Still dressin' his ownself

Once AKA Dirt Farmer, now AKA Rip Van Winkle...Martyn

Martyn clutches his pearls

It was a very busy weekend. Saturday was hot and muggy...that always leads to trouble in the barnyard, not because of the animals, but because of my mood. I have a hard time with summer weather and the humidity is a killer for me. Just as there are folks who really have physical and emotional challenge in cold weather [I do not], there are many of us who rate summer as the least desirable in the seasons. I try to focus on the good of summer, I really do, but if the temp rises, or my arms are covered in welts from reactions to fly bites [which they are] I get a tish spent.

So it was a nice surprise to get this beautiful shawl from a friend who stopped by for other reasons, and handed me this. It is made from our Apifera wool, and I always get verklempt when I work with things that have come from our animals. It is lovely weight wool, soft, which CVM is known for. I even used it last night as the heat dissipated on Sunday with a chill in the air.

As usual, I asked Martyn to pose with it so I could post it. I always admire the way he drops everything without complaint and takes my request so seriously. He was standing there with it over his shoulders, his arms at his side, and I said,

"Pretend you are clutching it, like you were clutching pearls."

And voila, another Martyn Moment caught on camera.

On Saturday, as I said, it was hot. I was grumpy. I got into arguments with many of the animals. They all know what to do when this happens, back off and let it pass. It always does. By Sunday, I was hanging out and communing again. I appreciate their ability to let me be me, as much as even I can't stand walking around as me in the heat. Sorry guys. Winter is coming, I'll be fine.

On Sunday we had to take down a huge tree, by the outer barn, because the third barn begins next week. Martyn is experienced with felling trees, and he does not take chances. I trust him to do anything he thinks he is safe to do. He has all the safety gear needed for this, and he ties an arborist rope to the tree, and then cuts notches in the tree trunk at the correct angle. He also stays safe knowing when and where to stand. I came out to be in sight of him when he was ready. I said,

"We better kiss, just in case." He laughed and we kissed.

But you know how many of these things end up on You Tube. He had the challenge of felling just right so that it missed the roof of the other barn, and also didn't hurt the 100 year old apple. I waited 100 feet away, this tree was about 20-30 feet I guess, a beautiful Ash but the pigs and girldled it so we knew eventually, soon, it would die and could do a lot of damage.

Well, he sawed for about 5 minutes, and the tree fell forward, right in between the barn and Old Apple, just as planned.

Phew. A good 3/4 cord of wood too.

And the goats will get to eat the debris now, they are thrilled. A giant pile of brush awaited them this morning and I watched as they ventured over to the new breakfast bar.

The weather Sunday was so perfect. Seventies, a breeze so few bugs, and the animals, and myself, all communed. I worked on putting up more electric wire to protect the fences from Boone leaning over to greener pastures. But I took time to stop a lot, and sit with the animals.

Man, woman and goats celebrate!

Martyn turns 59 tomorrow. And I turn 60 two weeks later. We have always made the two weeks between our birthdays, since we are the same age for that short time, something special. Well, not in diamonds and pearls or lavish dinners out, we just take extra time to acknowledge our blessings to be together, healthy and still rockin'.

It's a big birthday coming up for me, I guess. I've always had a good relationship with age. It's just a marker on the road. The important thing is I'm still moving and evolving. I'm getting more 'comfortable' with my aging as far as my appearance goes. I think leaving the old place for a new place allowed me somehow to step out of that perceived 'me' in my mind. When I moved to the old Apifera, I was only forty four, still all skin glowing and firm abs and arms. It has taken awhile after about age 57 or so to recognize myself!

I was thinking how, the sixties and onward are much more like the teenage years, in reverse. As a teen, we are anxious about our appearance, our bodies are riddled with hormones that create all sorts of outward and inner effects. Aging is like that for women too. I realized that it took me time as a teenager, and young twenty something to become comfortable with my own skin, inside and out. The last few years have been like that, and I'm beginning to ease into the new evolved me.

So, I'm making Martyn a Hummingbird Cake. We don't have a lot of sweets but when we do, it's homemade. We'll have a good meal like any night, he has said he wants to make mussels which I don't eat but he's the birthday guy.

Martyn shares his birthday with Goose, and I share my birthday with Moose. Having a birthday shared with a goat is fine by me. You might know the story-but I'll share it one more time. My mother had died in 2013, and I told Martyn I wanted to bring home a baby pygmy, because I always was adopting elderly goats, some who didn't live long, and I was sick of death. And without telling him, I found a little pygmy ready for a new home-that was Moose. And without telling me, Martyn found a little goat needing a home from one of his clients, that was Goose. When we found out they each shared one of our birthdays, while I of course said it was written in the stars.

And to honor our birthdays, we want to wrap up the barn fundraiser. We have about $3,500 to collect, and then our matching fund kicks in and we will have the main amount needed to build the third barn. I set up a fundraiser on Facebook and we have collected $400 in a day, so that is a wonderful way to start our birthday celebration! I'm so grateful. This is going to be a building year for Apifera, lots of things percolating here...you just watch!

You can send a birthday donation on Facebook, or here at the blog. Either way, it will be added into the total needed for the barn. It will be nice to have that one under our Misfit belts.

The man who keeps the place standing...and a good chicken love story

As I age and especially as I work with more elders, I think of what will come of me, of us, and our animals when I get really old. I will be sixty in spring...this is not old-old, but I am entering my final quarter. After the riding accident, after any bad fall, it does change your perspective on falling. I always assumed I'd carry on as usual into my final years, always walking, always working outside, always with animals in my life.

I liked what a woman in her eighties once said to me, that she did not like, nor did she deserve, to be 'detracted' from. At the time she wanted another dog, she missed her dog terribly but due to her age some family members felt it was not a good idea-so many things could go wrong-she could trip on the dog [she could trip on the carpet], the dog might out live her and be homeless [the dog might die before her, and if she did die the dog might end up in a wonderful new home, just like my pug Hughie ended up with me]; walking the dog might cause her to slip on ice [there are solutions to these things, perhaps a small outdoor pen on the deck or outside the door for winter months, something my parents did for a short time].

One has to be practical, but too many times I think we treat our elders like they don't have experience and inner knowledge of their own. They have lived 80+ years, they must have some clue of what works for them. I saw an article this week about a farm setting elder home in the UK where they are incorporating chickens into the daily lives of the residents. One of the residents had had to leave his home, and he was somewhat depressed. The manager spent time talking to him and found out one of the things the man missed was his chickens. So she decided to see if they could help him with that. And soon, the home had a chicken coop and the man had some chickens which he cared for, and other residents helped too. The man's depression went away and he talked more, smiled more, felt more like himself.

As someone who has moved, a lot, and also had to leave my beloved farm in Oregon, I know how unsettling it is to leave animals and a place that once gave me a purpose. I loved the article about the chickens, and realized I want to make something like that happen here too. I have so much work to do, so much. If I was rich I'd buy the property next to us and turn t into a farm-eldercare place, so there could be a few animals, and I could help. I've even thought of trying to raise funds for it, but I need to focus on getting our barn built, and continuing our elder work. We had our first annal meeting with our board and many good things were discussed and one was to recognize the 501[c][3] is evolving in its own time frame, in its natural way. I sometimes get ahead of myself.

I wonder if I could stay here without Martyn. I am a very handy woman, I have lived alone most of my adult life until I met Martyn in my forties so am very self sufficient in most ways-but there are many things here that I rely on him for. I am grateful for each thing he does. He keeps the place standing, fixes the things that need work-important things like electrical and plumbing. He can build things-crucial to any small farm.

We talk about what we would do if one of us died. It gives me comfort to hear him say he wouldn't leave if I died. He loves Maine and he loves our house. I think one of the crucial reason we landed here, in this state, in this region an din this house is it was right for both of us at this time, but it was crucial to Martyn's well being. His life here is better with less commuting and less stress. I know I would stay too if he died, but, it seems the reality of what is coming in the final decade or two is present everywhere in my work with elders. I don't dwell on it, but I don't think a day goes by where I don't thank the skies for what we have together.

And he's stinking' handsome in my eyes.

{If you like the work we are doing with our non profit, helping animals and elder people, please consider a donation which are tax deductible.}

14 years ago..."I do..."

It seems like a lifetime ago, but also very close to now-that gathering 14 years ago today, amongst so many family members now gone...it was a beautiful day amongst our gardens, in our side by side houses where we met one year earlier, me having just moved to Portland, Oregon. I met Martyn the first day I was in my house, he came a calling to meet me because he had heard we had the same last name. I never told anyone, I didn't even put that in the memoir, that I knew I'd marry him when I shook his hand, but I did. We became friends and then a couple within months-much to the irritation of a few people I'd met there who said, "You can't date the first guy you meet!" Um, yea, I can, sod off. We married on year after meeting, age 44. Anyway, the cake was lemon poppy seed, we had salmon thanks to my mother who insisted I could not have a hot dog machine, which was my choice. We walked into the little patio outside to canned music-Doc Watson "You Are My Special Angel". I wore sparkly $20 flip flops and Martyn had that sweet, crooked bow tie. He still fits in his wedding pants...I've grown a bit, but it's nice to look back and see that younger version of me, pre-Apifera looking so shiny.

It's been a great ride and I hope for many more years of health so I can be with my best friend. I don't take it for granted.

Two special birthdays-we celebrate a man and a Goose

Today is a special birthday in many ways. It is Martyn's 58th birthday, and for the next two weeks we are the same age until I turn 59 in March. It is also the birthday of Goose the little goat that came to us in a a most wonderful way. It was 2013, my mother died in April. Along with the many deaths I constantly faced due to my work with special needs and elder Misfits I had taken on, my mother's death was explosive in many ways as we were very close. Without me knowing it, Martyn had a client that happened to have a little baby goat she was happy to send to Apifera. Martyn thought it would bring cheer. At the same time, in my Lucy Ricardo way, I found that a friend to Apifera had a little buckling that I fell in love with and without telling Martyn I told her I'd love to have some young blood at the farm to bring cheer.

Well, the goat Martyn found was Goose, and low and behold he shared Martyn's birthday. The goat I found was Moose and he shares my birthday.

You can't make this stuff up.

The gift of Martyn in my life can not go unnoticed by anyone who knows us. While I know I bring things into his life, it is he who has followed me around with hammer and ladder, helping bring to life my big ideas. The moment I met Martyn, I knew he was kind, and he is. He also makes me laugh, all the time. He allows me to show my sadness, anger and fear and has a way of smoothing me out like water on a rock. We compliment each other. We love each other.


We are best friends.

And then of course there is Goose, seen here in one of my favorite photos of Misfits mingling, busily going about their day. Goose could have been a good therapy goat, but he was a real nibbler, and it took me a long time to cure him of that. He has switched from nibbling to giving tongue kisses. I suppose some might find this appalling, having a goat's little tongue give a quick lick on the human lips...but I like it. Goose has a beautiful little personality. He's inquisitive but not troublesome, and has an expression no matter what the day, or weather that says,

"Good day, glad to be here, eh?"

It is a good day, with sun, and warm air melting snow, reminding us spring is around the corner. And spring is a wonderful time to be born, as it reminds us we are part of the cycle of life witnessed so many times here on the farm.

Martyn and White Dog caught in a glance

I was resting in one of the pig stalls and caught some pictures of Martyn and Bennedeto.

Benne loves Martyn. i think it's guy thing. He loves me too but he does love to run to Martyn if he is out in the yard or field working.

I just loved the expression in these photos. Imagine, life without White Dog, or Martyn. I can't.

{Please remember to pledge to help my new book about an itty cat. Only three days left!}

I gave my love a ukulele

Martyn and I never, or rarely, buy gifts for each other. His first gift to me before we were married was a perfectly intact dragonfly, which I was over the moon for-a match made in heaven said his family if she likes dead insects instead of jewelry. But with our move to Maine, one thing I wanted to bring into our lives, especially as we age, our new lessons and skills. We had talked a year ago about getting ukes, but never did. So for our anniversary, I surprised him with two ukuleles-and I am so bad at keeping surprises but I managed to pull it off.  We are trying to practice an hour each night. The first song we are learning is "Always Look on the Sunny Side of Life".

Thirteen years ago I married Martyn. It is a day that was a turning point in my life, of course, my first and only marriage. You might know the story,  I was 45 and had left Minneapolis with a broken heart and wobbly but re-emerging healthy ego,  to move to Oregon without knowing anyone except my brother. I took flight after feeling called to the West, leaving my parents behind - a hard decision- and many friends I still love and care about. I found a wonderful bungalow in a village and the I planned to live there forever, it felt that right to me. The day I was moving in, there was a knock at the door. Those of you who know me well know that I am not a fan of pop-ins, at all, even Neil Young popping in might irritate me. But that day, I remember I was thinking,

Who is coming here when there is a moving van in the driveway? Don't they know I'm crazy busy and tired and look like crap {looking back, I looked pretty good, now that I'm 13 years older I can say that.}

A man put his hand out and shook mine, and said,

"Martyn Dunn. I had to come meet you, I heard you had the same last name."

Word travels fast around here, I thought.

My slight irritation from a pop-in turned to a warm feeling, a safe feeling. I remember thinking that I was really glad he was my next door neighbor. He wasn't a hipster or arty or anything, but he had this kind face and smile-I am sure if you read this blog you have seen it and would agree with that assessment. Embarrassingly [at the time] I also remember knowing I would be with him at some point. I didn't tell anyone though. not a soul.

A year later, we married, in the garden we built together at my house. There was other stuff in between there that brought us to our union [garish pitch-you can read it all in the illustrated memoir of our courtship Donkey Dream]. I have thought many times, I think if I'd met him in my twenties I might have walked on, I don't know though. I'm glad we met later in life because I was ready for kind not cool, honest not showy, authentic not excitement. But to say our life has not been exciting is the opposite of the truth. We went onto start a farm, raise 4000 lavender plants, fence an empire, raise sheep and care for old, crippled barn animals. We built a lot of stuff. We fixed a lot of fence. We cooked our own meat and vegetables and grew into our life in Oregon on the farm. The farm there and all that came with it created what we were best at-envisioning something together, expanding on it and jumping in building it. And now we are here in Maine, at 58, rebuilding another farm, another version of Apifera. I would not be doing it without him. After living as a usually content and full of life single woman, always living alone until I married, I wonder now if I would be happy again if Martyn died. A horrible thought. I don't want to think of a world without him.As one old timer said, after his wife of 60 years died, and he was still actively creating at 90, he sad, "The fun has gone out of it all, but I go on."

It's been said before by many-marry a good friend and I will second and third that. I rarely say when making introductions, "this is my husband," I tend to say, "This is Martyn," because that is who he is to me-Martyn.

He makes me laugh. Laughter is more important than anything. Commitment on top of that and an understanding that I am me and he has to be him makes a perfect pair. I never had it before, and I can't imagine ever having it with anyone else.

I don't believe in luck. I think we were brought together, after we both had other relationships to be part of and learn from. I wasn't ready for marriage even in my late thirties, I can say that clearly to you. I'm so blessed no-one married me!  I've learned so much about myself through my marriage-relationship are teachers-and I know he has learned a lot too and in many ways I've seen him blossom through our time together. I know I have added to his world, and vice versa.

Goose and The Dirt Farmer share a magical connection

We have two very special birthdays to celebrate today: Goose...and The Dirt Farmer. Many of you might remember the story behind Goose's arrival...and Moose's. And it is tied into Martyn's birthday and mine.

You see, back in 2013, my mother died at age 87 and it was devastating loss for me. And of course, because I chose to take on elderly Misfits, I was always going through loss of one kind or another, but when my mom died it hit me hard, and I was tired of things dying. Even though I often write about the bookends of life and death, I just wanted an animal to come on board that was healthy and young and wouldn't die right away. I expressed to Martyn that for my birthday I wanted a baby animal to keep.

Now, part of the story you need to know is Martyn's birthday is today, and we are now the same age...for two weeks... and then I turn 58. So unbeknownst to me, Martyn went out back in 2013 to find me a baby goat, and he did, but he kept it a secret. A client had some dairy goats and a little whether and she was happy to have him come live here, so without telling me, he found Goose-who just so happened to have the same birthday as Martyn.

Meanwhile, not knowing Martyn's surprise, I was out snorting around for my own baby goat, figuring I'd have to get this done in my usual sneaky fashion. So I contacted a goat friend and she just happened to have a baby pygmy...who just so happened had the same birthday as me. Eventually, I told Martyn, and explained that I could not turn down a goat with the same birthday. And then he told me he too had found a goat with the same birthday. So we decided we needed to bring home both of them. And I can't imagine not having a Goose without a Moose or vice versa.

While I was suffering the loss of my mother we had two baby goats on the opposite side of death. And every year, I love to retell the story-because I don't think it was a coincidence that they share our birthdays. I think it was all wrapped up into motherly love from above.

So we begin our annual two week celebration-sharing love for each other and giving thanks the other was born. And of course, we thank the stars for finding the two funniest characters around-Moose and Goose.

The gift

Much has been written in the past days about the true meaning of Christmas. Many on social media profess we must keep the Christ in Christmas. I am not a Christian although I believe in the power of story as a learning tool and Jesus certainly had powerful stories and was a wonderful teacher. But as far as keeping him in Christmas, that is up to each individual. Christmas for me is about sharing, in the way you are most comfortable. If that means breaking bread, or giving toys or sweaters or cards, that is your Christmas. But for me it is just one day of sharing-it would be hollow to me if I wasn't following that golden rule on a daily basis.

I was blessed with wonderful Christmases as a child and into my adult years. My parents loved the holiday and always went way overboard with gifts, but it was all wonderful. There was a time though, in my early forties as I recall, when I began to yearn for more out of Christmas and I began recreating certain rituals for myself. We were not raised as church goers which actually was a blessing and a curse-I think it might have helped me in my twenties to have some foundation of spiritual lessons but it also allowed me to research and learn what following I wanted without shame.

But I have one special gift every day-Martyn. As long as I can hear him breathing when I wake up, it is a gift. When I see his headlights at the bottom of the drive and know he has made it home safely after an hour drive, it is a gift. I truly mean it when I say this-when I wake up, I thank God he is here, and I know that if he was taken from me for any reason-now that would be hardship. So when I acknowledge his presence each morning, and night, it puts perspective on any other hardship I might have that day.

We are starting to see friend's loved ones taken from them. Some have been young and knocked down by cancer or heart attacks; some young at heart but taken ill suddenly in their later years to something they can't fight, leaving behind a life long mate. Every time it happens, I empathize with the survivor, but selfishly I admit I think of what I will do to get through that moment when Martyn is taken from this life. I don't dwell on it. But, it's there and it makes daily moments invaluable.

So tonight we'll toast another day together. I have some things I'd like to happen in my life and would consider them huge gifts-the property to sell to a good person, a swift move for us, more art sales since it has been so horribly slow this forth quarter-but at the end of the day, and the beginning, there is this one gift presented to me that I acknowledge-Martyn.

We have an understanding that if he is to be later than 7:30 pm he will call and tell me because the roads he drives home on are curvy and rural-and dark. There have been many occasions in our years together where he is a bit late, and my worry takes over,

What if he is hurt, what if he isn't coming home tonight?

And then the dogs bark, sensing something I can't see yet. Headlights shine on the gravel road, and he's home. That moment of relief turns to the same feeling I had as a child when I got a new puppy-joy of the moment and a inner acknowledgment of gratitude for what just happened. As an adult, the daily gift of love, health and life are my constant new puppy feeling.

Christmas is about giving, but it is also about acknowledging the gifts we receive on a daily basis. The most important gifts to the soul can't have a dollar sign attached to them because they are priceless, they defy to be bought.

My Thanksgiving prayer

Martyn and I have been together for almost 14 years. We met in our forties which was a good thing as I still had a lot to learn before I met him, and I imagine he had his own work to do too. What I find so beautiful about our relationship is it just grows stronger every year. Like any couple, we have rough spots and warts, but we always go to bed with a kiss-at least 99% of the time.

The other night we were having our usual wine by the fire and as we were talking about a particular subject, I had this epiphany-that I loved Martyn even more than the day before and each day I kept feeling more love, and that it was a much more mature love than when we met. Our skills as a couple have grown more fine tuned and our ability to work as a team is more polished. I got up and told him this as he started to make dinner, and I cried a little because it felt so strong inside of me, this sense of strong love.

When I wrote the book, Donkey Dream, it was about how I left Minneapolis with a broken heart after The West spoke to me, called me, pulled me to her. On my first day in my new house, I met Martyn. A year later, we married and a year after that we were pulled further west, to find Apifera. Or I found Apifera. Selfishly, I always thought my finding Apifera as my cosmic plan, that Martyn was living his own path with his landscaping business.  I thought of Apifera as a gift to me for my heart, art, and work with animals. It was my call to service, the perfect meshing of my soul to land and animal. And all of that is true.

But I now realize that Apifera became an ongoing grad school for us to learn and evolve as a couple. The farm created opportunities to partner in ways we might not have been able to in town. When my father died in 2008, it opened another space for our marriage. And when my mother died, then Martyn's father, more spaces were open to us as a team. Our dynamics shifted somehow because of those openings. It is not that our parents were bad for our marriage, but there were things I shared intimately with my mother I didn't with Martyn. I realized our relationship has grown so much on many levels, due to these new spaces. Intimacy, true intimacy, involves trust in the partner. After 12 years of marriage I recently shared some dark secrets of my past, that almost came to me out of the blue, incidences I didn't want to revisit. Martyn was moved, and sad to hear of these things, but it was a beautiful moment too, that after all that time, he was the one I told, and nobody else knows, or will know.

Apifera is very much about my relationships with the animals and land. My art and writing work will always be about relationship. But I have been reawakened of late that Apifera is also about my loving and evolving relationship with my best friend and husband, my Dirt Farmer, my ever most gentle hearted, Martyn.

My Thanksgiving prayer is one for me and Martyn, that we be able to stay with each other until the end in sickness and in health. A more realistic prayer might be that we stay together until the end, and if we can't, that we grow wings and harvest strength to endure what life gives us.

A man who will work side by side with a pig

A good man is hard to find, but when you find one that will also work side by side with a pig, you definitely have a keeper.

Earnest was somewhat enamoured with Martyn's hammering as we worked last weekend getting the chicken yard extension completed.

The Great Chicken Relocation Project of 2015 is underway. I have all the hens back in the main coop, including the overzealous Bantie hens that refuse to give up on hatching eggs. The dominant rooster is Franklin and he rules the roost, but so far he is tolerating Uno, who is very submissive to Franklin and stays out of the way. But now I have the problem of Papa Roo, our eldest and original rooster.

I feel for Papa. I took his last remaining hen away-the foxy Bantie that has given us two surprise clutches in less than three months. Enough! I had to do it. But I have been unable to catch Papa, for a variety of reasons. One being he is very wary of Franklin, who ran him out of the main coop some months ago. After that, Papa took five hens and moved to the old barn. They stayed safe there for a long time, but I couldn't keep track of rogue egg layers. So now I have no idea where Papa has been roosting at night, or even in the day. We think it is near the house porch. I am trying to get him back to Old Barn at night, with food, so I can go out after dusk and nab him. It's very easy to grab a chicken at night. He is probably the hardest chicken I've ever had to catch, but that might explain why he somehow escaped a raccoon last week.

Francis will eventually kill him, there is no doubt in my mind. And while papa Roo is pretty old for a rooster and has had a long, good life, I guess he'd rather go out by another form of Nature, or naturally while sleeping. I feel loyal to Papa as he arrived first and has always been a gentleman to so many. So now that the extension is done, I am going to cover the other side of the coop yard with a chicken wire, so I can have Papa in there with one hen. I have a separate stairway that goes into the chick nursery, ample room for Papa and two hens. That way they can't fly out and I can find their eggs to prevent more chicks. Unless of course that clever Bantie finds a way to make her eggs invisible, which is possible.

I just hope I can capture him in time. And then of course, I will have more roosters from the hatch to deal with. I know there are two in the first group, and we will have to wait to see how many show up in the second younger clan.

Birthday of a Dirt Farmer, and one little goose, er, goat

Let us all stand now and shriek to the sky! Happy Birthday, Dirt Farmer! Happy Birthday, Little Goose!

You might not know the story of Little Goose's arrival here. Back in 2013, my mother died. It was sudden, even though she was 87. It was a huge loss leaving gaping holes in my daily life. At the same time, we had the usual losses on the farm that come with having elders. I also had to say good-bye to my old One Eyed Pug two weeks after my mom died.

I announced to Martyn that I wanted to get a little goat that was young and vibrant, for my own selfish needs, a goat that wouldn't die right way, what a concept. I felt I needed it and deserved it. He agreed. Without knowing it, sometime soon after that, Martyn found out one of his clients had a little wether goat that she was happy to send to Apifera. And it just so happened, said goat and Martyn shared a birthday. Behind his back, I had found a little pygmy too, the adorable, tiny and still tiny, Little Moose-and he was born on on my birthday which is March 10. Martyn and I always have had this ongoing 2 week celebration between 2/26 and 3/10, for it is the only two weeks of the year that we are the same age, then I get older than him.

I can't keep secrets from Martyn, just can't. I was dying to tell him, and spilled the beans one night that I had found this goat and the woman and I had already made plans for delivery. He thought that was fine, except he too had found a little goat and we just thought,

The universe just showed us two goats, with our same birthdays, there is no use asking any questions, it is a gift and it is meant to be.

And so Moose and Goose came to live with us and brought great delight to me and the barnyard that year of such great loss.

The Dirt Farmer is aging like George Clooney. I am the lucky one. I find his face stubble and raggedy locks like looking at a swan or any other creature of beauty. I can be out in a field and see him at a distance with a hammer in his hand and I see the same man I met years ago-hard working with absolutely no ego. I am so grateful for his birth, as it allowed him to grow up into the person he is and somehow we were able to be brought together in our mid years. I know I often say I am the lucky one, but I know Martyn is blessed to have...well, moi! We are a good match. We are best friends.

I will do the birthday boy cooking. Since Martyn is the true chef in the house, I will bake one of my standard chicken breast recipes my mother taught me years ago that I always manage to do perfectly. I bought a special bottle of wine, some asparagus and mushrooms. I might make a lemon pie. We will celebrate with friends and family Saturday and he will cook some Apifera lamb. Our two week celebration of birth and life has begun!!

As for Goose? I held him tightly this morning, which he still tolerates, and told him why it was such a special day. He listened, then grabbed some of my braid and took a chomp, as he is prone to do. I took it as a compliment and he scurried off to the barn.

Me and the man in the rubber suit

We had planned to start another fencing project today. I wish I had a $1 for every foot of fencing we've added to this farm, I'd be able to...buy a lot of good wine. We have one more huge fencing job to do, and it is important, as it will improve our ability to effectively cross pasture. We've done well in that regard, but with the current flock, we need that additional 8 or so acres on our upper hills. We'll be adding about 1000 foot of fencing on one property line, and then adjusting the cross fencing. Access is an issue in the winter, so today we trudged up there in two trucks with a 300 foot roll of fencing, t-posts, and every intention of working our old butts off in the rain like we have so many other times in the last 11 years.

But it was pouring. The kind of rain that soaks your coat immediately and if you stop moving, you are a goner. My gloved hands were cold right away. I sensed I was caving. We basically moved everything up there and I suggested we do the rest tomorrow. Martyn didn't hesitate to agree, and we retreated back down to inside tasks for the day.

We have become much more realistic after 11 years here, and at age 57 I think I've earned a few wet days inside. I'm anxious to get the flock up there though. When fields are overgrazed they create bad runoff in the wet winter. We've never had to overgraze, but this year it seems things got grazed down faster, even with the same number in the flock. I'm not sure if it was the dry summer.

When I am up in that part of the property, I feel a real sense of pride-and wonderment that we are really here, doing all this. It feels so good to take land that was neglected, and help it, and learn so many things at the same time. We have a Fescue Blue Butterfly program going on in the very top portion of that land, where we will keep the flock off certain times of year to help restore the Wild Lupine.

Looking down at the barn through the Savannah Oaks, now covered in their winter moss coats of green, I always have a beautiful, calm sensation-that not only did that barn speak to me when I first saw it, but it spoke to me even before I came here. Somehow, that old barn and I are entwined in past lives. I'm sure of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eleven years with a Dirt Farmer

It is our anniversary today. We are celebrating in a grand way-working in the pig paddocks putting up better fencing. Actually, Martyn is, I am taking break from the sun.

This continues to be my favorite picture of Martyn. I think the expression on his face is so genuine. It was one of those classic Dirt Farmer moments–I saw him come out of the house in his rubber suit, with red handled clippers, and I said,

"Wait!" Don't move, I have to get my camera!"

No complaining came from his lips. I told him to smile and he did, the same smile I have seen so many times. It's the same gentle smile I saw some 12 years ago, when a knock came upon my door, and their he stood, introducing himself to me after I first moved into my Portland house. Some of you have heard the story over and over, and of course, I celebrated it in the book Donkey Dream, but I never tire of thinking of that day. I didn't put it in the book, as I knew it would sound like I was an unstable desperado, but I knew at first moment I'd marry him. Then I let the thought slip away, as I had just arrived in Portland. But my heart and gut were right that day, and one year later we exchanged vows.

We have had one fight in 11 years. That is due to the fact that Martyn is very patient and I am very forthcoming. That fight lasted two days and I did not speak to him. By day two I could hardly stand it, I missed him so much even though he was right there with me. We worked through the specifics that caused such a blow, and it wasn't pleasant, but we did. There is no passive aggressive stuff going on in this house. It works for us. Except for the issues that often arise when a person first marries-usually boundary issues with extended family, or how to load the dishwasher-we have a wonderful time. We like to work, alone and together. We love our gardens and fields and perhaps the most amazing gift of Martyn, speaking for myself, is he follows along helping me with pigs, crippled goats, needy donkeys and other dreams I keep percolating. There might have been a time when it seemed overwhelming and out of control-all the animals-but I think we've built a life here that not only feeds us physically and emotionally, it brings bounties into our home- through guests we interact with, friends we make due to the farm, and applause we get for our work. The animal work is clearly my baby, but because it fills me, and it is shared with the outside world-it bounces back and enriches Martyn's life.

I married a friend, someone that makes me laugh, someone that works hard, passionately outside of the marriage but comes home with new passion for me and the life here. I remember reading some article for newlyweds guiding that one should let their mate come in the house after work and give them 15 minutes or so before you start unloading any problems of the day. I have a different technique. I wait until Martyn has his beer open, I have my wine, and I list off all the exciting things I'm dying to share:

"Earnest busted down the duck hut door again to get eggs, so we need to fix that, and I saw an elk on my ride today. Did you see they cut that field over by Bansens?"

So tonight we'll celebrate like always. He will cook - grilled chicken with fresh blackberry sauce and our garden delights - we'll drink wine and talk and notice the signs of autumn coming in. I have a lime chess pie made. It's not that much different than any other night here. But that is what I mean–life with the right mate isn't about having fireworks to postmark a birthday or anniversary. The fireworks are internal desires that come to fruition in the work you do together, through the things you share with outsiders and the fact that you make each other laugh as you grow old together.

Misfit Shanty Town brought to you by The Dirt Farmer

Let's get this guy a beer, or a case.

I had mentioned a few months ago to Martyn that it would be good to have yet another sun/rain shelter in the paddock off the orchard. Last year at Pino Pie Day it would have been helpful too, as I had to hang a sheet for shade for some of the goats.

Pino Pie Day always comes at us fast and furious. I am always rethinking and coming up with new ways to make it even better. For example, the last couple of years we had the newly added Museum of Misfits in my trailer, but this year I have decided to put the Museum off the Donkey Hug area, and also make a better, more visible Donation box.

Scheming, always scheming.

"It's starting to look like a Misfit Shanty Town," The Dirt Farmer said.

He's right. I can hear some old goat or donkey explaining it to another, somewhere in the far off distance,

"It's called Misfit Shanty Town, turn left on Tupper, 1 mile up, into Apifera, past the three gates. The more worn out you look the better chance you'll have of gaining admission."

We've had a lot of house projects this year too, so I wasn't sure I was being fair to suggest we get this new shelter finished by the June 15 event. But a girl can ask, and see what happens.

So this weekend we've been setting posts and getting as much infrastructure built for the new hut. If it gets too crazy to get finished, I can just hang sheets on it and we can finish it after Pie Day.

I have to say, a man that can build things his female half dreams up-and let her see them form over time into a real, three dimensional object-that is the sexiest man alive if you ask me. Add the overhauls and worn out hat and it's like falling in love on each glance.

And in the backdrop, some of The Misfits graze as The Great White guards against marauding trouble makers of any kind.

If you like what we do her helping Misfits, you can donate at a reward level or make a monthly gift to  help us keep helping more Misfits.

Sunday coffee break

Lots going on around here these days. Spring is like that. We have projects all over the place but we always take time to stop, even for a few minutes and have a sip of coffee. I took time to take photos today and caught these two as I was returning.

Dirt Farmer hand model

I asked Martyn to help me with some of the final images for the new book. He obliged, of course, and the pot was sweetened when he knew the photo shoot consisted of cherry pie.

Many of you know our love was sealed over cherry pie and it is one of The Dirt Farmer's favorites. Any pie with berries is his favorite, I guess I should add. I have witnessed the man almost walk off an incline because he is so immersed in picking berries. I have gone on short hikes with him, turned around to say something to him only to he is way off behind me with his head buried in a berry bush. Berries are to Martyn like honey is to Pooh.

Now me, I love walnut pie. Probably the worst pie for me, I suppose. But I will confess-on Pino Pie Day, I always make an extra and hide it in the kitchen–so I know when Pie Day is over and the hostess gets to put her feet up, she will have not one piece of walnut pie, but an entire pan.

Dirt Farmer tested

I know you are all aware that the berries that go into my pie are pig tested, but just to be clear, all pies are Dirt Farmer Tested. I get to live with this fashion plate and am the luckiest shepherdess [who is still waiting for the first lambs to arrive] in the county, make that the world.

Last week I started Weight Watchers online to lose 10# that has crept on me over the past few years-too much merriment with the grape and cookie dough I think...and Martyn's fabulous cooking. Martyn has been so supportive, as always, making sure he weighs my portions before he serves me at night-yes, he serves me, I can't help it, it is what he does and I appreciate it very much. So I proudly told him I'd lost 3#, and he said,

"Me too! I'm down a belt hole!"

And we laughed and laughed. It's important to have laughter everyday and I'm blessed with that.