Kindred Donkey Vibes

Two really nice things happened in the last 24 hours. This helped me get over my angst over a particular major shipping company trashing a major canvas going to my August 3rd show, and put some yang in my yin, or yin to the yang.

One was, while sitting on the porch last nite recounting the day's toils, a car drove up and out popped the very first donkey mother of little Pino Blangiforti - and she was not empty handed. She had a freshly baked pie in her hands to give us, with locally grown cherries...and...the..pie...was..still...warm.

Then, a fellow artist graciously is honoring Pino's Pies by donating all money she might earn from sales of these beautiful photograph/prints she did. Amy Evans has a bit of a donkey hankering herself- I know that hankering, look what happened to me when I had mine after meeting Donkey Dan - So visit the Donkey Dream blog to see where you can buy them and to read more.

Pie, kindness, sunny day.

Pino's Pie Crust for Any Skill Level

Now, I sense that some people are a bit intimidated to make a pie crust from scratch. It is not hard, and even though I have been baking since I was a little girl, I am a messy baker -and sort of 'casual'. I was going to copy word for word the pie recipe directions from Joy of Cooking,but am going to do it very simply here. True gourmet bakers might cringe at some of my directions - but the point of Pino's Pies is to have fun, enjoy baking experience, and share it with another. The woman at the elder care facility will remember your time to visit her, not if the crust was flaky or not.

Pino's Favorite Pie Crust for Any Skill Level
adapted by me who got it from my mother who got it from Joy of Cooking
2.5 cups of flour [we like King Arthur's - Pino likes the name "King"]
2 sticks of butter COLD [very important][1 cup]
1 teaspoon of salt
1 tespoon sugar
8 T + chilled water

1] I use the Kitchen Aid, but within reason. Put in 1/2 of the flour with all the butter, mix until just crumbled. Add remaining flour, do a quick mix, you still want to see butter chuncks!
2] Add in water a bit at a time, maybe in 3 parts, mixing each time -you don't need to turn the mixer on and mix it for a long time, just until the bread begins forming ball dough then stop.
3] Chill one hour minimum. You can freeze the ball at this time too, or, fridge for 5 days. I usually use mine within 2 days or so if they are in fridge.Let sit out for about 30 minutes before rolling.
4] Flour your rolling surface, flour your rolling pin, and take the ball of dough, put it on surface, and pat it down a bit. If you can keep patting it with one hand, then use your other to form a circle, so the shape stays like a circle. Then roll it out., about 1/4 " thick. I scoop it up with a spatula, and quickly lift it into the pie dish [which you buttered]. Pat it in, trim edges with a knife, and then I scallop it. Just play with your edges, it's all dough!
5] You can make a lattice with remaining pie scraps, and I love to make messy lattice work..So much fun...
6] BUT don't forget to save some of the dough bits to make PIE CRUST COOKIES sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar. Pino's favorite.

For Chickens Only

Since it appears from my perspective that the entire world is on holiday,
I have enrolled in the Apifera Farm Summer Camp for Chickens.

Today we are learning important chicken behavior such as proper perching,
wing flapping without leaving the ground, running quickly so you can hide and
look like just another dandelion, and perhaps most important, digging holes to sit in
while lifting your bottom up so it looks like you have on big puffy underpants.

Blackberry is gone

The last three days of rain - unusual for our parts - bring me relief from the heat, and a sense of home. For I grew up in the Midwest where summer was sprinkled with rain showers and storms. Who as a child hasn't reveled in running to the protection of a tin roofed shed, then busied themselves with play under the sound of the plunks on the tin. As an adult, perhaps this is why rain on our many tin roofs, including our front porch, bring a sense of home.

For the last three days and nights, Blackberry has been missing. I must now accept he is not coming back. Born in the final little of Mama Kitty before we were finally able to trap and spay her, he was brother to Little Orange and Pumpkin Head. His two other litter mates were given to a nearby farm at birth. This final litter was born in a brush pile of blackberries, hence his name, but soon after Mama Kitty carried them under our front porch, far from the safety of her barns. I considered it an act of trust, that after two years, she finally calmed enough to rear the litter so near our daily boundaries. To this day, we can not touch Mama, but she does sit nearby on the deck with her final kittens, and still reveres Big Tony.

When he did not show for dinner three days ago, I knew it meant trouble somewhere. For he never went searching far for anything. He and Little Orange were compadrés, staying close to the house, and are somewhat little Poindexters. If anything, they would go back to the blackberry area where they were born, to escape heat, and catch some mice. I can only surmise he was over inquisitive with a raccoon or possom. The difficult thing of being human is we seem to need to constantly categorize and compartmentalize, and nature does not allow either to happen. We've gone to the trouble of naming seasons, yet every year we are all so shocked when we get winter weather in spring or a hot day in November. So when an animal one has cared for for 2 years goes off, and does not return, my human brain has no tidy way to categorize it. It's so clear he's gone, yet there are so many things that could have happened to him that one fails to find a neat compartment in one's heart to shove the feelings into.

This morning when I picked up my emails, I was saddened to receive a note that a fellow painter, Ann Broadaway , had died. She had written to me admiring my work, and we briefly chatted. Her abstracts resonate with me, and our mututal attraction to each other's work is understandable. In her bio, she writes that our childhood homes allow us to develop into our true selves, and if we are lucky, it is within a place that fosters a sense of safety and 'home'. She writes: "However, as adults that home no longer exists and we must look for and create another home for the present moment. The places we live in and create are reflections of our process of becoming wholly ourselves. As a child I conceived and implemented homes in corners of the wrap-around porch of our house, perched above the ground in trees, curled under the arch of the firebushes in the yard, and with my stomach flat against the ground, even under plants where bugs lived. "

So, a small black cat wanders off and doesn't return. A talented, breathing, painter dies. Both breezed through my life, but I felt the breeze. And like Anne, I am still trying to create 'home' in my painting, in my interconnections with people and my animals, in my daily chores on the farm.

To honor Anne, please spend time visiting her website . And to honor Blackberry, I have added two originals in the Donkey Dream section, with all sales going to the cat fund .

Remedy for the blues

To cheer myself up from my over- heated- blue- mid -summer -funk, I am working on some new pattern and floral work, intended for the gift/surface market. I love these new organic compositions, created from cuttings of my abstract work and layers of background patterns. I've added a section on the main art site specifically for the license market . It also includes my first spreads for my Donkey Book I am writing and illustrating.

And I am going to be starting new paintings next week for my solo September 13 artist reception with Zeek Gallery. I want to explore animal/people portraits, a change from the large abstracts.

I also want to thank so many people all over the world for their emails and comments about Pino's Pies! It is heartwarming to have people writing with ways they want to help, or just want to participate as pie bakers in their areas.I'll be sharing some of these soon, and I will be getting some recipes over at the Donkey Dream blog this week.

Someone asked me about our little Paco Giovannetti, Pino's donkey compadré and why he isn't delivering pies. Little Paco came to us after Pino, and he has settled in very well but had some insecurity issues, and is learning many things - like how to walk calmly with a pie, definitely an acquired donkey skill. So until he learns this, I have him helping in other ways - like checking on blackberry growth.

Relief from a cat

It has been hot.

I do not function well in anything over 85, so life has been heavy and brown. While summer is the time of harvest and flowers and tomatoes and corn, it is also the time of year my body and head lose interest in many things. My creativity is sucked up by the harvest, and wrangling the young rams to put them in the various makeshift pastures. The latter must change, and next year the special 'chosen one" field will be complete with water, living quarters and grass pasture. At this time of year, my optimism - usually abundant- wanes, and I seem to lose my ability to go through a whole day without musing things like, "I'll just tell Martyn we must sell the farm and move to 5 acres". Then I sleep, and waking up to see a cloudy sky, I once again start all over.

I found Big Tony hidden in the 12' high fennel forest. He spends much of the hot days there, hidden from sun and other cats. He is King of his own forest. I took time to sit with him a few minutes, and life didn't seem quite as brown and heavy.

Dreams Coming True, and Some Pie

If you read this blog on any regular basis, you will know I am inspired greatly by all my animals, perhaps none more than the little donkey named Pino Blangiforti.

So, it is with great pleasure I announce [braying in background]....Donkey Dreams.
Donkey Dreams will involve both artist led workshops, but also the outreach program of "Pino's Pies". It is a part of Apifera Farm that will combine my love of animals and my visions as artist and dreamer...and pie maker. Please visit the brand new separate Donkey Dreams blog and bookmark it, and encourage others to visit there to.

"Pino's Pies" will encourage people of all ages and backgrounds around the world to bake a home made pie and give it to a chosen recipient - all to demonstrate the simple joy of giving of oneself, reaching out, and making another person happy in a simple way. Pino's Pies when I baked a pie and hand delivered it to a nearby neighbor with my little donkey at my side, and it brought such a heartwarming reaction for all that it has been in my mind ever since how to expand on the idea. So, call me nuts, but Pino and I are expanding. I want Pino's Pies to reach more people by investing in a trailer to take Pino and our pies even farther, to nursing homes and other people who might feel cheer from a little donkey and a little pie, free of charge. This will take time, to save money for the trailer and get the right permissions from the right people. But I have set up a separate blog called "Donkey Dreams", that will devote itself to our new venture. It will include ways you can become a pino Pie ambassadorand spread love through one simple pie delivery.

The Donkey Dreams art workshops will involve drawing animals, teaching respect for animals and promoting the healing effects of animals all the while making art of some medium - including writing and poetry. Workshops will be led by me, and/or visiting artists, and will be held on the farm or sometimes nearby venues.

Again, the Donkey Dream blog will focus on developments.

My hope is that not only will the workshops be fun and teach, they will help me and Pino carry on as pie ambassadors.

Now I lay me down to nap

As we toil in the lavender field - and temps reaching 90's now - you can browse and shop on the online stores. I have a new section of select originals on sale and some other lavender items on sale over at Etsy.

And stay tuned - for the announcement Pino and I have as soon as we can agree on the proper wording...hopefully next week.

Thank you to everyone who writes nice comments on this blog - and emails me how my writing soothes them in a hectic world, reminds them of simpler times on their family farms, gives them inspirations, or just makes them happy. Even though I rarely post my own reply comments on this blog, I do appreciate all my readers.

I'm going to take a nap now - under the Doug Fir where the Western Tanangers have nested. Huck has shade there, the branches blow and I can see the horse field and hear a sheep every now and then.

Beginning of a Dream

For a year now I have had this dream, this little Donkey Dream, to combine my skills as an artist, with my love for animals into...something.

While Donkey Dreams is inspired by Pino Blangiforti the little donkey, it was initially sparked years ago when I began taking my little pug on weekly visits to an elderly woman in a care facility. She had had a pug in her young married days - and that was why she had taken such a shine to us. Her room looked out at the top of a tree, but nothing else. She would hold that pug in her lap on our visits, and she would tell me stories of her little farm she lived on, her three children, her husband who long ago died. We talked about her garden, and her animals. Her family was small and scattered across the country. All three of us got a lot out of those meetings - old woman of 95, woman of 45, and a little pug of 8. On our last visit with her, there was just a quiet sense in that room, not sad, just a knowing sense - and I'm telling you, that little pug felt it. Usually a bit squirmy and wiggly, he sat so still that day, while she held his paw. The next week, as we entered her room, we found an empty bed. She had died the nite before, pictures on her bedstand of her holding my pug.

Twenty minutes to get there, 40 or so minutes to chat, twenty minutes to get home. That was how much time it took to make an impact on her life, as well as my own.

So, years later, I move to a farm. Suddenly, I not only have a pug with therapy skills, I am surrounded by healing beings in the form of horse, goats, sheep, lambs, dogs, cats, birds and...donkeys.

And I am an artist. Litebulb moment.

Pie Love: Heart in a crust

"To make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe." Carl Sagan

Why is it so special to make a pie for someone? Why is it different than bringing flowers, or sending a letter, or giving some art, or a nice piece of jewelry - all of which are wonderful. After all, a gift from the heart, spontaneous or long thought out, is a gift that touches and lasts for the recipient.

I think making a pie is a lot like making art. The process itself is unknown to the recipient, but the energy and experience of the maker is embedded in the final product. Fingers touch the dough and mold it, apples are cut by hand, care is taken to mix and match spices like paints. One does not go online to make a pie, one does not rush a pie, the pie is it's own entity. It starts as a bunch of ingedrients all from live beings, and ends up in one final shape. The dirt rooted the trees that grew the apples and wheat and the bees pollinated them and cows kindly made butter. Oh, let's not forget our chicken ladies, brilliantly making eggs. Spices, a tish of salt, squeeze of a lemon - all act together for the final act.

Making a pie is not drudgery. If it is, I believe one might be wise to rest a while, until they can fully enjoy the process. Otherwise, the first taste might be off putting for the recipient.

How many of us, when baking, are brought back to a similar time in the kitchen with our own mothers - I suppose this would be categorized under the buzz word of nostalgia - but I know that in any pie I make, there is a little bit of my own mother in it, whose hands taught me to roll my first dough, whose recipe cards I still have in her own hand writing. This should not be a sad memory for anyone, it is part of the eternal heart wisdom we all possess. Clearly, I have found, pies are love.

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?'...