Apifera says goodbye to a founding father

The following is a somewhat over dramatic post about a 52 year old woman and a 5 year old ram.

Joe Pye Weed, father to many, lover to many, has left Apifera. It's a bittersweet reality for me, but I know as a shepherd and caretaker to the creatures here, it is for the best. He is now living on a huge working ranch in Idaho, where he will have a flock of ladies all to himself. He has much work to do in his coming year, and I know they will treat him well. The new owner was kind enough to send me a picture of Joe in his new field, and while it put a lump in my throat, it made me happy. The new owner also has an old pug, so he must have a good heart.

Loading an animal into a trailer is never really pleasant. While the procedure went just fine, it was the moment when the squeeze gate shut, and Joe looked at me and bleated. The human-mother in me heard him say, "What, you're sending me away, what did I do? Get me out of here, please!" The shepherd in me heard him say, "This isn't my normal place, I feel trapped, please get me go back to my pasture."

This back and forth internal monologue of mother-human versus shepherd have been going on some time now when it comes to my relationship with Joe. He was our first ram, brought onto the farm at 3 months with Rosie and Daisy, and the the three of them built our flock. He provided us with beautiful ewes, lots of color, and other fine rams like Pokeweed, and Chickweed who still resides here with Mr. T. But when we lost Rosie and Coral and other ewes were sent to other farms to keep the flock at a workable number for me, it became clear that Joe could only be bred to so many ewes now due to genetics, and there is no reason a small flock like ours needs three rams. It made it difficult at breeding time and really wasn't ideal, for anyone. Lots of head bagging when you get three testosterone laden guys in one field, as the lovely scent of randy ewes wisps through the air overhead.

So, when a man approached me abut buying a mature, proven registered ram, it seemed like the universe was just helping me out, knowing I needed the perfect fitting place in order to let go. He went to an experienced farmer/shepherd, and he will do the job he was born to due, in the sun, on grass, surrounded by lady friends. He will do them proud, and Apifera too.

But Joe, I will miss your face, and the ripples it acquired with age, and I'll miss saying, " Joe Joe!" in the morning. Thanks for all the creatures you've given us, and for the nourishment some of those creatures have put on our tables. As the new owner climbed into his truck and we said our goodbyes, something came up about it being Memorial Day, and that he was a vet. I told him my dad was too, and as he started to drive off, I saluted him, and kept saluting. So dramatic, yes? But it seemed fitting. Somehow that darn ram's leaving had a lot of symbolism for me.

Now I didn't cry or anything. A farmer always cries in the barn, alone, with animals or hay, that's what I decided when I moved here. I did chores, and then visited the donkeys, gave them some hay even though they didn't need any. I held Pino around his waist, with my head on his back. He stopped eating, while Lucia and Paco munched away. He knew. I shed a few tears while holding him while he stood quietly waiting for me to finish, and then I got on with the day.

And Pino brayed as I left the barn.

The glance of a king

She can not seem to understand my true qualities, my kingliness. For 4 years I have helped in the equation that brings food to her table, to her barbecue. I feed her. I nurture her with my genetic make-up, providing meat to her liking. I give up my prodigy without a fuss, I accept that fate. I do my part willingly - I eat and graze to keep up my strength. I even allow myself to live in a mixed herd of lower gentleman, and two goats for heaven's sake. I am a saint for that. And when the season changes, when I smell a hint of drying leaves in the forest, I know it is once again my duty to service my flock. I go willingly, I do not balk at her. I go to the field of ladies, reintroduce myself quickly - for their is no reason to doddle, they know it too, the job must be done. The grass and foraging I have done all summer to keep me fit for the job pays off, for I spread my seed over and over without tiring, just to make sure the job is thorough. I am a professional that way.

Yet, she seems to put herself in the herd master role, when it is really I that am in charge of this herd. That is why, from time to time, I must come to the fence line and stare out at her. Surely my expression will explain clearly, "Excuse me, you! You the woman with the bucket, I am the greatest! I am Joe Pye Weed. And this herd is mine."

And the ram got wet

Thank you to everyone who emailed to see how we made it through the wild weather. We fared much better than most, never lost our power and had minor inconvenient damage. My heart goes out to those who had serious flood damage. Some lost everything. Some are not able to business yet. Each hour we had power I just gave a 'thanks' to the upper realms.

The power of water is the message of the week for me - or the power of the elements working together, or against each other. Man makes pithy items like houses, fences, bridges and these are no matches when the elements collide. As much as I love wind, I am terrified every time we have a wind storm. My imagination, which is always in overdrive, imagines all sorts of way I or Martyn can die in the wind - a piece of the 4'x8' metal barn roofing can fly down and slit my throat - people, this happens, who am I to think I am immune.

After the storm settled on Tuesday, the sun came out, it was 60 degrees and just heaven. The sound of the roaring Yamhill River was deafening as were all the small streams on our properties that were now more like rivers. I was going to take a 15 minute gander down the road to spy on damage, when I immediately saw that part of the fence in the goat/ram area was down, pushed over by enormous weight of water. I managed to get there without being electrocuted by the downed wire fence, and immediately felt my boot fill up with cold water.

At the same time, Joe Pye Weed was on to me, and decided to jump in the same area to, well, to basically knock me over. I was greatly amused when the water went up to his mid belly, and he abandoned his farm girl battering idea. I spent the next two hours struggling to get the fence up. But the sound of the water, the smell of spring in December - was nice. Especially mingled with the wet hair of a ram.

Donkey ears, and the boys are ready

I went out the studio door this morning to a beautiful fall day - crisp, sun, fall color, air, no human noise makers, just the distant
rumbling of Joe Pye Weed letting me know it was time for some breakfast. The donkeys were laying down, facing each other soaking up the sun. If you have never seen a mini donkey laying down, legs all curled in, eyes half shut, well, you must put it on your ' list of things to see in my lifetime'. The sun on their bodies must have been too hard to give up, as they usually greet me at the fence line, but today, the sun beat out my affections.

Yesterday was about 70 degrees, but windy. It reminded me of when I was little, and I loved to go into the many sumac groves we had on our property in Minnesota. I was protected from the wind, but could hear it. The barn is like that. I had my new canvas on the wall ready to start it, and did prep it, but the weather was too perfect. I took a sketch book and a chair and went out and sat with the donkeys. I have a long list of animals to paint, and it takes time to soak in the characteristics of a being, for me anyway, before I can paint them. There are always certain attributes to an animal that catch my eye and heart - and I want to capture them in spirit. I don't consider myself a good draftsperson, but I do feel when I am ready, and have filled up my well properly, I can capture something's essence, even if crudely drawn. I am not a 'take the sketch book out and sketch something' person. I guess it works for me to just be with something over time, and eventually I can capture it - in my style anyway. I'm not quite there with the donkeys. But it was enjoyable to sit with them, and soak up the weather as much as possible before the winter rain comes. I've been running 100 miles a minute, we both have, and taking time to sit and sketch, and just watch them in a sitting position was a luxury. The ears on these beings are so special, and their eyes have a very unique glance, like a being that has had many travels, many lives, and knows what came before them.

Most of the flock is wormed now, and this weekend we will rearrange ewes to be with either Joe Pye or Mr. T [who buy the way is "Turtleweed' because he chortles and that reminds me of a turtle for some reason]. The boys are READY for some female companionship. You shepherds know what I mean. And the ewes have been restless at times as well.

I'm looking forward in a way to the gentle winter rains. I paint much more proactively in winter through May. I have many feelings to get out. But I am not worried about timing. My well only has so much energy in it, and I think I've earned the right to slow down a bit. Is 100 paintings or more a year too little or too many? Many experts out there no doubt have answers. But I am merging into myself, in my own time, and the things that occupy on the farm may take time and energy, but they also fed me and keep my days full of wonderful activities and encounters. Life is juicy.

Once, a mother kissed him gently

One archival, framed print is now available for sale on the store. "Joe Pye as a Young Lamb Standing in the Lavender Field" harkens back to simpler times when we had just Joe and two ewes. He was such an angel. Kisses in the morning, kisses at nite. Now I still sneak in a kiss to him, but usually through the fence. I only printed artist proofs of this piece, meaning there are only a few of them out there, and this is the only one left. The frame is a simple 1" maple. Visit the print section to purchase.

On a farm note, Pino Blangiforti put on a brave face and became a real donkey this morning. The vet came out to the farm and performed his castration. With Paco nearby, little Pino took it like a man. I will not go into graphic details - and I stood behind Pino so as not to see the actual surgery - but Martyn watched. I did learn quite a bit about donkey testicles, if anyone has questions. He is recovering well, and has a week or so to be back in true Pino form, but there does not appear to be any problems as of this writing. The worst part are the flies, and the yellow jackets ["terrorists" as we call them] flying near his wound . There is only so much I can about that, but fortunately it is cool today.

Pino loves apples and carrots, and while get well gifts are in order here, he prefers you take your fruits and share them locally with your food shelters or other families, or donkeys, rather than sending them to him as a get well gift. He is always thinking globally - one does not benefit from finding the jewell in the forest until one brings it back to his or her own village. And Miss Apple So Full, the little apple tree up the road, has generously given me bags of fallen apples for our animals, and I will share them with Pino tonite.

Little Mice Tales, and His Highness on the Loose

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

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

His Royal Ramness

My relationship with Joe Pye Weed is evolving. I think we are entering his terrible teen years, or worse, his 20's where he will say/do/act in anyway to show his angst as if he is the first being to ever have angst.

The experts say that with a ram -'don't touch him at all, don't interact with him, leave him be' but upon his arrival here at 3 months, I chose to try the opposite. It didn't make sense to me to have an animal around that, if he did get out, wasn't acclimated to my touch. So I always groomed him, petted him, talked to him, picked him up and held him up on his two hind legs,etc. He even came to me, and nuzzled me. His first breeding last year he remained a total gentleman. I never took for granted he was a ram, but never felt afraid of him. This season, a bigger bolder Joe Pye has emerged. We are redefining our boundaries so to speak, and Joe's boundary is pretty much anywhere past the gate where his ladies are. He has now taken to coming at me from 10 feet with much grace and zip - fortunately the only damage so far has been a brusied arm and hurt heart - 'my little Joe, he's gone and started hating me'. Of course, this is ridiculous, he hates nothing. He is simply, a ram. The most exciting encounter happened last week when I decided to venture up into his Holy Ramness's pasture. I needed to retrieve some wooden fence posts, and figured I'd get in and out fast, I after all had 'control' over Joe, or always had. The pasture is pretty much all hill and within about 10 minutes Joe ran over to check out my arrival into his lair. I did all my usual tricks to get away from him, ear tweeking, circling him, nose tapping, then nose beating - but I found myself in a real pickle. I was stuck on a hill, and Mr. Pye Weed had acres to back up all he wanted. For those of you who have never been with a ram, the sight of him putting his head down and backing up means "Prepare thyself, human, I am going to come at you and the thick skull bone I have to defend myself from others and ram into your human bones creating bruises, breaks, and if I'm on target, a total knockdown." I knew the only thing to do was stand my ground, and pull out of his way seconds before he got to me. Putting a hand down only causes damage to hands and fingers - a lesson I had already learned. This predicament went on for about 20 minutes, all the time, I screamed 'JOEEEEEEEEEEEEE' as loud as I could while he charged me - futile, but I was pissed. Martyn was in his office in the house, and I kept thinking, 'he must hear me out here' . I thought of jumping the fence, but figured he'd nail me there too, running was out of the question. Finally, I got smart and took my jacket off and threw it on his head which caused him to run off without knowing were he was going - and fortunately it was opposite of me so I could run off myself. Martyn later said, "Gee, you could have been dead for hours and I never would have know" - thanks honey. It was a stupid thing to do, go into a ram's pasture with his ewes and expect him to idylically graze at a distance.

At the beginning of each day, Joe Pye is the first farm animal I greet and care for, and the last at nite to get tucked into his stall. He has a huge energy, and I get cranky when people suggest he is 'getting mean" - He's a ram, with testicles the size of grapefruits who can 'service' 40 ewes on his own, that's a lot of hormones to walk around with. I get satisfaction looking at the lambs and ewes he has helped create, and know I help him by caring for him as well as I can. Many think it is foolish to impose our human emotional thoughts/feelings onto animals [what's that word?], but I have a relationship with this beast, and he with me in his own ramness way.