Pino Pie Ambassador Discovered in Germany!

The beauty of life - if you choose to view it this way- is that each thing that happens in your day can be viewed as a gift from a generous source. If you look at life' s occurances this way, you can accept things that happen in life in a positive manner, and in a loving way. It also makes each day a giant gift basket - and this week, Pino and I have had many gifts.

One is the fact we came upon a little blue sheep named Friederike who lives in Germany with her very generous and talented artist mother. While I have been enjoying the wonderful wonderful toys Sandra makes , Pino and Friederike the sheep have been exchanging emails. And, today, Friederike writes about her visit yesterday to a children's home , complete with a sweet gift, in Pino Pie fashion. Friederike seems to have the same open heart as our little Pino, and already was a sharing sort, but when she read about Pino's Pies, she jumped on board. I expect wonderful things from this sheep and donkey friendship. We send greetings to Germany and our new friends!

Apron reinvention

I have made a bold decision.

I will begin to wear aprons over my pants as a way to create a new wardrobe for myself. I just ordered two vintage aprons - the smock type with vintage red cherries and colored piping. And in these pictures I am modeling an apron graciously sent to me by fellow artist Amy Schimler who designed the cheery farm animal fabric. I told her I would take pictures, artfully shot, holding lavender with Pino and Paco sitting by my side, posed like Martha Stewart props, but alas, this is Apifera, not Martha's [for which Pino and Paco are grateful], hence the photos are...well...sorry, Amy, I will do better.

The brainstorm to wear aprons stemmed from the fact that I am turning an age when, body weight once carried up high now seems to be lower, and those teeny little tanks I wore allowing my lady tummy slightly peaking out now reveals much too much even for my eyes. As healthy as we eat, and as much motion as my body gets, I am done fighting the reality that my 49 year old body just isn't 'cute' anymore. Nor is it ugly. Rather than getting down about it, I will accentuate the positive. I will cloak my body in items that make me happy, and yet react well with my donkey filled pie-bakin' -chicken- scracthin' life, and look good with braids and boots. I want to feel free, like those teeny tops made me feel once, but with slightly better coverage. For some reason, aprons make me feel that way. So when I look in the mirror and see the chin sagging, arms getting a bit pudgy, I will stop, and look at the apron I have on and feel refreshed.

I will also begin riding my horse in my aprons.

I have always re-invented myself every 11 years or so, and I am now in my donkey-apron stage. Although since donkeys live to be over 30, I do not consider it a phase really, but rather consider the donkey's the guides of this phase. My mother gave me her old sewing machine that needs fixing. I yearn to learn to sew better, and I will make aprons. I will name the aprons, like I do the animals,
and I won't care how much paint or dirt gets on them.

You know you married the right person when you can both wear the same apron.

Summer Ode

Cups of white
laced with ants
I'd like to weave you
into some pants.

I'd wear you all day
with my best rubber boots
Perhaps I could make
the donkeys some suits

I'd be naked and bare
except for my hair
Underneath your soft
tendrils and lace

The world that goes by
might scoff and ask why
Do you waste your days
in such a silly lacey haze
When you could move mountains perhaps
in stead of taking lacey naps

Well I would reply
and let out a sigh
It is because of my naps
complete with lace caps
That make my eyes shine
and my life just fine

©K.Dunn, Yamhill, OR

It just is

There must be a spiritual meaning when a beautiful pure white chicken dies on one's anniversary. Or do I just seek one because I know in my heart there is no rhyme or reason to it, it just is. Miss Miho was only with us a short time, since March or so, but she was part of farm, she gave us eggs, and she was valued. She was the tiniest hen of our small flock, the only pure white one, and the bottom of the pecking order from day one.

When I went to put the chickens in for the night, I knew right away there was something amiss. Miss Miho was faced towards a corner, like she was setting, not moving. Her head was bent to the side. She was still alive, but all the signs indicated she was on her way. Her eyes were still open, but when I picked her up, her breathing was heavy, and she was pretty much unconscious I believe. I was afraid she might just be pecked by the others, so I placed her in my wire egg basket in a white towel, and she spent her final hours with us on the deck. I stroked her and at some point could feel the heat leave her body. She lived another hour. We do not know why she died, and never will.

It had been a beautiful day, a perfect day in every sense. I had had a wonderful ride on Boone that morning, and spent a rare afternoon off the farm, enjoying a visit to the farmer's market to buy food for our anniversary dinner. I made a peach pie for Martyn, complete with one of my 'raggedy lattice tops".

But when Miss Miho finally died at about 1 am, I cried like a baby. You know, deep sobs, head in hands crying. Somehow the death of that one chicken allowed me to let go of many sadnesses in my heart - sadness that I intuitively know is coming. It's as if I needed to sob for future passings, of both animals, friends, loved ones, and myself. Someone recently told me they found farmers to be a lot more raw and primal than many people. I agreed with her, and on the farm I'm intuitively aware of the uncontrollable daily flow of nature, and unconsciously I am made aware of my own death over and over, and other's deaths too. It's just so matter-of-fact. For me it is best to feel strongly, in the moment. The farm allows me to do this in a different way than when I lived in the city.

We've decided to make a special chicken burial area by the cedar trees we are continually planting on the property line. She'll grow into them then, and my little bird and rodent cemetary is too small for the many future chicken burials. As we went to sleep last night, my husband of four years whispered to me, "You make my heart full."

A donkey comes to life

I have my children's book manuscript ready to show possible editors and am just beginning to prepare it properly. Meanwhile, I've posted some rough spreads on the site.

I must say, I have been having so much fun working on the book, and would so love to see it in print someday. I realize that is a long ways off, and I am researching and keeping a positive outlook. Martyn and I lay in bed the other night and he read it out loud, it was wonderful. We both got teary eyed. "Good grief, she thinks her book is wonderful", say all the editors in a groan...I am going to start some other stories too, as I've really enjoyed this initial process - and I am surrounded by so many stories here on the farm.

Do you know when you do a rough sketch and you just can see it in finished form in your mind? I feel that with all these roughs in my dummy [for those of you who don't know the lingo, a 'dummy' is basically a roughed out book, showing sketches and type and the flow of the book]. I've only shown it to a couple people, and both wondered if the roughs should be the finished art, but I am not sure about that. I love them, but I see most of the main illustrations being in the color version, with possible spots staying in these sketchy monotone pastels.

This is all a learning curve to me, and I'm lucky and grateful to have some artist compadres who can give me some initial insights. When I started in illustration 10+ years ago, I wanted to do children's books, but ended up on a different path, which is fine, it was as it was meant to be. But I want to try again.

The quest continues

I wrote last year about my conflict of raising animals for meat. My quest for comfort is still unresolved, but it has been softened - not because I am any less feeling, but because I am even more aware of the importance of respecting livestock and those small farmers that are doing their best to provide food for themselves and others. Please do not write me and suggest my angst would be gone if I just became a vegetarian. Hogwash. Animal by products are everywhere, and simply ruling out meat is not as simple a solution as one might think. Nor is it my choice. While I applaud vegetarians that don't eat meat because they love animals, I have thought about this over and over and over. While some are quick to say things like, 'But you love animals, it is immersed in your art and life, how can you kill them...", I would respond, "Please come walk in my shoes, live on this farm, watch the interactions and the pecking orders of nature, and you will see that I am part of a food chain begun a universe ago. " My goal as a small farmer and human is to respect the food chain, but never act the pompous king simply because, at this moment in history, I am more or less at the top of the chain.

And so, here we are again, with the impending 'harvest' of the meat lambs on my conscious. On Saturday, the mobile butcher will arrive at the farm, and within seconds, the 4 animals I have cared for will be butchered, shot in the head - quickly. I am writing that bluntly, because I think people need to hear it. I will go through the usual blessing the night before, placing lavender on their nighttime stall, and thanking each one individually. I soften my conscious by referring to this as 'harvesting', as if killing a 5 month old lamb is the same as pulling a zucchini off the vine. Yet, in a big picture, I feel it is.

Many will scoff at me - but I watch the feral cats survive on a baby bird, rodents - am I to judge them? I watch a hen snatch a moth - am I to judge her? Am I to separate out the living beings of the many grass blades that my horse eats as unworthy of my angst? No - so if I am to rule out meat or poultry or fish, so should I rule out all living creatures including vegetables, fruits and eggs.

I am proud of our efforts here. It is very small scale. While the final days leading up to the butcher date are uncomfortable for me, it is what I choose to do - to raise a small amount of meat that has no foreign food in it, doesn't get hauled in from New Zealand or even out of state. The only energy I'm using is the air and the sun, and the 6 miles of gas the butcher uses to come to our farm and electricity of small amounts to freeze it. We have become more sustainable than last year, and this year we have more goals - it is an ongoing effort, as it is with many. The night of the harvest, we will eat fresh liver - it is our way of showing the animal that his life was not in vein. I always well up a bit when we eat our first meal of the harvest - not from sadness, but from pride - for both the animal and for the farmer. Chew slowly tonight, and give thanks, no matter if you are eating a tomato or a fillet - they all are bounties of our earth.

Encounter with a lady

The face I love, over and over, even if it is laced in the spicy scent of Mademoiselle Le Pew.

Mademoiselle Le Pew comes each night, when dark, to finish off the fine quality barn cat food that sits in a bowl for the front porch Apifera Cats. Mademoiselle is known to venture to the big barn to graze on other fine edibles of the other Apifera barn cats, but seems to prefer the front porch. Rather than being inside, Martyn and I tend to sit outside on the porch, enjoying the cool summer nites, and of course, where we go, so goes our noble dog Huck, and the one eyed pug, Billy. We have trained Huck to wag his tail from afar at Mademoiselle, but not run towards her, as we have explained to him that one must never startle Mademoiselle. "But she is so cute and quite attractive at nite with her glaring white stripe," Huck says with his eyes....Well, last nite he took matters into his own feet, and introduced himself much too quickly to dear Mademoiselle. One can not blame the lady for being startled.


All I can remember is seeing Mademoiselle walking rapidly up the porch where we sat, as she has no fear of us, and Huck in close proximity, and Big Tony right behind them. As Mademoiselle fled to her private room nestled in the Quince bush, dear Huck began to lick himself all over in alarm, "My God, what has happened to my usual doggy odor??" At this point the one eyed pug sensed something was amiss, and came up from under the quilt as he sat on my lap. Giving a skunked 90# lab a bath of vinegar and dish soap at 10 post meridian after one has had their evening wine is a sobering affair.

In the background, Big Tony sat watching the entire bathing process, as if saying, "Huck, I told you -Always approach her with quite dignity, like a cat would....".

Morning Has Broken

Every morning when I go out to do barn feedings and chores, the donkeys are usually lying in their morning repose...waiting to hear the gate open, or Huck bark in the backyard. These signals set the barn's occupants into their morning routine - the donkey brays that makes the rooster crow as the chickens get let out that makes the Pygmy rise up and then the goats are out and then the papa rams are out and then the ewes start baa-ing which makes the horse come in as the farm girl walks to the barn while the cats follow along...Each morning I find the donkeys in some form of morning relaxation, in the most charming poses, and I have yet to capture any on film. These pictures from this morning don't do their morning repose justice, but I will try to do better, if only for myself.

I am a hopeless homebody. I love being home, working on projects while the animals are all around, and Martyn is puttering on one of many farm chores. As I write he is in the kitchen making pickles from the plethora of cucs we have in the garden. Pino's Pies brings such joy, that I thought for Paco's sake we can have a label "Paco's Pickles"just for him. So that would be a 'plethora of Paco's pickles'...

So, the air is cool, and I will finally finish boxing up the remaining lavender bundles in the barn; prune back the cat mint, go for a ride perhaps, putz around awhile, taste Martyn's pickles...er...Paco's pickles - all in the magic acreage that two human hearts are intertwined in. There is much to be done, but today I will work at whatever pace I am propelled internally to.

Keep on

As my old homeland of Minneapolis suffers through shock, as two of my close woman friends endure cancer treatments, as bad things just keep happening to nice people - how is a sensing person suppose to respond? By going on with the work that brings inner joy and meaning. Otherwise, it is really an affront to those that are suffering, or dead, for they would give anything to go on with the work they loved, if they had a second chance. Talking with my friend today who has just fought back a health scare, and listening to ongoing news of the bridge disaster, it is impossible not be shocked into both the joy of life, but also the blatant fact that it ends, sometimes abruptly, sometimes alone, and scared. I am turning fifty in March, and I must say, my perspective on life of late has been even more sentimental than it has been in the past. The internal receptors that have been highly sensitive since I can remember, causing me to be a ma gnat for animals, wounded birds and the elderly, have also been sensing great comings of positivity for my immediate world. It won't be without life's boomerangs, but I am meant to write these little stories now, and paint the pictures that go with them in my head, and so that is how I spent the day, drawing a little donkey collecting blackberries in a red bucket so he can bake a pie.

I have never felt more positive that I am being asked to focus on this children's book and see it through.

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.