Little Mice Tales, and His Highness on the Loose

All heck broke out about an hour ago, when a startled shepherd looked out to see his royal ramness, THE Mr. Joe Pye Weed out of his regular pasture, and grazing in the front lawn area. How did this happen, you ask? Because the same shepherd left the ram gate open. This is one of those 'slap your shepherd hand into your shepherd head' moments - this is not a good shepherd thing to do, leaving gates open. So, a bit of a ram wrestling match proceeded for the next 30 minutes. Fortunately, with a lot of ear twisting, ear pinching, rump holding, and throat strangling - and the luck that there was a 100 feet of pasture fence on hand, the shepherd was able to get Mr. Pye Weed into a grassy area to graze for the day -until she risks her limbs and life again to get him back in his Royal Pad. This the same little Weed I used to hold and kiss - but as you mothers out there know, "they grow so fast', as you see from these pictures, Mr. Pye weed is no sissy - [watch for father's day t-shirts soon]...

On a nice note, I had an early morning work out with Sky Flower, riding her on the roads and practicing some of our recent lessons together. Their was a light breeze, and her mane was blowing, and the English Daisies were blooming. It all smelled so good. But now I must paint - which is good, as I am full of Apifera.

A proper place for little souls

Today was the first real spring day, the kind of day that makes gardeners get twitterpated. The kind of day that makes you forget it ever rained. I could actually hear things growing, really, the grass makes this sound when it grows - at least the grass on Apifera Farm does. Huck and I drove into town to pick up feed, and on the way home I couldn't resist stopping at one of our local small nurseries and buying some more honeysuckle, and chatting up with the two owners. Just seeing the plants and feeling the warmth of the sun made me change my plans for the day. Painting could wait until tonight - 65 degrees and sun were my muses today.

I indulged in working in the garden, and got all wrapped up into re-configuring my entrance to the Apifera Farm Small Rodent and Bird Cemetery. I'm quite pleased with myself, and even though my stone work is always crude, it brings me pleasure. I laid some old split rail that we brought up from the cow pasture, and created a series of 'rooms', one area for sitting near the cemetery. So now one can sit and visit with all the little souls buried there. And later in spring or summer, I will be able to expand the burial area. As I lay the split rails out in square rooms, it reminded me of being little and how we would make rooms out of leaves, piling them up to create walls. It was magical then, and it was magical today.

I must say, I do spend quite a bit of energy and time on that cemetery. I chose to hand paint the headstones and varnished them for protection. But each year I have to repaint them. I wish I knew how to etch in stone - but goodness, this would be a little time consuming. "Oh sorry, I don't have time to do a gallery show this month, I am busy etching bird tombstones..." Still, the quite of working under the two Redwoods while I care take the little cemetery is very soothing.

We had a wonderful weekend combining a lot of work [including hanging the door to our vegetable area which is now protected with deer fence] with a pleasant meandering journey over to a nearby Mossback Farm, owned by a couple we met recently. Val and Rich are so kind and gentle, very informative, from diverse/creative backgrounds and very busy reworking their farm to be more fertile and productive. They used to raise meat chickens, but cut back for a million reasons [their blog is very informative about agriculture and small farm issues] They have some sheep and a cow or two and are doing all this without any out buildings or fencing - they use temporary electric fence allowing them to rotate pasture. It was so good for us to visit another couple on our playing level, so to speak, doing the work bit by bit themselves, on a shoestring I assume, as we are, but enjoying it, and believing that they are making a difference for the land. I really felt good stuff going on there. It made me love our farm even more as we drove back home, and I heard the familiar sound of the driveway gravel under our car, and heard the sheep bleat and saw a swish of a palomino running up the hill to our barn. Home.

Kind little moments

When I finished these yesterday, I thought they were too kind, not strong. But today when I put them up on the store, I felt different. I commented to someone recently that I found it odd that I am in the middle of some conflicting feelings about some things, yet my paintings still seem peaceful, calm, optimistic, mystical, hopeful. It is as if I make a safe, ideal world in a 2D space, a space I can retreat in, or perhaps actually live in. Perhaps, as I walk in this world of war, financial uncertainty, separation from old friends and family, the shocking realization that people actually do die, and the anxiousness of a new shepherd's impending culling of some animals she now feeds and shelters - perhaps these little paintings are my ability to see one quiet moment of beauty and peace, and that is what I prefer to recognize consciously at this time. I choose the latter observation. Painting can help uncover on a conscious level, what the subconscious already knows - for me anyway. It might take days or months or years to see something in a painting that you knew all along, you just weren't ready to accept it, or announce it to yourself. So perhaps these paintings also hold secrets I know deep down, but just don't feel like seeing 'out here'.

I'm glad I'm the age I am now. I couldn't be thinking this way, or doing any of this farming stuff, in my 30's or early 40's. I wasn't ready to leave the world of 'revolving things' quite yet. That time was great and all, it was just so much more self absorbing. We're all self absorbed in certain ways, and an artist has to be, but then it was constant analyzing of one's self, looks, every word out of your mouth "what does that mean?', reading countless books on inner peace and soul finding missions, looking for signs in so many things, sharing way too much with way too many people, never getting filled up with any of it, and always looking for the upswing, caring too much about peripheral objects and about what people thought. Yea, my skin was firmer, but it's still skin that functions as it should and that's all I need.

I have all these creatures to care for now, 22 acres that gets carved out bit by bit, an old barn that is being helped by our hands. A marriage that caresses me, a husband that really likes me even after a 'crabapple moment' as we call them. I looked at a magazine the other day at the grocery store which I haven't done in ages. It showed the new trends in handbags. At a time in my life, this would have been stimulating, now it isn't. I'm stimulated by what's right in front of me. And when I need more than that, I just have to turn in 5 degree increments to see another view. OK, I would like a donkey. OK, I still get turned on when we get to buy new lumber...Hmmm..I guess maybe I am self absorbed, but it is in daily moments, not personal motives, career moves, award shows, clothes, makeup, trends, new restaurants. The lumber will help the barn or make a house for the goat. the donkey will protect the sheep, and ...play with me. I can dress him up in fun outfits. It took awhile to get here, I bought a lot of clothes and shoes and stuff too. Didn't need most of them. And I do need a new pair of shoes because Huck ate my favorite studio clogs. But it's been 7 months, and I just didn't feel too rushed to get them, I will, sometime.. "I used to have a treasure chest, got so heavy that I had to rest. I let it slip away from me, didn't need it anymore, so I let it slip away...." ...you know, Neil.

Oh, and Coral Bell had a beautiful, chocolate ewe lamb last nite at 5pm. I was so proud of her. New mom and all, she did it all with such dignity. And In keeping with naming everything after plant life, I have officially named the little ewe abandoned by her mom " Meadow Rue" . She reminds me of little Roo from Pooh Bear, as I hold her in my jacket while I feed her the bottle.

Honey, shouldn't we bring her in the house tonite?

On Friday at 4pm Lewisia Pinkie gave birth to twins. It was not a smooth process from the start, as she is a new mom and the most timid of all the ewes. Around 3 pm, I saw her standing and grunting and I immediately went out to gather all the ewes back to to the barn from the pasture I had them in that day. This meant shepherding the flock over some of our property, from one fenced area to another - usually this is a smooth process with Rosemary leading everyone in orderly fashion. Of course, the one day I needed to get a ewe in labor to the barn NOW was the day that Rosie just had to have some of that spring grass, and once Rosie gives up order, all hell breaks loose- Lambs running all over, Lewisia Pinkie running around with two little feet sticking out her rear. I fortunately got her in to the lambing stall soon after, but she did a fair amount of running around and I was sure that baby was going to fly out of her for an airborne delivery. When I got her into the stall, it was only a matter of minutes that she lambed, standing up. All appeared fine, she did everything just like a pro, licking the newborns, her teets were giving milk and she was feeding both. When I checked on her Friday nite, again, all was well and the ram lamb was big and tall, getting milk; the little ewe was smaller, but looked good. All that calm would soon change.


Saturday morning it was immediately apparant something was not right. The ram lamb was quite listless and just didn't seem with it. But more disturbing was Lewisia had now taken to head butting and very aggressive behavior towards the ewe lamb. She was not allowing her anywhere near her. We watched for about 20 minutes, but her behavior was so aggressive, we put up a wire fence to separate mom and baby ewe, but mom then just tried to crush her in the fence. So we caged the baby ewe and got the bottle out. I immediately consulted all my books about this, [and got loads of support from fellow shepherdess over at Donkey Dan's], and it is not that rare for a new mom to reject a twin. We tried rubbing the lambs together to reintroduce her scent, we checked the mouth on the lamb to see if she could be causing pain in sucking, and Lewisia's udder was fine. We forced Lewisia to stand still to let the ewe lamb get her milk that first day, but it was too dangerous we felt - too many big feet around little heads. We kept trying through the first day to re-graft her, but Lewisia was just freaked out by her.

So, it was feedings every 2 hours for a couple days. It was little naps in my lap and nite time lullabys. To say I am in love with this little ewe lamb is an understatement. She now comes to me across the pasture, responds to my voice, and likes to be held in the sun. I have her in a sunny little fenced area I concoted for her, so she can be next to other lambs and ewes, have sun, but separate from Lewisia.

The boy lamb had is own problems for that first two day period. His listlessness got worse, and even though Lewisia was trying to get him to feed, he just didn't do well at it. Within the mid part of the morning, we saw him really decline. So we interfered and fed him bottles too - By the midnite feeding, he was so much stronger. He now appears on his way and his running and jumping, so is over the hump.

I am afraid I am a little bit like those people you see in the movies, who have calmly prepared lists and read many books on the baby's arrival, but when the moment comes, they walk in circles... I am getting calmer, and relize with each lambing I know more than the last, signs to watch that are good, or bad. But still, when the initial moment of apparent labor starts, I can't contain telling all the barn, "We're having a baby!!!" [as goats, horse, ram, ewes, and cats say 'here she goes'] and my pace quickens, I do a few circles and start grabbing useless things, like, empty buckets. One can always use an empty bucket though, I've found.

And after all calmed down, including me, especially me,
I was able to show proud Papa, Joe Pye Weed one of his daughters.
Amazingly, I got something that can melt any shepherd's heart,
a kiss from the old ram himslef.

A flock, and some cat scratches

If you happen to be in the mood to go to Astoria, Oregon this Saturday, the "Flock" exhibit opens at RiverSea gallery. It's a nice little group show of 9 artists, including yours truly. I was pleased with the pieces I did for it - how could I not have a nice time painting birds. Someone told me if I ever painted a red cardinal to let them know - and it made me miss the cardinals of Minnesota, and I think I will have to do a painting of one as a tribute. A red cardinal on fresh white snow - it's a lovely, crisp site. Although out here we have the magnificent magpies and stellar jays, which some people hate, but I find them wonderful.

I am just settling down, after a rather, hmmm...traumatic morning of cat wrangling. I was suppose to take the last three cats in for neutering. After 17 trappings in the past 2 years, I am hoping this is it. These last three, Pumpkin Head, Little Orange, and Blackberry eat and sleep on the front porch - away from the cats in the barn. They are much more domesticated, and I have been holding them and even bringing Little Orange in on occasion to sit with me. They follow me around and garden with me. I thought this 'wrangle' would be easy. So confidant, I only got out one cage, and sat it in the inside of the house by the front door. When I went to do the morning feeding, I swooped them up easily, all three at once, held them, calmly brought them in and got them in the cage - but Blackberry got out, and ran to kitchen area. They are very quick, and until you do this, you just don't know. So I retrieved Blackberry, just before he was about to freak out and jump in the kitchen cupboard of china. Martyn was there, as were Huck, Billy and Big Tony - and at this point things were still relatively calm. So I had Martyn open the cage door, with the other two cats still in it- and I gave him all sorts of directions, as he's never caught any of the cats before and I knew he had no idea how rascally they are - well, he didn't act fast enough, combined with the fact that suddenly Blackberry freaked out and put all four clawed feet INTO my arms [if this has ever happened to you, you know that those claws do not come out, the cat just leaves them in you and you can't even shake that cat off of you] This is precisely the point where the morning went haywire. Martyn's reaction was to help me, so the cage door flew open, Little Orange and Pumpkin Head went skidaddle out of the cage and proceeded at a full cat frenzy into the living room. Meanwhile, Blackberry dislodged himself and went with them - as did Huck and Billy and Big Tony to get in on the action. Ever hear of what a squirrel can do if it gets in your house? Well, three semi domesticated kittens is worse, I think. Within a 2 minute range they had literally climbed up the curtains, knocked bowls and vases off the shelves, and even broke a window. Martyn was able to grab 2 expensive pieces on the ledge, fortunately. Meanwhile, I had no choice but to ---scream! And what did I scream? "OK! Everybody out of here" Oh, yes, that was intelligent. That made sense to cats in frenzy, a chocolate lab who thought it was a new action game, and a one eyed pug who just stood in the middle of it all watching blurry things zoom by. And then there was my pore, kind, gentle husband, who would move the ocean to my doorstep for me if he could, and the look on his face, which suddenly fell into the palms of his hand, as he heard things breaking as cats were fleeing...

Well, they all got the front door, and the damage was done. I was able to get Pumpkinthe Head soon after. And Blackberry came out to the barn for my barn feedings and I was able to grab him. I have cages all over for trapping, so there was one handy. But Little Orange was not to be seen, and as of this writing, he is in hiding. I am so upset with myself, that I put him in such distress. He of all the cats should have been the easiest. I shold have put them in one by one in separate cages. I thought doing all three in one swoop would be less stressful, but I should have know better.

At least two are getting neutered today, and I'll be able to do Little Orange more easily, if he ever comes out of hiding. I feel just horrible for him. The new holes in my arm were washed and dressed, I think I'll live. But my cat wrangling pride is hurt. I hate putting animals in distress, and trapping is always traumatic, but I really botched it.

Fortunately, I did a lot of work last nite, and there are new originals for sale on the online store.


Come home to me, Little Orange...

Drop by drop comes wisdom

I am in a passage of late, a passage from early adultness to mid adultness, a passage that sees many faces leaving this realm onto the next one - faces one has known all their life. I've talked about this in recent posts, I think. It is a passage that causes me to think things like, when I see the face of this little Norwegian girl, "Let's see, she would be about 30 now.". I took this picture in 1981 when I spent 3 months studying and traveling in Norway - all the children seemed to look like this there, especially once you got out of the cities into smaller towns. Photographs have a way of capturing a moment, but it is a myth really, that photo is a myth. Each person that looks at it will create or conjure a whole story into that particular photo, and it might not have anything to do with what was really there. Just like we look at Garden Design magazine, see a farm somewhere, and conjure up how those people live, act, are. But it's just their persona on print. You don't know someone from a magazine, or a blog, or a series of movies. It takes a long time to know someone, and all their folds and crevices.

So, I go on my way happily, and in this passage, I play games in my head like, "When this tree is 10 feet tall I will be 75 and my parents will be gone and so will Martyn's and Huck and Billy our dogs will be gone, and all the sheep too."
If I get particularly wrapped up in this particular game, all played in the safe confines of my head - and not shared - I can proceed to freak myself out. Not because I am afraid of aging, or death. It is the idea that the world as I know it now, will be so drastically different from the perspective of the 'group on top" so to speak - I'll be entering another passage where my turn to explore in the next realm will be the next big road trip. Hmmm. So this passage I am in now, is so much more juicy than the 20's or 30's or early 40's. It is better. It gets better every year. It gets bigger and more safe in a way, understanding it really will all end 'here, as we know it". No time for whiners. Everything coming into my life seems to be sent to me to help explore and prepare for some huge losses to come. Like the CD "Magic and Loss" a '91 release of Lou Reed - man, I love Lou Reed. Or Roseanne Cash's "Black Cadillac" [a beautiful tribute] which on the liner notes shows a photo of something she scribbled on the wall - "and drop by drop comes wisdom through the awful grace of god"...

So turning 48 on Friday was wonderful. It was a perfect birthday. I did what I felt like, which is pretty much what I do everyday. But I indulged in baking my favorite cake. And enjoyed a longer moment in the barn. I got a few surprise cards and a beautiful 5 foot tall trumpet vine from Martyn, along with my favorite dinner - HOT DOGS!! Yes, I really love hot dogs, even though they are pretty crappy, I know. That'll send you to the next realm quicker, I guess. And our weekend was so full of hard work putting up our vegetable deer fence and giving shots to lambs - AND, thanks to the encouragement from Donkey Dan and his mother over at Farmgirl Fare, we managed to find the courage to ear tag the three rams {Thanks you guys!}. It wasn't so bad, for them, but I didn't like doing it. It just had to be done.

Snow on a pumpkin head

We awoke to lovely huge flakes of snow. It reminded me of years spent growing up in Minnesota, when you awake and there is that silence, but yet you can sort of hear the snowflakes. It is so different than the rain, gentler. We don't get it often and it'll be gone by night - although the mountainpasses are socked in with 12 inches. I am always amused that in Oregon when it snows [there is maybe a 1/2" on the ground, none on the highways] the whole place stops. Schools are closed, things cancelled. My husband took a snow morning and lay in bed much later that normal-we lay there being goofy and singing made up italian opera to Big Tony the cat who sat on our chests.The goats walked out of the barn and stopped dead in their tracks, "What in the world happened here?" they asked me. But it was Mr. Pumpkin Head who caught my heart with this picture moment...


I just posted this piece on the online store. I was going to put it in the upcoming "Flock" exhibit at Astoria next week, but held this one back to sell myself. I like this one immensly for some reason. I am in a 'protect our fruit tree" mode, as we posted the little area with our fruit trees, along with our vegetable bed, and we will put up deer fence this weekend. A harbinger of Spring this Sunday was three barn swallows - "Swoopies", as I like to call them - were back in the horse barn, ready to make nests. Let the shows begin, of nite time swoops and acrobatics that are wonderful to watch with a glass of Pinot and your honey by your side [and dogs and cats drifting amongst your feet].


I have been running Stella and Iris the goats with the sheep. There was some head butting the first few minutes, but all is well. Morning breakfast can get complicated, as Stella is such a boss, and so is Rosemary the head ewe, then add the three boy rams who shouldn't even be in there, but I get tired separating everyone out and sometimes a shepherd just has to say, "Oh well". It still brings me much amusement, delight, joy, glee to see a group of faces like this - the goats especially are such charming devils. One shepherd tip - while walking in mud covered with slush and holding three buckets of feed while you are in front of your small flock, proceed gingerly, as it is very easy to get "swept" through the gate onto your butt and then head licked by goats and ewes. But even that is not so bad if you get to have sheep and goats, and horses and cats and dogs. And my new fantaasy - a donkey.

Paw prints of the heart

Today is the birthday of my old friend, Louie Louie, who left this realm in '04 at the almost age of 14. My companion and road trip warrior was consistently feisty with a touch of tenderness.

Some animals, like people, leave bigger prints in your heart than others, and there are huge ones all over my body from Louie. I get death, but the idea he would actually die on me seemed more fantasy than future reality.

I use to have this irrational fear. When Lou and I would go on our annual spring trek to Colorado from Minnesota, always through our beloved Badlands, I would envision getting into a car accident and as the ambulance pulled me out of the car, Louie gets out and gets lost and I can't help him. It never happened. After I put him down, I had similar irrational thoughts of him, somewhere, needing my help.

This dog could have had his own talk show or at least written a good memoir. He got out of a motel room once - by a maid's hand - while I sat eating dinner in the motel cafe. As I went back to my room, I passed the front counter.

"Hmmm, that looks like Louie, " I thought. It was. Louie was working behind the front motel counter, helping the motel clerks check in new customers.They found him a natural at customer service.

They say you don't fully understand a death until new life comes along after grief. On the farm, the lambs bring new life. Death walks side by side with birth here. The cycle of life and nature is natural and death feels like one stage of it rather than a jarring interruption. The body is just the holding tank like the water in the sheep trough that overflows and meanders to the river below. Louie's going on and on too. Somewhere.

I still would rather have his curly head below my feet as I type today, and a look up front his sleeping spot, as if to say, "What are you doing next?"

When I moved to Oregon in '02, Louie was already failing, blind and mostly deaf, loosing teeth, arthritic, and had had one minor stroke - but he was still
present and happy. He still loved my voice because it meant what it means to me when I hear my favorite person's voice.

I took him to the ocean for the first time. He probably could barely hear the waves, but as we walked on the beach, he trotted along like a kid, and as always, kept looking up at me every minute or so to say, "Isn't this great?!" When I look at this photo taken that day, I can just feel his course coat, and see his whitened, blinding eyes looking towards my voice.

His ashes are still in the box that I picked up from the vet that day. I hadn't intended to keep them. I planned to spread them on the farm he hardly got to know, so daisies could grow from him, and for me. But I can't bare to spread them as I'm afraid I might scare him.

"Where are you?" he might cry out to me.

It seems safer to have him by the nightstand, in his little box, with the lid closed, where I know where he is dry from the winter rains and safe from irrational car accidents.

The silent cloth

I am in a state that I have learned will pass, but I recognize it by it's silent cloth over my senses.

As I did barn chores, the banter I carry on with the animals was not present - I worked in silence. It was replaced with background chatter in my head about the ways to bring in money, the ways to keep going and make a living and not get sucked down by taxes, mortgages, equity line payments, heating bills, insurance payments, child support, old cars about to die, fencing that hasn't been bought yet, how to market lavender in an industry I am stumbling through, how to create art that is art and not a commodity from inception. This chatter has been present for me since I began as a freelance artist 10 years ago. I've survived by allowing the chatter to come, make a plan and keep doing it. If one thing doesn't bring money, flow to the next. Keep going. Never be through. Don't sit down. Never settle. Keep selling, selling, selling. It's exhausting. I'm exhausted. If I were a millionaire, would I be an artist? I have absolutely not one doubt I would be. I have always done art, even as a child, as a way, a desire to communicate something - usually a communication with myself of course. But would I have an online store, full of greeting cards and any other way I could think to sell my art simply to pay bills and survive? This I don't know. Maybe the selling of a piece is part of a final circle in the making of the art, an approval thing, that I need. Or enjoy. Of course it is a gift to make art that some people really respond too - to find out there are people who have watched your work for 10 years and get joy or an emotive journey of their own through it. That is one of my jobs here in this realm. It's my work. I take it seriously in that way. But today I don't feel light, I'm exhausted by it lately - the running of the machine. "The medium I've grown to like best is leisure and doing nothing. I'm in turmoil continuously with that side of my nature that requires leaving a record of my desire for order and for communication. The urge to communicate in a tangible medium is all tied up with urges of personality, ego, ambition, economy - Why do I send paintings off to a gallery except for those reasons? Otherwise I'd be free to let my life be a trackless medium." [Morris Graves as interviewed by Katherine Kuh]

I had a desire some weeks ago, inspired by old books on sun prints of plants, to make sunprints per se, by scanning all the various dead plants and weeds I find around the farm. This was the first one, of a dead/dying camelia branch. It pleased me, and still does. For two weeks or so it has sat unpublished from the internet, not seen by anyone. And for two weks I gave it the grace to just be itself, without thinking of way to try to sell it. But now, as I look at it, I can hear the chatter again, "This would be lovely series of prints - who can I show..." On and on, on and on.

And when I'm not getting sales, even teeny ones, I get down. I feel a bit invalid.
So that is how the silent cloth can shroud me.

Animals speak one by one - listen

I have been saying for awhile now that I want to write the stories of the various animals that come and go, often stay, on Apifera Farm. And now I have begun, finally. I created The Animals of Apifera blog that will have individual stories, some told directly to me by the animals, of the particular animal's life, or how it got to our farm. This is a long process - there are many stories to write and many more to come. I am already hopelessly behind, as the Apifera Farm Small Rodent and Bird Cemetery already has about 10 lost friends to honor. I will also be adding a map of the farm, and other facts and trivia about the animals. The first story is up - and I can't guarantee when the next one will be up. Be patient. It is especially difficult to write the stories of those that have passed, as I wrote those stories down on burlap and scraps of seed bags as they came to me in the wind and through bird messengers.

A face to love, and a monkey cage

How could a shepherd painter not be filled with comfort when this is the face I see first when I walk in my studio? The head on that dog, I want to touch it - certain things of beauty I want to touch, experience deeper than is physically possible, and this is when one is inspired to paint, or write, or create perhaps, when the physical just can't be consumed by simply sitting in awe.

The weekend was filled with a bustle of farm activities, not to mention my matey's birthday [spent having a lovely dinner at french restaurant Cuveé with chef fantastique, Gilbert Henry in our own little Carlton, Oregon - a gem in the middle of farm/wine land. We are so lucky to have it]. We spent most of Saturday gathering materials from Wilco for our vegetable garden, and more posts for the orchard area to keep out Fred and Ethel, and Fred and Ethel's many relatives. We went a little more in debt by buying a new compressor and super dooper framer nail gun, which I am afraid to load or touch because it's the size of my head. But the best part of the weekend perhaps was building another....monkey house, or in this case, a monkey cage. Yes, I know some of you have been waiting for more, and now you have one. This bamboo cage is just one of 5 that I'll make for a some scattered fruit trees we planted, that aren't part of the other little orchard area. I don't think I can bear another spring of seeing their little leaves chewed down. The beauty of these cages is that when Fred and Ethel see them, I think they will appreciate them as unique sculptures, and leave them alone. If they do venture their head in, they will get their head stuck in part of the interior monkey frame, and it will be so confounding, they will back out nicely and move on to grass and weeds. There is, I suppose, a chance they will become entangled in the cage, and carry the entire monkey cage with them when they run off. I am also going to hang little poems and windchimes on them to bless the little trees and give them instrumental music to go with the bee and bird sounds.

The only downer of the weekend was we left Huck in one of many pastures while we worked. Huck lives for three things, 1]food; 2]us; and last but not least, 3]poop. In fact, I think he would re-arrange the order of that list and put the latter in first place. I do not worry about poop-eating beasts, it is what it is. But after three hours eating mud and sheep/goat droppings, well, you know the rest. Fortunately, we own 3 shop-vacs, and fortunately the poor old guy was saavy enough to do the deed in the studio and not the living room. Lesson, do not put poop-eating beasts in poop infested pastures of other beasts for three hours.

Mlle. Helen Von Stein

In keeping with naming all animals on the farm after plants, we named Rosemary's little ewe "Mlle. Helen Von Stein", which is a variety of Lamb's Ear. This picture [she is on right] doesn't do her justice or show you her beuty, as she is gazelle like - I tried to find a Grace Kelly name derivative of something, but Helen Von Stein is quite lovely I think.

It is quite clear we need a new ram to mix into our line, along with Joe. When we got into this, I read as much on genetics and breeding as possible, and talked to many breeders of all levels. It gets confusing fast, but basically we need to skip a gneration each breeding. I will probably get people telling me not to worry, or to do it another way, but since we are raising primarily breeding stock at this point, it seems prudent. I don't relish keeping two rams, but, my goat breeder does it successfully in one pasture - and if you can have two of those big boys around, it seems I can handle two rams. Besides it gives me another reason to create yet another....MONKEY HOUSE!

My next learning curve is ear tagging. The rams will have to be tagged. I've registered everyone, and anyone leaving the property or being sold needs one. I think I've practiced on enough oranges. It seems cruel, but it is the law and needs to be done, or as they say, get off the pot.

I had a Neil Young dream last nite. But I can't totally remember it, and this bother's me, as when Neil appears in my dreams
there is always an important message to me. He never speaks, or speaks little. But the message is powerful. I'm disappointed in myself I can't remember it.

My writing is sloppy today, disjointed. I apologize. I was sick all week, and there are some things going on that are distracting me. I will clear my head today, I hope. Now, I must go feed Mlle. Helen Von Stein and family. And greet Old Oak who is one of many an Oak clan that lives near Helen's pasture. He is covered in moss right now, his winter attire, and he looks lovely next to blue sky.

"I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in." Muir

Everyone needs a hat made of a bucket

I love hats, and last week made some pieces based on unique farm hats - I can't wait to make them in 3-D and offer them at the local farmer's market. I just think farmers can use more options to seed hats. In the meantime, you can buy these pieces online.

I awoke at 2am with chills all over my body and a fever. I haven't had the flu for awhile. I think I'll curl up with a pad of paper and revise for the 100th time our farm goals. We had a local lavender grower stop over yesterday to look at our antique seed cleaner gleaned from an old farm up the way - He has about 500 plants, compared to our 4,700, and gets a chuckle out of our non-weed barrier, non-spray approach [another thing on my list this week, getting our organic status started]. A nice man, and has been very generous to share his growing experience. What I walked away from after our meeting was: 1] We have a lot of lavender 2] We have more plants in ground than any local grower - most have about 500-1000 3] We need to find some big companies 4] If we do, things will be fine 5] We will. Somehow, I feel calm about it.

In the meantime, it is one more cold day - for Oregon - and one more day of hauling water to the barns in buckets since we turned our pump off so as not to bust it. Hauling water is not pleasant, especially with the flu. I'm looking forward to tomorrow, and this is weeny, as today I could fall on a rock and die, so I should enjoy this one too - funny how the day after you feel lousy though, you feel so darn good.

If you want to lift me up, treat yourself to some online items newly loaded on the farm site.- like these sweet little sachets. Tell someone you live on a 22 acre lavender farm in the wine district and are an artist and grow lavender and sheep, and they make all sorts of assumptions about your income. We live month to month like most everyone. It's tight. But we scoped out our vegetable bed on Sunday, and we hope to be more self sustaining by fall. I just don't know if I'm up to culling out some meat lambs - yes, the re-occuring challenge for me - Eating my own livestock. One friend recently shared what an old farmer had told her : "If you have live stock, sooner or later you'll have dead stock. " I'm too tired to write about this eloquately - is that spelled right - too tired to spell right. Buy something or tell a friend to. Reach out through the lines to a shepherd girl all sick and feverish.

Ode to Clayton

I love this photo of my Unlce Clayton, taken back in his 20's - Everyone needs a real life hero, and my Uncle Clayton is mine. He used to say to me 'You're either born horse or not, and you and I are horse'. Horses and watching him be with horses was our bond.

His farm was like a magic fairy land for me, full of the right smells and sounds that I found dreamy and juicy. Uncle Clayton was a natural horseman before they wrote magazines about it, a man of few words, calm, with real dry North Dakota humor.

Once he carried on a joke with me for a day before he let me in on it - We were sitting at the kitchen table of his farm looking out at the pastures, and he said, with toothpick in mouth and seed hat cocked to the left, "Well, looks like that old haymaker is out again", I looked out and saw an old antique farm machine in field, and agreed, "Yea, I see it too." He carried on with me all day about that 'old haymaker', until finally, he let me in on it that the haymaker was the sun.

I think of him more than ever now that I'm on a farm of my own- he died in the mid '80's at 62 from cancer. I don't think we necessarily had a spiritual connection on a soul level, but we did have a human one, and many times here on the farm, especially with the horses, I wish he could just come and stand by me and watch - he would know what to do when I wasn't cuing Sky right, or he'd guide me on how to help that sheep in labor. I just assumed he knew everything, and of course he didn't, and learned what he did know from years of living and working his North Dakota land, the hard way. His 100 or so acres are still there, and Aunt Emily still lives there, near his daughter, my beautiful cousin Connie. It's just down the dusty road of the now defeunct town of Akra, where my mother was born along with Clayton and 5 other brothers.

Every time I hear Iris DeMent sing "Our Town" I well up with tears. To watch Clayton work a horse was like watching grace and dignity in two living beings, coming together in one dance. He was a natural and always was. I was able to tell him, about two years before he got sick, that he was my hero - it just came up naturally one day out in one of his barns, I can't remember how. It was sort of one of those awkward things you say to a relative, mumbled, like I was talking to a movie star, but it came and went - and I'm so glad I said it.

Life is here

Rosemary did a lot of standing around Sunday, not leading her small herd to usual feeding spots. I knew Sunday nite sometime we'd have lambs. By 5pm, she was hanging out by one of her stalls, as if to say, "Would you get me in there, I'm ready to blow". We had a big burn pile to burn, and I had made a picnic of wine and snacks so we could sit by the fire under a full moon. I got all the animals settled and had Rosie in her lambing area. When I checked on her 20 minutes later, her water had broken. I let her be for 30 more minutes, and when we went to check on her, she had two absolutely beautiful, big, chocolate brown lambs - a boy and a girl. Both are gorgeous. Dark stalls with a flash make lousy pictures, but here they are at less than a day old. I was so proud of her, she is such a pro at all of it. Much more matter of fact and business like than any of our other sheep - dependable with her role as herd boss, I look to her for support, as she acts like a shepherd dog for me, getting everyone going in the right direction. I am confidant we can sell two of the three rams as registered breeding stock, as the breed is becoming highly popular nationally, and I plan to bring in another ewe from another line, so I can breed the third ram so as not to over inbreed - the gentics is all new to me, but I'm learning how to avoid three headed sheep.

I have to admit, I'm proud of myself for knowing she was ready to lamb - And I wasn't half as giddy this time. What mother in labor wants a giddy shepherd around anyway? So far, we have been blessed with healthy stock, and good weather.

Little Weed 2 [the chocolate ram out of Daisy] is growing well, and I haven't given up on keeping him...
Little Weed 1 has the longest most gangly legs around, and reminds me of some kid I knew in junior high who's legs obviously came from a different parent than his upper torso.

It dawned on me this morning as I worked with Sky, that my life on the farm is less about what's happening externally on a TV, or in a paper or magazine or a store. My life happens right here, with many moments strung together as I walk around the property. It is not really about setting goals as an artist, versus feeling driven to paint or sketch or create something in gratitude for what those moments happened to be on a particualr day. I also have this undying rumbling to create three dimensionally, and I am harkening back to my ceramic days, thinking maybe of getting some clay to handbuild. I feel like making...ok, crafts. God, I know, but the textural quality of working 3-D seems to be poking me constantly and now that I have another new working table, I am inspired to start some new ideas, of what I'm not quite sure. And I'm going to start that story based on the animal cemetary here and all the animals that come and go, and sometimes stay. I'm not sure what it will be or become, but the land and my time here is grabbing me, telling me to go this way, don't be afraid, just let it roll..."There's a comet in the sky tonite, makes me feel that I'm all right, I'm moving pretty fast for my size"...Mr. Young...

In honor of love and lambs

In honor of new life and love in all forms, you can buy anything on the art site or our farm site and take 10% off through February 14th - this includes items on any sale pages. You'll have to email me and notify me so I can send you an electronic invoice that refelcts the 10% off, which you can pay electronically or via mail.

Rosemary has still not had her lambs, and today is her offical due date. She is annoyed that I am constantly checking her rear
end and udder for variations of any kind...She is still eating well, so I haven't seen signs that today is the day. The Little Weeds are doing well, and I put them out in a sunnier pasture yesterday with the whole flock, on fresh grass. They ate their hearts out, and did the little lambie jumps, a good sign. Even little chocolate's ear is now up, and I'm skeeming like Lucy on how to fit him in to our breedin program...Martyn said, "You can keep him if you find a ewe to breed him to..." And I replied, "So, did you just give me a green light to buy another ewe?"

It is sunny, again, and for the past week I have been working Sky Flower in a short workout on the ground. We are working on basic commands and ground rules, and I am thrilled at both of our progresses. It dawned on me that working with a horse is so similar to the training I know and feel comfortable with for the dogs. It made it so much less intimadating to think of it
this way. I really love working her on the ground, and the bonding between us is growing. She is a pushy mare, so this has worked wonders, even in a week. I have now elevated myself to a hgher position of herd boss. But I think Sky might always challenge that position, only time will tell. Fortunately, she has a loving nature to go with her feistiness...hmm, perhaps this is what my husband thinks.

And if you like these faces, have a teeny bit of money to spare, read on.

Joe, the neighboring farmer, got his cows moved into one of our adjoining hay fields. I like looking out at them, but I must put up a boundary around them in my head and heart, most will be slaughtered in fall. It makes me hold my goats close at nite when I put them in. When you eat beef, or chicken or anything, remember someone is raising it, and caring for it, and most likely not ever taking their role as slaughterer lightly. I have met no farmer who relishes that aspect of raising livestock.

Sweet Little Weeds

Shockingly, we have twins as of Sunday 5pm, a week earlier than I expected. And even more surprisingly, it was Daisy who lambed first. Sunday was one of our first sunny days in a long time, and warm. I noticed her lying down in mid afternoon in pasture, but wasn't concerned as she does this in warm spring days. She was soon up grazing again, and I hadn't noticed some of the more usual lambing signs - pawing at ground, up and down - so when I went to do my normal barn chores around 4:30, I couldn't believe that Daisy was lying in the lambing stall [good girl!!] in labor. I rushed back to the house shouting to all the cats that we were having babies. It was fun that Martyn was home to witness this time too, and by the time we got out there, she had one lamb. Withn 5 minutes or so, out popped lamb 2, a tiny chocolate brown/black footed lamb. Last year, I witnessed no births, but arrived for Daisy's within 20 minutes of birth. This lambing was a good experience for me, as lamb 2 came out and just lay there. Daisy was intent on licking off lamb one, a good thing, but I was worried that lamb 2 was getting no attention. I didn't want to mark my scent on it too much, but it was chilly after sun was down, so we toweled it off and made sure the membrane was off it's face, it was breathing well. We put it to Daisy's face and she started licking both. She is a good mother, and it was amazing how fast they stand. I was sure Daisy would have 3, as she stayed on the ground for a good 20 minutes after pushing lamb 2 out, and she still looked huge. But she did get up, and within 30 minutes had passed the after birth sac which I buried quickly, and well, to prevent coyotes and dogs from finding it.

Both lambs appear healthy on day 2, and I hope I can get them out in a little dry sun tomorrow. We name all the animals after plant life, and since our ram is Joe Pye Weed, the rams must be named after weeds, such as Pokeweed from last year's crop [who is now spreading his seed in southern Oregon]. However, since rams pose a dilema - you don't need more than one or two, and the reality is, many end up as meat lambs. This is a reality of raising livestock, even in small flocks. It is my biggest struggle and challenge, and I already am thinking of reasons to keep the chocolate one - who is very small and has a floppy ear so might not be good breeding stock to register and sell...He is the first lamb I actually helped out and along. And I can't help but think of him as "Daisy's son" - good grief. No, it does not help, as many suggest, to name them things like "Lambchop" - I find that cynical. Instead, both rams will be named 'Little Weed", until their true fates are known. And until that time, they will be cared for with respect, and sheltered and helped along, and I will thank them for helping maintain our pastures...Stay tuned. Rosemary is as big as a house and Feb 10 is her due time...Pray for girls.

This is Where I Belong

Sometimes life just reaches out of the fog and says, 'How did you get this lucky?". I don't believe in luck really, but I do believe in relishing the many moments in life that make me think "How did I get all this? Wow, cool." As I type this at 5pm on a Friday, many of you are glad to see the work week end, and are partaking in your favorite things to do on a Friday after work - a toot at the pup, and walk with your dog, getting a movie, having a second date with a keeper, a hot bath and glass of wine...what ever it is, we all have them. And I spent time with my growing flock - two of whom are due in a week or so to lamb. I have been adding feed for Rosemary and Daisy who will lamb first. Rosemary already has the sunken hip look, which I learned last year as a total novice [now I am a second year novice] that sinking hips mean,get the baby booties knitted.I had been planning on Feb 10th as the first arrival, and Rosemary might be earlier. She's bagging out [a term I never knew until I had my first sheep rearing experience] very well, and each day this week her udder has been sweeling up. Daisy looks 2 weeks later, but last year, she deceptively looked smaller than Rosie, and lambed 3 days later with twins...

I think blogs are suppose to be honest, so I will say in writing, I love the looks of these sheep. I think they are the most beautiful sheep in the world, perhaps in the whole history of sheep. I am sure of it. I could have posted one or two pictures, but I like all these pictures. Selfish indulgence. But if you just could spend time with Rosemary, I think you would agree with me...Beauty like this comes once in awhile, like with Grace Kelly or Isabella Roselinni. So, gentle readers, be patient with me in the next two months of lambing. For shepherding the world's most beautiful sheep is a huge responsibility.

I did put myself through the torment of reading my sheep books again, brushing up on what to do if anything goes wrong, and of course, pretty much terrorized myself. I even added scalpals to my emergency lamb kit, but not sure what I'd do with them. If I need a scalpal, chances are I'll need a vet the first time around to use it. Last year, I lucked out, two sets of twins, healthy, didn't do a thing. Rosie had them safely in her stall at nite, and I got Daisy in her stall after her water broke around 4pm, only to come back in 20 minutes to find healthy twins at her side. I was so proud.

So, stay posted. In the meantime, my week ended like they all do, surrounded by animals, and art. Martyn will be coming home soon so we will sit with red wine by the fire and talk about the work ahead this weekend on our growing farm. This is where I belong. Sweet dreams.

Blue Cats, Why Not?

From a scientific standpoint, why aren't cats blue? I really sat and wondered this. Of course, most grass is green, most prairie fields are brown / earth tones, so blue cats would have stuck out in the wild and been preyed on and the species would have perished. But it would have been lovely...So, I wondered why not green? Green cats would have blended in very well in many tropical areas as well as the woods. Green stripes with earthtones...it's just an interesting thought. I think it is all fine how cats turned out however, and I can stare for hours at our many barn cats and their coloring...

Tomorrow is Huckelberry Pie's first birthday. It dawned on me he will only live to 9-11 years, and this was such a horrible thought. But I am almost 48, and many people I have known my whole life are in their 80's and I am entering this incredibly tender period of recognizing the inevitable passings of certain people. I have to get Roseanne Cash's new album, "Black Cadillac". She was interviewd on NPR this weekend, and was so eloquate in her responses to questions. She mentioned that when someone dies, it is not the end of your relationship with them, you just have to change the terms. This was comforting, but also reminded me how death is so surreal when it happens, and shocking, even if it is someone that is very old and sick and you know they are going to die - when they do, it is just so shocking. No matter what your spiritual beliefs, their physical body is gone, their voice is gone, but their energy lingers and it is just a different form. Why isn't it easy to grasp that? We hang so much on the physical connection...Roseanne Cash went on to say she had an epiphany a few years ago, well into her 50's, that she too would someday actually be dead, and it was a lite blub moment, and she laughed telling it - but I know what she meant. Martyn and I were talking about all the trees we were planting, how in 100 years they will be this big or that big, and it was a lite bulb moment. I won't be here, he won't , the sheep will long be dead, no Huck, no pug with one eye, no parents, Neil Young, everyone..all gone. How odd.

Please go rent the movie "Millions", a little British film from 2005, and buy Neil Diamond's [YES, Neil Diamond] new CD "12 Songs". Death and life and the yin and yang of it are expressed there better than I can do here...Meanwhile, I am still living, and I have a painting to do, and the ewes need their vacinations, and I will prepare a poem or something for Huck's first birthday. Plenty of time to die later down the road...

Awakening

I was touched by an email this morning from someone who has bought a lot of my work and while looking at the moon she said she thought of my moons in my paintings, and how she has become more aware of nature because of the art she has bought...she thanked me for this 'awakening'. What a wonderful thing to hang on to in my heart when I paint or work in such isolation here - it is a reminder I have value.

Speaking of moons, the moon came out briefly the other nite. It was so nice to see her again, and I greeted her, and just stood with her by the barn for a few minutes. It has been so long, and I look forward to summer again when the
nites are warm and dry and the star watching here is magnificant.


The three paintings that went to Sundance are finally on their online store , it took forever to get them online, so long I had forgotten how much I liked them. One is about the moon watching the barn - I really see her as a protector and guide to all of us, including the barn, that houses and keeps our animals safe. When the full moon shines here, it does light our way to the barns, it's amazing.