Little turn ons

One of the best parts of upcoming raining season is Martyn pulls out his rubber suit.

When I worked in New York, oh my, I was in my twenties {!} and I remember a co-worker at the ad agency where I worked saying she just loved a man in a well tailored suit. I grew up in a household where quality fabrics and materials mattered, and to this day, I still swoon in fabric shops. So I did understand the concept that a man in a good suit can create a twinkle in a lass's eye. But when it comes to turn ons, there is nothing that makes me swoon more than my husband's rubber suit. Well, I guess I just shared too much.

Fabric experiments

I'm excited to try out a new online company that prints small runs of fabric. If it turns out well, I will definitely share the info. I want to create square swatches that I can use in hand sewn items. And since I can't afford one of those awesome embroidery sewing machines, I thought I'd see how mimicking hand stitching, and including fabric collage pieces, will come out on this fabric.

My mom gave me her old Bernina sewing machine, purchased in 1974. I have it down at the shop for a tune up, but hopefully it will still work just fine. I know some of you cringe thinking about the oddities I will now be able to create in my 'spare' time. Cat suits, donkey swim wear, more rubber suits for my farm man. Endless ideas. Actually, my main goal is to create blankets for the Apifera cats who must reside outside all winter. I've been buying old blankets at the Goodwill, but I want some that are kitty fashionable and have that 'Apifera essence'.

The 1974 Bernina has the original brochure in it, with my mother's handwriting. She was 48 when she bought it, and I was 17. Now I'm older than she was then. It gave me a jolt. Life does go by fast, and faster. That's why I want to learn new things as much as I am able. Do I wish I had been more patient when my mother tried to teach me to sew? Yes. But if I can learn to train a horse, or weed 4000 lavender plants, certainly I can conquer a sewing machine. Stay tuned.

And the barnyard mourns

Post Note: Thank you to everyone who wrote such nice comments and emails. It is appreciated and comforting.

As the morning sun came into our bedroom, I opened my eyes and my first thought was, "I know he's dead". I took my time getting to the barn for morning chores, as if procrastinating would change the inevitable.

Arriving at the barn, I heard the usual animal sounds - sheep bleating, a whinny, a little goat knicker, cats of many tones. But there was no sound of a sick rooster. I looked in Ward's stall, hoping, maybe...but he wasn't at the food dish like normal, and I could barely see a feather sticking up out of his bed box. Ward's body was slumped down in his little hay bed, already stiff, his beak slightly open, his neck curled like a swan. But his feathers still so light and breezy, so beautiful even after death.

The night before I had gone to put everyone in for the night. Ward had been under the weather again, limping a lot, his wattle always drooping. But he was eating and drinking. But the night before, he was making gurgling sounds. There was liquid in his lungs. He couldn't make any normal clucking sounds, and when I opened his mouth further, you could hear the fluid. His neck feathers were wet too. When I put him in his Ward Room for the night, he went into the corner, and faced his head down. I knew that was a sure sign he was in distress. I made a fresh, fluffy bed of hay for him in his bed box, and held him for awhile. I hated to leave him alone in his room, and thought about bringing him in the studio in a crate for the night, but the new sounds and lights would have just been more stressful.

So he died alone in the night. I plucked his finest tail feathers, and showed his body to his barnyard compadré Frankie, and then buried him in the front garden next to Mr. Pumpkin Head. He was always an outcast from the flock, and it didn't seem right to bury him in the hen yard. His headstone reads, "Ward 10/19/08. Rooster, friend, gentleman."

Damn, I really liked having him around. He was a fine fellow to have known, and I will miss him.

Lord Jimmy lives on

...the giant pumpkins were created by a mouse lord from long ago. The mouse Lord, named Jimmy, bred the giant pumpkins for geodesic home domes for his colony of mice, of which there were thousands. Mice workers would tunnel in and carve out the giant orb, creating a perfect winter home for a large family of rodents...

Visit Tails & Tales, the short story site of artist/Katherine Dunn to read this story.

Weekly ear meeting

While I'm never officially invited to the Thursday morning ear meetings, I do sometimes over hear the agenda. Today I heard some whispering about 'candy corn protocol' and 'gum remover'.

Ode to a cow

I just added this new painting for sale over at Apifera-a-Day.Our farm used to be a 100 acre dairy, years ago. That means there a lot of milk cows that were born and died on our land. I love cows. I really want one, but have resisted as milking is another 2x chore that adds to my diversion schedule. Plus, where you have one cow, you need two cows.

Anyway, I did this in honor of a cow I knew that died. Cow heaven does exist. It floats right above the barn here. I've seen it, but only when the perfect mix of weather conditions come together. Clover floats there too, and milk is served by bluebirds in frosty glasses to the cows.

I'm adding almost daily to Apifera-a-Day.

Read a little, eat a little

I had fun doing a series of about 20 b/w spot illustrations for a wonderful little food and literary publication, Alimentum. This food journal, printed 2x annually, is beautifully produced as labor of love, and features fiction and poetry related to food and cooking. If you are a foodie, and a reader, I suggest you visit their site and consider ordering a copy or two. They would make wonderful gifts for the cook in your life. I think my work will be in the Winter issue.

I always say that eggs are really a perfect food. What food when left in the roost can actually turn into an animal, but if taken from the roost can become a fritatta, or mixed into batter to make a cake. Eggs come with their own suitcase too.

Coming soon: Paco learns to say good bye to the giant pumpkins he's helped raise.

Keeping calm

It's really easy to be scared right now, isn't it? Uneasy, unsure. Wary. Weighted down with thoughts, of "what if?".

Oddly, I am pretty calm. I've weathered enough since going freelance in 1996 that I know it will be ok. It's always darkest before the dawn. This is a correction of greed. Sadly, many innocents are hurt.

So there is only one thing I can do. Look up. Keep making art. Focus on the now, the moment, and see hope in a new kind of future. I'm not a religious person but I have a firm belief in myself, and the higher strengths that comfort and guide me. I believe that working in the land and with my animals, as well as painting,is an open ended prayer to a higher entity. But lately, I have awoken around 3 am, somewhat restless, and I have taken to saying prayers in my head: wisdom for the masses to vote, wisdom to the world leaders, safety for Obama from the cynical machines, and prayers for new opportunities and projects for my art. Yesterday I took sometime at lunch to enjoy the warm day, beautiful day, to make a small prayer flag. It sounds so simple, but even in scary times, it is a choice to look up and sing a song. The song might not last all day, but it will keep coming back, if you bring it back.

I've always been an optimist, my father once said. No reason to stop now.
I painted this piece a few days ago. Called "And then the wind blew in", it is full of many things. You can make your own symbols, but it pleases me when I look at it. a few days ago. Called "And then the wind blew in", it is full of many things. You can make your own symbols, but it pleases me when I look at it.

New ideas and inspiration!

A quick update - I'm pretty excited. Emma has followed Donkey Dreams, our farm and my art and is also a hospice worker here in a large, well known, health care organization in Oregon. She came to our summer Pie Day, and we promised to re-connect and brainstorm about ways to develop Donkey Dreams.

My initial idea of bringing the sick and dying to the farm, via their hospice workers, was well intentioned, but not very practical. And the families caring for dying or sick are not going to put a donkey therapy session on their list of things that might help them or their loved ones. In fact, it might be an insult to someone to be invited to a donkey pie day for a day of relaxation. Seeing my mom go through hospice while my father died at home brought this home to me.

But, honoring the hospice workers is a wonderful, wonderful idea! Emma shared some of her thoughts and experiences as a hospice worker, and how one is so busy care taking, there is little room for debriefing, re-energizing the heart and grieving for their own clients. Their grief and stress builds up. We thought a day to celebrate the care they give to others, as well as recognizing their former and current clients, would help them on many levels.

So, I will begin to write an outline for a 'support and healing event' here at Apifera with our Donkey Dreams. I'm thinking it will be in summer or early fall '09. I have many ideas brimming in my head! This event might also benefit children and adults that are going through post-death grieving of a loved one, as Emma's hospice group often works with the Dougy Center, a national organization that provides grief support for children and teens.

I hadn't thought about giving donkey and farm therapy to the caregivers, and now, it seems so wonderful, and right, and obvious. Thank you, Emma!! This is a first step for me to build trust and a working relationship with these hospice caregivers at this organization. Stay tuned. It will take some time, but I must remember, donkeys do everything very s...l...o...w...l...y.

Sexual healing

In which Chickweed finally gets the girl, but the barnyard is in chaos....


After three years of building giant amounts of testosterone, Chickweed now has relief...I think. When we had our first lamb crop in '05, we had 90% rams. I saved most of them, thinking I could sell them as breeding stock. This of course was my way of not killing them, and I learned a valuable lesson on proper culling. One does not need three rams -that's 3 pairs of testicles the size of eggplants [no exaggeration for you non sheep people. ] We do keep two unrelated rams, as I choose to breed them in on-off years to keep the line fresh. Many breeders keep one ram, and sell him after two years and get a ram that is not related. Otherwise, "you'll end up with five headed sheep without teeth"as one breeder told me.


So, after selling more than 5 rams, Chickweed was and is left behind. I never understood why - he is charming fellow, and mellow which is nice for the shepherd. He wasn't any smaller than some of the other rams. So, I decided to prove him this season, ie show the ladies what he's got. While this is good news for Chickweed, it meant I had to provide three separate areas for three separate rams to hang with their girls. And provide another area where the young yearlings run who are not ready for breeding.

In other words, chaos in the barnyard. I hate breaking up the ewe flock. It creates 2 or 3 days of constant sheep bleating. And they have to live with their prospective rammers 24/7 for 30 days. On top of it, I put Rosie and Daisy in with Joe Pye, who shares his quarters with the Boer goats, Stella and Iris. Stella is the herd boss, so she spent a good day defending the hay area. Meanwhile the rams run around curling their lips in sexual anticipation and peeing all over - another sexual turn on for sheep. It's right out of a Barry White song.

The first year we bred Joe Pye Weed, we never saw him 'do it' with the ladies. In 30 days, not one mounting. But we had twins out of everyone. Mr. T on the other hand gets right to business. Now Chickweed, I am a bit worried about him. He is so mellow, and I only have one yearling ewe in with him just to see how he does. I thought he'd rush in there and go right to business, but he barely introduced himself. He was polite, not pushy like the other rams. Perhaps he prefers the comfort of the stall at night, when it's just him and Blue, alone together as virgins, under a tin roof with rain falling. I knew of a ram that had 40 ewes to service and they didn't get one lamb! I joked with them that '"That's what you get when you name a ram 'Lancelot'", he has a confused sexual identity. We name our rams after weeds, and I thought Chickweed, plentiful here, had a funny connotation, but perhaps it tainted his manliness.

I'll be glad when November 3rd is here, and all the girls are back together and rams are all back together. One slight adjustment in the barnyard creates such chaos. I did have a moment where I thought, "I can't wait to see what we get in the spring." Lambing season is always different every year, but the anticipation is palpable every spring, much like the return of the Western Tanagers, or the tulips.

Sent by a Pino supporter

One of the generous sewers that made aprons for Pino's big pie day this summer, sent me this fun picture from New Jersey. She saw this food grill and she and her kids were reminded of how much fun they had making aprons for Pino.

How sweet! Pino had heard of pizza pie shops, and thought this might be a sideline someday. Thank you, Scrappy, for remembering us, and for your aprons.

Full week, good things

It's been an intense week mixed with economic crisis and political theatrics and topped off with a case of poison oak. The rains came on Thursday, a relief, but it's amazing how you forget just how wet you get in one outing to the barn in the middle of a soaker. Still, I welcomed the smells of wet donkey and sheep hair and the way Boone smells even more like a horse in the dampness. My braids are clumpier in winter and I get to switch to my fall and winter hats.

I'm fortunate to be working happily on three private commissions this month from repeat collectors. Very fortunate. My newly sheet-rocked studio with white walls and new furniture arrangement is more open, and bright, and has me so happy. I'm just pleased every time I'm in it[Let's all say "Thank you, Martyn"]. I've even been dancing and doing some air guitar shows with Huck. That's a good sign my juices are flowing properly. I feel really 'full' of both self love and respect for my life, but also full of ideas.

The end of the week brought a visit from some artists who were teaching at the Portland Art and Soul event, an annual teaching extravaganza of artists from all over the nation. An artist requested way back in March if she and 2 friends could come meet me and see the studio and the farm. I get many requests from people, and I'm really touched people want to come out and meet me. I have to turn down a lot of requests, or be non-committal,just because one has to make choices of what energies can be diverted from art and farm. So please don't be hurt or insulted if I turn down your requests. But I'm really happy I was able to meet Tracie from Kansas. It was good to meet other artists, talk shop, talk love of lifestyle, laugh, and of course introduce them to the animals. Thank you for coming, Tracie, Marylin, and Jan. Your enthusiasm was so nice, and refreshing as was your apple butter and poetry book. And your generous comments soaked into me. You reminded me that this life I'm in is so.....mine. The One Eyed Pug got a lot of attention, and even passed gas for you,a good sign.

Next post....the sexual tension in Chickweed's 3 years of life comes to an end. Stay tuned.

Survival Tip #3

Survival Tip #2

So far, we have survived the first morning of hunting season. We are so grateful for Paco. He is preparing buckets for the flock.

Life with a goat 101

Buy a whole bunch of pasture fence. Make sure it's 5' tall or higher. Spend your whole weekend getting it up. Run electric wire on the top of the fence and the bottom of the fence.

Put goat in the fenced pasture. Explain to her that this is her side, and over there, that is your side. Explain to her that her side has electrical currents.

You are now tired. Get a lawn chair. Make a good sandwich, preferably with home grown tomatoes and good bread.

Refrain from alcohol at this stage. Sit in your lawn chair and enjoy your sandwich.
As you chew, notice the goat roaming in the nicely fenced pasture you made just for her. Call out to her,"Hello Stella! I see you!" Enjoy the sweet sounds of the goat calling back to you in goat bleeps. I will translate: "Hello! I see you too! What are you eating? You are so close, I can smell the bread! I love bread. Must have bread. I'll be right there! OH! Ouch! electric current, no problem, it's over now. There, here I am, I will join you and your sandwich."

Say nice things to the goat, then lead her back to the pasture with a bit of the bread. Ask her if she learned that touching the electric fence has consequences.
Return to your lawn chair. Notice now there are foot steps behind you. "Hello! I'm right here with you again!"

Try to refrain from yelling. Take your half eaten sandwich, forget about the lawn chair, and walk back to the goat pasture with your goat. Find a good rock to sit on. Sit and share the rest of your sandwich with your goat.

Survival Tip #1

Being a little worry wort, Paco not only has to worry about his giant pumpkin, but he now has to worry about hunting season. Fortunately, he didn't witness the bow incident last week, but he has heard the target shooting all over the coast range. Tomorrow being hunting opener, I suggested he try to channel his worries into ideas and drawings to share with others who might fear hunting season.

Frivolity

Is that a word, frivolity? It just seems to describe this recent piece I did for the Bark magazine, a great dog zine. It's a gift card for subscribers to send to friends. They wanted an every day, non-breed specific dog, festive without screaming 'Christmas'. I had much fun doing it, and the curtains and colors pleased me. There's definitely a little of my old friend Louie in that little fellow. Now go subscribe to the Bark, it's a fun read and they are avid buyers of good illustration.

I have to run, we are dragging extension cords out to the barnyard and rigging up an old b/w television. Pino wants to watch The Big Ear One Who Speaks Calmly debate the Grey Back Who Lacks Wrinkles. Apples, figs and crostinis will be served.

For him

I painted this yesterday in homage to our fallen friend. I felt peaceful and intent painting it, and more peaceful afterwards.

I was thinking how the land has seen many fall on it, blood runs deep under the ground on any farm. I am unclear as to the symbolism of the saddle like pattern I felt compelled to place on the deer. But it was necessary.

It was nice of many to comment, and email thoughts. Thank you.

Trauma at Apifera

In which a deer suffers greatly, as does a woman.

I walked back from the barn last night after feedings and noticed a white car by the river road. Our property sits on a hill, making road activities noticeable. I didn't think much of it, but took notice of three unknown men in the neighbor field. It seemed odd. When Martyn arrived home 30 minutes later, I asked if the white car was still on the road, as I was wondering what they were doing. He changed the subject, and, as our conversation is often jumbled at night, I again didn't pay much attention.

Little did I know they were tracking a wounded animal, a yearling 2 point buck that they had hit a mile and half away, across the river. It's bow season. They had approached Martyn as he was entering the drive, telling him they were following a blood trail.Knowing me as he does, Martyn kept this information from me when he entered the house, but when the white car suddenly appeared at our front drive, and three unknown men got out, I said, "What is going on?". Martyn rushed out, ' I'll take care of this."

They spoke some words, and the men got back in his car, and Martyn followed them back down . At this point, I looked out, and saw a young buck leap the fence and enter our front ram field, about 200 feet from me. He was clearly bleeding at the mouth, but had managed to jump the fence, and was headed towards the old barn, the normal path the deer take up into the woods of our property. The rams and sheep stood still, watching. The buck made it another 300 feet and was near the old barn. He was clearly dying, slowly. And this is the point where I can see his face so clearly, and his expression, his stance. He was about 50 feet from me. He was still standing, but wobbly. I stood still watching, but physically upset. He looked at me so intensely, and then collapsed. But he was not dead. Martyn had returned, and had left the hunters at the road, wanting to assess the situation before letting them come on our property and enter our fields. He gathered the rams in, and I went to assess the buck. He was struggling to breath, blood was pumping out his mouth. I was only 15 feet away. I could hear the gurgling in his lungs, he was drowning in blood. The blood was so thick and the color of movie blood. He finally let his neck collapse, and I told him to let go. But he couldn't, yet.

Martyn came and forced me away, and said we had to let them come finish the job of a badly placed arrow. I was livid. I returned to the house, and Martyn went to tell the hunters to come up and finish the job. By the time they returned, he was dead. What really gripes me is one of the hunters had said to Martyn, 'Once they go down, they're basically dead." Not true. That animal was shot around 5 pm, or earlier. He crossed a river and found his way to the deer path he had taken many times. He came on our property at 7pm. He suffered a long time. He suffocated slowly. He died completely in stress.

What upsets me most is I did not have the skills, or tools, to help him on his way. He came to our refuge, and I could have made it easier for him. I failed miserably as a steward. Not only that, but I was not calm. I was crying as I sat near him, asking him to let go. I added more stress to his death. I never want to be in a position where I can't help an animal out of it's misery again, quickly. I will consult my vets, and some hunter friends, and I will learn to shoot a gun. If this seems shocking for those that know my sensitive side, I can only tell you, my sensitive side is what propels me to learn this skill. It's the responsible thing to do.

I am not necessarily opposed to hunting. But I am opposed to bow hunting. I seriously doubt there are too many skilled bow hunters that can place a bow in an animal to cause it to die right away. Elk have been known to walk for days, slowly dying of blood poisoning. While the hunters did follow the law - they were hunting with approval of the landowner, I assume they had a permit, it is bow season, and they did ask Martyn for permission to come on our property, I do wonder if the event had an effect on them. They knew it caused great trauma to me, and when they said to Martyn that next time they would be more careful, Martyn made it clear, "there would be 'no next time on this property". I don't care what they think of me. I care what the animal felt, and what I felt, when suffering was presented to me.

Back at the house, I couldn't get the color of blood out of my head. I cried on and off - watching the economic and McShame news didn't help. We finally turned on "Grumpy Old Men" which made me laugh. But even there, the two old codgers are hunting a giant fish. They put it back after catching it - if only it could be like that in real life.

The idea that the young buck had actually come here to find a safe haven to die in, may seem like wishful thinking. Oddly it is an underlying theme in the first novel I have started writing. Did I create the storyline and it came to be, or did I only see the storyline in real life because I want it so much to be true? I choose to believe there is an understanding of what our land is for creatures near and far. If that means looking like a fool around neighboring hunters, so be it.

I slept poorly. By dawn, I could hear Boone out in the pasture, snorting and eating. I wanted to rush out and put him in a stall, forever away from stray arrows. But just as that unrealistic thought entered my head, Martyn rolled over in his sleep and put his arm around me, and Big Tony pushed his paws into me.

Simple sightings bring pleasure

Simple pleasures are abundant anywhere, and this season there is so much that feels juicy to the soul. Certain things bring back times of pleasure, or safety. These sunflowers greet me every morning, and lift me up in tiny seconds through out the day. How can one not hear them, "Hello there! I'm here and shining, do you feel me?"

I wish I could take credit for raising these beauties. Martyn and I went to a special event this weekend at the Portland Flower Market, the wholesale floral market for all of Portland. We are now members and have a booth there, which Martyn oversees during the week. One of the growers there, The Sunflower Kid, grows quantities of these giants, along with other fresh cut varieties. So I brought two bundles home, and ever time I look at them I feel ...so...satisfied.

Other bounties are arriving. Our little apple trees have giant fruit on them - their young tiny branches drooping as they are full of their offspring. Boone is relegated to taste the first harvest. Our little Asian pear tree too is full. We have one pear, and already ate the one plum of our other fl edging trees. I know someday I'll be sitting around, and it will dawn on me, 'Wow, I remember years ago when we planted these, they were so small..." Autumn brings out nostalgia of many kinds I find. It is my favorite season, but it is also the season I am at my most sensitive. This is not a negative thing. Channeling sensitivity into my art brings good things.

It's just there aren't enough hours in the day. Another feeling brought on by fall for me is the sense I must do many things, create many things, as my life is a gift, and it will not last forever. It is always a shock, to really grasp I will not live forever.