Cover me up under the white

Marcella

We had another snow fall of about six inches. It covers the ice so it helps somewhat. To be honest, I'm feeling a bit numb these days. Working Birdie through this horrible ordeal is hard emotionally, for her too. I will report later on how that is all going. I could feel the weight of the new snow as I lay in bed this morning, it is a fact that the sound changes all around. The sound of the snow sounds different depending on how much snow there is. I didn't care if we had one inch or ten.

Yesterday I spent a lot of quiet time with Marcella and Benne, aka White Dog. I guess they are my healer animals, my spirit animals. The white animals that have come into my life...they all have very strong spirits–the goose, Noritsu, White Dog, Marcella, and Birdie. Every animal is special and unique and has lessons, just like people, but some of us are born to be teachers, or artists, writers, thinkers, do-ers or doctors. I don't put myself on the same level as my my healer and spiritual guide I've known for about 30 years and still consult when I need too, but I know I have certain innate abilities others might not have nurtured in themselves. I think we all had it before birth. Maybe some of us are meant not to hone it in this life, and some of us are. Maybe its just that some people are enchanted by it and others aren't. I come from a family of scientists, artists and farmers...I think that combination is pretty much at play in my life since moving to the farm.

I do know that I needed to especially be with Marcella yesterday. I sat with her when night chores were done. The pigs kept coming over and wanted to be scratched, but Marcella pushed them away to be closer to me. She understood immediately what I needed from her, to just be acknowledged for what I was feeling at that moment. I thanked her, and went inside.

Marcella

White Dog by M'Lady Apple

What if I had to choose: the horror we feel for the fires

Every time there is a major fire out West, I have visceral reactions to it. It is so hard to see the images of people and animals in such desperate situations. I have read some gut wrenching stories of people faced with leaving their horses to run free, and one woman rode her horse to a shopping area, waiting and hoping to somehow get her and the horse out. The firemen told her she had to go, and they promised they would do what they could for her loyal horse, and they didn't let her down. They told her they would get a Uhaul from down the street, and haul the horse out, and they did. The woman though had to leave the scene without him, they really made her go. Nobody knows where she went so she didn't get to see her horse driven away in the Uhaul.

Just writing that makes me agitated. To have to make these hard choices, stay and die, leave your horse and know he will suffer, and die...just so hard to watch. I get to turn off the images and walk away, they don't. Although i can't stop thinking of the images either.

I saw a pot bellied pig being guided out of a house by police, to a car I suppose. Thank you to all those people. Can you imagine if it were Rosie?

I saw llamas and a pony sitting on Malibu beach, tied to posts, their owners probably had no other choice and hoped the ocean water would at least keep them safe.

Two frightened shepherd dogs, dirty but healthy, looking lost and scared.

I took this photo of Benedetto two nights ago, the sunset was so striking. But when I looked at it again this morning it made me think that anyone that lives through a fire must see a sunset like this in a different way. I would imagine if it effects me to read these stories, the people that live through them are never the same, and visceral reactions must come even when they look at something as beautiful as a sunset.

We can only pray from our little house. They are facing such horrible things all at once, those people and animals.

New elders come visit...we plan

Eleanor give a final kiss to Birdie

We had a sweet visit with some 'new' elders that came to visit the farm on Friday. Some I had met on visits with Opie, but one woman, Eleanor, came from one of the homes I have been meaning to visit with Opie and hope to soon.

I was also happy that Birdie was part of it. She was fine and I was feeling good about our treatment she and I have been working through, and she needed some love herself. She did stumble that night, so her recovery-and I hope there is one-will take a month or more to see if she is permanently damaged. But she is walking, grazing and able to get up-although be it a bit wobbly at times. her hind end can be a bit off. But I am holding hope that worst is what we are seeing and she won't decline further.

Eleanor was the sweetest woman and she is 96. She was very appreciative that we have a pig named Eleanor. It's always good to meet people that know it is an honor to have a pig with your name.

This will probably be our last outside visit this season, but who knows. I am excited to get thinking about the indoor shelter we want so elders can sit out of the elements, but now I'm thinking we should go a bit bigger, with a structure that the animals can walk into too, and we could do winter visits with a heated area. I'm thinking about outreach too, and having drawing sessions amongst animals and elders as models, story telling hours where elders can share their stories, cross generational visits with the animals...stay tuned.

I will see as I percolate. We have lots of ideas to consider, and this year we have come so far, so fast in some ways,that I need to sit with my thoughts.

I am really so pleased with how we've come along with these elder visits. I realize too that we are building a community for ourselves, and I never really had that out West.

I'm also finding I need to learn to say 'no' better. I need more studio time, and of course, winter is my best stdio percolating time. I've never been great at making art in the summer. No pressure on myself, I just know that working with the elders takes creative vision too, and I need to not abandon my other passion-painting and story.

Life is very full. Life is rich. Life is a challenge, but it is juicy and I'm dancing as fast as I can.

The Two Great Whites

A beautiful day of elder friends...animal and human

Our elder friends from one of The Greens residences came for visit on this gorgeous mid coast Maine day. Oh we had fun!

We all sat with the goats in the orchard, and then one of the elders really wanted me to bring White Dog in. I knew he would do great, but he is about 120 pounds, and though he is so loving, he has big feet and still has a habit of wanting to 'hold hands' and I did not want any tender skin getting broken. But I brought him in on a lead and he was wonderful Perhaps this is a new gig for him now. We shall see.

I also let Freddy the Dreamer, aka Little Lonely, one of the smaller pigs in. They have so wanted to see a pig. The other pigs were in the paddock in close proximity so they got to see them run around and that was fun. Freddy was very interested in the grass since he has been on dry lot for a long time, so he had little interest this visit, but I know he will be good.

Ollie is also a fine therapy goat, so happy for him. Opie was there, and has continued showing his big boy personality of quiet resolve, standing back and letting the other animals do the running around. And of course, there was plenty of Llama Love...including kissing galore. What a showstopper she is.

But what was fun, and always is with this bunch since I have grown to know them pretty well, was just sitting and talking, outside, watching the animals, feeling the breeze, smelling the ocean. They are a wonderful bunch and Martyn was able to be here today too. I just love them all. When they were leaving, one of them said,

"Now wasn't just so wonderful to all be together here, and just sit and talk?"

Yes, I think so.

We are planning to build a small hut for both man and beast, and I'm hoping it might allow some seniors to venture out even in November, or spring time-but we will see.

If you like what we are doing-bringing animals and elders together-please consider a donation to our non profit. Thank you!

As summer fades...we smile

It has been a humid August this year, and humidity is not my friend, or too many other's either. Since we never had humid summers in Oregon, I've never had to deal with certain things rotting in the garden. On the other hand certain things seemed to thrive this summer-the Queen Anne's Lace for example. But the rains we had, with humid days after, did seem to do some things to certain roots.

I could have an entire yard of The Queens, perhaps with sunflowers too, and pumpkins. Martyn has been patient with my Queen love, letting me keep large plantings of it in both the front garden and back private garden. We kind of have this unspoken rule that the front garden is more his, except for my hollyhock patch-step away from my hollyhock patch-and the back garden is more my garden. It's one of those couple speak things. We obviously are very united on how we take care of Earth.

And the cone flowers this year are phenomenal too.

I talk to all my flowers, how can I not? They are so full of personality.

But, as you can tell by this lackluster post, it is still August, and I am really no different than the plants, or leaves that are crumbling. I really feel this is what happens to me in August, I am no different than every other piece of Earth, I am ready to shed parts of myself, decaying skin and bits of dirt and hair, and start afresh in September. Fall for me is a revitalization, even though it is a time when Nature is prepping for winter. Winter for me is a long, caccoon of creativity and silence.

Fall always has a melancholy too. I think for me it is because it reminds me of days gone by-memories of being a kid and sitting in my leaf huts back in Minnesota, my mom in the house making a good dinner, my dog at my side. Back to school has that same revitalization for me-new pencils, the smell of the new books, who was my homeroom teacher going to be.

But for now, I do try to look at each flower head, marvel, and revel in it all-this setting, how we got here, and what will happen next. If I think of people now gone, or animals, it is not really in a depressed way, it is an acknowledgement that without them I would not be here in this exact spot and time...and that they live in my head.

We lose an elder...the beautiful Assumpta

I had to go work on a downed wire in the field this morning. It was only 70 but ninety percent humidity so I was focused on getting done as soon as possible. I had let the sheep and Birdie out of their paddock where they stay at night, and fed the equines. It was all routine. I wasn't paying too much attention to anyone, and then I realized,

There is a sheep missing...Assumpta...

I figured she was hanging low back at the barn due to the high humidity. In the past year, I've noted she is laying down longer, and more. Sometimes she doesn't get up to eat her hay as quickly as she used too. I knew her life was probably more like months versus years. Sheep are very good at carrying on until one day, they don't. It would be a deadly thing for a sheep in a flock to act sick. They are programmed to stay alive, and stay with the flock for security from predators.

I headed back to the barn to check on her, Martyn was close behind working on other projects. And then I saw her lifeless body in the distance. I knew she was gone. I cried out to her, and ran, but she was dead. By her appearance, we think she died early evening. There was no sign of distress from her body, and there were no marks on the ground indicating she had been pawing the dirt. I like to think she went to the back corner to be on her own, to sleep after the sun went down, the ground was probably cooler in that area. Maybe she just dozed off, and never woke up.

Just last night when I brought the girls up from the field, they were panting. Sheep can't sweat, so pant. Assumpta was there and I scratched her chin and told her to hang in there, the weather was supposed to be cooler in a day. I'm so glad I had that brief interaction with her. Assumpta was not one of the more personable sheep, she was like a stern but fair matriarch that didn't need a lot of hands on attention. She was a Blue Leicester cross and had the most beautiful wool. I have yarn from last season, and still have to skirt her fleece from this year. I will have to do something really special with it.

I let the sheep wander over before we dug the grave. They of course already knew she was dead, as did Birdie. As Martyn dug the hole, I picked her a bouquet, and White Dog examined the dirt and hole. We laid her body in the grave, covered her eyes, and buried her with earth. And White Dog sat with me the entire time. Martyn placed one large rock on top, and White Dog marked it as we were leaving.

Don't worry, I'll keep my eye on the grave, was his intention.

I was sad, but also relieved for her. I knew this winter would be hard on her, and she picked a good time to die. She won't have to deal with biting flies and heat, and we could bury her quickly so she could be on her way. I always feel the burial is an important part of the spirit's journey, it is the final goodbye of those of us left behind, and until we let go, they can't totally be free for the intensity of their next journey. That is what I believe.

I went back to the house to cool off, and came back out about an hour later. White Dog was in the shaded barn, and I sat with him, we did our eye to eye conversation without words, and I took the photo of him you see below. I started to leave, but he put a paw up to hold me in my position. I took this to be a simple statement from him,

It's all okay, she's gone now, it's all okay.

And of course, it is.

Thank you for your beautiful wool, Assumpta, I am honored we could care for you in your final years.

A new book...White Dog as conduit...and not falling into the trap of the blog writer

White Dog sits alone in the morning
before the animals have been let out to the fields.

Back in 2015, before we decided to relocate the farm from Oregon to Maine, I had a pile of stories I was working on, and I kept going back and forth on working on them, not finishing any of them. When I look back now, it is clear there was a reason for that. All of those stories, as I wrote the words, and the images were in my head as I wrote, had the Oregon farm as backdrops. I couldn't finish them because they were stories that had not formed yet, had no where to go really, because my subconscious knew we weren't going to be there.

But I have kept going back to the story of White Dog, the creature that mysteriously appeared out of thin air, breaching our fences-the first animal to do that. Oddly, he was a Maremma, the same breed as the dog we had brought home six months earlier, Marcella. Maremma's are not a breed you see walking around everywhere, they are expensive if you want good breeding, and they are a dog that requires a job, as they are innately programmed to guard livestock, or whatever is in their domain that needs guarding. The fact he showed up out of nowhere, in bad condition–thin, curled toenails-made us surmise someone might have been following the blog, and dumped him there. The idea he would find our farm in a rural area, out of all the farms he could have gone, but this one also had a White Dog...it was a mystery, and it was magic. Nobody will ever really know, I guess. But the book will explore a them, that I won't share just yet, but it is a theme that I had scribble down some years ago, and when I saw it as I started reworking the White Dog story, I thought,

Man, he knew all along, I think, that this idea was important to me, and he somehow was part of that-a conduit for the story.

For the past couple months, since "Little Tulip" is finished [it will be arriving here Monday, and will be shipped out to all who have pre-ordered by mid month], I immediately began pondering my next book. I had the idea of doing three little books, that would slip inside a case, much like the Nutshell Library stories we had as children, I still have mine-Lyle the Crocodile, Pierre, and others. I got a bid on printing and the slip case is so expensive, and I worked on some ideas, but then White Dog just kept appearing in my head. I like to lay in bed in the morning-Martyn gets up at 5:30 and I usually linger for a good hour and a half-but I get a lot of creative things done in that time. So in the last month, I've been working on the White Dog book in bed, in my head.

And this week, I revisited the story I wrote, the beginning chapters, and I was spellbound. Okay, maybe that is egotistical, but I really felt drawn into it.

One thing I've started realizing-when you write a blog, and you are also sharing art, photos, brief snippets of pondering on social media, your best writing can get...taken over. I've seen this happen to some semi known blog writers with mid sized followings online who also have books-the writing becomes repetitive, and if they do have a book out, it feels more like a poorly edited [or not edited] blog. Don't get me wrong, blog writing is a craft, it is worthy and a wonderful medium for many, including myself, but there is a huge difference in writing a daily blog, and creating a book. A book has a rhythm, a flow from beginning to end. A blog is caught up in the immediate topic at hand, in 500+ words, with a catchy headline. Anyone who writes a regular blog knows, just like CNN or or any online magazine, that people respond to certain headlines and topics. I myself know I can pour my heart out into a well written piece on something that garners few comments online, but if I post about an animal dying the hits go way up. People seem to be attracted to stories of despair, shock, death...and baby donkey pictures. So blog writers can fall into the trap of unconsciously [or not] writing for the reaction, versus honing the writing.

I think I'm also entering a time of my life where, after 10+ years of writing, my goals as an online presence are shifting. My audience that is still following me has shifted too-in age and things they respond to. There is no better time for me to work on this book. A blog is sort of like a cocktail party, a book is much more like an intimate weekend at the sea.

White Dog knows this too. He is my main conduit right now, to the higher ideas in my head and heart.

The eyes of White Dog...no words needed

Aging is freeing -at the moment-and my apologies to the arugula, again

Ollie turned one month old

May is always a very busy month on a small farm. We have the front and private gardens going-Martyn has reshaped the structure of the gardens and of course it is a work in progress, but one we love to work on it. We love to save Misfit plants too, and revitalize them. This is our third garden we have developed and it remains a passion we can share together, but also, we seem to be able to blend our styles together well-Martyn has learned that 'weeds' are okay- Queen Anne's Lace, clover, And many others I don't know the names of. And I have learned to mix plantings more, for texture, just like a painting. I also get my solid bed of hollyhocks against a wood fence, a must, and always, lots of sunflowers.

It seems I should know the problematic status of growing a vegetable garden around ruminants. Yes, it is fenced. But they always find a way into the side arugala bed. Honestly, if Girl George doesn't ruin it by laying it, old Sophie comes along and eats it. Of course, every year I say I am going to go buy another 'real' gate, instead of my raggedy pallets and fence and hay twine...but something always is more important. We have so much lettuce, this morning I just gave up and let them stay in with the arugala.

I've also been consumed with many details of many things. This is what I call 'doing human' state of mind. it can take a person over. But I always try to stop, sit, commune with the gardens, and animals several times a day. The older I get, the more each day of health, stamina, the ability to walk and work at things I love, the ability to still see, hear, think...love amongst the vitriol being spewed...savor my food versus worry about post menopausal 15+ pound weight gain....age has a way of separating out the gravy from the grease. I have less tolerance for ignorance, stupidity, laziness and people that just don't try, aren't honest, are arrogant and live by their ego not by their heart. I no longer mince words with people that ignore boundaries, or I just don't let them through the physical gate out front or the invisible one I carry with me.

Being sixty is freeing that way. I imagine each year might become more freeing, if I am fortunate to remain independent.

This weekend I realized too that one of the things I really like about our Maine property is the intimacy of the barns and house, and how the barns are close to the house. I really missed the vastness of our old farm, and the openess of the land out West. Midcoast Maine has lots of woods, unmaintained, kind of has a northern Minnesota feel. But I realize too more and more, this is a really different gig. And we needed that for many reasons. But I'm finally settling into the difference of character between the two farms. And of course, we aren't breeding sheep or growing 4,000 lavender plants-we are no longer 'farmers' per se. We are stewards to our land and animals. We are caretakers. We are walking on this spot of Earth as gently as possible, communing. And as I was looking out my studio window this past week, I could see at one point most of the animals, including the equines in the back paddock fields. I felt they were safe, I could see them, there was and is less of a feeling of predatory possibility here. It is there, coyotes and dogs, but it feels like I have more ease with keeping everyone safe. I can move the animals around more easily. I put them in at night, or in paddocks, it is just more contained.

It's funny how a move takes a long time to settle in a person. There is also a bit of 'hanging on' to things that worked once, but really don't work anymore, or don't work well. Letting go sooner, also seems to be a perk of growing older.

And for the record, little Ollie is stinking' cute.

Protector

He has not told me his name yet

View from the second floor studio

Guarding for dinosaurs and wild bear

White Dog waiting to be set free in the lower pastures, which are not ready for animals yet since they are wet, and some are being reseeded and limed. He's perfectly happy though, as long as he has a job, which he always does-right now it is guarding the paddocks from wild bear and dinosaurs.

White creatures arrive for many reasons...like the cat that is a nurse

I have had a number of pure white animals come into my life-usually with magical stories that capture all of our imaginations and leave us pondering their initial beginnings. Often in the past, when I've written about them individually, someone always pops up and says,

They came for you, they are there to help you.

And this is a comforting thing to say, and hear. And I feel I can say that in each case, it has grown to be true-they do help me in ways I might not have predicted.

Of course, one of the more famous white animals to arrive at Apifera is White Dog, aka Benedetto. The story on how he got here has taken many twists and turns in my imagination, and yours. I have written about it many times so won't go into details on this post, but I can say that I do know without hesitation, Benedetto was meant to come to us for himself, to save himself...but he has also become intwined in our lives, and I rely on him here for many reasons. The obvious is he keeps the predators at bay, which right now means eagles that fly over head-he goes nuts ever since one took one of The Bottomtums. But he has another job, and that is to be pure in his intent with me.

I can't hide anything from Ben. And his eyes, don't hide much from me.

We have a ritual I've told you about-I look into his big dark brown eyes, and I say,

"Everything is okay, it is okay, right?"

I started this before we moved to Maine, during the weeks leading up to what would be a traumatic yet exciting move for all of us, and I was supposed to be the leader. I actually think I was a good leader for the animals, and Martyn, and I dealt to every detail of the trip, the move and the packing. But I would look White Dog in the eyes, and tell him, "It's okay, it's going to be okay, you'll see." I said it because I meant it, and I also knew that he and the others could pick up on the tiniest of sensations I might be emitting about stress over the move.

Now that we are here, it is so clear to me that one of the gifts I've given Benedetto, is Maine. He loves it here. He truly is in his element-the cold winter, less rain,, more snow...and he now has his area to protect, and Marcella has hers. They still come together when I let them have wolf play dates, but he is much more his own man now.

All the worry I had, wondering if White Dog would try to find a way to escape once in Maine...is gone. He has never tried, and out West, he would occasionally bolt on us. Not now. I would not put it past him, but he is just more settled here. Perhaps it is just the time has passed-we still don't really know how old he is so maybe he is just more mature. But I believe he is more,

in and of himself, something any of creatures wants, and needs to blossom and thrive, and be at peace.

And there is Noritsu. I saw his face on the shelter's website, and I couldn't shake it. He was actually at a shelter slightly farther away than our local county's shelter where all the elder cats have come from, so I pushed it out of mind. Then a couple other cats came our way, and I thought, okay, Noritsu was not meant to be with us.

But I went back, maybe two months later, and there he was again. And I felt compelled to adopt him, and I did.

I'm so glad. Because Noritsu has a very important job-he is a nurse. Not only does he nurse the cats that I must nurse by standing with me and reaching out to them, but he nurtures me. As I sat holding Laci as she was clearly dying, he came to be with me, immediately...Nurse Noritsu.

Oh I can hear the naysayers. He's friendly. He'd come to you no matter what, he just likes people.

No, it's more than that.

We don't know where Noritsu came from, we don't know anything about his back story, except that he is elderly. Perhaps he nurtured an elder man until their death...perhaps he had other elder animals in the house too. But when he came to Apifera, he checked it all out, sat for a couple days to get comfortable, and then...he just started being a nurse.

I like seeing an animal's true purpose coming through, and being utilized even in their older years.

My sweet nurse, Noritsu, you are very important to me. And you, White Dog, it is okay, isn't it?

Noritsue comes to me, as I hold Laci 

Always the nurse to me, Noritsu as I hospice Laci

"How many times can she photograph my snowness?"

I can't resist it, every snow day presents photo opportunities galore with White Dog. I've become like those people on Instagram that can't simply live and enjoy moments with their child, they have to IG everything.

No, I really haven't.

But I am glad to photograph him. There will be days ahead I will want these photos to hold onto. I know, because I have photos from the old from I hold onto of the animals I've had to say goodbye to over the years. I never want to Benedetto to die, without me. But of course he will, or I will. Until that time, he is a loved subject of my lens.

We interrupt your scheduled programming to present The Nose

I will never learn. One can not try to be photographed with The Nose. The Nose always wins. The Nose will pull you in every time leaving any other person or subject in the image completely lost as a sideshow. As it should be-because I can not resist The Nose either. I want to reach into the photo and squeeze it to turn the clown sound come out of it.

I am very busy and intent working on the new photo book, which will be designed by Cheryl Watson who owned Graphiculture in Minneapolis for years. She gave me some of my first illustration jobs back in 1997 [oh my, seems like another life, I guess it was!]. I'm very excited about this book. It will be big and juicy, maybe 200 pages or so, perhaps about 11", with large photos filling the pages. I have just been working on the introduction chapter which highlights the beginnings of Apifera in Oregon. It has been a bittersweet challenge, but I also am realizing this book needs to happen and is something my soul needs to work on NOW. Many people have asked me over the last few years to consider a photo book, and I kept pushing the idea away. They are expensive to produce, and I just wasn't sure it was a good idea.

But Cheryl came along and suggested it again, and wanted to work on it. I am thrilled. This is the first book of my own that I have had design help with and I know it will add to the final book in ways I might not have been able too.

So stay tuned as this new book gets birthed.

Awakening to quiet beauty

Awaking to morning after there has been considerable snow at night is always a magical experience for me, perhaps it takes me back to childhood, when a new snow meant no school, sledding and baking cookies.

It was a heavy snow of about six inches, caking the branches of every tree. And the sky color this early morning was very intense blue. It will be gone soon as its warm, and fifties are forecast for next week, so I will relish in it today.

There is a sound to the snow. But it also leaves a blanket on the interference of the noises of the human world going by the front of the farm. As much as spring and gardening and all the joys that come with warmer seasons, I do love winter for giving me quiet and less intrusion.

The Nose has a special public service announcement

When The Nose speaks, we listen. White Dog greets me everyday, wind, rain, sleet or snow. I guess he could be a mail person, although he might get distracted and do some walkabouts on his delivery route.

I always take time to commune with him, thank him for his service, and we look into each other's eyes in silence, or at least without words. I often tell him my mantra,

"Everything will be okay."

This is what I told all the animals as we prepared to leave the old farm for our long trip to Maine, and I still continue to say it to Benedetto. I think it is more for me than him, of course. I remember those days of reality sinking in, that we were in fact leaving our home for the unknown, and saying my mantra while looking in Ben's eyes soothed me and therefore him. These dogs are so telepathic, more so than any I've worked with.

So this morning The Nose was right there waiting.

I let him into the front paddocks to be with Marcella today. Everyone gets a bit bored, cooped up, in all the snow days. In the photo below, White Dog is standing in the area where the new barn will go. It will butt up against the other barn. I will be trying to come up with more fundraising fun in the coming weeks, as a down payment will be coming due soon. Remember, every dollar of the first $10,000 is being matched by The J&J Stanley Foundation [hoof stomps and pig squeals].

This barn fundraiser is a big undertaking-but will be crucial to our ongoing work. It will be so wonderful to have more stall space, and it will take pressure off the hay barn too. I already have ideas to improve and alter Her Royal Highness's suite. There might even be room for a giraffe, or elephant, who knows.

White Dog stands in the area where the new barn will go.

The blizzard begins

I was up early to do feedings not sure when the Gabonzo or whatever-they-are-calling-it snow storm was hitting. And there at the gate, as a light flurry began, no wind, was my faithful gatekeeper, Benedetto. He's there rain or shine, wind or sleet...knowing breakfast is in my bucket, but also to let me know that everything is alright or he would not be standing at the gate.

The storm is now in full force. It is 2 pm. It is a whiteout and the gusts are strong. A classic Nor'easter is upon us. But this time we have our new generator so we are better prepared should we lose power.

Stay tuned.

Christmas faces-our feelings get worn on our sleeves

It's really like any other day here, the routine is the same no matter the occasion. It's the routine the animals come to expect, the routine that keeps them feeling secure in knowing food is on the table morning and night and water buckets that iced over are replenished.

We are in the middle of another big storm. I'm grateful we aren't traveling or even driving a short distance. Just getting to the barn in the winds and hard pellet snow was a nippy endeavor, and there are slick spots [but thanks to some loyal Apiferians I have really good boot cleats that work wonderfully].

As I came back from the barn this morning, I took time to just stand in the field, the wind howling, the tree limbs bending with a light layer of ice from yesterday's morning rain. I breathed in deep, I felt it all, I left myself in it all. It was seconds, but is part of the wonderful time between Christmas and New Year's, like I said in my post yesterday-it is full of hope, and plans. I have a personal challenge I am determined to face, and I told the sky realm keepers I was going to do it. I felt strong.

I took extra time in the cat room too, grooming Maxine, sitting with the new arrivals, talking to them all, or not, just sitting. When I came in it was already lunchtime and I had a cup of Martyn's homemade soup he left for me.

I am loved.

The dogs were watching me. Time for some more Christmas Garland festivity and I wrapped The Old Blind One Eyed Pug in it. The way Mud looked at me, the way the pug looked at him...it's Christmas, every feel gets worn on our sleeves.

Dusk...I have a lot to learn

The dusk here, as well as dawn, has captured me. I guess this is a normal phenomena with artists in mid coast Maine. But dusk especially is a mystical time here. As my friend who moved back to Maine from Oregon said to me,

"I traded the big, open sky for a deeper sky."

This was profound, and true.

While the western sky is beautiful, it went on and on and symbolized expanse to me, the same things the early settlers must have felt as they first arrived. It did not feel like a blanket, or a window to me, it felt more like a sea.

Here in mid coast, being on the ocean, the sky puts on a show of acts all day long. The clouds are volatile, the light is being orchestrated by wind and air temperatures merging into the sea. I felt this photo was so beautiful even in it's technical imperfections. I didn't doctor it up at all even though I wished White Dog had been lighter, and that the sliver of the moon showed like it did that night.

But I have a lot to learn. It's still a beautiful photograph, and reminded me somewhat of the same feeling of being a little girl and watching "Wizard of Oz"-those beginning scenes of the sky slowly changing into the big storm, it riveted me every year even though I'd seen that movie so many times. The sky here is also riveting, daily, nightly.

It's a blessing to be so moved by sky.

First snow, big week

We had our first snow, a beautiful six inches or so and it is so welcome. I love winter here [I do get a bit cranky come early April if things aren't going as I'd like]. White Dog is just thrilled, he sleeps in it, eats it, rolls in it...it is his element. In winter, the sound is different, a quiet blanket covers everything and you can hear the snow when it falls. The front road slows way down even though it already has by this time of year. And let's not forget, there are no flies.

It is going to be a busy week! We have Opie's first birthday and he has two therapy visits scheduled, along with a birthday party with his elder friends in Wiscasset. I'm not sure his ego will recover.

All this week, I am attempting to fund raise another $1000 to add to the barn fund. I have a fundraiser on Facebook, but you can also just donate here and I will add it to the pot-it all ends up in the same place. All donations go into the Apifera account and are tax deductible. Opie is pretty happy just as he is, but if he could talk, I think he'd ask for a dollar or two for the barn-he knows the new barn will bring more animals, and also he is hoping maybe he can venture out there and nap with the donkeys. He says he doesn't get to be with the donkeys enough.

It is also the season of the Garland Festival. I will share all that as the week progresses.

He takes my breath away