going. The car dies, you run around buying a new one, you get a gallery show and you run around framing things, your teeth hurt so you run around to get extra work done quickly so you can take time out of your schedule to go the dentist. It's easy to get caught up in the wave. But the farm's greatest gift for me is the tug of it all day, it's breath, reminding me to come out, live in it, not for it, but in it.

Guests of Flight

In the last few days, I have been drawn to the birds, especially in my art. How can one not respond to a bird, for it's messages and meanings to humans are so varied. A vision of freedom, a being that appears to be able to...just fly away.





A little bird
Perches on a branch.
A beautiful, golden-feathered
Little bird.

Her eyelids
Are closed in sleep.
She may have beautiful dreams,
Perhaps.

How wonderful to be
A little bird,
To wake up
And fly away.

by Magdalena Klein

So I am going to paint more birds, and trees this week. It seems to be what I need to paint.

I once had a sparrow alight upon my shoulder for a moment, while I was hoeing in a village garden, and I felt that I was more distinguished by that circumstance that I should have been by any epaulet I could have worn. Henry David Thoreau (1817 - 1862)

Little Ladies

The Brownies descended on our farm on Saturday, politely, complete with very clean rubber boots, carrots and fig newtons.

I officially have categorized it a 'success'. I am not sure who had a better time, Sky or Pino. While little girls ogled over Sky with carrots and corn, another gaggle of girls doted on Pino - while he had a girl on each side brushing him, others gathered dandelions for his halter, and he was stuffed with carrots and fig newtonsI think he had post-Brownie let down the next day. He greeted me at the morning feeding as if to say, 'But, where are all those little girls?"

We started the 2 hour gathering with the ever anticipated 'lamb holding session". I had separated out my two head ewes, always calm Rosemary and Daisy. Their lambs are also very calm, including little Lambie Sarah Pie who is the one lamb I have been holding a lot. Even Rosie's little ram lamb sat patiently from girl to girl. We talked about sheep teeth, sheep hair, sheep feet, and more. All were well behaved, thanks to thorough parent supervision and pre-gathering instructions by the leader and myself.I was also thrilled to be on the receiving end of left over carrots and girl scout cookies. We'll take it anyway we can get it here.

The day gave me new inspirations for my 501C dreams [don't forget to check out the raffle] done with other age - combining such a session, but then having the girls draw their favorite animals. This could be groups and seniors too. I really like the Brownie age group - they actually still have independent minds but still think we old farts are sort of cool and look up to us. While they may swoon over the Shanjayas of the world, they haven't completely lost their sense of self or esteem once thrown into the abyss of romantic notions, clothes, competition, and...dare I say...boys.

So, all of us at the farm want to say, "Thank you, Brownies - you reminded us of the joy of being 10, the joy of eating cookies surrounded by donkeys, sheep and one grateful horse."

Art Helps

To regular readers, it is clear I also have a love of animals, and have tried to find creative ways to support them. The outpourings of support from people, many strangers to me, is always heartwarming. But rather than just asking people to donate money if they are able, I realize that I have an asset I can give back - art. I feel good that I have donated my originals and usage rights to many animal related causes over the years - most dealing with animals, but also Planned Parenthood and environmental issues. Those are my big three. I get many requests, but I focus on those three, and will continue to.

So I am trying something new - art raffles. Many people would love to own an original, but they are expensive. Most everyone can afford the $10 minimum entry with the possibility of winning an original piece of art, assuming they want and like that piece of art. The money collected will be used for various causes, spelled out on the store buy page. It will always focus on animals, or nature, but mainly animals. This month, I am having two raffles - one to FINALLY begin the legal process of becoming a 501C for my animal work. Originally I was focusing on the ferels, but I want to include animals in general. I want my 501C to educate and teach respect for animals and to share the joy and compassion animals bring to us. Watching a child pet a horse or donkey for the first time - it starts a process for that child about interacting with animals on a respectful level. I also want to work with elderly people and bring my donkey to them, or have outings here. Ever since working with Rose, a 95 year old woman who lived in a home, I have learned the great gifts of this exchange. I would take my pug there weekly - she had a pug in her earlier life- and she got so much out of it. But so did I. One day, we arrived for our visit, and she had died the night before. I was happy for her - she had wanted to die, but said for me and Billy. We have many elderly people visit our open farm days, and they often get emotional seeing the animals, as the animals make them so happy - many of them lived on farms or had animals but now are home bound and can't have pets let alone a horse or equine. When I am old, I hope I die on the land, but if I can't, I ask my guides to please bring me a donkey to touch, or a cat to sit with me, or drive me somewhere so I can once again smell a horse.

My 501C will take effort to set it up - the paper work alone can take months. It will require legal advice, accountants and time. So this initial raffle will help me with that. I have been told to estimate $400-$2000 for set-up costs, hopefully on the lower end. A 501 C will allow donations to be tax deductible, help me with legal issues, and help me get grants someday. I just know Pino Blangiforti and I can make this work, and help others - animals and people. I think I need 3 officers in the organization chart - even the IRS doesn't spell out "And it can't be a donkey".

I am not getting rich on donations, by the way- which awkwardly seems to be an impression of some - perhaps because we live on a 'farm', perhaps because I am an artist..."She MUST have a trust fund to do that"...The money I collected over the past couple years for cat donations was spent 100% on cats. I have never profited financially from any of it. But I want to take my efforts a bit higher and make it a bit more professional, and a 501 C will say that.

So, to help raise funds to start the 501C process [I tentatively call it Donkey Dreams], go to to this raffle page for directions - April 30th is the deadline.

The Buttercup the Cow painting is being raffled
to help support the fight against sub-developments in zoned farmland. Many of you know we and our neighbor farms are fighting just such a case. We've all donated, in time and money, but if you want to help in the fight, especially if you are an Oregonian, please do so. The money will be sent to the the attorney who is representing the neighborhood and the Friends of Yamhill who have coordinated the appeals on this case.
Deadline is April 30th.

"I pray to the birds because they remind me of what I love rather than what I fear...And at the end of my prayers, they teach me how to listen." T.T. Williams