And we shall take flight again

The anticipation of what is to come, the idea that dreams continue to take flight exhibiting themselves days, weeks or months later. And the chickens dance because light is added to the day. It is good we don't know the year to come-we would not be ready for it in one setting.

I must melt into each day's occurrences, sometimes crash through them, but always-revel at what happened.

And I must thank the many of you who follow along, either hidden or well in view, for because of you I can live here and do may art and writing, and care for the farm and animals. Thank you for your help, encouragement when needed, support in so many ways-I am truly appreciative.

Lessons from a donkey

I don't know about you, but I'm always glad for the holiday, and relieved when it is over. We had a wonderful Christmas though, spent with a small dinner at good friends, and my brother and his wife. It was not sad. I was wondering if i would go into a slight tail spin as this is the first holiday period without my mom.

I am living a life I chose to live-and it took me awhile to get to my farm– with the right guy, so I'm just grateful for each day. Each day I can still get up on a horse, or carry a bale of hay-that's a good day. I am surrounded by land and nature and that is where I feel the most confidant and optimistic. It is where I feel the closest to my parents or any creatures or friends that have left. I have so much richness in life.

I took note of the donkeys the other day. I think they are such good role models. In the cold, they walked on, endured and didn't complain. They take time to just stand around and be donkeys. I like to stand around sometimes and be me.

I'm so looking forward to a new year–with new ventures for the Misfit book, another book on the horizon and who knows what new Misfits might show up.

A moment

The fog this morning made the world monochromatic-beautifully toned in grays and whites. I walked the dogs up to the old cemetery. Then came a "swoosh", flapping, and fluttering. Out of the fog in the field to my left came a flock of birds- their blackness became focused as they flew towards us, only to slowly fade, first to grey and then to pure white as they disappeared back into the fog.

Annual Christmas Garland Festival!

A couple years ago, a kind friend of Apifera sent us a hand made felted garland, thinking it would be nice on a tree. She had no idea what it inspired in the barnyard-an annual day to celebrate the merging of animal, woman and one Dirt Farmer.

What do we do at this festival? Not much, except I always leave full of appreciation for this life and these animals, embraced by this farm on this specific spot. So many imperfections here which make the days rich with compromise and appreciation. I can not complain, nor do the animals.

It was the first festival for Ernest the pig and Little Moose and Little Goose-and Doris and June. As a child, I hated when I was forced to sing or do pagent things at school-so nobody is coaxed into wearing the magic garland. It is said that by wearing the garland for at least one minute allows the soul to cement some future dreams. So Little Goose jumped right in-that is so him- but I wasn't surprised that Little Moose felt like watching. And Pino and Lucia were feeling voyeuristic too-perhaps Pino likes to just be a donkey during the non pie months, I can't blame him really. Doris and June were very eager to eat the garland, and Old Rudy likes to suck on it like a binkie–so one Christmas miracle is the garland still exists- another indication of its magic.

Sit back, and enjoy the photos from this year's festival.

Working on magic

I am working on two new book projects, although have been focusing on a book about how I met Martyn, got to the farm and–well, you know what followed–donkeys, pie parties and chickens with pretty underpants.

I love this book. It is a book that has actually had many lives, and it almost has come full circle. I guess this often happens with a project. I find it interesting though that i am going back to the book the way I first envisioned it-before editors and agents at the time started putting other ideas into my head-to make it more commercial. They weren't bad ideas, but I feel much more convinced that this way is the way the book was meant to be.

This is a happy book, a magical book. I wrote a huge portion of it a couple year ago, and had it professionally edited and shaped by a good editor. We pitched that portion and it got turned down by many places. This new version is much more lifestyle oriented, versus the old version which was a memoir. This version will have fun recipes and lots of Apifera wisdoms. I forgot how much I loved the original story of how I left Minneapolis and met my next door neighbor–who happened to have the same last name as me–it is easy to forget that broken heart that I carried with me to Oregon, only to be healed by loved, friendship and homemade pie...and then Apifera let me blossom.

So stay tuned.

A fog salute

It was about 4pm when I buried BW yesterday, near the One Eyed Pug and others under the lilacs. It was quiet. The fog silences things. While it might seem very egotistical, I welcomed the fog like it was there to embrace me. It was as if all the trees rose to the occasion at hand and dressed in Black and White in B's honor, to wrap a cloth around him as he left. It was very beautiful-perhaps the most poignant funeral I'll ever attend.

In which I lose a dear friend, a very fine cat

I had to say good-bye to a dear friend. A comrade of theatrics, a warrior, a thief of meat on the counter, a lover, a survivor-a cat I have grown to love very much.

B.W. was euthanized today and I told him how wonderful our time together was, how compact that time seems now since he wandered onto Apifera in 2007 with a swagger no cat has ever outdone. I had been trapping, spaying and neutering the semi feral colony that had grown to about 25, and my energy to find the correct name for him was waning, so we started calling him BW for "Black White". It stuck but he had many nicknames as such a cat with such magnificence should –

Dub, B, BB, Mister Magnificent...

His personality and expression had grown even more entertaining in the past year after he lost a front incisor, making his upper lip cave in on one side.

Damn it, I'll miss this cat. He was one of the four privileged felines allowed in "The Big House" as they call it in the barnyard–but he always was put out at night, along with Miss Peach–only Big Tony and Itty Bitty have night time curfews.

He loved coming in for food, and lap sitting. He adored to sit on me and had a very loud humming purr. He also loved to eat, more than any of the other cats over the years, this guy loved anything–the stinkier the better. He was the only cat we've had around that would climb kitchen shelves to find a pork chop marinating and then walk into the living room with it hanging in his mouth, calmly strutting towards me like that black cat in the Loony Tunes. In fact, we mimicked that black cat in Looney Tunes as we spoke like how we thought BW would.

I've known him six years and he has come into the house with head wounds, broken teeth, blown abscesses and more-but I doctored him up and he always rebounded in style. He took my Dr. Doolittle techniques and seemed to show appreciation for each one. But this time, I had nothing I could do for him.

BW came in this weekend with a hind leg that appeared paralyzed. I assumed it was a stroke which can happen to older cats with thyroid issues. He did not appear in pain, so I made a Monday vet appointment since my clinic was closed. He was eating and drinking. By nighttime, he was in horrible pain and was ill too. He lost control of both legs, and they were numb to the touch. By morning, Xrays told us it wasn't a fracture, and other things told us it wasn't a stroke. I won't go into why we chose to let him move on, but it was a well thought out decision by me and the vet–there are layers of things going on in him, and we feel it is best for him and his quality of life. Treatments that might not help would have left him suffering at a clinic for days on end with limited positive results.

This is a cat that lives to be in and out. He was a stray that learned to survive outside and while he loved being in for certain night time communions, he loved to be out. In the past days of having in all day, carrying him into the litter box, He looked up to me like he always did when he wanted out or in–but this morning, both Martyn and I saw there was something gone in his eyes, a light had gone out. the vet saw it too. When I held him at the vet, he still looked up at me like he always did when I held him, but this time, i know he was asking for help.

It all happened so fast. But I can say this, I have cared for him well, and he has returned the favor by just being himself-the one and only Mister Magnificant–a cat that walked into a room like he was about to accept an Oscar or sign an autograph.

BW–I love you and will miss you. Thank you for coming to us.

Misfits warn of waning mail dates

If you want to gift a copy of "Misfits of Love" Healing Conversations in the Barnyard, don't get too comfortable-time is of the essence. The Two Book rate is still on. I'll be here Christmas week filling orders if needed, but the early bird gets the worm before the duck, as we say in the barnyard.

Living in a cathedral

I always liken the fields as open cathedrals, ready for worshipers of all denominations or non denominations, especially on days like today-frosted with pure white.

While the weather has created non stop hardship for many farmers, there are moments I have to remember to stop and breathe–in, and out. I'm lucky to work out of my home studio, at my pace, and to be able to take my morning walk surrounded by all this.

Today I spent a lot of time going through lots of old photos for a project- I looked at many images of the farm, and of me and Martyn and the animals–some are gone now but many are growing old with us. I had some overwhelming feelings as I looked at photos from our arrival in 2004–there were no real paddocks or gardens, the fields were overgrown,and it just looked so alien in a way. I realized just how wrapped up in Apifera I am now, we are joined together at this stage in life and I don't go anywhere without her. As I looked at myself–younger by ten years–with less midline, less wobbly neck, not only did I see how much I've aged physically, but how much I've evolved too. There were photos of art and things I was creating that just seem very foreign, like I had landed here and was evolving so rapidly that I was just trying each and every thing I could to stay focused. It was a time of upheavel-in a good way. But it was a huge transition to move here, not know anyone, be new to all the things we set out to do-farm, raise sheep, harvest lavender.

But it was all meant to happen, just as it did, and with the exact people and animals that came with it.

Time is going fast. It's been ten years in June since we moved here–what will the next ten bring to all of us?

While time goes fast, the days that make up these years will be filled with many beautiful slower, moments, hard times and lessons, but beauty in the faces of my sheep and the comfort of the melancholy fog. Melancholy brings our sensations to the outer planes of our skin, allowing us to be moved by even the minute detail of one leaf covered in frost.

Grumpy Farmer Syndrome

It's been horribly cold. As a Minnesotan I often get a bit cynical with the West coasters–a dusting of snow usually shuts everything down. But there aren't the same infrastructure resources here for winter weather, and heaven forbid the state consider...sales taxes to help with road crews for storms.

However, it has been one of the coldest snaps on record, and we have had to haul warm water twice a day to both barns and all paddocks. It is especially worrisome for the elders, the cold. I was relieved that everyone appears to have made it through, and we are hoping for a thaw tonight into the week, with rain coming, but at least above freezing.

The Bottomtums just go about their day, taking frigid baths and accepting the weather presented to them. What else can one do? I did leave them and Priscilla in their hut for two days straight, which was kept warm by their huddling body masses.

I think more than anything, hauling water creates the Grumpy Farmer Syndrome. Martyn stayed home in the cold too-not much a landscaper can dig in this weather-and I'm so glad he's been here to help. Now, if I was just hauling water to one or two buckets, that would be less grumpy accumulating. But I have ten areas to keep water in–so I have a lot of time to grow my grumpiness.

And my sciatic nerve got tweaked from hauling buckets. More grumpiness.

By night time I am so ready for a fire and a glass of wine and it makes it all the sweeter. But I forgot, I have to carry warm water to the multiple outdoor cats–more grumpiness.

So, I was watching the ducks, bathing, dipping and drinking water in the frigid cold. They did not dip a toe in to test the temperature, they leapt in. This is the only cure for Grumpy Farmer Syndrome-dive into the cold and get it over with.

I am less grumpy today, as it feels down right balmy at 30 degrees.

Buy and prosper with art...maybe

If you buy at the Two Book Special rate, you might be one of 8 people who will take home a print of art from the book [the flying pig is not in the book, and of course all art in the book is in full color, just to be clear]. If you hear from me after 12/15, you will get one of these single images sent to you. [I choose the image, so it is a surprise to anyone getting one].

Please remember that all sales through the month also help fight children's hunger. $2 of each sale is donated by me to No Kid Hungry. We are about 35% of my goal.

The comments coming in about the book are really wonderful. I am really excited for the new year to further expand the Misfits into the world. Feel free to leave a review at Goodreads, or email me what you think of the book and I will post first name basis] on the Misfit page.

Moosin' it

Yesterday-like today-was very cold. Moose ate food in the morning which was great, but his temp was very low. I called the vet and he said to bring him inside to warm him up. I made the bone head mistake of not warming his drenches in the morning before giving them to him-and I think that was the culprit.

So, I had a Moose in the house. He warmed up very fast and ate well last night and there is no coughing. I will continue his shots and antibiotics for three more days and then I think I can relax. Tonight it will be even colder so I am going to put The One Eyed Pug's old sweater on him, it should be a perfect fit. It will be bittersweet to see that sweater on him, without a pug in it.

Little Moose is so charming. I'm so glad it appears he is on the mend. But until the warmer air returns, I will not let my guard down.

Gift ideas of meaning Apifera style

Don't stress! I can share some simple gifts with meaning for your holiday gift giving. Of course, each thing you buy on this list does help me keep writing, helping animals, sharing story and art–so it is a gift to me too.

Buy a Misfit! For the person on your list that loves art and animal, or that has gone through the loss of a parent or loved one, "Misfits of Love" Healing Conversations in the Barnyard is a gentle choice. You can read reviews and see spreads at the Misfit site. And there is a Two Book special [buy more than two if needed] right now. I hand wrap each book in true Apifera style and sign the inside.

Original Canvases can be purchased in several places: through Sundance, through Adamson Gallery [view a PDF of the pieces that might still be available at Adamson] and through me. Right now, most of my pieces are with Sundance and the gallery. You can always look at my site and email me if there is a piece you like and I can direct you.

Art cards and smaller prints at Etsy.

You can help support The Misfits in the barnyard-old donkeys, elderly goats, ducks, a goose, old ponies and more by making a small donation [gift levels available]. Meet the many Misfits here.

Support my indie publishing venture by donating to help defray the cost of the first book-gift levels available.

Help end children's hunger by buying a book. Buy a book on the Misfit page and this month $2 will go to help fight children's hunger at No Kid Hungry. You can also go directly to the No Kid Hungry Misfit page and make a donation [but you don't get a book that way- some people made donations anyway, yay!].

When you love a Moose

I read once in a care taking/hospice book, to not say, "Don't go, stay with me," to a patient, rather say, "Stay as long as you need to."

I use that as my code. I've only broken my code once while at the farm-once while trying to pull Aunt Bea out of decline. On Monday, Little Moose was very ill–the night before he had seemed a bit off, and I gave him probiotics. But in the morning he was way off. His mouth was cold, but he had good color in his eyes and tongue. He wasn't down, but his breathing seemed odd. He wasn't eating. I had a sick feeling about it. Decided not to risk it but none of my vets were available for an ER call to the farm, so I drove him into one of my vets. No liver issue in blood work, no worms, no pain/tension in his gut. Could be a neurological thing, or pneumonia-the latter is bad. So we treated him for infection and fever and I brought him home for Apifera care.That was Monday night. Tuesday his temp was better, but he still wasn't eating or drinking. We continued med regime and electrolytes, and force feeding at night. But I was worried.

Some of you will remember how Little Moose landed here. My mother died in April, and my old pug right after that. I then lost two other of the elders in a short time span. Of course, this is part of aging on neglected elders–I understand. But I needed life. I needed youth. I wanted a gift for ME. Little Moose was born on my birthday, up in Washington to a trusted friend of the farm. I was honored she let me give this special fellow a home. They brought him down on Pino Pie Day last June.

I can't tell you how fond I am of this guy, as well as Goose–who was born on Martyn's birthday, and his client needed to find him a non breeding home; Martyn knew I wanted some youth, so we ended up with two youngsters and I named them Moose and Goose. They are also nicknamed The Monkees. Endless humor from both of them. Endless terms of endearment could flow from my typing onto this page–but on with the story.

So last night, I was feeling much better about Moose since his temp was down. But something just grabbed me while I was with him giving him his med regime. I took him into the hay barn with me so he could hang out with me, away from the chaos of The Misfit hay smorgasborg–and I could watch him while I did feedings. He seemed pretty strong, not declining, a bit more coughing but not a lot. No runny nose. He nibbled on hay. I force fed him some rice bran mixed with beer, my vet's suggestion. His temp went up slightly but I think that is normal. And I held him in between force gulps of his mash.

"You're my little knight in shining brown armor. You came to the farm for me, born on my birthday and you are suppose to get old with me and share birthday stories with me. Don't go."

I had a good cry, mashing my face into his. He tolerated the drama.

"This is so selfish of me, Moose, forgive me,"

Nature will do what she will do. I can intervene, aide, but I can't control it. I usually have a sense about things, an inkling of an outcome-but I didn't last night. I felt 'off'. I rode in the morning yesterday and felt 'off'. I got the trailer stuck on a hill in mud. I broke an egg in my jacket. I stuck the med needle into my thigh by mistake.

Maybe that's why I asked Moose not to go, maybe by asking it makes me feel like he has the power not to go, or that one uncontrollable outcome-no matter what it will be- will be my divine gift from Nature, this one time.

When I left the barn, the sky was so red! "Don't take him!" I said.

I'm getting soft.

And then this morning...


"Moose!" I said as I entered the barn. I could hear him, in his recovery suite, near Goose. It is my morning ritual. First I say, "Boone!" as I walk across the barnyard after I hear his knicker, then upon entering the barn, the first faces I see are The Monkeys and I say, "Moose! Goose!"

I had walked to the barn this morning in the 25 degrees temperature-very cold for here. Frozen, frosty, and a beautiful sun against one huge blue window. But what really lit up my face was seeing Moose this morning. He was looking up at me with the wide eyed look I know and love-the look of,

"Hi! Moose here! Good day, eh? Let's eat!"

He seemed so good. Active, ready to scamper. He ate a tiny bit of food with Goose, Ernest, Professor and Wilbur-his normal routine. I let him out in barnyard with everyone and he nibbled hay with the usual suspects. And the sweetest part-he waddled over to Old Rudy as only Moose can waddle, and hung out with him, just like he did on his first days and nights here. He always goes back to Rudy.

I watched him for 30 minutes and he seemed pretty good–for the first time I am openly optimistic. He still coughed with his drenches, but that isn't that unusual. And his temp was really low, but it's cold. He has another week of meds which we will continue [always finish a med regime, FYI] and I am hoping for continued goodness.

I am now trying not to look at every goat in the place and think they look 'off'. I suppose kindergarten teachers go through this–one kid goes down with a fever and she envisions them all as possible next victims.

Hail to Moose! Little Moose! I will say it again to those of your reading–I don't want him to go!

Special Two book rates through 12/15

The Special Two Book rate has been popular, so I am leaving it up through 12/15. But now you can also double and triple the order. These prices in the drop down menu below INCLUDE USA S/H. Normally each book is $27.50 [includes USA s/h. Int'l orders will be notified of additional shipping fees after they buy]. And this month $2 of each sale goes to the No Kid Hungry campaign [we have raised 20% of our $500 goal].

Remember, each book is lovingly wrapped Apifera style with hang tags and Apifera embellishments. I sign the inside of the book and leave the hang tags blank unless you give me a name.

If you only want single copies, visit this page at the Misfits.

2 Book quantities

1 order [2 books] $43.50 USD 2 orders [4 books] $86.00 USD 3 orders [6 books] $123.00 USD

How to keep a pig busy...and happy

Ernest was getting in my way today, his goal was to escape through a gate I was going in and out of. He was no doubt tempted by the longer grass of the front yard, not to mention his gilts, Doris and Pearl, who he is not allowed to be with for obvious reason. So I did what any savvy pig owner does–grabbed some nature, some round nature that provides said pig with entertainment, exercise and nourishment. And it is very enjoyable to watch.

So for a quick break from shopping, here is a video for you. Of course, when you are finished, feel free to support a small business, um...me, and buy a book or two, or other goodies.

Out and about

The pigs have been escaping through one part of the fence and I was out trying to capture the expressions on the donkeys faces as they watched the porcine ramblings from the other side of their fence. But it was not my day to have my lens in sync with the action I guess. But I did capture Paco in his winter fuzzy suit, as Matilda watches from behind; and Samuelle Noel in repose–who is full recovered from his illness and has gained many pounds. It is gray and I can feel the wetness loading up in the higher air. We will make soup tonight–the thought of the soup, the fire and a glass of red wine just brings me great happiness. Simple pleasures.

Layers of thanksgiving

I was thinking how holidays are multi-layered. They encompass both past and future–memories, joys, disappointments, catastrophes and old family myths. It all gets jumbled into hopes and dreams, and maybe fears of the present and future. It brings up layers of past regrets for some, and anger for others. You can't help but look back on a holiday and see what the view was like, or try to remember what the view was like without rose colored glasses.

I've had an odd week. Not a bad one, but a mixture of melancholy and fun. Watching Rudolph last night was both. Many of us feel that, I'm sure, those of in our middle years will remember being little and watching it. Of course back then the advertisement was the same every year–Norelco, all animated, with the razor sledding down the snowy hillside. Raise your hand if you remember. My mother adored Burl Ives and we always teased her that even in the year 2013 she liked to have Burl Ives on for Christmas. When I cleaned out her belongings, there was a Burl Ives CD, which I brought home. So last night, I sang along with her on my shoulder. And of course, Martyn and I love the Island of MISFIT Toys! Especially the polk-a-dot elephant. Martyn jokes that my favorite lounge PJ bottoms are from The Misfit Elephant collection, since they are polk-a-dot. It always makes us laugh.

Laughing is the key. I married someone who makes me laugh, and I make him laugh. I think I'd have to say it is the number one thing that makes marriage fun-laughing with someone that gets you. I'm so thankful for Martyn.

So, Thanksgiving is here. The firsts are hard in grief. But I'm okay! I made pie, I went for a long ride on Boone and then I hung out with The Misfits. I hugged Little Goose a lot- he still loves to place his head into my body while I hold him, just like he did as a baby. Ernest and the pigs make me laugh over and over. Stevie the gentle giant still gives kisses, and Old Rudy appreciates my touch. I can look out at any given vista from the barnyard and see layers of animals. I miss my mother, but it does not consume me. But it is still there, the hole is bigger than the surrounding space-just yet. That will adjust. Tomorrow I will be grateful for a husband who helps me out, a brother and sister-in-law who are preparing a feast and two newer friends that I've grown to really enjoy-because they make me laugh too.

I hope all of you reading will find things to be grateful for, even if you are hurting or are going through some kind of transition that has you off balance.

Late this afternoon, I took eggs from the girls and made buttermilk pie. I still thinks eggs are the perfect food. Such a complete package, and the ability to be an animal or a scramble, such smart work of Nature. I'll never compete with such wisdom as Nature, but I can walk with Her and pay attention. She is so bountiful.

Misits helping end childhood hunger

I've always loved Jeff bridges work on film, but also his humanitarian work to help fight children's hunger. I've set up a funding page where I will donate $2 of every Misfoot book sold to his cause until I raise $500. My work with animals only comes full circle in a healing way when I combine it with people, especially people needing cheer or peace-or in this case the basic need of food.

Here's how it works:

1] You buy a book[s] on this page, and I automatically donate $2. The donation will come in as 'anonymous' when I enter it on the funding page site. So you don't have to do anything except buy a book.

or 2] You go to the funding page, and make a direct donation to the cause - BUT YOU DO NOT receive a copy of the book.

or 3] You can become a Misfit Troubadour team member, and gather donations from friends. Again, this way you are making your own donations and are not receiving copies of the book.

Open year round

Remember there is a TWO BOOK special going on through the week. New drop down menu helps you buy up to 8 copies with best shipping rate. If you are ordering more than 8 copies, please contact me.

Our enthusiastic team is here to pack, ship and deliver!

Meeting with The Head Troll - don't be late

It has been a whirlwind of book packing and sales in the past couple weeks–grateful for all the comments coming in and well wishes from people who have lurked for years on the blog [nothing wrong with that] and now are popping their heads up to say 'hello' and 'thank you'. It's all nice. Thank you all very much. It is a beginning on a good beat.

But I need to take some time this week to sit with my master plan. Wait, do I have one? I think not, well I sort of have one-but I've always created, painted and written in a fluid way, I guess master planning will be no different. However, I'm feeling we need a bit more structure for my book ideas, and for marketing
Misfits of Love to the masses, especially since I've got this crazy idea of not selling on Amazon. I think the people who respond to this book are going to respond because of the visceral connection of it and I'm not so sure Amazon is the place for that. I'm not saying I have anything against Amazon, and I did add a page there with description in case someone looks it up or wants to leave a review, but I like selling directly. I suppose at some point I will change my tune.

That's why I set up time this week to spend with The Head Troll. I've named her Marketing Misfit or something like that, I can't even remember the title, but before I knew it she stood before me with pencil and tablet, ready to serve, and direct. As you can see from the photo, you don't want to be late to a meeting with The Head Troll, she does not tolerate tardiness. She is a no nonsense manager type, and you better come prepared with good ideas or she'll cancel the meeting on the spot.

You might think I've gone mad this time, talking to Head Trolls. She's a goat, that's what you're thinking–She's a goat. Yes, but she's a Head Troll. Trust me on this. She knows... a lot of stuff–about a lot of things. She encourages me to think outside the box and to listen to my gut. When something flops, she looks at me, and I can hear words from her,

"Did you listen to your gut on that one?"

The Head Troll knows.

Smile of the acrobat

I'll send you off on your weekend with the smile of goat, a Misfit–none other than Wilbur the Acrobatic Goat who we adopted from New Moon Goat Farm Rescue some years ago. HE came here as a youngster and is about six I think. I just swoon for any creature with brown or red coats. And how can one not admire this face, the pencil thin goatee and the impish expression.

I can say that if i had a dime for every time I raised my voice in my best authoritative mother tone and yelled out a name, it would be,

"WILBUR!!!!!!!"

He is a monkey, a madmen, a leaper, a dancer, a bouncer. I tell him he'll be old someday, and then he'll understand what it is like being around a goat in a monkey suit.

He is of course part of the new book.

Little black dress, hen style

It never gets old, it never is out of style–the little black ensemble, complete with black underpants–you just can't go wrong with it, ladies.

Misfits selected into the Society of Illustrator show and book!

I just got a phone call–and how nice to be individually called by phone–letting me know that art from "Misfits of Love" Healing Conversations in the Barnyard was selected to be in the annual exhibit and award annual in the Book category of the Society of Illustrators. I haven't entered award shows in years but am thrilled I decided too.

I am so proud of my Misfits–these are just 5 of 65 art images in my new book, but I'm glad they were selected. I will post details of the NYC show and book when I know more.

Old Rudy keeping it real

I have been manically wrapping, packing and shipping all the pre orders of the book and totally underestimated the time involved. But, it's okay, it's exciting. I also underestimated how wrapping the books, packaging them in an Apifera way, putting the label on and knowing in 2 days that specific person would open the book-it felt so nice–like giving a gift rather than sending a product out.

The time involved in wrapping them individually with hanging tags and embellishments makes me feel the recipient will feel something tangible from the farm. I suppose the book–if I succeeded-will do this too, but I just like wrapping stuff. My father loved Christmas and birthdays and wrapping things in very special ways–I guess it is fitting then since he is such a part of the book.

But life is here, on the ground, and the animals and farm keep me grounded. I found a quote I had given some years back–

"Painting lets me float, farming keeps me grounded."

I actually sound like I know what I'm talking about! But, I do feel that way. And as I was rushing around all day in the studio and to the post–again–I came out in the rain to do night feedings. The first voice I often hear is Old Rudy who is going on 13. His shoulder is getting very extended and he is on daily pain meds, but his eyes are bright and he still climbs steps to sit up high. He loves to go off into the wood shed area of the barn to be alone–just like Old Man Guinnias did. I'm so glad he found his way here. His former owner is too and it makes me feel good she knows he is cared for. I spoke to Rudy again tonight, as I always do, telling him he is double loved.

Rudy is in the new book of course, and don't forget there is a Special Two Book rate on through November. If you only want one copy, visit the Misfit page.

First book reading!

You know as a troubadour of self publishing, one has to think fast, and outside the box. The fact is The Puppet was not in the book, even though he considers himself a Misfit, but he loves to hear me read from it - so you are officially welcome to share in our first book reading. And more to come.

Continuing magic of moon, Misfits & me

The continuing magic of the moon: So the delivery driver of the books called from the bottom of the driveway at 6pm. He couldn't get his larger truck around the culverts. It was dark. Martyn wasn't home. The pallet weighed 1600+ pounds. No worries, I told him. We busted open the pallet, working with flash lites and our headlights, and he placed the boxes of books on the gravel road. I began transporting them into my truck. He drove off, and I finished getting all the boxes in the car. It began to really mist. I looked up and there were my parents, Bob and Kelly, again- in the moon, just like the other night I wrote about.

"I did it," I said, as I got the last box in the truck. And then the clouds covered them up again. "Aren't you going to come out again?" I asked. More rain drops.

I got in the truck and turned the key. Dead. Dead as dead can be. But I just sat there in the dark, with a little rain, the stream running beside me, nobody around for miles. And the moon came back. It was so....perfect. Now if I'd had some publisher doing all this, I never would have had that moment. That's what I thought.

Ten minutes later, Martyn was home and we jumped the car and ferried all the boxes in the studio. The moon was out over us.

I just held the book. It appears healthy, alive, and ready to get out of it's travel clothes. And I am ready for some wine, a fire, and the next part of the journey.
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To celebrate the launch of my new book, "Misfits of Love" {Healing Conversations in the Barnyard}, I am offering a special through November 30th: buy one book and get a second copy for 25% off. Visit the Misfit page to see spreads and more from the book and view a trailer.

If you'd like to buy at the Special Two rate, please pay below. You can also support Apifera Press so I can do a second printing faster, and start new books. Note to international buyers-you will be charged more for shipping {after you pay below I will email you with additional shipping charges.

Patiently waiting - at least Miss Peach is

As I type, my heart is sort of skipping. The truck with all my new books will arrive some time this afternoon. I don't think I've been this excited since I knew they were bringing little Pino here to live some seven years ago.

I am excited.

I am anxious.

I chat in my head with 'What ifs"...

"What if it looks weird? What if that correction I made didn't get corrected?"

Then I busy myself. Or eat a cookie–okay, first I ate the dough. Chocolate chip cookie dough, from scratch of course, with Apifera eggs. I've been eating raw dough since I was about four and I have been warned repeatedly about the dangers of it- but I can't help it. It is my go-to excitement food. Which is why I freeze the dough immediately after I make it.

Okay, I digress. The books are coming today. This is a feat in and of itself for me. I just want to hold one and see that the birth went well.

It took Miss Peach to remind me that in times like these, one must stop, breathe, get a good perspective for oncoming delivery trucks, and enjoy the view.

Meet a Misfit: Granny

To celebrate the launch of my new book, "Misfits of Love" {Healing Conversations in the Barnyard}, I am offering a special through November 30th.

The Special Two lets you buy one book and get a second copy for 25% off. Visit the Misfit page to see spreads and more from the book and view a trailer.

If you'd like to buy at the Special Two rate, please pay below. The current normal price for one copy is $19.99 plus USA s/h. Special price for two copies is $34.98 plus USA shipping.. Note to international buyers-you will be charged more for shipping {after you pay below I will email you with additional shipping charges}.

A hut for a butt, and some prayers

Wilma has lost a lot of weight, the vet was pleased. But don't worry, we still have this wonderful view. I personally like a woman with a strong rear end, don't you?

The pony hut is now graced by prayer flags, sent by a friend of Apifera. It's always nice to get such surprises! Many prayers and wishes are circling as I write, all around the farm.

I'll be watching you

Little Moose watches Old Rudy.
Peach watches Little Moose.
I watch them all.

Thankful for old warriors

My father was 17 when he got a plane and then a boat and landed in the Pacific. He was a Marine. After my mother died this April, I helped clean out her belongings. I had seen some of my father's medals and discharge papers after he died. But I never really examined them until after my mother died and I took them all home with me. The discharge papers tell which battles my father fought in, including the dates. I knew he was in major battles, but I researched and was amazed he had lived. I know he once told me only two of his group survived. I only talked to my father once in detail about his war years-over one too many Scotches!-back in my late twenties when he came to see me in NYC. He told me some horrific stories-images of heads rolling by him as he hunkered down in a culvert. We never discussed it again.

He liked war movies–and I can understand that. Perhaps the movies helped him comprehend where he had been, I don't know. I remember we watched Toro Toro Toro together and it was interesting to see his take on it. Later in his career as an architect, he was working on a building in Japan, and he and the other Japanese architect began discussing the battles they were part of in WWII. They think they might have been fighting each other on any given day. They toasted each other's lives, as here they were, without guns or battle helmets–just two old soldiers who made it. Each of their countries had reason to battle. Each of them were brave and made sacrifices we can't imagine.

So here's to all the soldiers-young, old, men and women, dogs, donkeys and mules–thank you for your huge sacrifice. And here's to my old soldier, Robert Louis Dunn, gone now 5 years but never forgotten.

My friend and I used to wonder how we would have handled being put on a plane at 17 knowing we were going off to the South Pacific to fight. We decided we would have cried all the way there.

Update on the elder ponies

The vet came on Friday to work on the teeth of Mama Sugee and Wilma. Equines need to have periodic 'teeth floatings', where the vet grinds down any sharp points or uneven areas. This allows the animal to chew properly, and also makes their life more comfortable, so they don't have a tooth sticking in their gum or tongue.

Unfortunately, Sugee's teeth have never been worked on - or not for many, many years. When the vet opened her mouth, she was a t a loss how to start. Sugee's teeth were so horrible - some had fallen out, others were very long and growing into her cheeks leaving 2" raw, open sores. Some of the teeth were worn down to the nub. The vet had to take as much off as she could so at least they were making more pain for her mouth, but she couldn't get them even and we never will at this point. This means Sugee will always probably spit out some of her hay as she can't grind it down properly, and I will always water-mash her grain.

I'm so glad she will have relief though - the sharp points are gone and won't create more wounds. Wilma didn't need any work, so that was great.

I was really happy when the vet– who originally rescued these tow old gals and was the vet who operated on Sugee's ears after the dog chewed them off– told me how pleased she was to see Sugee with so much more weight on her, and they loved that Wilma was up and about. Wilma was so fat and sore from bad feet she couldn't even get up when they got her.

I have been working on Wilma's attitude. She is not mean spirited, she just doesn't have ground manners. She is learning that she needs to stand still, with her ears relaxed, not pinned back, to accept hugging. And when she relaxes those ears, she's figuring out it's okay and feels good to get petted. She is also learning to stand still after being released, rather than rushing off in a huff. The new pony paddock is next to Boone, and it is so sweet, if not amusing, to see the two old gals flirt with Boone, who nipples on them when they are in heat.

If you'd like to make a small donation to help me maintain the elder ponies and all the other Misfits, I'm very appreciative. There are gift levels, including a copy of the new book, "Misfits of Love".

A cat of Apifera

BW arrived at Apifera around 2006 or so, strutting into the barnyard one day like a visiting dignitary. He had a mellow disposition and was very friendly when I introduced myself– but to this day if guests or visitors come he disappears. I started calling him BW for Black-White, since I was unsure he'd stay, and I think I was on about the third litter of trap-spay-neuter so I was a bit warn out from naming cats–as I recall.

Over the years, BW has become a friend. He is quite the love machine with me to the point he can be a bit of a pest, unintentionally. He has a habit of jumping up on me during my evening wine sipping and has broken two glasses on my end table–which always causes a near riot. He is one of 4 cats that have indoor–at–TV–watching-time privileges but sleeps outside. Like Mama Kitty, Plum and Little Orange, and now Miss Peach, he resides on the front porch or nearby hiding spots and does not venture out to the barnyard much. He is an avid hunter and I respect his quick kill, unlike Itty who taunts. I also can say I've never had a cat that climbs through dangerous territory in the kitchen and can sneak a pork chop off a counter right in front of your eyes.

Some time ago, BW started losing weight but was eating like a horse. The vet suspected thyroid imbalance, which I guess is common in adult cats, and blood work confirmed it. He'll be on meds now for the rest of his days-sigh. Always a challenge medicating the semi ferels. I hope to see weight gain in the next couple months.

I've been loving my macro lens. To the non photographers, that is how I get the blurry parts of the photo. It is tricky to use with moving targets,however, and also means I often chop some one's ears off.

Little Moose, oh our Little Moose!

"Moose!" I say, and he jumps up on his little bed stand in his stall.

"Let me take some photos of you,Moose," I go on.

Moose abides by my request.

The scent of love expanding

I think of my mother every day, in quiet ways, sad ways–but now happy ways.

The biggest lesson I can share-and I knew it, but I relearn each time a creature I love dies, or a friend departs–is that with death comes an expansion of love. The expansion is on both ends–I think the person dying somehow bursts open and the person left behind gathers and breathes all that came before, and all that spills over in that burst of death.

Love lives.

There are intense moments. Anyone who has grieved knows this experience. I find they are short now, usually, and intense, but I go on about the day. Recently I was looking for a sweater in my closet and came upon one that I'd brought back from my mother's after I cleaned out her house. I immediately smelled it-just like a sheep or equine would do–seeking a known scent to make everything seem normal and safe.

I could still smell her scent in the sweater. It was fainter than when I brought it home, as it has mixed with my scent for 7 months now. But I could still smell her. At first I winced slightly remembering the reality, but I buried my face into the wool and lived with it for many seconds, in silence.

Those moments are really interactions of two spirits-one still in her body, one not. It was pleasurable, really–like smelling vanilla out of the jar or cinnamon in a baking cake.

I think that is what I want to pass on today–there is grief and shock and horrible jagged waves in the initial weeks of loss. But there are moments of intense love. That is what is really left–love.

Love expands after death.

{If you've lost a parent or loved one, you might take comfort in the grief journal}