The Barn protects

 I wrote this awhile ago, but came upon it and liked it...

The barn is an anchor to every creature that lives here. And it is an anchor for me too. I can think in there and just feel very much of me. Like the animals, the barn does not judge my appearance, weight, mood or flaws. It forgives a mistake such as leaving a hose bib run and flooding her side wall. It blocks out the wind but feels so safe when you are inside her listening to the wind-like my old sumac fort I had as a little girl. The barn holds baby birds in her arms and has bodies of importance buried under her and around her. I know exactly where I am walking above my beloved Birdie the llama and Cornelia the pig. Raggedy Man died on her side wall, sunning in the vegetable garden.

I don’t worry about saying the right or wrong thing in the barn. There is no social media available there. The Hungry are not invited in. The Hungry are people in the outer world who project their expectations on to other people, and are always, in the end, crushed that their expectations aren't met. The Hungry that I have encountered in my life never seem to have healthy boundaries. Some of them give fall in love with you from one encounter online…”I love you so much,” they say. Beware of quick I love you’s. Love is important, and to love is a compassionate human. But my experience has always shown that a direct I love you after not even knowing someone always comes from the boundaryless person seeking something. The Hungary give lots of doting attention, but in the end, they are never satisfied with what they get in return from you because they don't think they are getting back what they deserve, they seem to always think they have not been appreciated properly. And if you try to explain your boundaries to The Hungary, they are hurt, or mad, or both. The Hungry seem to swoop into your life, and can often just disappear silently, and never speak to you again. I'm learning to recognize them more quickly but not always.

So, that is another wonderful part of a relationship with a barn. She respects boundaries, and has gates-sometimes they are open, sometimes they are closed, and she and I choose which. {You will notice the symbol of the gate is prevalent in my art}.

The barn has no expectations of what our relationship is going to be, or should be. But she gives back so much, without asking-shelter from wind and snow, dappled sunlight for old and young bones, a sandy bottomed floor to sit down on and just listen to the cud chewing meetings. The roof creeks a song and the big doors when opened might reveal a myriad of surprises-life, a death, or  a wandering cat come to stay…or turkey eggs.

I'm sticking around to be with the barn. She's not of The Hungry.

Anything for the old llama...and a note about out of line crowd sourcing

Martyn built this shade shed this spring-yet another one- for The Misfits. He says it is no longer a barnyard, it is a village. I like this thought because it is a village-full of activity, gossip, comings and goings of individual characters and cull de sacs of friends.

We put sand in this one and Aldo and Stevie just love it. Not only does it provide a soft cushion for achy joints, it helps them stay cool, and I also think it helps avert flies. The minute we put that sand floor down, there was Aldo, just as I had hoped. One farm in Texas I read about actually lays out sand in the heat of summer and sprays it down with water, so the llamas can lie in it for cooling. I tried this and it worked like a charm, so we decided to add sand to this hut.

And today, Martyn is beginning the task of winterizing it. You can't have enough huts, I say! So thankful The Dirt Farmer knows how to build-what a true blessing. We could never maintain this place without his skill as a builder. I always tell people that want a farm-you better be handy, and if, have the means to hire handy people. I'm grateful to have Martyn's unwavering generosity and skill.

I walked out this morning to take some photos of him working, and there was the poor man surrounded by crippled goats, wandering pigs and dogs, and a very stoic llama. It was amusing and endearing. He wasn't even complaining. I took some pity on him and took most of the gang up to the goat barn to give him some space.

I have been seeing a lot of over the top crowd funding requests lately-people asking for money for all sorts of things that they simply can't afford-or don't seem to have the patience to earn over a period of time. If you can buy a horse, it seems you should first know you can afford to pay your mortgage! If you can't afford a vet for the sheep emergency, seems you shouldn't be buying pigs-that sort of thing. It seems like it is becoming almost a rip off for some artists-blogger-writers, and I'm feeling more and more queasy about keeping my donation page up. But I talked to some valued, loyal readers who think I'm over worrying. I guess I go through this a few times a year. So to be clear, this farm and this artist will continue because we work hard and are very wise with the money we do earn through self employment. When people want to share their appreciation through subscriptions or donations, it is so helpful, and used wisely for The Misfits. But basically, it is my art and books that maintain the Misfits. So when you buy my books or art, you are helping me, and animals.

It's a fine line, isn't it-asking for help, and taking advantage of good hearted people? I was raised to be self reliant, or not a mooch. And maybe this is why I get queasy about the donation page-why should anyone support me with money when it is I who choose to adopt these creatures, knowing full well they will need more food and vet care than most? I guess people share money at times, because they can, it feels good, and just as I said in the beginning of the post-this is a village. The new barn we are building is a labor of love. The initial stage will cost us $7,000 out of pocket to have the trusses, posts and roof put up. The we will side it and build the walls, doors, windows and floor ourselves over time. I must have put the barn donation page up, and then taken it down, several times. It is my choice to build a barn to help with my Misfit work, so is it right to ask others to help if they can? Maybe the fact I question it periodically is a good thing.

I have a handful of people that subscribe at various monthly levels [thank you!]-this really helps with the feed bill! And no matter how much you choose to subscribe each month, once you hit $50, you get a book [you can decide which of my 2 books]. And there are other reward levels too.

Now, will one of you please pay my mortgage this month? Oink, squeal, snort, hoof stomps-that was a joke sent in by The Head Troll.

Sharing what I have

{If you respond to the work I do here at Apifera-both with animals and sharing them with people-please consider donating to our barn project. The barn will not only house animals, it will provide a place for me to have one-on-one encounters year round like the one I had with Betty.}

Her name was Betty, and on her wrist she wore her late husband's watch. She also had on the same wedding dress she wore to marry him some 30 years earlier. Betty was in her eighties and had recently gotten out of the hospital-so the loose fitting, Mexican style white dress was roomy and more comfortable for her on this particularly hot summer day.

Betty had come to one of our Pino Pie Days, driven there by her caregiver, who was also her daughter. We sat in the shade, and communed for some time, initially with silence as Betty petted Pino, and smiled as if she had been reacquainted with something deeply familiar. The quietness of the moment must have brought up memories, because Betty began sharing stories with me. She had lost her husband only nine months earlier, and a tear came to her eye. I told her about losing my father not long ago too, and then I got teary eyed–but our mutual losses of men we had loved for so long was our most common denominator for that moment.

"Many years ago, when I was much younger than you," she began, "my husband took me on a long, exotic journey to Egypt. We travelled in the desert and it was beautiful, and strange too. But that was where I saw my first donkey. It was a long time ago and there is a lot I don't remember, but I remember that donkey, and I remember how drawn I was to him. I never got him. So I wanted to come meet yours."

She went on to tell me, as Pino stood patiently, still, at her side, how much that trip had meant hoer back then, because her husband had worked hard to make it happen.

"He was like that, he was giving," she said. "That's why I wanted to come pet your donkey, it reminds me of that moment I had back then."

So there we were, one elder woman and two fatherless daughters, sitting around a little donkey, each sharing moments that stung, but that also brought love out in the open, and made us feel better.