Animals speak one by one - listen

I have been saying for awhile now that I want to write the stories of the various animals that come and go, often stay, on Apifera Farm. And now I have begun, finally. I created The Animals of Apifera blog that will have individual stories, some told directly to me by the animals, of the particular animal's life, or how it got to our farm. This is a long process - there are many stories to write and many more to come. I am already hopelessly behind, as the Apifera Farm Small Rodent and Bird Cemetery already has about 10 lost friends to honor. I will also be adding a map of the farm, and other facts and trivia about the animals. The first story is up - and I can't guarantee when the next one will be up. Be patient. It is especially difficult to write the stories of those that have passed, as I wrote those stories down on burlap and scraps of seed bags as they came to me in the wind and through bird messengers.

A face to love, and a monkey cage

How could a shepherd painter not be filled with comfort when this is the face I see first when I walk in my studio? The head on that dog, I want to touch it - certain things of beauty I want to touch, experience deeper than is physically possible, and this is when one is inspired to paint, or write, or create perhaps, when the physical just can't be consumed by simply sitting in awe.

The weekend was filled with a bustle of farm activities, not to mention my matey's birthday [spent having a lovely dinner at french restaurant Cuveé with chef fantastique, Gilbert Henry in our own little Carlton, Oregon - a gem in the middle of farm/wine land. We are so lucky to have it]. We spent most of Saturday gathering materials from Wilco for our vegetable garden, and more posts for the orchard area to keep out Fred and Ethel, and Fred and Ethel's many relatives. We went a little more in debt by buying a new compressor and super dooper framer nail gun, which I am afraid to load or touch because it's the size of my head. But the best part of the weekend perhaps was building another....monkey house, or in this case, a monkey cage. Yes, I know some of you have been waiting for more, and now you have one. This bamboo cage is just one of 5 that I'll make for a some scattered fruit trees we planted, that aren't part of the other little orchard area. I don't think I can bear another spring of seeing their little leaves chewed down. The beauty of these cages is that when Fred and Ethel see them, I think they will appreciate them as unique sculptures, and leave them alone. If they do venture their head in, they will get their head stuck in part of the interior monkey frame, and it will be so confounding, they will back out nicely and move on to grass and weeds. There is, I suppose, a chance they will become entangled in the cage, and carry the entire monkey cage with them when they run off. I am also going to hang little poems and windchimes on them to bless the little trees and give them instrumental music to go with the bee and bird sounds.

The only downer of the weekend was we left Huck in one of many pastures while we worked. Huck lives for three things, 1]food; 2]us; and last but not least, 3]poop. In fact, I think he would re-arrange the order of that list and put the latter in first place. I do not worry about poop-eating beasts, it is what it is. But after three hours eating mud and sheep/goat droppings, well, you know the rest. Fortunately, we own 3 shop-vacs, and fortunately the poor old guy was saavy enough to do the deed in the studio and not the living room. Lesson, do not put poop-eating beasts in poop infested pastures of other beasts for three hours.

Mlle. Helen Von Stein

In keeping with naming all animals on the farm after plants, we named Rosemary's little ewe "Mlle. Helen Von Stein", which is a variety of Lamb's Ear. This picture [she is on right] doesn't do her justice or show you her beuty, as she is gazelle like - I tried to find a Grace Kelly name derivative of something, but Helen Von Stein is quite lovely I think.

It is quite clear we need a new ram to mix into our line, along with Joe. When we got into this, I read as much on genetics and breeding as possible, and talked to many breeders of all levels. It gets confusing fast, but basically we need to skip a gneration each breeding. I will probably get people telling me not to worry, or to do it another way, but since we are raising primarily breeding stock at this point, it seems prudent. I don't relish keeping two rams, but, my goat breeder does it successfully in one pasture - and if you can have two of those big boys around, it seems I can handle two rams. Besides it gives me another reason to create yet another....MONKEY HOUSE!

My next learning curve is ear tagging. The rams will have to be tagged. I've registered everyone, and anyone leaving the property or being sold needs one. I think I've practiced on enough oranges. It seems cruel, but it is the law and needs to be done, or as they say, get off the pot.

I had a Neil Young dream last nite. But I can't totally remember it, and this bother's me, as when Neil appears in my dreams
there is always an important message to me. He never speaks, or speaks little. But the message is powerful. I'm disappointed in myself I can't remember it.

My writing is sloppy today, disjointed. I apologize. I was sick all week, and there are some things going on that are distracting me. I will clear my head today, I hope. Now, I must go feed Mlle. Helen Von Stein and family. And greet Old Oak who is one of many an Oak clan that lives near Helen's pasture. He is covered in moss right now, his winter attire, and he looks lovely next to blue sky.

"I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in." Muir

Everyone needs a hat made of a bucket

I love hats, and last week made some pieces based on unique farm hats - I can't wait to make them in 3-D and offer them at the local farmer's market. I just think farmers can use more options to seed hats. In the meantime, you can buy these pieces online.

I awoke at 2am with chills all over my body and a fever. I haven't had the flu for awhile. I think I'll curl up with a pad of paper and revise for the 100th time our farm goals. We had a local lavender grower stop over yesterday to look at our antique seed cleaner gleaned from an old farm up the way - He has about 500 plants, compared to our 4,700, and gets a chuckle out of our non-weed barrier, non-spray approach [another thing on my list this week, getting our organic status started]. A nice man, and has been very generous to share his growing experience. What I walked away from after our meeting was: 1] We have a lot of lavender 2] We have more plants in ground than any local grower - most have about 500-1000 3] We need to find some big companies 4] If we do, things will be fine 5] We will. Somehow, I feel calm about it.

In the meantime, it is one more cold day - for Oregon - and one more day of hauling water to the barns in buckets since we turned our pump off so as not to bust it. Hauling water is not pleasant, especially with the flu. I'm looking forward to tomorrow, and this is weeny, as today I could fall on a rock and die, so I should enjoy this one too - funny how the day after you feel lousy though, you feel so darn good.

If you want to lift me up, treat yourself to some online items newly loaded on the farm site.- like these sweet little sachets. Tell someone you live on a 22 acre lavender farm in the wine district and are an artist and grow lavender and sheep, and they make all sorts of assumptions about your income. We live month to month like most everyone. It's tight. But we scoped out our vegetable bed on Sunday, and we hope to be more self sustaining by fall. I just don't know if I'm up to culling out some meat lambs - yes, the re-occuring challenge for me - Eating my own livestock. One friend recently shared what an old farmer had told her : "If you have live stock, sooner or later you'll have dead stock. " I'm too tired to write about this eloquately - is that spelled right - too tired to spell right. Buy something or tell a friend to. Reach out through the lines to a shepherd girl all sick and feverish.

Ode to Clayton

I love this photo of my Unlce Clayton, taken back in his 20's - Everyone needs a real life hero, and my Uncle Clayton is mine. He used to say to me 'You're either born horse or not, and you and I are horse'. Horses and watching him be with horses was our bond.

His farm was like a magic fairy land for me, full of the right smells and sounds that I found dreamy and juicy. Uncle Clayton was a natural horseman before they wrote magazines about it, a man of few words, calm, with real dry North Dakota humor.

Once he carried on a joke with me for a day before he let me in on it - We were sitting at the kitchen table of his farm looking out at the pastures, and he said, with toothpick in mouth and seed hat cocked to the left, "Well, looks like that old haymaker is out again", I looked out and saw an old antique farm machine in field, and agreed, "Yea, I see it too." He carried on with me all day about that 'old haymaker', until finally, he let me in on it that the haymaker was the sun.

I think of him more than ever now that I'm on a farm of my own- he died in the mid '80's at 62 from cancer. I don't think we necessarily had a spiritual connection on a soul level, but we did have a human one, and many times here on the farm, especially with the horses, I wish he could just come and stand by me and watch - he would know what to do when I wasn't cuing Sky right, or he'd guide me on how to help that sheep in labor. I just assumed he knew everything, and of course he didn't, and learned what he did know from years of living and working his North Dakota land, the hard way. His 100 or so acres are still there, and Aunt Emily still lives there, near his daughter, my beautiful cousin Connie. It's just down the dusty road of the now defeunct town of Akra, where my mother was born along with Clayton and 5 other brothers.

Every time I hear Iris DeMent sing "Our Town" I well up with tears. To watch Clayton work a horse was like watching grace and dignity in two living beings, coming together in one dance. He was a natural and always was. I was able to tell him, about two years before he got sick, that he was my hero - it just came up naturally one day out in one of his barns, I can't remember how. It was sort of one of those awkward things you say to a relative, mumbled, like I was talking to a movie star, but it came and went - and I'm so glad I said it.

Life is here

Rosemary did a lot of standing around Sunday, not leading her small herd to usual feeding spots. I knew Sunday nite sometime we'd have lambs. By 5pm, she was hanging out by one of her stalls, as if to say, "Would you get me in there, I'm ready to blow". We had a big burn pile to burn, and I had made a picnic of wine and snacks so we could sit by the fire under a full moon. I got all the animals settled and had Rosie in her lambing area. When I checked on her 20 minutes later, her water had broken. I let her be for 30 more minutes, and when we went to check on her, she had two absolutely beautiful, big, chocolate brown lambs - a boy and a girl. Both are gorgeous. Dark stalls with a flash make lousy pictures, but here they are at less than a day old. I was so proud of her, she is such a pro at all of it. Much more matter of fact and business like than any of our other sheep - dependable with her role as herd boss, I look to her for support, as she acts like a shepherd dog for me, getting everyone going in the right direction. I am confidant we can sell two of the three rams as registered breeding stock, as the breed is becoming highly popular nationally, and I plan to bring in another ewe from another line, so I can breed the third ram so as not to over inbreed - the gentics is all new to me, but I'm learning how to avoid three headed sheep.

I have to admit, I'm proud of myself for knowing she was ready to lamb - And I wasn't half as giddy this time. What mother in labor wants a giddy shepherd around anyway? So far, we have been blessed with healthy stock, and good weather.

Little Weed 2 [the chocolate ram out of Daisy] is growing well, and I haven't given up on keeping him...
Little Weed 1 has the longest most gangly legs around, and reminds me of some kid I knew in junior high who's legs obviously came from a different parent than his upper torso.

It dawned on me this morning as I worked with Sky, that my life on the farm is less about what's happening externally on a TV, or in a paper or magazine or a store. My life happens right here, with many moments strung together as I walk around the property. It is not really about setting goals as an artist, versus feeling driven to paint or sketch or create something in gratitude for what those moments happened to be on a particualr day. I also have this undying rumbling to create three dimensionally, and I am harkening back to my ceramic days, thinking maybe of getting some clay to handbuild. I feel like making...ok, crafts. God, I know, but the textural quality of working 3-D seems to be poking me constantly and now that I have another new working table, I am inspired to start some new ideas, of what I'm not quite sure. And I'm going to start that story based on the animal cemetary here and all the animals that come and go, and sometimes stay. I'm not sure what it will be or become, but the land and my time here is grabbing me, telling me to go this way, don't be afraid, just let it roll..."There's a comet in the sky tonite, makes me feel that I'm all right, I'm moving pretty fast for my size"...Mr. Young...

In honor of love and lambs

In honor of new life and love in all forms, you can buy anything on the art site or our farm site and take 10% off through February 14th - this includes items on any sale pages. You'll have to email me and notify me so I can send you an electronic invoice that refelcts the 10% off, which you can pay electronically or via mail.

Rosemary has still not had her lambs, and today is her offical due date. She is annoyed that I am constantly checking her rear
end and udder for variations of any kind...She is still eating well, so I haven't seen signs that today is the day. The Little Weeds are doing well, and I put them out in a sunnier pasture yesterday with the whole flock, on fresh grass. They ate their hearts out, and did the little lambie jumps, a good sign. Even little chocolate's ear is now up, and I'm skeeming like Lucy on how to fit him in to our breedin program...Martyn said, "You can keep him if you find a ewe to breed him to..." And I replied, "So, did you just give me a green light to buy another ewe?"

It is sunny, again, and for the past week I have been working Sky Flower in a short workout on the ground. We are working on basic commands and ground rules, and I am thrilled at both of our progresses. It dawned on me that working with a horse is so similar to the training I know and feel comfortable with for the dogs. It made it so much less intimadating to think of it
this way. I really love working her on the ground, and the bonding between us is growing. She is a pushy mare, so this has worked wonders, even in a week. I have now elevated myself to a hgher position of herd boss. But I think Sky might always challenge that position, only time will tell. Fortunately, she has a loving nature to go with her feistiness...hmm, perhaps this is what my husband thinks.

And if you like these faces, have a teeny bit of money to spare, read on.

Joe, the neighboring farmer, got his cows moved into one of our adjoining hay fields. I like looking out at them, but I must put up a boundary around them in my head and heart, most will be slaughtered in fall. It makes me hold my goats close at nite when I put them in. When you eat beef, or chicken or anything, remember someone is raising it, and caring for it, and most likely not ever taking their role as slaughterer lightly. I have met no farmer who relishes that aspect of raising livestock.

Sweet Little Weeds

Shockingly, we have twins as of Sunday 5pm, a week earlier than I expected. And even more surprisingly, it was Daisy who lambed first. Sunday was one of our first sunny days in a long time, and warm. I noticed her lying down in mid afternoon in pasture, but wasn't concerned as she does this in warm spring days. She was soon up grazing again, and I hadn't noticed some of the more usual lambing signs - pawing at ground, up and down - so when I went to do my normal barn chores around 4:30, I couldn't believe that Daisy was lying in the lambing stall [good girl!!] in labor. I rushed back to the house shouting to all the cats that we were having babies. It was fun that Martyn was home to witness this time too, and by the time we got out there, she had one lamb. Withn 5 minutes or so, out popped lamb 2, a tiny chocolate brown/black footed lamb. Last year, I witnessed no births, but arrived for Daisy's within 20 minutes of birth. This lambing was a good experience for me, as lamb 2 came out and just lay there. Daisy was intent on licking off lamb one, a good thing, but I was worried that lamb 2 was getting no attention. I didn't want to mark my scent on it too much, but it was chilly after sun was down, so we toweled it off and made sure the membrane was off it's face, it was breathing well. We put it to Daisy's face and she started licking both. She is a good mother, and it was amazing how fast they stand. I was sure Daisy would have 3, as she stayed on the ground for a good 20 minutes after pushing lamb 2 out, and she still looked huge. But she did get up, and within 30 minutes had passed the after birth sac which I buried quickly, and well, to prevent coyotes and dogs from finding it.

Both lambs appear healthy on day 2, and I hope I can get them out in a little dry sun tomorrow. We name all the animals after plant life, and since our ram is Joe Pye Weed, the rams must be named after weeds, such as Pokeweed from last year's crop [who is now spreading his seed in southern Oregon]. However, since rams pose a dilema - you don't need more than one or two, and the reality is, many end up as meat lambs. This is a reality of raising livestock, even in small flocks. It is my biggest struggle and challenge, and I already am thinking of reasons to keep the chocolate one - who is very small and has a floppy ear so might not be good breeding stock to register and sell...He is the first lamb I actually helped out and along. And I can't help but think of him as "Daisy's son" - good grief. No, it does not help, as many suggest, to name them things like "Lambchop" - I find that cynical. Instead, both rams will be named 'Little Weed", until their true fates are known. And until that time, they will be cared for with respect, and sheltered and helped along, and I will thank them for helping maintain our pastures...Stay tuned. Rosemary is as big as a house and Feb 10 is her due time...Pray for girls.

This is Where I Belong

Sometimes life just reaches out of the fog and says, 'How did you get this lucky?". I don't believe in luck really, but I do believe in relishing the many moments in life that make me think "How did I get all this? Wow, cool." As I type this at 5pm on a Friday, many of you are glad to see the work week end, and are partaking in your favorite things to do on a Friday after work - a toot at the pup, and walk with your dog, getting a movie, having a second date with a keeper, a hot bath and glass of wine...what ever it is, we all have them. And I spent time with my growing flock - two of whom are due in a week or so to lamb. I have been adding feed for Rosemary and Daisy who will lamb first. Rosemary already has the sunken hip look, which I learned last year as a total novice [now I am a second year novice] that sinking hips mean,get the baby booties knitted.I had been planning on Feb 10th as the first arrival, and Rosemary might be earlier. She's bagging out [a term I never knew until I had my first sheep rearing experience] very well, and each day this week her udder has been sweeling up. Daisy looks 2 weeks later, but last year, she deceptively looked smaller than Rosie, and lambed 3 days later with twins...

I think blogs are suppose to be honest, so I will say in writing, I love the looks of these sheep. I think they are the most beautiful sheep in the world, perhaps in the whole history of sheep. I am sure of it. I could have posted one or two pictures, but I like all these pictures. Selfish indulgence. But if you just could spend time with Rosemary, I think you would agree with me...Beauty like this comes once in awhile, like with Grace Kelly or Isabella Roselinni. So, gentle readers, be patient with me in the next two months of lambing. For shepherding the world's most beautiful sheep is a huge responsibility.

I did put myself through the torment of reading my sheep books again, brushing up on what to do if anything goes wrong, and of course, pretty much terrorized myself. I even added scalpals to my emergency lamb kit, but not sure what I'd do with them. If I need a scalpal, chances are I'll need a vet the first time around to use it. Last year, I lucked out, two sets of twins, healthy, didn't do a thing. Rosie had them safely in her stall at nite, and I got Daisy in her stall after her water broke around 4pm, only to come back in 20 minutes to find healthy twins at her side. I was so proud.

So, stay posted. In the meantime, my week ended like they all do, surrounded by animals, and art. Martyn will be coming home soon so we will sit with red wine by the fire and talk about the work ahead this weekend on our growing farm. This is where I belong. Sweet dreams.

Blue Cats, Why Not?

From a scientific standpoint, why aren't cats blue? I really sat and wondered this. Of course, most grass is green, most prairie fields are brown / earth tones, so blue cats would have stuck out in the wild and been preyed on and the species would have perished. But it would have been lovely...So, I wondered why not green? Green cats would have blended in very well in many tropical areas as well as the woods. Green stripes with earthtones...it's just an interesting thought. I think it is all fine how cats turned out however, and I can stare for hours at our many barn cats and their coloring...

Tomorrow is Huckelberry Pie's first birthday. It dawned on me he will only live to 9-11 years, and this was such a horrible thought. But I am almost 48, and many people I have known my whole life are in their 80's and I am entering this incredibly tender period of recognizing the inevitable passings of certain people. I have to get Roseanne Cash's new album, "Black Cadillac". She was interviewd on NPR this weekend, and was so eloquate in her responses to questions. She mentioned that when someone dies, it is not the end of your relationship with them, you just have to change the terms. This was comforting, but also reminded me how death is so surreal when it happens, and shocking, even if it is someone that is very old and sick and you know they are going to die - when they do, it is just so shocking. No matter what your spiritual beliefs, their physical body is gone, their voice is gone, but their energy lingers and it is just a different form. Why isn't it easy to grasp that? We hang so much on the physical connection...Roseanne Cash went on to say she had an epiphany a few years ago, well into her 50's, that she too would someday actually be dead, and it was a lite blub moment, and she laughed telling it - but I know what she meant. Martyn and I were talking about all the trees we were planting, how in 100 years they will be this big or that big, and it was a lite bulb moment. I won't be here, he won't , the sheep will long be dead, no Huck, no pug with one eye, no parents, Neil Young, everyone..all gone. How odd.

Please go rent the movie "Millions", a little British film from 2005, and buy Neil Diamond's [YES, Neil Diamond] new CD "12 Songs". Death and life and the yin and yang of it are expressed there better than I can do here...Meanwhile, I am still living, and I have a painting to do, and the ewes need their vacinations, and I will prepare a poem or something for Huck's first birthday. Plenty of time to die later down the road...

Awakening

I was touched by an email this morning from someone who has bought a lot of my work and while looking at the moon she said she thought of my moons in my paintings, and how she has become more aware of nature because of the art she has bought...she thanked me for this 'awakening'. What a wonderful thing to hang on to in my heart when I paint or work in such isolation here - it is a reminder I have value.

Speaking of moons, the moon came out briefly the other nite. It was so nice to see her again, and I greeted her, and just stood with her by the barn for a few minutes. It has been so long, and I look forward to summer again when the
nites are warm and dry and the star watching here is magnificant.


The three paintings that went to Sundance are finally on their online store , it took forever to get them online, so long I had forgotten how much I liked them. One is about the moon watching the barn - I really see her as a protector and guide to all of us, including the barn, that houses and keeps our animals safe. When the full moon shines here, it does light our way to the barns, it's amazing.

Not for man or beast

The rains have not stopped. I did more emergency trenching in the lavender field for 5 hours yesterday. I didn't cry this time, as the rain soaked me I just told each lavender plant to hang in there. I got back to the house and the pump had shut down, no water, no shower, the gutter had snapped outside flooding the basement. Power out this morning. I sat in silence and semi dark and drank coffee - now what do I do? No power, no lite to paint, too wet to work outside, roads washing out all around me including ours, trees falling on the highway from water overload, it's the end of the world as we know it, I thought. The overwhelming power of winter weather. If it isn't rain that'll kill you, it's ice somewhere else.

Power returns. Thank you. Changed my normal routine of NPR all morning and put Dylan on, LOUD.
"Now the road's washed out, weather not fit for man or beast
Now the road's washed out, weather not fit for man or beast
Funny how the things you had the hardest time partin' with are the things you need the least..
...Last night the wind was whispering, I was trying to make out what it was,
I tell myself something's coming but it never does..."

Then I entertained myself for about 20 minutes dancing to Neil singing "Rockin' in the Free World" -LOUDLY- danced, and wore my new Heinz peace sign, and took stupid pictures doing it. Self entertaining. It's a lifestyle. One must dance, even alone. I do it all the time, and yes, I play air guitar too. I pretend I get a letter from Neil Young's family saying he likes my art and sheep and wants to loan me Old Black for one week, and will come up at the end of the week and pick it up himself, and play a few songs out in the field, with all my animals around and select friends and family there, sun, good food, Pinot...
He and I jam on "Powderfinger"...

Happily, the little painting in the last post is off to live in Japan...a long journey, but it will have a very good home, with many
friends.

See flowers your way

Someone told me that the way I painted my flowers didn't make sense, and I replied, "Oh, well, then you must come meet them"....a few new pieces are for sale on the online store

And the sun is out, making everything gay [I still use this word to refer to "happy, light, frolic". I use is it in other ways too without a problem, but as someone said to me awhile ago, 'It's a shame you can't use that word just to mean happy anymore..." Why not???? ]

Communing with ewes, and rainbows

This weekend we worked on building more lamb stalls in the old barn. While Martyn worked in the old ram area replacing dry rot beams, I was left alone in the other side of the barn with an air gun and plenty of nails - another monkey house is being created! [See earlier post]. It was the worst wind storm going on outside, with torrents of rain, which most of the West Coast has been tormented by...Being inside the old barn reminded me of being a little girl when we lived on five acres in Minnesota, and on many spring days, when the winds would come in, I would take refuge in the sumac groves on our property. I was safe and quite warm out of the wind, but could hear the wind- Funny how sounds and smells transport you in time. I can still remember the plaid pullover I constantly wore back then.

I also got to spend quality time with the sheep, ewes that is, with Joe Pye Weed safely out of our area [yes, we have the new ram area done, so I don't need to go into the pasture to bring him in - my limbs, skull and bones are somewhat safe from him now, and yet I can still give him kisses through the stall. Rosemary is our head ewe, she is going on 4, and is the mother of our other lead ewe, Daisy. She is the inspiration of many paintings and part of the product line. Once the other lambs came last spring, the dynamic of the sheep barn changed, not in a bad way, but the quiet times I would spend with the ewes in the morning was gone, and it was harder to bond as closely with the lambs, and wise not too I suppose. So being in the barn with them this weekend was so nice, rubbing their ears and under necks, which they love. They go into their trance state, and eventally start chewing cud. Daisy actually kept putting her nose in my face each time I would stop rubbing her. I tried to feel heartbeats of lambs by putting my head on their bellies but couldn't, but their udders are starting to bag a little. The other three younger lambs, Lewisia Pinkie, Coral Bell and Lilly of the Vally, are due in mid March. Coral Bell is a real beauty, in that Audrey Hepburn way, gazelle like with beautiful coloring. I read some Katahdin sheep breeder say that when he hears a breeder talking about 'color' in sheep, he knows he is dealing with a novice and it should not be a factor when culling your flock or choosing breeding stock. Call me a novice, I love chocolate colored sheep, and I love the buttery colors of my ewes, and the freckles on Joe Pye. I also love their good teeth, strong and straight legs and body stances, but if I want to look at their color as a desirable trait , I will. If that labels me a 'novice' or a 'city-woman-who-thinks-she's-farming-now" label to certain farmers, so be it.

At the end of the day, after days, weeks of rain and very few sunbreaks, flooding of rivers, Martyn and I started back to the house and there over the range was a rainbow - and then it was a double rainbow. Of course, this was a message, perhaps from the many butterflies, moths, and flies I have helped out of the house over the years who are now residing in thir higher states - they were obviously showing us that Apifera Farm is graced, and to hang in there for more rainbows.

And to the coal minors - I am thinking of your suffering today.

Clearing the desk and owl droppings

The holiday distractions are over. I can think about what I did, accomplished, and want to yet accomplish. It is a hopeful time. I've come a long way since starting as a full time artist in '96, climbed out of the post 911 draught, re-invented myself a couple times along the way, moved many too many times, oh, got married in there and moved to a farm. Oh, raised some sheep...bought some goats and horses. It's a time to clean the painting table off that I happily pigify over the months. Time to create new promos - and as usual, I torment about what art director will respond to what, and I end up complicating my life by doing one for card/gift publishers,one for new general buyersand one for gallery intros. My little fairy promo of two years ago is one of my favorites. A tiny piece that folded up into a tiny envelope, describing how fairies are attracted to shiny red objects, especially shoes. It brought not a job, and it was so labor intensive I only mailed about 100. But it made me happy to look at and create. It's always the trick - keep marketing, don't get down when noone resonds - they might have liked it but have no idea how to use you as an artist - the story I get a lot. My style just isn't 'in' these days, I don't think it ever was, and I hope it never is. I hope I am just out there, get tot he right people, and those people respond to it and are emotionally charged by it and respect it.

So in between licking envelopes, I paint for myself right now - by looking at this initial rough of a new painting, you might think I am depressed. Oh, not so! I once heard my favorite guide Neil Young say that at some points in his life he publishes albums that have not been recieved as cutting edge or up to his caliber - and he said something like there are just times when as an artist you just don't want to share it all that inner stuff with the world, even though you have a lot on your mind and in your heart, so you put out something else that satifies you creatively, but isn't exposing your innards to the masses....I'm thinking that is what these things on my desk are about, and I have to work through them on my own before I talk about them even to myself...but I thought it was interesting to show that while I am working on these, I am excited to think about painting shoes for fun...

And today there are more owl droppings by the old barn - we've been graced by them, screech owls, but also very large ones and I have to look them up - It wasn't until I moved here that I learned from an area grade school teacher that you can cut open the droppings and see the tiny bones of what the owl ate whole. Fascinating to see. I am collecting some of the tiny bones and skulls. I don't know why, but they are just so miraculous, that tiny mouse has this elaborate little skelton just like us but it is teeny. Little femurs, little tibulas.

Goats that love me

I spent time with Stella d'Oro and Wild Iris today. I suggested they take a day off from their peace keeping mission to allow themselves the freedom of being goats, just to play and frolic. They agreed. So as I cleaned the barn, they ran up and down the driveways, and in and out of the two barns in wild patterns. It was nice to have the holiday rush over and just be alone with the barn and the goats - everyone was fed and happy, and the sun was out. It was only 30 minutes of my day, but it stayed with me all day. How much I love the goats, and they love me. Yes, they told me this, in fact, they tell me every Monday that they love me. I do not know how they always know it is Monday. But they do.

Limping Sheep +Emergency Drainage 101

The last two days produced all sorts of surprises. I used to wake up when it was just me and my old dog Louie, and I'd say, "Well, Louie, what will happen happen today, do you think?"... I was all set to paint all day. The day started with lots of rain. When I went to let the sheep out, Daisy, one of our experienced mother ewes, was limping badly, hardly able to put weight on her hind right leg/foot. I watched her for 20 minutes, checked the foot pad, and decided to let her go a 1/2 day and maybe she'd work it out if it was muscle oriented. I'm concerned though, as she is carrying what looks like at least twins - and maybe more, as she is much bigger this pregnancy than last time in which she had twins...She isn't due until Feb 12 at the earliest though.

When I returned to the house, I noticed Huck had a huge lump in his week old stiches from his recent neutering - so I got him into the vet right away and we drained it. He's fine. But as we drove home up our driveway, the rain had been heavy all day, maybe two days, and the road was really starting to wash out. I looked at the lavender field and was horrified to see many, maybe 200+plants sitting in 4 inches of water. My head was calculating how much gross profit we were possibly losing...We had done some emergency drainage on the lower part of the field in early October when we had a lot of rain. We were doing emergency drainage- in other words, me and Martyn hand digging drench systems in the worst parts of field - becasue we had not done our regular drainage this fall - we just didn't get it done due to time and other projects. We thought we were safe, as last winter we learned where the worst drainage issues were, ...but the heavy snows melting in the mountains, combined with 2+ inches of rain on saturated ground caused trouble. I immediately dropped verything in a panic and in my usual naiveté, troopered out to the field in a downpour to 'save the farm'...About two hours later, it was getting dark, Martyn came home and could not see the condition of the field. It rained all nite.

The next day, we went out together and worked 4 more hours in another downpours [but at least it was 50 degrees]. Martyn went in, he has a horrible bronchial cold, and I continued. I admit, I told a few things to God while I worked in the field. I believe in a higher power, and I refer to this entity as 'God" - as Joseph Campbell pointed out, the concept of a higher power is so overwhelming in human terms, that we had to come up with some name for it because it is indescribable, so I choose to call this power God. I swore at God, and used very bad words. I told God exactly what I thought about him and this weather. Then as it rained harder, and the rain had entered into my tall mucks,
I swore and said very bad things to the rain. I think I cried in there a couple times too. How pathetic. how many farmers cry in their fields? After 5 hours, my hands were hurting, so I went inside. Martyn had to help pull my jeans off, as they were so wet I couldn't get them off my body...I took a one hour nap, he went out and worked in the field again. By this time, it was one hour until dark. I went out and did another hour with him. It was encouraging that all the heavily flooded plants were now water free. I took this picture to remind ourselves we can still smile in upheavels...
As I left the field, the sky was clearing. Perhaps this is a good time to tell God and the rain I said those things under duress. And I'm sure they understand. My body hurts, but I am very satisfied when I look at the field. I hate to see plants suffer. We might have been o.k. had we not done the additional drainage yesterday, but I will do my best to be a farmer, even if I'm a bad farmer....

Kneeling from within

I'd like to point out to the many talented artists and illustrators that email me and applaud me for being so prolific and energized and sort of sounding calm and content and elf like- I'm just as lost as anyone. I'm much better on paper, I just mused to someone today. I struggled again with that 16" painting, the poor thing, covered and scraped yet again.
Something is going on that has made me so restless. I did some yelling at the dogs just because they are 9 months old and being dogs. I felt terrible, I couldn't get settled. I took Huck to the mailbox, which out here takes 15 mintues, a nice diversion - the river is really running, a nice sound. Back in the studio, Huck kept sitting near by, even after getting yelled at for nothing, looking at me, as if to say, "I'll help, just tell me what to do" -it broke me up, so I sat on the floor with him and cried, all the while the pug stares at me with one eye.



So instead of working on the project at hand, I did these. One reason I kept painting over the other piece is I felt like I was getting too formula like with the kneeling pose of me/my woman. But maybe she needs to be kneeling. Perhaps she's kneeling because if she stands she'll fall over.

At a gallery show years ago, someonesaid,
'Your women are always sitting down, why?" . I answered, because that is a nice way to be." I ended up allowing myself to just scribble and draw and this is what I ended up with today. Pretty scary. The painting for the gallery will come out sooner or later..."Imagination is my best friend, gotta' look out for the greedy hand..." Neil Young.

Internal distractions lead to this

I labored all day over a 16" board working on a painting I had started weeks ago for one of the galleries. I ended up covering it over, for the third time, and finally resigned myself to the fact I am distracted internally lately, and need to stop and 'refill the well" so to speak. I am usually very prolific, and like to always be producing new things, as it somehow generates energy in the business as well as my life, and art. But sometimes, you just hit a wall, or you need to stop and switch mediums or something. I've been spending much of the month creating the online store, and other web things, that can really drain one's heart...I ended up sitting at the end of the day and doing this. Lately, I've just been really into these conte crayon sketches, in deep browns and umbers with only subtle color, and I want to do a whole series of all the animals on our farm. Huck has such a beautiful head, I don't think I did it justice, but I am pleased with this piece. I will make these into prints someday.

It is raining over the snow. To use a Minnesota term, ish.

Footprint memories

Today started out very cold for our parts - about 38 degrees. While we worked on one of the many fencing projects, the temp dropped, and blue sky turned very steel grey, lots of wind. By 2 pm we had a regular snowfall. I think we have about 1/2 " - being a Minnesota native, I would normally scoff, as the whole state goes into pandemonium when it snows here, often rightly so as there are few plows and usually snow means ice here. It dawned on me that the goats, who took shelter in their monkey house, had never seen snow, as they were born in March of '05. They looked out from their shelter as if to say "What in God's name has happened?" . They looked so cute in white on white. They had had a good day's work of cleaning more bamboo branches for us, so I brought them in early.

The positive part of being cold in the wind today as we worked, was I took refuge at one point under a 100 year old Doug Fir by the house. Standing under it, as the wind blew in and out of it's branches, and the huge canapy of probably 20 feet or more, felt so protective - it reminded me of how I loved the same feeling as a child when I'd hang out in the sumac trees on a windy day, all alone, feeling protected.The wind drove me under the Fir, otherwise I would have just kept working. So thank you wind.

The farm looked so nice in the snow. It has been some time since I've had very cold hands even with thick gloves, and it reminded me that I much prefer thaw ground year round, with a bit of chilliness in winter. But this afternoon, as I put all the sheep and other animals away in their respective barns, I had many pleasant memories - I had forgotten how much I love snow tracks. I spent about 20 minutes tracing the steps of a covey of quail on our road, and the little cat paws were every where. It was just nice, like an old friend you never forget but don't think of on a daily basis, and then seeing their face, it is like they never left, and of course they haven't. I guess that is me and snow...We were pals way back since I could crawl in it.

One of the Goats for Peace
t-shirts was sold to someone in a town in Texas I did not recognize. We had hopes it might be near Crawford...

Moon protects fawn,horse and woman

While doing my evening barn chores, I was very pleased to realize that when my horse, Sky, stands at her stall door and looks out at the right time, she sees the moon. This gave me pause. We both stood just for seconds totally still, together, woman and horse, looking at that moon. It was just a perfect time.

I really feel the moon is so powerful and symbolic on so many levels. It can guide oceans, it lites pathways for travellers and animals. On our farm, with a full moon, I can practically get all the way to the barn without a lite. It protects me that way, and the animals. It's a companion. It's a circle, an ever magnificant circle, never ending and always starting over again. It has crevices and valleys and scars from meteors. it is always there. It has seen so much more than any of us yet never stops showing up for it's partner earth. The sky sits behind it and sun bows out for it's nitely show. Stars gather around it. It is a part of many of my paintings,and holds the higher power in it for me, and all that that means.

I saw a young fawn tonite. They often appear as I am leaving the barn, often standing with the doe just yards away. As much as I cringe when they eat the fruit trees, their beauty and grace is hard not to be frozen by. I don't have to tell them they have safe haven here on Apifera Farm - two hunting seasons and they've sensed it. But the little face with big eyes in the moonlite tonight, I felt remorse - will he suffer soon. He has the moon, and woods, and the sheep barn too, for safety and comfort.

The Beauty of Monkey Houses

Sunday was a very nice day. It was sunny, chilly, but nothing my new mucks couldn't handle. Our project for the day was to do more work on the new ram and goat stalls in the old barn.

After morning barn chores, I did smething I haven't allowed myself to do in a long time - I got a huge mug of coffee, I took my chair and sat it near the old barn in the sun where Martyn had already begun to work, I let the goats out to graze near me, and I sat. And sat, and sat and sat. For at least 30 minutes. It was glorious. I always say, there's nothing more satisfying than watching your man work while sipping coffee in the company of goats. And yes, I did eventually work, which I also love to do.

There's something about building 3-D that is so satisfying. The things I build are always works in progress, never planned out - we call them "Monkey Houses". When I was in kindergarten, I built [back when we actually were allowed to use small saws and hammers and such] a monkey house. I was obsessed with getting a monkey, probably because I loved Cheetah on the Tarzan movies. I was sure that if I built one, I would get one. There was no doubt in my mind. I worked very hard on my monkey cage. It was supposed to be a box with wooden slats for the bars. It ended up being about 5 inches deep, obtuse, but it all stuck together some how. I had no concerns that it wasn't exactly the way I had originally envisioned it, I just knew it would work for a monkey. My kindergartnen teacher, who lived in the property above ours back then, told my mother, "Are you planning on buying her a monkey?" and they both laughed when she relayed that each day I would arrive at kindergarten ready to work on my monkey cage, positive my parents would get me one. The cage ended up being a temporary home for a duckling [that my kindergarten teacher gave me, as a matter of fact] and then became a home for a wild bunny baby I found.

I'm so glad I can still feel that - that I get an idea to build something, and I just do it, with no doubts it will be just fine, and lovely and perfect in its own way...We have many of my monkey houses all around the property. Perhaps the biggest and best I've ever done is the small goat shelter I made last spring. It took me days...It looks pretty bad, but the goats just love it, they run through and around it, and it does protect them from sun and rain, just as I intended. "They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night."...Edgar Allen Poe said that.

Fortunately, Martyn is a skilled craftsman/handyman/jack of all trades. I think we are a good team that way - he makes sure the thing's standing, I add the ambiance.

Mucks make me HAPPY

One of the things I love about being in my late 40's is I can take great pride in pictures like this one and not care what I look like. I just can see I'm happy, all warm in my tundra coat, and new mucks that I treated myself to because my regular garden Wellies just don't keep my feet warm and I was just fed up. And this picture captures my love of my new Mucks. But I did wake up this morning with some worry, as we're going to have to replace Martyn's pick-up. It was inevitable at 200,000+ miles. But just when I felt like we're creeping out of a hole...so I sat in bed and felt all crappy, and scared, thinking things like, "If we never sell any of the lavender, ever, and just continue to pump money into this place, and my art goes belly up, or Martyn loses a leg, or I get sick, or...." Fortunately, this only lasted about 3 minutes, because I hate whiners, and I am not a whiner. And, more importantly, the dogs all started crying at once to start their day and that just blew me into reality. I think the hardest thing about being self-employed is you always have to be out looking for the next gig. Throw in starting a lavender/sheep farm and money gets ...sort of, well, used up fast. But in 10 years, I've always had things come my way that needed to come my way, not always what I envisioned and not always on my timeline- but the universe is so much more helpful and smarter than I am at these matters. So when I do get fearful like this morning, I do always come back to that inner belief system.

Besides, we went and bought beams for our old 100 year old barn we are re-doing, and I get all giddy when we do stuff like that. The old barn was just one of the things I felt drawn to here. It was an old dairy, and I just feel it needs to be restored to it's place of honor. We had a lavender sale last summer and the woman whose parents lived here came to see the place, and she was so pleased we were starting to fix the place up, as it had fallen into disrepair. That made me so happy and proud. And I just really love the time Martyn and I spend working on the property together- which is mostly every weekend at this point - it just feels right. And I get to see the animals walking all around, and the goats are walking freely around eating, horses can be heard all around us, deer come by - it's a hippie girl's dream.

Little Orange did a big boy thing

I have to add this for my own sake. Little Orange, the runt of one of the recent cat litters, made it into the 'Big Barn"
as we call it. He and his litter mates are about 3 months old and have been living on the front porch since about 3 weeks old where they sleep and eat. They are domesticated, and two [including Little Fig, a real beauty of a calico who I hated to see go, but when you have 20 cats...she lives with the mail woman now and is well cared for] found other homes. Little Orange was special from the get go. He reminds me of a Poindexter, the little nerd that other kids would have made fun of, if he were a boy I am sure he would have thick glasses and freckles and look something like Simon Birch. He is still 1/2 the size of even the female. Anway, the other kittens have taken to following me to the big barn where the adult cats all live and eat, along with the horses and goats. But Little Orange would just stay behind, always waiting on the deck with a hurt look, and always running to greet me when I got back, as then it was his dinner. This has gone on for weeks, and about every three days, he ventured a little closer to the barn. Tonite, I looked down while feeding, and who was sneaking in, and he had this expression of "I can wear big boy pants now!" He only lasted about 1 minute, stimulation overload, but he did it. These are the simple moments I relish.

I'm Alive

I was listening to that Annie Lennox song I've always loved - "Bless this head,bless this hair, bless me to the dirt in my fingernails yea, bless this day, bless this night, give me something good make me feel alright - I'm alive" ...I'm alive! It was 25 years ago John Lennon was shot at 40. He would have been 65 if still here. I wish he was still around, we need more like him. He wouldn't have kept silent these past few years, I don't think. They played a 1971 interview of him on Dick Cavett this morning and he was saying that sometimes he wished he didn't have the type of mind/head that made him need/want to perform. That he sometimes wished /yearned to just go fishing and play a little guitar at nite for himself. I get that.

I'm always thinking/seeing things, like energy orbs of color and stuff. I'm never able to verbalize it, so never try. The other day when I was working in the field at a higher point in our property, I was looking at all the different fence lines from all the cross fencing we've done and others have done over 100 years, and I thought if you took all the barns/buildings/houses out of the property and looked down there would be a fence pattern of line, and I should try to paint that. So like Lennon thought, sometimes it would be relieving to just notice that fence line, but not have a real need/desire/"must do" to paint it. But then I wouldn't be an artist, and there is nothing else I can think to want to be - and if I were something else, I wouldn't know it anyway, as I'd be someone else...hmmm

The fog of the lst week has lifted -It's impossible not to paint it, the fog, and I credit it with taking my paintings to another level. It has spirit, that fog. It's like a clan, where ever you go in the fog, there it is, one huge evolving entity. Yet, after days of it, the sun is so welcome, and adds a new perspective on things. I haven't painted for a week. I needed a break. Sometimes I'm not painting because I'm putting it off by being so busy just doing the business stuff, or farm stuff, and if I just sit down and just be with it at my desk, I can start painting again, and it's great, I get results. And sometimes you sit down because you feel you need/"should" paint, and you struggle and nothing of merit comes out, nothing you want to pursue, and that is when I just sit back and rest it, the painter in me. As my artist compadré said once recently, "I'm not a faucet".

His Royal Ramness

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

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

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

Goats for Peace

I am starting what I hope will soon become a small movement across the states, if not world.It is the Goats for Peace movement. And everyone can help by going to the link and buying buttons and shirts or whatever you want and proudly displaying them, and spreading the word of peace.

Here on the farm, when a new animal is brought into the fold, a whole new hierarchy must be established. Different breeds, different sizes and colors and smells and sounds - they all somehow get worked out in a couple days to create a diverse but peaceable kingdom we call Apifera Farm. It is inspiring. The goats more than any others here seem to understand and promote a philosophy of peace. They start the day greeting 21 barn cats with gentle nose sniffs, they live side by side with 1500# horses, tolerate the nagging of new puppies and even find a way to play with a ram twice their size who has one thing in mind. They do all of this with humor, and playfullness.

I see peace signs re-emerging and more people speaking up again after the last 4 years of fear by a government that wanted us to believe anything just because they said it was true. Some people might think my Goats for Peace movement is a joke, taking a complex issue of world peace and simplifying it. They laughed at John Lennon's bed peace project too, and it was a simple idea. That was part of the point. It is simple. Peace in itself is simple. Goats get that. Why not learn from them. If someone wants to scoff at us, we can take it.

I want people to start sending me pictures of where they are wearing their Goats for Peace buttons and shirts, or where they see them. It's a wave, and we can start it. From a small farm in Oregon, we can send a peaceful message around the world. I'm writing the President, and the congress, some rock stars - I've got the energy. You'll see. It'll grow.

Every morning, when I go the barn, I greet everyone and they all greet me. I use to say to the goats "Good morning, ladies"; now I say "Good morning, Peacekeepers". Such gentle beasts. If only some of our leaders had goats, or were goats.