New work, lots of rain and the boy ducks are criminals

This canvas is called "A Hole In Her Boot". It's been busy but I've managed to get three new large pieces done for Sundance and will ship them off soon. After that I want to spend some time in the Elder Cat Suite with my hand stitching  raggedy messes, and the cats of course.

I'ts August, which means I get to start thinking about autumn my favorite time of year followed by winter, and spring. We are still waiting for hay. The poor hay people can not get on the fields, or it is sunny for 2 days and then pours. My hay guy got me a bunch of bales to get me through and we hope the dry weather forcast for this coming week [after another down pour this morning] will get us our hay. Everyone is waiting on it and Hay Guy is doing his best, I feel for him. As he said, 'You can't make hay on water." No, you can't.

It'll be okay.

I was finally able to get our field mowed and it was still pretty wet but is marshy.

My main farm activity of the last few days has been trying to contain the the two [insert mild expletive] male ducks. They are reaking havok on the poor Goose, and my lady Pekins. They are even going after the little baby goats. I don't like it one bit. They are constantly squeezing out of paddocks, then they run The Goose ragged and he does not fight back. He never did, it was why his former home asked me to take him, he was always getting beat up. He even has lost some feathers on his head. I'm really fed up. So today I worked, again, plugging holes and then I watched the two criminals running about but my fences at least kept them away from The Goose, for now. I have a couple places I hope to build a permaanant place for them, and they will no longer get to free range. I am tired of testosterone!

Speaking of testosterone, of the chicks/ hens I got this spring, it is clear now one is a roo. Dang! I will hope for the best. The other wry neck chick, Golda, is doing well but the other two shun her, and so do the older hens in the special needs group. Golda likes to sit near the goat fence so I might put her in there when she is bigger. She is holding her neck well and gets less wonky now if she gets nervous. She still responds to me when I say, "Calm", by calming. SO I feel good about that, that we got her back on her little chicken feet. And now I have experienced wry neck so another feather in my arsenal.

I embraced winter so I guess I can embrace this

The Goose and Miss Lilac both stunning

Many years ago, when I was living as a single woman in my little Minneapolis bungalow, I made choice to embrace winter. I actually loved winter, but it could and can get to you, especially when I lived alone and had to shovel and all that. But I began walking almost everyday, no matter the temp. The other day as the weather warmed, and a flock of mosquitoes - or are they a herd since they are as big as elephants this year?- followed me everywhere, I decided I had to embrace summer.

Summer is my least favorite season, always has been. I have fair skin so heat and sun are hard for me. Humidity, which thankfully midcoast doesn't suffer too much from, kills me, literally shuts me down. If it is over 78 and sunny, I slow way down mentally. The flies leave scars on me no matter what protections I take.

But this year, I decided to start focusing more on small elements of summer. I have no trouble loving the snow, I need to open up to...heat? Anyway, I have been relishing many things this year. It was the most beautiful spring we've had since arriving in 2016, and the garden is already gorgeous. Last night, we saw our first fireflies. I walk the garden twice daily, and love my time with Martyn examining things we've planted and nurtured. Yesterday, I held a yellowtail for seconds.

I can also say that the mosquito traps we've found are working, for small areas, so I also embrace those.

Matilda in the seas of Runaculous

Arlo embraces summer by rolling in the pile of dirt

Can you ever prepare yourself for a loss so big?

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”

― Kahlil Gibran

A friend posted this quote on her page today, it is the fourth anniversary of the death of her husband. The quote gave me pause, and the reality of the quote, the truth of it made me stop in my morning routine of checking in on emails and such.

I am well aware of the love in my life, and the fact I'm graced by so much, especially my best friend and husband, Martyn, who I met in my early forties. He is not a space filler, we are blessed with a relationship in which we share so many common desires-the love of nature, building gardens, being outside and working hard...we work hard and then we sit at night and relax, eat a good deal, sip hooch and enjoy discussing our plans fora  new garden or building or land project. We laugh. We share details of the day. Those things are removed when  a mate goes.

I have seen my friends and family lose their mates to old age, suicide, early sudden death, and cancer. Each time, through the thoughts of my compassion for them, the thought creeps in...how can it not...what would I do at that moment, that moment of separation no matter how my mate had died? What would I do to keep breathing at that very moment?

The people I mention above are walking examples of people that kept breathing, somehow.

Every day, I swear, there is not a day I don't reflect on the fact that I am here, with Martyn, and how different it would be if he wasn't here.

Can you prepare yourself for that moment you hear your mate has died? That exact moment? No. You can understand it will be gut wrenching, soul strangling stuff. You get that. But you go about the day or night just happy to have them there.

One can't dwell on it, then you would not be living. But I think when it happens, it will be like being turned upside down, and everything will look strange and disoriented, and scary. The sensations of the wind will feel different and my skin will be so sensitive I might have to stay inside for weeks.

That hour of separation will come. It is why I choose to live so out loud now with Martyn. And soak up our nights too.

Last night I wanted to capture the house and the beauty of M'Lady Apple in full bloom, and Little Apple nearby.  I was swept up in a moment, of how perfect this moment in this time on this piece of land in this little house in this specific location with this exact person is.

Bust out! Shark like pig escapes and takes dog with her

I was minding my own business early this morning, brushing my teeth, admiring the 100 year old hydrangea tree outside the bathroom window when I saw...Marcella. If you know our layout, this is not suppose to happen.

I pulled on the Mucks and headed out and she greeted me at the garden gate-that is also not suppose to happen.

The front slider gate was open, but as I gathered her into the barn, I still didn't know how she got out, since her area with he pigs is far away. I wandered out to the paddock she and the three pigs live in-Eleanor was gone, Cornelia and Little Lonely aka Freddy were there. And then I saw where one of them busted down a part of the wood fence, two pallets of wood toppled over. I had no time to assess that, my head was full of images of her on the front road. She had so much to eat out back I started calling and looking there but it was silent and she usually responds. She wouldn't go through the stream, I figured, so I headed out front which is the front garden, and the dreaded road. Nothing. No grunts. No alarming barks from White Dog. I decided to keep feeding and calling her as I did.

And then I heard a far off snort. She had reappeared out front, and I went out with grain and she ran all the way across the yard to me. Eleanor is about 350 pounds, and of all the pigs, the least personable. She is not mean or unfriendly, but she is...a pig of her own desires. I call her The Great White Shark begins she swims the area looking for her next meal. But I was pleased she came, and I got her back in another paddock, so now I can try to remaster the place they busted out.

I had just put Marcella in another area yesterday, with the three pigs, to give her more of a job. She was bored in the smaller Earnest area, and was starting to overboard him, and me. I initially blamed her in my mind, that she started it, and Eleanor followed. But I think Eleanor due to her size and strength-she is about 350#- was snorting around that part of the fence, digging mud, or rubbing her big l' butt, and she snapped the side of the pallet where it was attached.

I talked to Marcella about it. She looked at me with those huge brown eyes, then lay flat on the ground, showing her submissiveness to me. Instead of looking at it as a bad morning, I told her it was a good morning, because so many things that could have gone wrong didn't-Eleanor came back, Eleanor didn't head for the road, Marcella didn't get hit by a car, I got up at 7am and just happened to be brushing my teeth at that exact moment when she walked by since I usually dwaddle in the morning for breakfast...and the breach at the fence is refillable and it will be okay.

In fact, she really did what she was supposed to do, go with Eleanor.

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.

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.

Goose eats a tree fort

Goose in the naked fort

One of the big branches on the tree by the upper barn came down a week ago. Fortunately nobody was under it at the time. It's not a quick task to get it down and since it was secure we opted to let the Apiferian Clean Up Crew organically help out. Earnest is a bit disappointed as the leaved branches covered his swimming hole where he could bathe and soak in mud baths in the shade of the tree fort.

One by one the leaves disappeared.

I have heard rumor that some are hoping the naked tree fort remains so that they can decorate it for Christmas.

Hmmmm...that would be kind of fun.

The tree fort before The Apiferian Clean Up Crew took over

Photobombed by a piglet and Earnest gets an edible fort

I was admiring the already growing pig pool, noticing that Eleanor had started her pool and then the piglets were creating another above it, almost creating a waterfall effect from upper to lower. In time, that pool will hold all nine piglets. I won't let you down and will get a picture of it as summer heats come on. If you don't have pigs, I will tell you that if you give them even drippings of water, by a faucet for example, they will make a wallow in no time. They use their strong snouts to dig the dirt. It is really fun to watch, and also makes you understand quickly the challenges of containing pigs due to those strong noses. They can also lift gates, or bend them if they are securely intact.

I was taking a photo of it and a flying bat came across my lens. They are like little bats right now, flying around the paddock at ease, stopping to sniff, then flying the other direction. When they get going all it once it's like a swarm of polk-a-dot flies.

There was great excitement in the barnyard yesterday morning, or was it Sunday? I came out to hear quite a bit of conversation,

"I don't know, maybe she planned it this way?" asked Goose.

"It's a fabulous gift, a tree fort over my water hole, and edible too," said Earnest.

I looked out to see a large limb had cracked off the nearby maple. Thankfully nobody was hurt. Unfortunately there is another larger limb that is dead, still upright and we will have to get help taking it down, sooner than later. I'm afraid it could easily pierce the barn, or take down the coop roof.

It's always something.

But for now, I imagine Earnest lying under his edible tree fort, sitting in his pig pool, nibbling on maple leaves as he cools his body in the heat.

Eleanor delivers ten!

I knew when I left her last night she was ready. Eleanor is not one to lay down for belly rubs, never has been. But last night when I checked on her before calling it a night, she was laying down and didn't bother to get up. She seemed to appreciate a belly massage.

I checker her tweets and they had milk.

Well, that was a give away.

It was day 115 and she always farrows by day 116. And she had discharge. She got up and I was checking for heartbeats for fun, and she tossed her head into my leg, a clear sign she was ready for me to leave and give her the space she wanted.

I discussed the situation with her. Eleanor is stoic, calm and a very good mother. I knew she would do the job and do it well, and she did.

The weather was perfect for farrowing, unlike the night Cornelia lost all of her litter except Little due to hypothermia.

When I arrived this morning, I could not wait to open the door, and there they were, up and about, strong and healthy. There were ten of them, which is a very big litter.

"It's a basket of pigs," Martyn said as he went off to work.

There are four boys and six gilts. The more girls the better. I must say, the markings are just wonderful, lots of waddles [which really means nothing but they are fun]. I'm very happy for Eleanor that all is well, and this litter is really up and about and doing well and not even a day old.

Mother creatures are heroes. I was thinking this morning of all the animals in the wild that birth on their own, and stoically carry on to fend for their young, and keep food in their own bellies along the way. I learned way back in our first lambing seasons to give the mother space, be aware of the conditions and situation, but stay out of the way unless it is dire. I roll my eyes thinking of the first lambing, the ewes must have been talking behind my back,

"I wish she would just leave us alone, if she checks my udder one more time I will scream."

I took the afterbirth and fed it to the chickens. Our eggs will be nourished my Eleanor and the life she gave us today.

Chunk of pig love

I guess Little isn't so Little anymore. He is more like a Chunk of Pig Love. These things happen. Piglets get bigger and grow out of their piglet pants into big boy pants [and don't ever let anyone tell you there is a creature called a micro pig}. Another week and holding him will be difficult. He is still a charming fellow, and today he finally got to graze and get outside. Eleanor should be farrowing in a week and a half. I will relish that one since the plan is that it will be out last litter. However, Earnest has not been told and he might have his own plans. I caught him snorting around Rosie's pen gate. I explained I was pretty certain The-World's-Grumpiest-But-I'm-Fine-As-I-Am-Pig has no interest in love making or romance.

I hope this piglet smiling face will make up for this lack luster post. I'm on day ten of this dang nabbit cold and it has finally turned a corner for me. I spent the entire day outside in sun and beautiful sea wind helping Martyn put more electric wire up in equine area. Another rite of spring greeted me: the infamous black flies of Maine. I was not impressed, nor were the equines!

Morning communion with Marcella

When I do my morning chores in winter, I make it a goal to commune with the animals, usually picking out one or two that day and just sitting with them quietly. Often no words are spoken, that is my language, but we have our other language we speak-or at least we learn to interpret. I think the animals are far superior to that interpreting than we humans, but I truly believe we as people can hone our lost sills as communicators with creatures. We used to speak this way in earnest, and with grunts that each had a different meaning I assume. Just like the pigs-they have so many variations of a squeal and a grunt. I should start recording them.

This morning I sat with Marcella while the goats ate. Marcella is a glutton for this. She is not 'soft' either-meaning she has not turned into a marshmallow guard dog as we used to hear of when we researched guard breeds. Marcella has adapted to the new place as stoically and enthusiastically as I expected. Her area is smaller now, and often at night she is in the goat barn where as Benedetto is always free to go to the fields to patrol, but he lives in the field barn, and Marcella lives in the front barn.

Marcella takes her guarding here as seriously as she did in Oregon. She recognizes the front road and traffic that might be 'unusual'. She knows the nearby neighbors but will still alert them she is here. But mainly, she has taken to guarding her charges from birds, and squirrels, and eagles. She witnessed a duck killing of a chicken in Oregon, and from that day on both she and Benedetto will chase birds in the high up sky and alert us there are flying predators. I doubt a squirrel will do much harm, but I appreciate that she has that covered. She also has kept the rats away, at least out of sight. They had easy living when we arrived, but things changed for them with Marcella. I often find small holes dug into the stall bedding, going about 6" down. I'm sure she's tracking rats under the barn.

Now two days ago, we saw a beautiful little black mink by the bird feeder, which sits outside the kitchen and is not part of the barn. As beautiful as he was, I worried he might be on to the chicken coop even though they are penned up, he could get in if he really wanted too.

I told Marcella about him.

"What am I saying," I told her today, "I'm sure you knew all about that mink."

She is strong and independent, in command of her domain. Her success has nothing to do with beauty but is from her genetic makeup and willingness and desire to be useful in her breed's capacity. But her beauty is apparent, and watching her guard, or take charge, I have to admit her looks enhance the experience for me. She understands our relationship–something we both have had to work towards.

Her eyes still mesmerize me.

Song for Moose and Paco will officiate the funeral

I wanted to let you all know, tomorrow there will be a private funeral service for The Head Troll, officiated by Paco, who asked to lead the service. This is a big deal for Paco-he arrived at Apifera without any confidence, but gained it through love and experience. Paco and The Head Troll both came from new Hampshire, arrived in Oregon and I adopted them, so it is also fitting he lead the send off. I know at feedings this morning he was in a corner, working on poems. He doesn't have a special writing spot here, yet, I hope to make him one this summer. So check back tomorrow. I have been asked to write about the service, but there will be no photography allowed.

While there has been much loss of late, there is still much life, and the percolations both under the ground and in my new life here are everywhere.

Yesterday I turned 59, and Moose turned 4. I didn't too well on a lavish party for Moose, but it's pretty easy to please these guys on birthday parties if there is any kind of food involved. As you can see from the movie, chewing demonstrates content party goers. Later that night I made myself a old family recipe of white cake with chocolate frosting-a classic sturdy cake my mother used to make. We had wine and good stuff, and slept well after a hard week.

I went to a sheep farm yesterday to meet a fellow shepherd from Hatchtown Farm, but this one really knows her fiber. She is very good at sharing her knowledge on many levels and next weekend she invited me to go with her to help at another farm's annual sheering day. I'm really excited. I really want to make something of my fiber and am also thinking of getting some Coopworth, which she has, a longer fiber breed, versus our CVM's which are a fine fiber breed. I think I can handle a few more sheep but need to really focus on good management to get as most out of my girls as possible. I am a nice at wool sheep, so have so much to learn. By the way, she sells her fiber and it is gorgeous!

Anyway, so many people contacted me about The Head Troll, and my birthday and it was very kind and helpful. I am fine, The Head Troll was aware of the shifts happening in Apifera, and with me, I know this, I really do. It was very like her to...give some more room for the new life we are creating here, and it was her time.

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Mar 10, 2017 at 1:25pm PST

Little Lonely's fight

Little Lonely made it through night okay and I'm carefully monitoring his eating -Cornelia is really wiped out- she appears to be eating and drinking ok - I am concerned though about his breathing

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Mar 5, 2017 at 9:12am PST

Little Lonely made it through the night, and I was feeling pretty good when I saw him up and about this morning. He does have this weird breathing spasm, I've shown to some pig friends and they agree its odd. But no signs of pneumonia or rattles/fluid in the lungs. Cornelia is ok, she is still really tired, but eating and drinking. I'm going to get some goat milk which one of my pig friends uses on her pigs and she learned it from a vet in a similar situation when the sow had a singleton and her milk was not plentiful. Cornelia has milk, and he has the hang of the milk bar, but just in case, I might help him for the first couple days.

It's hard with just one as he doesn't have his mates to sleep with so he wants to sleep with her and each time she gets up I cringe-but you have to let go of what you can't control. The cold weather snap is suppose to gradually warm by tomorrow and 40-50's in mid week. We feel like hypothermia was the killer. We analyzed our actions, mistakes, lack of foresight, missed cues if any...and we ended up with the same conclusion-it's sad, but it happens. I never would have had piglets in winter, but Earnest had other ideas, and we just hadn't gotten our paddocks totally secure since we just arrived in May with so much fencing to do all at once. But...I am responsible, and Cornelia and I have an understanding about it. It is between her and me.

Sadness, shock...and only one survives

I just didn't think last night was going to be her night to farrow. She was eating, active, just didn't act like it was her time, and I knew it was going to be cold until Monday, which was her due date so I just kept hoping for Monday.

I didn't put the heat lamp on last night, I take full responsibility for that. But I don't like having those things on unless it is absolutely necessary due to fire danger. And since she was eating so voraciously, I didn't think it was her night.

Arriving at her stall, I saw a piglet up and walking. But another two lay nearby, listless. They were dead, but dry–two beautiful girls, beautiful polk-a-dots like their parents. I was really upset, but wanted to attend to Cornelia and make sure she was okay. She was hungry and had just passed the placenta. She lay down for me and really just wanted to sleep. The little survivor piglet seemed okay, but sort of breathing funny, and even though he was warm, he was trembling a bit in his rear, but that is actually sort of normal the first day of life as they aren't strong yet. She had milk, and he could suckle, but I did notice she hadn't bagged up that much.

I started to clean up around Cornelia, and then I found four more dead piglets-all beautiful girls. I was warned way back when by a friend who raises pigs not to have too much bedding in the farrowing area, because piglets at birth can get buried in it and then can't get out. I had made sure there wasn't that much, but had to leave enough for warmth. So I wonder if they got buried. I don't know. But 6? 

They were good sized, and healthy looking, full term, and she had cleaned them off. This could mean they were still born and she cleaned them, or that they were alive but got chilled. It was very cold last night about 5 degrees, but she is in an interior stall.

I couldn't believe it. We've never had even one dead piglet - which is a miracle and it is bound to happen, but six out of seven... I sat on the ground with Cornelia, and cried for her. She had worked so hard I'm sure, and did such a good job, and then they all died, or were dead. She was unconcerned with the dead babies so had accepted nature's hand. It was I who was carrying on. I try not to create drama around the animals in these times, but, I was caught off guard by so many being dead.

But then Cornelia was acting kind of weird and I wondered if she was okay. By the time I came back from my other feedings, she was eating her fresh hay and seemed more normal.

The six little sisters are all together in a row, just like they would be if they were sleeping together. I will have to bury them on Monday when the ground is a bit thawed. It's hard to look at them, but I sent time petting them and wanted to admire their beauty, even though they didn't make it.

 I feel so sorry for the little barrow. He seems ok, but I'm worried he might not make it. And since he is a loner, there is more chance Cornelia might accidentally crush him-every pig owners fear.

What a sad morning. I'm proud of Cornelia, but sad for her hard work, all alone.

Piglet Watch!

It happens. Despite the best efforts of humankind male pigs are known to bust through fences to get to a lady to...you know, make babies.

We moved here last May and scrambled to get fences up for the animals, so I knew triaging the pig paddocks was a on the list, but would wait until this year. We usually have a board on the bottom of each fence, but I had not gotten to that yet.

Enter Marcella and Earnest. If you follow along, you know Marcella the Maremma came to us a pup, right about when Earnest the boar piglet came to us-and they bonded. They were the cutest odd couple around. They continue to be bonded, and reside together in one of the paddocks next to the lady pigs. But now Marcella and Earnest conspire together, I am sure of it. Marcella pushes and loosens the fence, and Earnest gets his sausage style body under it somehow, if he smells that delectable lady scent of heat. He is built like a stiff Mack truck, but where there is a will there is a pig way.

Anyway, there they were one day, Earnest and Cornelia, doing it.

OK, they're in the act, I'll let them have their privacy, I thought.

I marked my calendar and noted that 3 months-3weeks-3days would be March 5. I noticed signs of pregnancy awhile ago, but now it is clear she is going to farrow soon. I hope she does ok, she is squat, and I kept her as my buddy pig, she is not who I intended to breed. But Earnest can't take it back, nor can she.

I am full up in pigs and so will begin marketing them for sale this week as soon as she farrows.If you know anyone interested in Kunekunes, have them contact me. I have not seen many Maine people raising them so hope I have a good chance on getting them sold.

I talked to Earnest tonight about it.

"Do you know Cornelia is getting ready, babies on the way, Papa?"

He flopped down for a belly rub. He has no interest in child rearing, just food, and sex, and belly rubs. Oh and winter ice skating. Perhaps swimming this summer too.

Stay tuned!

Earnest and Marcella-they are a team

Paco? Where is Baby Jesus?

A video posted by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Dec 25, 2016 at 7:59am PST

The manger scene never works out as planned. Hughie was going to be Baby Jesus this year. We have it all-the sheep, the manger, the straw, Joseph, and Marcella would be Mary. Earnest offered to step in as Baby Jesus....but it was all getting overly complicated. So our Christmas morning is much like other mornings-spent together, in Nature, among animals and rooster sounds...a beautiful blue sky today with thirties and big gusts which make The Wood alive with tree music.

A red cardinal has been coming to the bush outside our bedroom window. I know it's my father. He loved Christmas and loved to go all out with wrapping and cookies, stocking stuffers, good food and wine. He loved birds too and my parents always had bird feeders. We laughed that they must be looking over us this holiday because for the first time in our marriage we have bought a bird feeder and seed-something we never did in Oregon because of the cat population. I felt my dad saying,

Finally, you're feeding the cardinals!

Earnest has unprotected sex

It's the feeling every farmer knows. You walk into the barn and something just doesn't seem right.

Such was the case a few days ago when I went to do my usual rounds of morning feedings. I always feed Eleanor and her piglets, and Cornelia her daughter, and Scooby Keith and Sir Tripod goat first. There was more than the usual pig banter that morning.

"I'm going as fast as I can," I told them from the feed room.

More banter. Then squeals. Lots of them. Too many.

Oh no, I thought.

I looked over the five foot high stall door and there he was, sitting, politely waiting for breakfast while his sons, daughter and lover were scampering around trying to get the best feeding position. But Earnest with his size and fangs knows he can just sit politely, not budging. Doesn't matter if a 60 pounder crashed into him, or even 150# Eleanor, he's secure in his position.

And he had not broken out of his adjoining paddock on his own–he had an accomplice, his right hand gal, Marcella. I can't blame her for coming along, it is her job to take care of her charges.

May as well let them eat there, I thought.

After feedings I escorted them  back to their neighboring paddock. I then proceeded to re-secure what I thought was a Fort Knox fence that separates the ladies form the man. As I moved a pallet up against the fence, tying it with hay twine-a temporary situation until I could move more boulders in-Earnest came and watched my progress. He sat down [pigs sit like dogs] and he looked at me so, well... earnestly, which is why I called him Earnest in the first place.

"Earnest, we weren't supposed to have piglets this spring," I told him.

But we most likely will. And even though I have reasons I did not plan on piglets this spring, i have to say, the though of having piglets this spring makes me...giddy. I've noted on my calendar the two escapades he has had with Eleanor, and now Cornelia and I am unsure if either were in heat. So the countdown begins...three months, three weeks and three days [pig gestation]. At least it will be March and not the dead of winter.

I suppose this makes me look like a crappy farmer. Yea, sometimes all farmers are crappy at their jobs. We did our best with securing fencing when we arrived. There was no fencing so we had to do in one month what probably took us years in Oregon. But now there is a boulder wall there. So hopefully that will do the job.

I got up to leave and patted Earnest on the head.

"I'm glad you got to have some sex, Earnest, and be with the girls."

He followed me to the stall door, and watched me, earnestly, as I left.

Morning rituals with White Dog...they matter

Rituals are important to the relationships I have with my animals and farm, and land. Rituals allow us to know that even in the chaos of a daily life full of the unexpected, a ritual can keep us balanced, even temporarily until we are back on track. My morning rituals with the animals gets me up in the morning. it is what got me through my father's death, my mother's and any other grief I was going through.

When we moved the farm to Maine, getting the animals resettled was my top priority, both in the barn, and in the house. Since we had such strong relationships, it wasn't that hard. Maybe some of the stalls were temporary, and now we are getting our paddocks and fencing more suited for long term use, but the animals adjusted immediately, very well. There was no drama for anyone. They had food, shelter, water, and the same voice of me coming and going as I always did. I spent a lot of daily time with my charges before we moved, during, and after.

White Dog has taken on a more active role here. I really didn't plan it. In fact, I was most concerned about both Benedetto and Marcella because we are on a very busy road, something I did not realize when we purchased the place. It slows down late autumn through May, but it is only about 300 feet from the barn, unlike our old farm. it is the one thing that, to be honest, I am having trouble adjusting too, but we are doing fencing and planting trees to help.

White Dog now lives with the sheep pretty much 24/7. He lives out in the new barn, with the flock, and The Head Troll, Sophia, Birdie the llama, and the equines in the next over pasture. Rosie the pig, er, The World's Grumpiest But I Am Fine As I Am Pig, aka Rosie, lives in her private suite there too. Marcella lives with Earnest, Moose, Goose and Wilbur the Acrobatic Goat. Sometimes the Secret Sisters and Francis [the chicken flock] visit. The White Dogs have wolf play days where I bring them together and they run and fight and get to relax. Eventually, Marcella will have more roaming room, but the fences aren't good enough, yet.

So here is my morning ritual today with Benne. No matter what gate I enter at, he is there. I can see that nose and those sincere eyes from the porch. I spend a good few minutes holding him, and looking into his eyes, deeply. One is not to over pet a guard dog, they say. I believe this and understand the concept. But Benne needs my acknowledgement, he always has. We still, nor ever, will know his true story. But I do know that he is a natural with the flock, and more relaxed than Marcella. He does a good job at night with wandering coyotes but he doesn't over bark either.

We go off to the barn for feedings, and after, I usually go out somewhere and just...look. I am still soaking things in. I am still introducing myself to the trees and The Wood, and trying to understand exactly what happened, and why. White Dog has definite places, usually corners away from the flock, where he perches himself. He is very content here, I think maybe more so than at the old farm. I think he has more purpose here. He was the barnyard guard there and here he is in charge of a bigger area of his own, and the flock. Marcella has her area to guard, and he has his.

I do my clean up chores and Benne comes and goes, dividing his time between checking a gate or two, and if I am near a fence line where he arrives, he never ceases to put a paw up for me.

"I'm here, don't forget, I'm right here," his eyes say.

Thank goodness.

{If you like the writing, photos and art I've been posting for the past ten years here, please visit the new book funding site. Only 20 days left.}

Leaves like potato chips

Mother Earth puts her colors together so well. I was looking out the window at the hydrangea pinks next to bold oranges and thought,

I'm not sure I'd do that in a painting, but maybe I should.

Mother Earth, the painter and weaver of color and texture with the flock's gray's and buff's backdropped with The Wood is so beautiful. I haven't been in a New England autumn since the '80's and it is just as spectacular as I remember it. As a child in Minnesota our falls were beautiful too. At the old farm, we had leaf drop off but it was more like November and we didn't have the old trees around the house except Old Walnut, and of course we did not have the reds and oranges.

My leaf carpet goes everywhere I go right now, and certain animals treat the leaves like an open bag of potato chips-especially old Scooby Keith, he just loves the fallen leaves.

{As you meander through your autumnal day, please consider visiting the Kickstarter page for the new book project, "Itty Bitty & Big Etta" which is the complete opposite of the campaign season. I need your support and love. Thank you.}

Little Bird gives me a message

Last night as we sat on the porch relaxing after a long day, a little fledgling came across the yard, about twenty feet from us over by the barn. He was a bit wobbly and we waited, looked for a nest nearby but all the shrubs were pretty far from where he appeared, almost out of nowhere. Since he seemed to not take any interest in hopping anywhere, I scooped him up.

I tend to follow nature when it comes to wildlife–leave it alone–just as when you see fawns alone in the filed, the mother is almost always nearby, and it is her way to teach them of their coming life without her help. Birds are the same. But, this little guy seemed healthy, but a bit off. He sat still while I picked him up. His eyes were bright and he could perch well, so we made the assumption he was pushed out since he was big enough, or he fell out, or the mother knew something we didn't. There are many arm chair bird experts out there who will give me all sorts of unsolicited advice but on this instance I made the choice to gather him up, feed him and put him in a crate surrounded with the recently sheared llama wool from Birdie. He ate well. Maybe I overfed him, but this morning, he was dead.

But that little bird reminded me of some important things about myself. Things that have been on the back burner for a while due to first planning the move, and then the actual long journey east, and now-the settling in part of the post move. I sat with that little bird, singing it my bird song. It was all I wanted at that moment, to help the baby bird perhaps make it through the night. It just made me remember who I am, or one important facet of my being-that child that saved moths with broken wings, keeping a feeling in her tiny five year old heart that if I tried hard enough, that moth would fly away. Sometimes they did. Mostly, they died in the time that nature designated at that moment as 'their time". But it was the childlike optimism, the hop, that it would fly that was important.

It's the same child optimism that I felt last night-that I can help a creature–that stuck with me as I went to sleep....maybe it will make it, I thought. Even though I knew it was doubtful, maybe it will make it overrode the inevitable practical voice that it wouldn't.

The fact the little bird died is not an issue. It was its time, and it was safe and warm. But it gave me a gift of insight. He is the first of many little creatures that will undoubtedly cross my path here who I will bury in the now nearly empty cemetery. I can't save everything, and don't need to, nor want to. But I can lead with my child like optimism each day I walk out the door.