Is happiness the same as contentment? I ask the pig.

I was pondering this in recent days, I guess I had read something in a headline that stuck in my head, and as I lay in bed–the place I do a lot of my creative thinking-I thought to myself, What is the difference between contentment and happiness?

So I turned to Nature, as I usually do, for answers. And who else better to go to in Nature than Earnest the Pig?

We sat in his hut later that day, I had brought him some raw eggs-he loves those.

“Earnest would you rather be happy, or content?” I asked, getting right to the point.

He did not hesitate, “Content. Happiness is fleeting,” he said.

Interesting point, I thought.

Paco the Poet was on the other side of the fence, lying about as he often does in morning. Being a donkey poet, he is always interested in discussing language.

“When I’m told at breakfast that I will get graham crackers for a late afternoon snack, it makes me happy. But after I get my crackers and have eaten them, I am content inside for hours and hours,” Paco said.

“Happiness is driven by your brain. Contentment is in your heart,” Earnest said.

We all sat silently, well, except for the loud smacking and chewing as Earnest the pig ate his eggs, mouth open. It is one way he is not very gentlemanly-he eats with his mouth open.

“So, happiness is active, and contentment is quiet?” I asked.

More loud chewing. 

“When you get happy about something, there is always something that can distract you and take it away. But contentment lives deep inside you. Happiness has to come from the outside,” said the pig.

“I feel very content sitting here, in the morning sun, with both of you. But it makes me happy to see your faces too,” I said.

“You can be content, but sad. And you can be happy, and not content,” said Earnest. “Contentment doesn’t come from things. And that’s why nobody can take it away from you.”

“Mrs. Dunn, would you like to share some graham crackers with us?” asked Paco.

And I did. I walked around all day, content. When I went to town to do chores, I looked at all the people walking by and I thought how powerful it felt that nobody could take my contentment from me, because it was in my heart. The happiness I felt as I opened the box of fresh crackers was fleeting, but the contentment I gained from eating them with my two friends was still there.

{My blog is free to all. But anyone can voluntarily show support for my writing and art at this link [you pick what you want to give. I recently tried Patreon and just didn't jive with it.}

Earnest the Pig helps us understand what "hope" is...

 {My latest from my Tails & Tales column for the Lincoln County News}

 

I was leaving to get some errands done when I heard lots of chatter in the front barn. One learns to check in on such activity to make sure nothing is amiss–and it often is.

“Oh I want green beans, the stringless variety,” said Earnest the pig. “And of course, put me down for some large pumpkins too.”

“How many rows will 1000 beat seeds be?” said Ollie the goat.

My curiosity was on high alert as I looked down at the catalogue everyone was gathered around.

“Burpee’s Seed Catalogue,” I read out loud.

“Oh, Mrs. Dunn, the joy of dreaming of spring in February,” said Poetry, one of the old goats. “Makes my bones and joints hurt less just thinking about it.”

“I plan to grow only lettuce this year,” said The Goose. “I am getting different varieties but want a lot of Buttercrunch...so tender.”

“Mrs. Dunn, what are you getting?” asked Pickles.

“A back ache, thinking of all these garden beds. I can’t take care of all your beds, I have my own to tend,” I said.

“We’ve got a scathingly brilliant plan, Mrs. Dunn,” said Pickles.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said.

“We have talked to the chickens who will have grub duty, Earnest will till the rows, me and Puddles will be in charge of harvesting,” said Pickles.

“That is scathingly brilliant,” I said, doing a quick and tiny eye roll. “What if we just stick to pumpkins and sunflowers for you guys?”

Everyone stopped for a minute, some chewing on their cud as they pondered this new development.

“I really had my heart set on a green bean casserole–you know the kind your grandmother made, with mushroom sauce and shaved almonds, and crunched up potato chips on the top?” said Earnest the pig.

I’ll get you an Oysterhead Pizza instead,” I said.

“Fair enough, I like the shaved Brussels sprout one,” the pig said.

“I really like beets,” said Ollie, “especially the tops.”

“I always plant way too many beets and you’ll get some of mine,” I said. “So we’ll order sunflowers and pumpkins, okay?”

I started to walk away, and noticed Earnest the pig gazing out to the fields.

“It’s all about hope,” said Earnest. “In the middle of winter, the little seeds are under ground in the cold and dark. And even though we can’t see them, they are busy percolating, getting ready to be born. Imagine, living deep in the ground, hearing the winter storms above you for months...it takes courage to believe everything is as it should be and will evolve into what it will be. That is hope.”

The animals had gathered around Earnest, and had listened intently to his wisdom.

“Earnest, do you ever lose hope that winter will end?” asked Pickles.

“Well, I do love winter, but some winters are especially bleak, and relentless, and sometimes I feel
I’m losing hope,” Earnest said.

“What do you do then?” asked Pickles.

“I read the seed catalogue,” Earnest said.

A new tradition with help from Earnest the Pig

Happy Thanksgiving on this gorgeous sunny, crisp day! I hope the day gives you more light than dark, peace and an ability to see the things that have meaning in your life. I am grateful everyday for simple things-being able to be independent, free of pain in body or mind, a good home and husband, my animals, my life...as an artist and writer amongst the story makers in the barnyard. 

We put up the Red Ball Tree in the front yard and I just love it,  it is our third year of doing that and it brings me pure joy each time. And this year, I decided Earnest needs some extra love as he lives alone in his hut [he has animals all around him though]. We put up a string of red balls for him too. So the Hanging of The Red Balls is a new tradition, and it is not to be confused with Earnest the pig's balls. Sorry, I could not help myself.

 

 

Pickles to attend Earnest the Pig's Charm School

My latest story from Tails & Tales for the Lincoln County News

“I don’t want to,” said Pickles defiantly.

“That is not your decision at this juncture,” I told the little goat. “It is for the good of the barnyard.”

“But I was just using my Pickles Power,” she pleaded.

“When one has been given such power, one must use it with wisdom, and empathy for others,” said Earnest the pig.

Pickles the goat was turning one. And it had become clear to all of us that she had developed a bit of an  attitude. Her Pickles Power was going to her head. And that is why I told her that for the rest of the summer she would be going to charm school here at the farm.

“Charm school is for girly girls. I’m Pickles!” said the little goat.

“Who will teach Pickles all about charm?” asked Ollie.

Everyone turned to look at Earnest the pig. It was a no brainer.

“I will be teaching you about many things, Pickles-languages, music, cursive writing and how to enter a room and be noticed without being arrogant,” said Earnest.

I wonder if I can attend this, I thought.

“I know how to enter a room!” said Pickles. And she leaped and twisted and turned in the air. “Like that!”

“You can still leap and run, Pickles. You just need to learn how to not be so much of a ….” Earnest struggled for the right word.

“A bully,” I said.

This entire time the two baby goats that had recently arrived, Puddles and Hannah, were sitting quitely watching. They were often on the receiving end of too much Pickles Power, as were the elders.

“I like Pickles, but she hurts my feelings sometimes. She called me a squirt. I can’t help it if I’m extra small and nobdy wanted me on their farm,” said little Hannah, a bottle baby.

“We want you, Hannah” said Poetry, one of the elder goats.

“I’m afraid of Pickles sometimes,” said little Puddles, his head lowered.

Pickles suddenly looked very sad, and worried. She started to walk away from the group.

“Where are you going, Pickles, we aren’t done talking,” I said.

“Mrs. Dunn, I’m sad with myself. I thought I was just being me,” Pickles said.

“You were indeed being you, Pickles,” said Earnest the pig. “And with a bit of self awareness, you will use your Pickles Power for the good of others. You are young, that’s your ownly fault, there is much to grasp at your age.”

Puddles walked to Pickles and said, “It’ll be okay.” And Pickles head banged him in true goat fashion.

“I think this is a good place to start, Pickles,” said Earnest.

And he put his arm around the little goat and began to walk her to his hut. As he walked away I could hear him imparting his first wisdoms on her.

“Pickles, one’s physical strength is temporary. But the actions of our hearts is how we will be judged-for it shows how much we love.”

{Stay tuned this summer to see if Earnest’s Charm School can help Pickles and her Power}

 

Now this is what I call bed head

Earnest popped out while we spent the morning moving one of the overgrown manure piles hoping to get it done before the rain. He came out to see what the commotion was. As one person said, looks like he got out of bed on all four sides.  

We got the pile pretty much moved. I was worried that Arlo was going to use it to project himself off and up and over the fence. He has it in him. 

It's pouring now which is actually good since it will help rid us of more ice.

I am planning a new structure in the equine area for therapy sessions. Stay tuned!

In which Earnest the pig plans a trip to E.B.White's

 

“Mrs. Dunn! Mrs. Dunn!” I heard as I left the house to get to the barn. It was little Pickles the goat.

“Earnest says he’s taking a train to the sea?” she said, excited, and she ran back to her barn.

Instead of doing barn chores first, I went to Earnest’s hut. He was in good spirits, enjoying the sun on a chilly morning.

“Earnest, what is this I hear about a train trip?” I asked.

“Oh yes, I want to experience the sea, and also see E.B.White’s house,” he said.

Earnest has been enamored with the writing of E.B. White ever since I gave him a copy of “Charlotte’s Web” shortly before we moved to Maine. He began writing short prose and told me someday he’d visit Mr. White’s writing hut, to pay it homage. I’m not sure what the current owners would do if a pig showed up at the gate, especially when he announced his name was Earnest, not Wilbur.

“Perhaps you would like to accompany me,” Earnest said. “Trains are mysterious,” he said.

For seconds, I thought of the romance of traveling by train, the ocean coming in and out view, and my pig at my side.

Earnest continued, “You could bring Boone and ride on the bridal paths at Acadia, you said you wanted to someday,” Earnest said.

And for a few more seconds, I again thought of the joy of riding on a train, with my pig on one side and my horse on the other.

“You’d have to get to a bus first, and then maybe find a train to Brooklin, and there are restrictions about pigs on buses or trains, Earnest, and horses,” I said.

“I can only imagine what opinion piece Mr. White would write if he knew a gentleman pig who wanted to travel by train was being held back by the bureaucracy of a corporation,” Earnest said. “I so want to stand on the balcony of the caboose, like Lincoln, and wave to the villagers,” Earnest said.

We sat together soaking up the sun, not speaking, our breath showing in the twenty degree air.

“Look Earnest, how about we start off smaller. We’ll hook up the trailer and go to Pemaquid for the day. You can see the sea there,” I suggested.

“No caboose, no man in a black captain hat punching tickets, no bar car...no spirit of Mr. White on arrival,” Earnest said gloomily. And he got back under his straw bedding, leaving me to go do chores.

A few days later, I stopped to visit Earnest. He was out and about but I sat in his hut which has always been a comforting place for me.When we first got to Maine, Earnest had pinned a Maine map, and a photo of Mr. White, on his wall. I looked up to see them still there, but now the map had a dark line drawn from Bremen to Brooklin, and the handwritten word, someday, was scrawled next to it.

Earnest visits with my mother [dead since 2013]

 

The note slipped under the front door that morning was written in dirt on an old page from a feed catalog.

I recognized the writing. It was Earnest the pig’s.

“Meet me at the Small Rodent and Bird Cemetery at dusk…alone,” it said.

Now even though Halloween has passed, the barnyard is super charged all year for energetic encounters. Our 1760 house, one of the first houses in Bremen (then Bristol), is brimming with history. From the minute we entered this house, the energy was warm and welcoming. With the exception of the northwest section of The Wood, our land feels free of demons. It can be spooky on any night here, with the breeze from the cove blowing through The Wood, for the night life there is its own entity.

The cemetery I was to meet him at is near the front barn. Dusk turned to darkness.

“Hello,” I heard Earnest’s voice say. There he was, appearing at my feet seemingly from out of nowhere. “I’ve drawn a picture for you.”

As I looked at the image, squinting in the dark, I could see my mother’s face. My mother died out west at age 87 in 2013.

I gasped very quietly.

Earnest and I began walking back to his hut, which sits next to the outer equine barn, where the natives were restless for hay. I asked him how he was able to draw my mother’s likeness so well without a picture.

“Oh, I see her all the time,” he said.

My little hairs wiggled on my neck as a wind blew in just then from The Wood behind Earnest’s hut.

“Does she speak?” I asked.

“No, she smiles though,” the pig said. “She also sits above your bedroom window sometimes, and tends to the hydrangea, dead heading the old flowers.”

I thought for a moment and realized sometimes while I lie in bed I’d hear rustling in that old tree. It is as tall as our two-story house and well over 100 years old, they say.

Earnest went into his hut and started bedding down in his straw. The night was crisp and breezy and the deep Maine sky was glittering with stars, one of the many gifts of life on midcoast. I sat with Earnest for a spell, as I listened, watching for my mother.

Earnest looked up at me. “She usually doesn’t come on weekends.”

So I did my barn feedings and started back for the house.

She comes and visits my pig and not me, I pondered.

I stopped to look up at the old hydrangea by my bedroom window. Turning back for the house, a gust blew, and I could hear the dried, dead hydrangea flowers rattle. Several blew off, landing at my feet.

I picked them up, and placed them in a bowl as I entered the house.

The next morning at feedings, Pickles came to me.

“Mrs. Dunn, do you know that woman who sits up in the hydrangea tree?”

Earnest the pig worries about Pickles and her pumpkin...The Great Pumpkin Contest Part II

 

“Mrs. Dunn, may I speak to you?” I heard through the cracked window in the living room.

It was Earnest the pig, standing on the front stoop. “It’s about our pumpkin contest. I’m concerned,” he said.

Earnest and little Pickles the goat were having a pumpkin contest. I was to name the winning pumpkin later in the day. Earnest had wanted to be part of the local Pumpkin Festival, but due to the pandemic, there was no festival, but they still had a pumpkin contest. I swayed Earnest to have a contest here at the farm instead...telling him if he won he would also get a grilled cheese and cucumber sandwich from Eider’s–I was reminded of when I wanted to go to a Monkee concert when I was eight, requiring my father’s chaperoning me along with a bunch of little squealing girls. He sat me down and gave me a choice– I could have all three Monkee records, or concert tickets. I picked the records, and I know he was relieved.

“What are you worried about, Earnest?” I asked.

“My pumpkin is clearly the biggest. And Pickles can’t stop talking about her beloved pumpkin. She even named it Teeny Pickles,” he said. “I think we should adjust the rules. Can’t we have a ribbon for roundest pumpkin, and one for happiest pumpkin?” he asked. “That way, we will both be winners.”

“But maybe your pumpkin is both the roundest, and the happiest?” I asked.

“Oh, my pumpkin is not the happiest, I know this,” said the pig. “Pickle’s pumpkin is the happiest.”

“It’s kind of cheating, isn’t it? Or maybe being a bit dishonest?” I asked.

“She is so happy about her pumpkin–I don’t want to scar her little soul for life. She even named her pumpkin Teeny Pickles”

“Well, that is taking the high road, Earnest. Go tell everyone to meet in the pumpkin patch in one hour,” I said.

I whipped up some blue paper ribbons, one said, happiest, and one said, roundest. In precisely one minute before the hour was up, the animals had gathered at the pumpkin patch.

Pickles came leaping over everyone and everything to be by Teeny Pickles. She put her ear to the little pumpkin, then she stared to squeal with joy. “Teeny Pickles just told me a joke!” said Pickles. “Who helps little pumpkins cross the road safely? The crossing gourd!” and she and Teeny Pickles rolled on the ground laughing.

I guess she is a happy pumpkin, I thought.

“Ok, everyone! I now announce that the roundest pumpkin goes to Earnest’s entry, and the happiest pumpkin goes to Pickles entry,” and I handed out the ribbons.

“What will you do with your pumpkin, Earnest?” Pickles asked.

“Well, I will eat him,” he said.

Pickles gasped. And she ran with her little pumpkin back to the safety of the barn.

I figured I would help Pickles understand that sooner or later, something was going to eat her beloved pumpkin...but now was not the time.

 

Pickles and Earnest's Great Pumpkin Contest

“Can you help me, PLEASE?”

It was Pickles and she was very upset about something. She was telling to me from over in the pumpkin patch.

When I got to the mounds of beautiful orange orbs, all different shapes and sizes, Pickles was standing next to a very petite pumpkin.

“I need to put this prayer flag up over my pumpkin, “ she said.

I somehow managed to attach hay twine-every farmer’s wonder cure- to put up some old rags for Pickles to make her prayer flags.

“The prayers from the wind will help my pumpkin grow strong and big, like Earnest’s pumpkin, “ said little Pickles with confidence.

A few weeks ago, just as autumn was in the air, Earnest sent me a note, slipped under the front door as is the main means of communication from the barnyard. He wanted to tell me that this year he thought he might really have a chance at winning the local pumpkin growing contest. My heart sort of sank. I knew the winning pumpkins were huge and that many farmers devoted lots of energy to grow them.

I wandered out to Earnest’s hut. He was in mid morning repose, reading.

“Earnest, I think maybe it would be better to just grow and enjoy your pumpkin. And besides, the pumpkin festival is cancelled this year because of the virus,” I said.

“They are still having weigh ins, read it in the paper,” Earnest said.

Of course I knew this but I was contemplating lying to him. Instead I tried another tactic.

“Let’s have a barnyard contest! I will post a proper entry form in the barn later today, “ I said.

“What will the winner get?” Earnest asked.

“Well, you get to keep the pumpkin,” I said.

“Well of course. But I would like a cucumber grilled cheese sandwich from Eider’s” Earnest said. If you follow along you know that I turned Earnest on to this after bringing home some leftovers.

Later that day, three pieces of paper slid under the door, all entering the pumpkin contest: Earnest, Pickles and The Teapot.

And not too long after is when I found myself helping Pickles putting up her prayer flags.

“Pickles, you have a lovely pumpkin and not all pumpkins will grow like Earnest’s. I don’t want you to be disappointed,” I said.

“I believe in Pickles Power!” She said.

Just then The Teapot, a bit stout, came over to examine her pumpkin. “Her shape is much like mine,” she said.

And then, Earnest arrived. He had a bucket of items and began placing them around his pumpkin-a few little ceramic creatures, and some peanut butter on sticks.

“These will protect my pumpkin," he said.

“Earnest, I think the peanut butter will attract rodents?” I asked.

“I’ve spoken with the rodents and we made a gentleman’s agreement–they stay away from my pumpkin, and I put out peanut butter sticks for them. That reminds me, can you get me more peanut butter, crunchy, not stirred?” he asked.

Breaking News: Earnest the Pig Will Not Play Baby Jesus This Year in the Nativity Scene

{I write a monthly column for our local paper. This was the latest episode from Tails & Tales of Apifera Farm}

I was making my way to the barn the other day when I heard a heated discussion going on. As I opened the barn door, I heard Opie the little goat say desperately,

“I want to be Baby Jesus again!”

It was then I knew the holiday season had officially begun. And like every year leading up to this one, the animals wanted to do a live nativity scene.

I’m not opposed to this idea, we certainly have all the right actors to pull it off. But we attempted doing one years ago back West and I swore to myself never again. Every year, I quietly hope they will forget about it and focus on Christmas stocking stuffers or putting their hoof prints on cards.

“Opie, you got to be Baby Jesus last year because you were a baby and were small,” said Jim Bob, one of the older goats.

“So let’s vote, all those in favor of Earnest the Pig being Baby Jesus, raise your foot,”
said Jim Bob.

Two feet went up.

“I don’t want to be Baby Jesus,” said Earnest. “I think I’m more suited for one of the Wise Men.”

“Can I be Mary then?” asked Opie.

Eyes rolled. Just then The Goose rushed in.

“I would like to be the Baby Jesus!” he said.

“The Baby Jesus doesn’t speak, Goose, it will be hard for you to keep quiet,” suggested one of the hens. “So who is the quietest of all of us?” she asked.

Everyone pondered, as they chewed cud.

“Henneth,” many said in unison. Henneth was the blind chicken.

I went about my chores, pretending I had not heard a thing, and days later I noticed they had a list on the barn wall. Where do they hide the chalk to write with, I wondered. More importantly, who teaches who to write cursive?

The list had Pino and Paco, the donkeys, as two of the Wise Men. And they had Lucia the donkey as a Wise Woman. Nice they are in touch with the times, I thought. Mother Matilda, the very old donkey, would be Mary, that made sense. They wanted Martyn to be Joseph. I was relieved I had no role, but then again, this was never going to happen.

Soon after, I put an Advent Calendar in the barn. We always had one growing up. One time when I was about six we got one that had chocolates behind every door. After day one or two, I grew curious what grand chocolate would be behind the door of the 24th, and I opened it. There was a chocolate Baby Jesus. I ate him, and closed the door.

Earnest wandered over to me, looked at the calendar and said, “Let’s open the door to the 24th.”

And we did.

{In lieu of a nativity scene, the Apifera animals participate in a private Annual Garland Festival. The hand made garland was a gift from an Apifera supporter and each animal takes turns wearing it.}

Earnest the pig wants a grilled cheese sandwich...from King Eider's

{"Tailes & Tales" is a monthly article I write for the Lincoln County News. I post the articles a couple of weeks after they appear in the paper. This was last month's.}

“I would prefer a grilled cheese sandwich, like the one you gave me a bite of last week,” Earnest the pig said as I handed him some animal crackers a follower had sent.

You see, some weeks ago, Martyn and I went to King Eider’s with a visiting friend. We rarely go out, but when we do, Eider’s is our go-to place. I’ve become hooked on the grilled cheese sandwich with cucumber, two cheeses and red peppers on rustic bread. It’s not something I eat at home and it is a wonderful twist on a simple sandwich. I pour over the menu, tempted by so many items, but lately I still go to that darn grilled cheese sandwich. Well, the last time, I had a filling soup too, so brought home a half of my sandwich. The next day, I warmed it up, ventured out to the barnyard and sat with Earnest while I enjoyed my beloved sandwich.

“Do you want a bite, Earnest?” I asked.

“It smells appealing,” the pig said, and he swallowed a morsel. I finished the half but left him another bite.

“I am sorry it’s all gone. I would have preferred my own full portion, cut diagonally,” Earnest said.

Back to the present...I handed him more animal crackers, and he ate them, but looked unsatisfied.

“Earnest, I rarely go out to eat like that, so that grilled cheese sandwich I shared with you was a special treat,” I told the pig.

“That’s very disappointing,” he said. “Surely they deliver?”

“Earnest, I don’t think they deliver, especially to pigs,” I said.

Well the next day all I could think about was that grilled cheese sandwich. I had no time to go to lunch on a whim, but whipped up a simple grilled cheese sandwich, and took it out to share with Earnest.

“The bread is not as rustic or crispy,” the pig said. “Perhaps your griddle wasn’t hot enough.”

“I don’t have a griddle, Earnest,” I said.

“There are no peppers in it, and only one rather bland cheese,” he said, but he ate it anyway, and returned to his hut.

A few days later, I was cleaning Earnest’s hut, re-fluffing his sky high straw bed to ensure his pigly comfort. And there in the corner under the straw was a local phone book, ear marked at ‘restaurants’ with a mark by King Eider’s.

I want to assure the staff of King Eider’s that Earnest the pig does not have a phone, nor can he drive.

{Neither woman nor pig were paid to write such a glowing review but I encourage my readers to go to Eider’s and order our beloved grilled cheese sandwich.}

Earnest declares, "Sacrilege!"

{Photo 2016} This is the first year since 2004 on the farm when I haven't grown pumpkins. I have to say I don't like it at all but it was an unusual year with the barn addition which meant our garden was a bit transplaced and I just decided to let it go for one year aand oly do tomatoes and lettuce. Earnest is bereft.

"I don't understand, pumpkins come every year" he said.

"There was no room this year, the garden got moved, but next year the pumpkins will be back," I said.

"I don't know how that will feel, not to have pumpkins," Earnest said, and he walked back to his hut to nap.

I felt terrible. "I guess I can buy you one," I said.

"Sacrilege," said Earnest.

"I agree," I said.

"Oh well," said Earnest. "You're still doing Christmas decorations, aren't you. And the cookies."

"Yes," I assured him.

Which reminds me, I promised them all I'd decorate one of the apple trees so they could see it from the barn. I just hope they give up on the live nativity scene that we suffer through each year.

Earnest the Pig: In Search of E.B. White

{This article first appeared in the June, 2019 Lincoln County Maine News in my monthly "Tails & Tales from Apifera Farm}

Earnest the pig has settled into his new house. White Dog, the llamas, and the sheep often nose him through his fence and he can see the goings-on of the entire farm. As a very manly pig, with all his manly parts still attached, he lives in his private retreat with a stone wall that keeps him from making night visits to his old lady friend, Eleanor, the retired sow. I have explained to him that he has evolved from the career of spreading seed and is now free to eat, nap, and sunbathe.

I have begun to decorate Earnest’s house. I told him I will find the right accessories that fit his unique Earnest personality. So for now, he has his flag and a painting. He suggested a photo of his mother, but I never knew his mother so am afraid that won’t work.

“Then maybe a portrait of E.B. White?” he asked. To this day, Earnest thinks that E.B. White still lives. I tried explaining the facts, but he refuses to believe them and insists someday he will in fact meet Mr. White now that we are in Maine. When Earnest heard we were moving to Maine from Oregon, he wrote Mr. White and was disheartened to have the letter come back.

“Perhaps he is camping,” Earnest said as I showed him the returned envelope.

Earnest first grew enamored with the author when, as a piglet, I read him “Charlotte’s Web.” Earnest knew very well about pigs being eaten, as he was born and raised on a working farm. He didn’t judge meat eaters; in fact, he and his family often ate meat scraps. He just was proud someone chose to make a pig so front-and-center in a book.

“It just doesn’t happen much,” he told me.

I also found Earnest with a road map of the Maine coast and he had circled the town of Brooklin, and it is a well-known fact Mr. White had a beautiful home there. In fact, he had ripped out that page of the map and tacked it to his wall.

Just the other night, as I was closing up the barn for the evening, I could hear Earnest in his hut, snoring away after dusk had hit the land. I opened his gate to take a peek into his house; he is quite endearing to watch sleep. I suppose since I never had children that watching my pig snore brings something out of me. I noticed there was a new addition to the wall –- an old black-and-white framed portrait of Mr. White.

“Now where did that come from?” I muttered quietly. “Hmm.” And I turned to leave.

I closed the gate as a breeze lifted a discarded envelope into the air, fluttering around until it landed at my feet. It was addressed to Earnest, another fine pig. There was no return address, but the postmark was from Brooklin, Maine.

Inside Earnest's private hut

Earnest's shares his needs for his new Earnest House

Martyn found this nailed to the door. I had mentioned to Earnest yesterday to start thinking about his needs for his new special Earnest hut...glad to know someone listens to me around here. I'm not sure how he found a nail, and a hammer. Anyway, Martyn will start on a hut very soon for him so it is good to get the pig perspective.

In which we survive a lightening strike

Taken the early evening, right before the storm hit

I thought it was odd that yesterday morning when I went to the front barn to start feedings, the stall where Earnest and the White Dogs sleep was...sort of in disarray. I couldn't put my finger on it, but Marcella was also muddy and wet which was suspect. But I went about my chores, and then returned to the studio to work.

The night before, we had one heck of a lightening storm about 7 PM. I was really scared. The strikes were very close, it felt like it was right in the back yard. We have 30 acres of woods behind us, and there are many properties with the same. We are near the coast, not on the water ourselves but the properties across the front road are, and we see the cove. The humidity and heat coupled with our setting by the sea made for a perfect lightening storm.

Martyn was cooking dinner and I was on couch [as it should be] with Muddy when it all began. Now I love a good storm, but ever since I lived through a straight line wind storm in Minneapolis in my then little house, and went outside to see the devastation after 20 minutes, I have been very anxious in storms. And I grew up with tornadoes. So when the strikes started hitting all around the area, and they were close, I was really...well, squealing. Poor Muddy knew something was a foul and he started shaking since his fearless leader, me, was not so fearless.

The strikes just kept hitting nearby, and then, POPPOPOPOP! and it sounded like it was in the house, and we saw a flash. I lifted my feet off the ground [like that would have helped] and was terrified. Nothing turned off, no circuits had popped, we could not figure out where it had hit, but it hit somewhere on the house or close.

Within about 15 minutes the storm passed after torrential down pours and we heard the thunder leaving. But the mystery of what happened had us perplexed.

Now let's make it clear that we have grounding rods. We also have one out by the new barn. We thought maybe it struck at the copper top chimney. But we couldn't figure it out, which was unsettling.

So, back to yesterday, the day after the storm. When I did night feedings, I noticed it–The electric fence box is attached to the barn wall and it feeds the electric wire that sits atop the pasture fence on the property. We use a top wire to prevent the equines from reaching over the fence for grass on the other side-without it, they destroy the fences, and worse, can get themselves in trouble quickly by getting ensnared in fence. And yes, I've witnessed it many a time, including two weeks ago when Boone got his shoe caught this way because the wire had been turned off while we worked on the new barn. While getting him out of the fence, something happened, I still don't know what, but he reared back -even though he had been standing calmly for me for many minutes while I retrieved a wire clipper–and started cutting the fence around his shoe. I went backwards on my butt but first hit the back of my head very hard, not good after having had a serious concussion a year ago. We both were ok, but not having a hot wire really creates dangerous situations, and it protects your fence.

That electric box was right outside the stall where the dogs and Earnest were taking cover from the storm. The sound must have been really loud, judging by how loud it was in the house. I'm sure now that Marcella was super worried and probably went out in the storm at some point to figure out what was happening. Fortunately, the wire there is wrapped, so there was no fire danger per se, but it did make me very upset, and relieved that nothing worse took place.

We are going to look at getting lightening rods for the barns, but it still could have happened. The lightening came down -we surmise-close to where the box was, hit the top electric wire, went zooming back to the box, and bam, blew it to bits. Electricity is so strong, it is hard to fathom it. I'm so grateful nobody was outside in that paddock.

Wisdom of pig and goat

Earnest the pig photobombs dinner

Every night when hay is served, Marcella lies down in it, with the goats gathered around her. Last night, they were photobombed by Earnest.

Earnest...and the giant pile of a rat tunnel

A couple times a year, I clean out the entire stall where Earnest, Goose, Moose and Wilbur live, and Marcella and any other visiting or wandering guests. I don't do what is called 'deep bedding'-where layers of straw over time create a thick matt that is left to soak up urine and still leave dry surface for the animals on top. But over time, the straw I put down in one winter for the animal's warmth breaks down, and becomes dust, eventually matting when liquid gathers through it over time...and you get thick layers of compost. It also becomes a perfect environment for rats to tunnel under the thick matted surface.

Rats, as in...rats the rodents.

I adore rats, and mice, I really do. We have the absolute best place for rats, we are a rat mecca, a holiday oasis for any rat. We have marsh out back, and feed in the barns. We saw rats the minute we moved in, and were actually entertained by them as they ran in and out of their tunnels. The front barn is perfect for them, as it is post and beam making it easier to escape under the barn. But they have also been making tunnels in the thick under layers of the bedding in both stalls. When I was cleaning the pig stall a few weeks ago, I could hear baby rats under my feet. Don't worry, they weren't dying by my feet, they were fine, and soon after we saw the young population taking over the chicken coop for hen pellet...I'm talking about 20 rat at once. I didn't dare post the video.

They also started to take over the feed room, even though all the feed is secure in big buckets, they began to eat anything of cloth-like my lead ropes that might dangle down to the floor. They ate some leather reins. If I have plastic sacks of old cat food cans from the elder cat suite, that have not been taken to the dump, they get in there.

I now can be working in the barn and a rat will run by me, or peak out of a hole in a tunnel. Last night Benedetto was pouncing on some as they ran by him, and they ducked into one of their many tunnels by the barn, but as he stood there greeting me, the rats came out and were casually looking for pig pellet under Ben.

I really love rats. I really do.

But it has become a real problem. They can carry disease. We have been trapping them, maybe one or two a day, in the feed room. I hate traps but I didn't want to do poison. But we are winning the battle.

It is really getting out of hand.

So I consulted with a few farm people, and a person I really respect who works at the feed store and has animals. If I don't want to shoot them, poison is the only way to get them under control. I do not like this alternative. I believe in a quick, humane kill, and poison is not, I don't think.

Rats can carry disease, especially in this size population. Everyone, everywhere has rats. They are survivors. But they are very destructive. It is only a matter of time before they start eating the eggs, and electric wires. Some of the adults are huge. The trick is to put the poison in their tunnels, away from the other animals. I will not put in in the chicken area, or the pig stalls. There are tunnels out front and I will start with that. The people I spoke with say it is a fact of life here, with all the water, and it is not a one time fix, it will be a maintenance issue.

I'm not happy about it, but we have to get control of it.

We're frosty but all is well

Earnest just getting up with bed head

It has been a tad chilly. Okay, it's darn cold.

#$#$&&?!! cold.

All is well. We are not as bad off as upstate North Dakota where my cousin lives where temps have been around 25 below. We have had more like 10 below at night which is a huge difference when it comes to the water buckets.And tomorrow we will have a literal warm up to 25 for a couple of days. One more weekend of 0's and then next week looks more reasonable.

The air is invigorating. My cousin and I were talking about that-that we grew up in cold climates and know how to deal with it. For starters, you wear a hat. I can't tell you how many people I see running around without a hat when it's 10 below. Good grief. Forget about your hair, mate, keep some heat in your head.

The feeling of breathing in on an extremely cold day is one I actually like. It's almost like an instant detox. It could also take your breath away if it is extremely cold and certain people do have to be careful. But there is an invigoration that happens to the body when doing barn chores in this cold. If my hands can stay semi warm, I'm content.

There are also pain in the butt moments-like when your cloves get a tish of water on them from filling buckets and then they stick to the metal gates. The water buckets are the main chore, but also the poop freezes. This is not a big deal in most areas of the farm but in the equine area it is because the poop is big and it is hard for the equines to step on it. Especially Boone who is flat footed. So I like it when it warms up to at least 5 below because I can still get the poop up.

And shall I mention that taking a pee in the barn -which I do often since I can't seem to go more than 40 minutes without a break-has an entirely new meaning on these extreme cold days. Oh my!

The animals are much more stoic about all this. But one has to know their animals, and watch for signs of trouble. Getting water in them is essential, so water has to replenished more in the cold. I was worried about Sophie at one point so brought her into front barn, and she is just fine. I haven't lost a chicken but I never have to cold and they have a good place in the barn were I also lined one section with old sheep sheerings-they like that. They are still laying, about three eggs a day, but I often get there and the eggs have cracked-which means Earnest gets a treat.

Speaking of dear Earnest, today when I got to the barn early, I caught this photo of him just getting out of bed. It cracks me up. What a goofball. I love that pig. Earnest sleeps under his straw bedding and gets up with bed head.

I do have lots of good news to share. Stay tuned....

I was minding my own business and....

So you know how it goes around here: I was minding my own business, really I was, up in my studio. I was actually....painting. Now to set the scene, my studio is above the living room which is next to the front deck. I started hearing some movement downstairs, unusual movement. We have had squirrels in the gutters so I thought it was most likely that.

But then it began to sound like someone was dropping bowling balls.

I better investigate this.

Upon arriving downstairs, there was Muddy, and Hughie looking sort of...odd, in the dining room.

I could hear the sounds again. I thought maybe somebody was in our yard and headed for the front door.

And then i saw it, and it was quite the site.

A mischievous twosome greeted me-Earnest and his pal Marcella, the local escape artists. Actually, I know Marcella started it, and when I went to their paddock I saw where she had begun to dig a hole under part of the fence. This allows Earnest to get his nose under-a pig shovel-and push up, under and out.

I have to say, no harm was done, no lady pigs were nearby, thank goodness, and the expression on his face as he was trying to get a hold of a rolling pumpkin made me love him even more.

The two escapees are now locked up in their suite, happily eating pumpkins, until I can get boulder by the fence. If I'm ever in an avalanche, I hope I'm with Marcella and Earnest as I think they can get out of anything.

Now all together now, let's say it: OH EARNEST!