Wrapped in a horse

I like this picture. It was taken on our open father's day farm weekend by Anna who came by while vacationing on the beach. I think we look like us, and happy.

The harvest continues. I find that being out in the field after 7pm is a wonderful time. The air and sky are nice, heat is gone, just a nice time. We have to cut a small amount of Grosso, but then are left to let our main bud variety of about 1000 plants sit and dry on the plant more, and then we will cut and hang them, and eventually de-bud and put that bud in bags for storage and selling. One of the old farmers came by and asked us 'is there a market for lavender" in sort of a sarcastic voice. I told him there was and that lavender has a lot of value added potential, meaning it can create many products from one crop. Yet another rather tongue-in-cheek tone came out of him as he asked, "What's value added?" like we were crazy city kids getting in on those crazy trends...I often feel like a fish out of water out here, as we chip away at our weeding without any tractor yet, maintaining our fields by hand on our own without spray. We often joke, wondering what kind of creature Fred Flintstone would have to farm lavender.

My head is full of hay dust, and it feels sort of fogged. The dust of summer is everywhere now, on the country roads, in my car, in the fields. August is looming, always my most challenging month. It took me years to figure out I make really bad decisions in August, usually because I am hot, and I don't like being hot. Things seem dried up and parched. When I still lived in NYC, it was in August that I knew I had to leave the city for good, as a cab nearly ran me over, and I kicked it [it didn't bother stopping] and I knew I had lost my city 'edge' - or did I gain myself and say, 'what am doing here anymore?' - I prefer the latter answer. So, two weeks before August, I am preparing, can feel the heaviness of the month coming - my senses are off, my beat is clumsy. I feel a need to rest and let my roots get water where they can. I want to be with my horse, and I am gravitating to her. We are both 'in training' and working with a local trainer, working on ground basics, starting all over together like two babies in a round pen. She is magnificent, even while misbehaving.

Peace out loud and some bees

I am very pleased that some of my Goats for Peace buttons are on their way to Rhode Island to one of the teachers at the Nonviolvence Institute. This organization continues to teach the methods and traditions of nonviolent communication that spring from the teachings of Martin Luther King Jr. By teaching through examples the principles and practices of non-violence, the organization believes they can foster communities that address potentially violent situations with nonviolent solutions. In some small little way, the goats' campaign is working, spreading slowly like dandelion seed. It hasn't reached North Korea yet, unfortunately. Or D.C. for that matter...but we'll keep on, and you can too.

In the meantime, you can buy a 10 pack, or even a 100 pack of the buttons, and pass them out at your picnics and barbecues and block parties. Pay no mind if people laugh and think it's a joke. That's ok. Humor can only help the cause, as it helps people relax. Just a week ago, I was chatting with a local farmer and he saw my 'Goats for Peace' button on the straw hat I was wearing. He read it out loud, and chuckled. Then we went on to talk about hay or something. But it's the fact that he said the word "peace" out loud that is so important. For if you say 'peace' out loud, it sends the energy of that specific word's essence to your heart, and it will grow into something with that essence - because stuff in your heart just doesn't sit there, it grows.
So it was with peace in my heart that I worked in the lavender field, thinking of other peace ambassadors on the farm. And I think the "Bees of Apifera" need to have a button too. They not only do their work peacefully side by side all over the farm, but they work in peace with us as we harvest the lavender. I have also learned that the bees show us when the lavender plants are ready to be harvested for dried bundles. You see, you want to cut that lavender at the optimum moment of nectar so the bundle, once dried, will have a good amount of oil/sweet smell to it. Once the lavender stalks shoot up, their buds sit waiting to open. If you go into the field during the warmer part of morning and there are no bees buzzing, the plants aren't ready. I had been checking our lavender Hidcote variety each day, and the bees weren't buzzing yet - until yesterday. So, "thank you bees" - what magnificent little beings. They make a cool sound, help make honey for heaven's sake, and they help this old, green farm girl know when to cut her crop - all the while not swarming and creating a violent upheaval.

Meanwhile, we continue to harvest our lavender crop. This year we have 1500 plants at almost full maturity. It takes me 1 hour to harvest 2 rows and another hour or more to rubberband them and hang them for drying. There are about 50 more rows to do. Next year, in '07 it'll be 3x that. Are we down hearted? NO! I am so naive in forgetting how intense the harvest is. But seeing how large the yields are compared to last year and working amongst my bee friends, many whom I remember from last year - all in a field we get to steward - this is a good way to spend the 4th.

Heat Rising into the Sky

It is the third day of 100 degree heat. I am pretty much useless after 85, so at a certain point in the day, I just sort of...disappear. This morning I did barn chores early, and even then the heat coming from all directions onto my body, from both earth and sky, was intense. While we don't have the humidity , thankfully, like we did in my old prairie homeland of Minnesota, it is still hot. It reminds me of when I visited Arizona in August, and everyone kept telling me, "But it's a dry heat", and finally, after hearing that 100 times, I blurted out, "I don't care if it's a dry heat, it's 110 in the shade, it's [blank] hot!"

The barns takes on a whole new dimension in the heat. The hay side is intensely hot, and Martyn assures me as long as the bales were dry when we put them in the barn [which they were], that they won't explode. The cats move to get their morning feed, but you can find them lounging in the most glorious poses languishing in the hot air. The goats don't jump out of bed in the morning, and Sky was already hot to the touch. I hosed her down yesterday, and will again today. Last nite we took Huck to the river front and went swimming with him the first time. We all stood in the navel deep water, and our neighbors on the adjoining river front came down to greet us. We all stood around in the water and visited. Country time, man.

In the meantime, I am moving very slowly, getting ready to start two new canvases for Atlanta. So far, I've taken the roll of canvas out to cut it. That took all morning, as I opted to post 5 new pieces on the store site [under originals]. This barn painting demonstrates that which I have mentioned before - that when I paint a piece one day, it is often a subconscious realization of an upcoming event; For when I painted this a few weeks ago it was cool and I yearned somewhat for more warmth- Now when I look at it, I can see the heat rising into the darkening sky, just as it did last night.

Home

As the picture shows, the Big guy is home. We are considering changing his name to "The Million Dollar Cat", as his vet bill was a tad higher than I had hoped for - I won't share it with you as you will all think I've lost my mind. The clinic where I vet my dogs and barn cats were wonderful, as always - thank you Carlton Vet, I know you threw in some extra attention and service.

The outpouring of donations definitely helps put a nip in Tony's vet bill, and I can't thank people enough, over and over.

For those of you who donated, I will be getting your print/story off to you in a couple of weeks. Meanwhile it is over 90 and the heat will continue into the next week. I worked an hour in the field and melted, literally, as my Irish skin just can't handle heat. So I am taking the opportunity to work in the shade today - I am busy training Tony how to fold and toss a newspaper, as I am hoping I can get him a paper route to earn some of his keep here.

Sustain thyself

"If you don't enjoy your lifestyle, it will not sustain itself".
Such a simple statement with such truth. I read this in a website of a farm that is practicing sustainable living. So many people write and tell me they envy my life, living in the country on a farm with animals and painting. I strongly believe that if one truly desires something, they will attain it, they will unconsciously direct themselves or be directed to people, places and events that open doors for them or lead to the desired thing. I have desired this lifestyle since I was a young child. It took many steps and side journeys to get here. If you're just tire kicking, you won't bring home the car that day.

We've been here 2 years, and I can say that this month more than ever I am feeling in a total flow with my life and our life here on the farm. The farm and the lavender are interconnected with the animals we raise and care for and feed my soul which nurtures the art, and then the art is sold. Those paintings that emote my deepest feelings for this place, its animals, plants, weeds and crops are sent out into the world, to Japan and Vermont and Des Moines and Atlanta and it spreads that energy. This is part of why I am here, I don't need to question that anymore like I might have 10 years ago. The people that receive that art, and care for it in their homes, they in turn share an energy with it, they get to have their own relationship with it. Like raising the child as best you can, and sending them off on their own at 19, you always have your signature on them, but they take on a life force of their own.

The farm event was so special. The pony rides were a huge hit with all ages, the weather cooperated, people came from all over, with lots of little children who came to see a farm and animals. What Apifera Farm is to the outside world is formulating, and we are not just a lavender farm, for we, care for many animals and we will propagate plants and we care for the earth and will share any bounty we might mange in years to come - and we sell art that celebrates it. We met wonderful people, interesting people, and one of the most exciting for me was a couple who had just moved to our area from England where he was a real, live SHEPHERD - I acted like a was meeting Neil Young. But it was so exciting! We are not only meeting, but slowly forming bonds and friendships with other couples who are farming on a small scale, or raising animals. It is really, really rewarding, full filling. I am in love with this farm, I am in love with the daily chores. Actually, 'in love' is too weak a term to use, as 'in love' connotates the beginning, immature stages of a deeper committed love. I must rephrase it to say, I love this farm, I am committed now to this farm. This is not a temporary dilly dally in the country, this is not a foolish-young woman attempt to try living with someone prematurely - this is a life I chose, carefully, with much attention and thought, and an understanding of what I needed and wanted. It took years to get here. And the journey goes on.

And part of this journey will include, always, many cats to care for. I want to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart for the incredible outpouring of support I have received in the past three days for Big Tony.I am so blown away. Thank you. I needed help, I asked, and it rained on me. The update as of this writing is that Big Tony is still in the hospital, BUT, he is hopefully coming home Friday. He was doing much better on Wednesday after heavier meds and more aggressive sedations - we are hopeful this is the beginning of real healing. I haven't received today's update, but am for the first time breathing easier. One of my cat supporters suggested I look into a 501K for the work I'm doing with the cats, and I have already contacted my accountant. I know I can do so much more to help animals. I am 48 and I have so much to do and give to them. I know my art will help in this cause too. I'd like to help ferels as well as neglected farm animals.

But right now, I'm going to eat some left over salad of our fresh grown butterhead, nurtured along by our sheep manure and water that sits deep under the soil of Apifera.

Big Tony, please come home

Many of you know Big Tony from my story over on Animals of Apifera, and some of you have even been lucky enough to have been graced by a personal introduction to him at our farm. Big Tony is the King, he is the one, he rules, he rocks. He is King of the new barn where 10 of the barn/ferels sleep, he is King of the front porch where Little Orange, Blackberry, Pumpkin Head and Mama sleep. He is King of our house now, where he comes and goes at his whim, sometimes reclining on the bed, sometimes on a chair by a fire. He eats on a counter and is in his eyes, is elevated in his position in our farm and home. He adores Martyn. He is at the top of the hierarchy of all animals here on the farm, including Huck and Billy. He is even above the other big man, Joe Pye Weed. Tony does not need to scream this from any balcony, he oozes this fact - it is like they would say about someone like Ghandi or JFK - you just know you are in the presence of a higher energy. Some animals have it, and Big Tony is one.

Big Tony came down with a serious infection of the urethra last week. He has been in the hospital since, and they are having trouble keeping his bladder empty. It's common among neutered male cats, often is diet related, and can usually be controlled once the initial blockage and infection is taken care of. They just can't seem to get to that point, but I am remaining hopeful. Of course, all this is costing money, and I put out the word yesterday to an email list of customers and cat lovers and friends - 'please, help if you can', and I want to say, yesterday was a day of many tears of gratitude. Some of you I knew well, some not so well, but each penny and dollar helps so much. Big Tony is my responsibility, but we have been helping so many area cats, that this incident tapped me dry. I reached out and asked for donations for Big Tony's rising vet bill, and people have responded. I am just so grateful. It means a lot that people understand how much time,effort and love I put into the ferels and helping them. I will always always reach out to animals. It is a gift for the animal, but more than that, a gift for me to have this affinity.

If you want to donate money to help defray the cost of the vetting, you can visit the katherinnedunn.net site and go to Farm Whim section and donate online. Or email me if you prefer a check. I am sending all donaters a small archive print of the piece I recently did of Big Tony, along with the story of him [which you can read on the Animals of Apifera site.] I will post immediately when, hopefully, he gets home.

I am still working [slowly, I know] on my escrow fund idea for helping other people with spaying/neutering ferels/strays, but right now, I need to focus on the King. I have gathered a lot of support.

I wanted to write about farm event - which was a huge success - and I will later this week. So many cool things happened and I need to digest it all to write about it. But for now, my heart is wrapped up in a cat, that I care about, and that cat's energy has power and purpose. I want Big Tony home, back on the farm.

Conscious land

This farm has a conscious.
We watched "Farmer John" this week and that thought has been on my mind since. This farm, indeed, does have a conscious.

It is all connected, every element of it a thought that pops into my head often. As I muck the horse stall, I take the uneaten hay and toss it into the sheep for bedding, which turns into compost that covers the vegetable bed. We ate lettuce last night from it, it felt healing. The small farm used to take care of communities and families on a direct basis. Now people eat unconsciously, not knowing where it was grown or how, and much of it is grown not on a farm but in a factory. Farmer John recognized this many times, and lived it, and lived through the '80's while farmers around him went under. But he turned it around. There's a solution to very problem if you think creatively and openly. It took a lot of courage to do what he did,and ingenuity,and hard work. Now he is helping feed people, and educate people from the city - that farm is helping people.

I do not have the adequate time or energy to write a proper post - the farm event this weekend" is keeping me on overdrive - but I wanted to write that. This farm is leading me, us somewhere. Just as it heals us, we are healing it - as it sat so neglected for years. It is a long road ahead for us. But like Farmer John said, it is almost as if the farm tells you, guides you, with what to do. It inspired both of us to continue to work toward our plan of being more sustainable, and then taking that ability and sharing it somehow with a small community.

I think that movie should be required for school children, and then again to 20 year olds with all the answers, and again at 30 when you know you don't have the answers, and again, every decade of one's life - to give courage and inspiration. It is a beautiful, moving, inspiring story of a boy who grows up, a family, a farm, and the struggle, fall and eventual triumph of all.

It also inspired me as an artist - as one can feel like an outcast, odd, 'she's different', quirky, weird, etc,...But you have to find your own beat and drum it out loud, with head up high even while the neighbors snicker at the church social.

Bare spaces needed

I have been swallowed up by the details of getting everything together for our upcoming farm event. This morning while doing a brief bit of yoga, I finished with my Tree pose by looking up at the sky and saying, "I'm sorry, God". It was such a sweet, unfiltered expression that came out of my mouth that took me by surprise. I wasn't sure what I was apologizing for, but it must have been a genuine sentiment. Later this morning, I realized I was really apologizing to myself, as I've learned when I talk to the higher powers they are usually just holding up a mirror for me. I had let some crappy energy that came my way via the wind out West hover around me too long. So, that little apology was for me, "Sorry old girl, for letting certain things drag you down when all along you had the ruby slippers and the power to set it all free."

Hence, this particular painting interests me even more, now that I think about it. I painted it last week, in between taking care of the myriad of details for the farm event, like making tin buckets for the lavender, as well as running the business and the farm itself. Somewhere in a daze in there, I rushed to put up another 300 feet of cross fence and electric wire so my mare can be off the other fence line, where she keeps throwing shoes while flaunting herself to the neighbor gelding. When the fence was done, I cried, as I was just so exhausted, and I broke my own rule - I whined- "It's just another 'monkey fence', a piece of $300 crappy fence work I messed up that we'll have to re-do some day". And in his usual calm way, Martyn lightened me up with humor by saying, "Well, it would be good for monkeys." We laughed.

I remember when I finished this piece, I wondered if it was too bare...but it pleased me. One small wave under a moon on the ocean beach. I so wanted to take myself there. But of course I already had by painting this.

Moments strung together

One's perspective can be refreshed by the simplest of moves. Such was the case last night when instead of sitting on one couch in our living room to look out and up to the upper pastures where the cows graze, I chose to sit on the other side of the room on another couch - I rarely if ever sit there, mainly because it is the 'dog free' couch - off white and smothered in quilts as the cat is allowed there - and I like to sit with the dogs, and Martyn squeezes in on the right. But this couch sits in a spot that allows me to look out one of the front windows. And as I looked out last nite, there was that old barn, so proud and still standing after over 100 years. It was as if our eyes met, and we were both simultaneously acknowledging our appreciation of each other. It was a short, simple moment, interrupted by dogs wanting me, cats at the front door, a tv story worth listening too. But it was a moment of being, that when strung together with other small moments makes for a peaceful and meaningful life - for me that is.


The other joy - except for the fact it makes my head feel like cotton stuffing - is that the scotch broom is in full bloom all over the county. Driving any of the country roads one is surrounded by yellow blurs - like a painting.

My overly tender heart has been suffering a bit due to the many baby bird deaths in the last two weeks. I've had too get somewhat practical and shorten my usual eulogies, and maybe are sent to rest where they will be found and eaten, not wasted. I did bury one starling that had died some kind of horrific trauma - I won't go into details - but I felt he deserved a place in the cemetery. And as I was feeding in the barn the other nite, I turned around and a small baby barn swallow had fallen and died on my corn bin. By the time I turned around to take it to bury it, a cat had eaten it whole. This was as it should be - although the crunching sound was rather graphic. While I hate the cats killing birds, I accept they are part of a chain of events here, and fallen birds must not be wasted.

The other big event of the week was Huck went into Wilco, our country feed store, for the first time. They allow you to bring your dog in, and I've been taking him every where I can to practice his new training and manner control. We were greeted by my regular sales guy yelling - "There's that pup that grew into a man!". I was beaming love. We listened to Neil's new "Living with War" CD the whole way home - singing out loud, LOUDLY, Huck's head out the window, lips flapping, my favorite view of him. Both of us full of hope, despite war, dead birds and no art sales in 4 days. When one has enough of the moments of being mentioned at the beginning of this passage, one has something rich and juicy to feed them through anything.

Get happy - no purchase necessary

I see a lot of blogs giving enormous amounts of advice. I am not sure why I, or anyone, should take advice from total strangers about anything from how to be creative, how to paint better, how to be a better mate, how to cook, how to write lists and have fun, how to live a simpler life - the latter often written by people who seem to complicate a fairly simple thing by writing a long book on it, often about cleaning your closet for ease in dressing in the morning. Since all these other total strangers can give advice to their total stranger blog readers, I think it is perhaps time for me to to give advice, even though none of you have asked me for it. So I have chosen the subject of happiness which so many seek often in very expensive ways. This guide to happiness is free.

"Apifera Farm's Guide to Get Happy"
Get a sock, preferably one you have found lying around in someone's shoe or closet that has been worn, preferably worn a lot, perhaps in wet Wellies while mucking stalls so that there is a fair amount of manure smell soaking into the somewhat damp sock. The sock preparation of this is very important. For one's senses, especially taste and smell, are key factors in obtaining certain free forms of happiness. As the picture here shows, first, lie around awhile with the sock firmly in your mouth. Chew it, suck it, toss it up and catch it, chew,suck again, as many times as you feel like. Whatever you do, DO NOT LET ANYONE TAKE THE SOCK AT THIS POINT - you must get the sock to maintain an overall slime quality. Once you have achieved this state of wet slime all over the sock, run up to the nearest person you can find, and shove the wet sock into their clothes or hands. Taunt them. They want that sock badly, but you have it. Now, wag your butt around and feel your backbone move, and move back and forth. Feel it. Move it. DO NOT STAND STILL! Now, when you have done this for some time, give your beloved sock to that other person who you originally were taunting it with. Let them see you are a lover, a giver, not a warrior. You would give up your most beloved of all possessions - your wet slimy sock. For while chewing and sucking and throwing a sock in the air make you happy, it is the sharing of that sock without being asked that brings you true happiness.

I have learned this from many beings in my life, and I am fortunate to have Huck to show me this simple lesson on a daily basis.

Now, in my next entry, as soon as I can get the demo pictures taken, I will show you all how to rake a ram.

Energy Steps

I'm pleased that these images were accepted into the 25th annual American Illustration show. They are some of the 350 picked out of 6500 entries to be included in their online award winners. I quit entering shows about 4 or five years ago, but my motives for putting this group in was two fold. I did it for myself, to say to myself - "Katherine, if you don't win, you know now at this stage of being an artist that it truly doesn't matter what American Illustration thinks, because you yourself are positive in your mind and heart these are beautiful and emotive pieces."

And second, I believe the stories I am compiling on my blog, Animals of Apifera, are ones I want to share, and I'd like to generate interest in them. I'd really like to finally get some of my writings published, and I thought this might be one small step. The chances of some editor or art director at Chronicle seeing the images on American Illustration's site are slim [some people win and are put into the beautifully reproduced book they publish each year], but it's an energy building thing. One small step grows into a long journey and a final destination. All from the energy that one person took in that first step - I have seen it happen in my own life and in others. For all the pieces I entered in my earlier years to American Illustration and didn't get in, I must admit, when I got notice these pieces were accepted to the website, I was quietly pleased, and just sort of laughed at myself. While the posting fee they charge hurts, it's just one small step to something. I almost didn't eneter, as I knew it didn't mean that much at this stage, but if it helps build up some notices in the stories, why not put them out there.

So to celebrate and nurture this new energy growing within, I will be posting a story, today I hope, in honor of Ethel the fawn who was born nearby and I believe, is protected by Apifera Farm.

Older skin happier heart

My friend Heinz sent me this quote from Walt Whitman. Something to aspire to, no matter how difficult. The thing about living is you just get to get up each morning and start all over again. This one will get cut out and put on the wall, it is an inspiration to live as this suggests. I will fail horribly at it daily, but also just by aspiring to its ideas, will make this small corner of the world a slightly better place for myself and all beings around me.

Walt Whitman's - advice for poets and Americans..."This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence towards the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful and uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul; and your very flesh shall be a great poem, and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint in your body."


And in the meantime, I am reveling in wearing pigtails, inspired by the crooked braids of my horse Sky. I am not young on the outside any more, the Scandinavian skin protected from sun for most of my years is aging and I see it as I look at pictures of myself. An uncomfortble feeling, but one of resignation really. But when I am not looking at a picture of myself, I feel what makes me uniquely me, and I will always feel that, no matter how old I get. I wouldn't trade this knowledge for one moment as a 20 year old or a 30 year old 40 year old. Nor would I trade my life now where I aspire more to recreate land and help animals and paint more for myself than another which means I live hand to mouth - but I prefer it to the driven frenzy and unbalanced life of the 30's and early 40's where I was always trying to achieve something that was supposed to make me a better illustrator, or a more well known illustrator or an award winning illustrator or an accepted illustrator. Making 70 paintings in 2 weeks once...I prefer my perculating pace I have now. When the muse hits, I go. But sometimes the muse is the garden or the land or the sheep. Slowing down.

Living in a painting

I am celebrating the magnificence of our walnut tree today. I declared it Walnut Tree Day at Apifera Farm, this May 5th, and if you know a walnut tree please go stand under it and absorb it's beauty. I gathered as many animals as I could to sit under the tree with me today as it was one of those things one wants to share with a fellow being. Like travel, it is often more wonderful to be alone in your own thoughts and be able to go off on your own when you want, but sometimes you wish someone were standing by you to see what you just saw, as you know you will never find words to describe it properly. So, Little Orange, Pumpkin Head and Mr. Plum joined me under the tree where we stood for 30 minutes examining leaves and bark and internal spaces of her crown against the blue sky. So the four of us now share an experience that can't be put into words.

Last nite, Martyn and I sat on the front deck in one of our first really warm nites. As we looked up towards the back of our property, where the 10 acres or so of hay fields stand, we saw all the cows grazing, the calves too. Their was a frame of Savannah Oaks around the field, the sky was still blue, and the greens of the fields and trees were so varied. The blackness of the cows as they grazed, next to the green was inspiring. And Martyn said, so sincerely, "Every time I see that view, I just can't help but feel I am in one of your paintings". It tore me up. It was such a peaceful comment, said so sincerely, and it meant so much.

Painterly Developments

"...nature is not limited to the objects we see-but that everything in nature offers the possibility of creative transformation, depending of course on the sensibility of the artist." [Hans Hoffman]



The opening at Dalton Cowan Gallerié this coming Friday includes this painting. The top image is the final of the 48" canvas, with the painting process starting at the bottom image. When I'm working on bigger pieces, I sometimes take a quick shot of it, just to see it in a different format. I originally really felt I was done with it on the first image at the bottom. It felt really strong and the line in the middle just pleased me somehow, or made me feel bolted to something unknown. I waited an hour and ended up with the final version on top. Horribly photographed, it pleased me internally when it was done. I never wavered once it was done, but I did on the first step to work over that bottom image. No regrets. I didn't have the guts to leave it. And this is something I want to explore - leaving things. Then again, if the outcome, once found, was so real for me internally, and 'known' , why even wonder.

I still don't have one of my large abstracts in my house. I'm always selling them. I want one. But I can't afford one.

I spent the morning on a 2 mile walk up a steep gravel road with Huck, followed by shepherd duties and horse grooming and a slight encounter with Joe Pye Weed. Then breakfast, all by 9 am with late morning coffee outside under the cherry tree in full bloom, but losing it's petals in the strong wind. It was raining petals, and the sheep carried lovely pink spots at times.

More painting followed, while listening to the new Kris Kristoferson cd. The man still makes me say out loud when I see that
worn and rugged face, "My, my, my...".

A real cat now

The final Apifera Farm cat has been neutered. Little Orange took the big step yesterday to neuterdom.We told him what we told all the cats before they were caught and brought in to the vet -"You're not a real cat until you take responsibility for your reproductive organs". They always listen intently to the speech. Little Orange, being the most teeny member of the Apifera Farm possé,is also one of my favorites. Perhaps it was the fact he was born in a wood pile in the middle of winter, or that he is the teeniest little orange thing, or that he still kneads the ground wherever or whatever he is doing. He joins me in the front garden to weed, he loves to be held, and he is the only one of all the cats that does not go to the big barn for feedings. He entered that barn once, and looked so proud at the accomplishment, but I guess he only needed to do it once. He prefers the front deck, where he can sit on wicker and have his very own garden which to this day he firmly believes was created just for him. When I brought him home from the vet, he is the only one of the cats that didn't leap out of the cage and take an hour or two to be alone in the safety of the blackberry bushes. He chose to sit in my lap, kneeding, and looking at me every now and then as if to say, "I'm REAL now, right?"

In his honor, I made greeting cards available on the store under "Farm Whim" section.

The road to total Apifera neuter/spaydom has taken 2 years. I am relieved it is over, for now anyway, until someone dumps a cat and it wanders up to heaven on the hill. And the word is leaking out to all ferels in a 20 mile radius -"Apifera - go there- warm barn - good food- safe- woman nice-husband harmless" . Trapping cats is stressful, for me and the cat. I hate it. I hate walking out to the barn that day knowing I am going to trick an animal that has learned to trust me over a few months, into crawling in a cage for tuna. Some I was able to touch as kittens, and hold, so trapping was easier, but never as easy as you think to get a cat in a cage that is used to living under the stars. Anyway, it is an important thing I want to ask you to do - please spay and neuter your animals. If you are feeding them it is your responsibility. I was blessed to be raised by a family that always had pets, and understood that responsibility and passed it on to me.

I am still working on a way to set up an escrow fund for donations so that cats in the area can be trapped and then spayed/neutered at my country vet. I have had one talk with the bank on how to set up an escrow, but don't know legal ramifications and details yet. So it is taking time I just don't have at this moment. But I will. And again, to all of you who have donated over the last two years to help me defray the cost of 20 spay/neuters [4 were nearby barn cats I helped]- it is greatly appreciated, by me and Martyn, and Lavandula Angustofolia [Gus], Miss Prairie Pussytoes, Mr. Bradshaw, Hazel Nut, Sweet Pea, Mr. Tomentosa, Big Tony, Mr. Pumpkin Head, Blackberry, Mama Kitty, Mr. Plum and Mr. Quince, the Late Mr. Weed, Little Fig and Teasel.
And last but not least, Little Orange, who is very real indeed.

When home is a field

Like I don't have enough baby animals to fret over, I now have three more. Less than an ounce each I suspect, baby sandpipers.

Saturday as we were tilling in the front lavender field, we were careful not to disturb the ground nest of the mama sandpiper. We had found the nest over a week earlier, and marked it with stakes so we wouldn't hurt it by mistake. The three small speckled eggs had survived another week, and we kept on with our work after we checked on the nest. About two hours later, I checked the nest again before a lunch break, and there was a brand new baby, who looked so much like the egg - survival of the fittest in action, the speckled baby looking just like the egg, blending in so perfectly with our speckled ground. By the time we came back from our picnic on the tailgate, all babies were born and amazingly mature looking within an hour - again, survival.

Thanks to the way we are maintaining our fields naturally, the left over green mulch allowed the nest to remain safe, or as safe as can be. I thought later how if we had put down plastic ground cover, we would not have had that experience with those babies. It made it feel like the hard work was helping three small little beings.

That night, as we sat on our favorite sitting spot now that the warm air is back, looking up towards our hills and hay fields where the neighbor cows are pastured, we saw the newborn calf out in the field for the first time. He was frolicking like a lamb, going to all the cows and introducing himself, then running back to Mama. Then back again for more introductions. It went on and on. Babies on the ground, babies in the hay field, babies in the barn. Babies everywhere. And I worry about each one, not every minute, but I worry the gates are closed after I drive off, worry the dog up the road will get in somehow and work someone into a frenzy, worry the hawk I love will pick the baby birds up. It's a relief sometimes to go inside.

So this morning, as Huck and I returned from town errands, I came upon those three baby sandpipers - There they were with mama, on our gravel road, making their way towards the stream. They were remarkably larger even after 3 days. Three days they have lived, in a 700 square foot area of land at most - a trip across the driveway to the stream must be pretty exhausting. And confusing. I stopped the car so mama could gather them to safety, but one little guy panicked and ran the opposite way, back to the pasture he knew. Huck and I must have sat there for 20 minutes, waiting for that patient mama to gather her family, which she finally did.

Between the warm air on my skin and the sound of the babbling stream, dog at my side, it was 20 minutes well spent.

Moo decipherings

I took a break from painting yesterday to work in the lavender field for a couple of hours. It was our first real summer-ish day, and being inside all day wasn't possible. It was perfect temp to work in the field, new enough in the season that being a bit hot felt so good, and no bugs yet to spit out as I worked. As I was working, I could hear one of the near by cows that are kept in our adjacent acreage. It was a different kind of moo. I stopped to watch her at a distance, and as all the other cows were off grazing, she was standing, head up, very still a long way from the herd. I knew immediately she was most likely in labor. It dawned on me how I have learned a lot about the nuances of animal sounds and their different meanings since moving to the farm. I was pleased when later on, I found out she had been in labor. I think it is safe to say I know more about pregnancy in ewes and cows now than I do in humans. I would have no idea what to do with a woman in labor, perhaps get them to a near by barn and prepare a bucket of warm water with molasses, check on them every half hour or so.

She's my favorite cow of the herd, the only red one amongst the black Angus group. She has incredible eyes, and I have told the farmer who owns them I think I want to buy her. He chuckled. He has learned that although we are new at all this, we try our best, and work hard, and that is what proves you out here with these crusty guys. He once said to me, "I could spend all day watching my animals"...and I agreed. That is our common denominator. We have gained his respect as he has watched us in rainstorms and heat waves working on the fields or putting up cross fencing or redoing the old barn. He comes over sometimes to check up on the electric fence or something, and he often will stand around for an hour telling me animal stories. Sometimes, I've heard the same story a million times, but I never let on. They seem to get better with each telling.

This picture is of the same farmer's bull. One day when we first moved here, Martyn got up and causally said, "Katherine, there's a bull in our field". It was Hotshot. He was standing so pristinely in our front field, surrounded by dog fennel weeds. As far as bulls go, he is well mannered. For much of the year, he is kept separate form the herd and brought over at breeding time. It was so heartbreaking to hear his wailing when he wanted so much to be with his girls. So I would visit him through the fence and give him carrots which seemed to please him so much. When he ended up in our field this morning, I replied in a sleepy daze, "He's here to have carrots with me"...Later we found the area of the fence he had mangled to get through to our side. Some might assume he was trying to get better grass, or get a little closer to view his far off herd, but perhaps his inspiration was my carrots and companionship.

It's raining mamas

I'm surrounded by good mother figures and milk producers out here, well, except maybe Lewisia Pinkie who abandoned her little second born twin, Little Rue. So for mother's day, you can overwhelm the mothers in your world with must-have items from my Cafe Press shop. I mean what mom doesn't want shirts and mugs and such with this little face on it. After spending the week painting abstracts - which I love, and this week's finished piece just sent me to the moon and back, it rewards me so much - I enjoy making these silly little items which hardly anyone buys, thanks to my lack of marketing them. But, that's ok. It's chilly and rainy, I banged my knee on the way to bed last night and my shoulders are all cramped up from reaching high to paint the 48" canvas - so, I have this hankering' to bake chocolate chip cookies and sit by the fire. Before I know it, it'll be Pinot Noir hour...It's been forever since we were both inside on a weekend not working on some farm project. Spring is stopping and starting here. I read that California growers are really suffering this spring with the rains, unable to get their crops in. Some will lose their first planting. I am a mother of lavender, I guess, and witnessing their tiny little wet feet in the overly soaked ground makes me want to gather them all up and bring them in for the nite. Just like I tried putting a little dog rain jacket on Baby Rue today - she loved it, but the other sheep all fled her in a panic, and then Rue followed which made them run from her more - it was amusing, but I called her in and took it off, which calmed her flock. I even left the goats in, they hate the rain, and even Sky Flower hung out in the barn all morning. I took the time to just be with her, brush her over and over and over - each time I went to leave, she'd knicker, and I'd blow in her nostrils and rub her eyelids which she loves. It's hard to walk away from a barn full of love.

Wolves Will Not Eat Me Again

With the lambs safely born and under the wing of their mamas, I can focus again on art. I've been painting, but in broken up time frames. Now, I'm revving up for exciting new things - like painting for a new gallery in Atlanta that opens May 5th called Dalton Cowan Gallerie. [I will post their info when their new site is up soon] I have known the two owners for a long time now and I am so happy and jazzed to have my work there. Rob is a woodworker and artist and Stephanie is a renowned artist in her own right. The Atlanta market is a strong one, and I know they are going to soar with this gallery. "Teasel Weed and Dirt Greet Spring", shown here,is one of the pieces I will send down there. A lot of people ask me what teasel is - it is one of the most magnificent 'weeds' around - Tall, strong stalks, it grows anywhere and anyhow. It gets a cone-like flower on top with purple prickles that browns out and makes a lovely dried flower. I hope to harvest them this year and sell them for the farm. Most people out here would call that nuts, but I know there are some kindred souls out there that know the beauty of weeds such as these. I have teasel friends all over the property, and I appreciate how they feed the finches, and they also make wonderful hair brushes for all my little elf and fairy friends that live in the oak grove on the property.

I am feeling re-energized after a topsy-turvy business week. I am pulling all my work out of the Santa Fe/Santa Barbara outlets for business reasons. When one door closes, many more open. Within a few hours of the my decision, I was freed up to do some little abstracts instead of falling into the old mind frame - 'let's see, that guy only likes it when I do red ones, or women with birds." Sometimes an outlet gets hung up on what's selling, and they don't allow the artist to expand and flow where their muses want to take them. They are scared they will lose income or customers. They want you to do want is safe for them, and cloth it in words like "I really think that type of painting is your best, do more, they sell quickly". You get caught up in in it. And to qoute my guide Neil Young, "'People want to know why you don't make your most famous record over and over again,' he said. 'Because it's death.'"

Trusting oneself is one thing. Finding other people you can really trust to talk about your art in a helpful, guiding manner is another. While in the end it is me, the artist, that must listen to my own voice and trust it, it is also very helpful to find certain guides in one's life that can really help you through the muck of your process and path as an artist. Sometimes you think you've found one, but often it is wolf in lamb attire, calmly and Buddha like holding your hand, and offering you trinkets and gold coins to keep you going when you need it most as you the artist make your way through the forest.

This week, I was reminded that besides my own inner voice to trust, I have the wisdoms of some wonderful artist compadrés to back me up- they know who they are. I have some loyal customers that buy pieces some wolves leave on roadsides. And when I look at a painting like the one I have shown here, I say, "Bring it on wolves, you can't eat me."

Woman Horse, Horse Woman

It looks like one of my paintings today, a soft fog over the hills and pastures, and as I poured coffee into my cup, a blackbird flew and landed on the top of young tree. Perhaps it is like an old episode of Outer Limits - at the end of the show, our little farm is just part of a large painting.

I now have acquired another handy skill - banding, or as I like to say - castrating. No one says 'castrating" , but why sugar coat it - I have now altered the life of at least one small lamb who's destiny is now set. He will be butchered in late fall. The process itself was not that bad [for me anyway] and I was prepared for the lamb to get down afterwards and flop around -thanks to a heads up from my wiser shepherd sister over at Donkey Dan's place - but he got up and just sort of went on his way. Afterwards, I had a cast of something hanging over me - -I felt uncomfortable with being master over this small creature - I am in fact making decisions that will end his short life. Perhaps too, it was that I thought I had put up a boundary in my heart and head between the three rams to be butchered, and have not touched them much - but this morning I had to hold one in my arms and soothe it while we did what we did. He had a heartbeat, and warm little head and long eyelashes. He was not any less cute than any lamb, yet he had been designated, by me, as a meat lamb. I hate this. It has made lambing season different for me. If I live on a farm and raise livestock, some of them have to go, some of them stay. Some of them become trouble in the herd and are time and energy draining, some are just plain mean, some are dangerous. Those decisions seem to make sense. But when it's a tiny lamb, it's a conflict.

I was supposed to go down to the front lavender fields and weed for the morning, but instead I felt a strong need to be with Sky Flower, my horse. What was going to be a short 15 minute workout on the ground, turned into a trip down the road to my horse neighbors, and then a 2 hour trail ride with them. Being with the animal that I have worked so hard with for a year and who has come so long, along with me, is rewarding. It is even magnificent. A 1500 pound animal that has the ability to crush me if she chose too, yet agrees to work with me to learn subtle cues like 'cluck' means take one step, not two steps, Sky, but one step. And now she does. So she and I, we learn together even though it's not always pretty, or graceful. I was feeling tired before the ride and almost didn't go, but I am so glad I did. Sky and I had a good ride, and we got one more inch of trust built up between us - after all it is just as much about her trusting me not to lead her into danger, as it is me trusting her to believe me that I won't lead her into danger. She went down roads she had never been, and saw scary rocks that looked like trolls, and heard waterfalls that sounded like oceans and walked over bridges that made strange echo sounds that sounded like cannons. And through it all, she responded to me, and carried me home safely, where a flock of sheep stood on a hill, and a man worked in a field, and two goats greeted us as we neared the barn.

Springing

Today it was so blatantly Spring that even the dirt could be heard singing. Huck and I drove into town to go the feed shop for horse bedding and sheep vaccinations [where I resisted for the third week to buy spring chicks], then stopped to do our weekly shippings and then onto the grocery store for a quick shop of essential food.

As I walked into the grocery store, one of the regular employees , who is mentally challenged, greeted me at the door by stating "It's Spring! And the flowers are springing!" And then he laughed, and I laughed, and the more he laughed, the more I laughed. Two kindred self entertaining units, we enjoyed the moment. He also told me in a much more serious tone that the flowers like spring because they get hurt when they are in the dirt too long, which seemed like a very wise observation. This encounter, though brief, was one of the bright spots in the day. But there have been so many - like watching Huck's lips flap in the wind as we drove home with his head out the window. Between watching that in my rear view mirror while watching the coastal range out the front window, all the while listening to the new Ray Davies cd [loudly], well, spring had definatly sprung for this old farm girl and her hound dog.


Getting home, I was pleased that my temporary -monkey-cross- fencing in the yard area had held up, and there wasn't a flock of sheep meeting me on the main road. Yes, you people that know me or read this journal regularly know that I have supernatural skills building "monkey houses'. If you don't know what a monkey house is, you must first read some former posts on them [visit the December 12, 2005 entry]- but this picture is a perfect example of cross fencing done the 'monkey house' way. I wanted the sheep to mow down the grass in about an acre of property that is between our barns and house, and give them some nice lush grass to eat as the pastures are bare, or just sprouting. I had just enough pasture fence to get from the vegetable bed door to the other pasture fence, about 40 feet, but had to come up with ways to hold the fence up, since I had no posts there. So, my monkey-house-fence consists of a garbage can with wire strung to the fence and a ladder stuck in the fence, and some sticks and wire and wire around the sticks attached to the ladder. It works. I don't think it would make Martha Stewart's 'it's a good thing' list, but then again, none of this farm would [and for the record, I have nothing against Martha Stewart and consider her a genius in styling and propping a 'mythical life'].

I spent the rest of the afternoon cutting some teasel weed, which I'm determined to sell to the dry floral market. It has to be stripped of it's thorns, and is labor intensive. We have tons of it, and it is considered a weed of course, but like an artichoke or thistle has such magnificence and stamina, how can anyone not want it all year in a vase filled with yarrows or other dead weeds?

So, that is all. It is warm, it is windy.
It is Spring.

Combined dreams set free

What can I say, this is my man. Somehow, after years of hooking up with selfish, immature, moochie boys dressed sort of as men, I was given the wisdom to see what a gem this one was. I knew the minute Martyn knocked on my door 4 years ago that he was a kind soul, and that we would be friends. I quietly knew more at that instant too, but didn't share it with anyone, not even myself, and experience has shown me that when one has a knowledge they don't shout to the word, it is usually a solid knowledge based on real inner understanding.

Our story is worth repeating, only in that sometimes I forget how nice a story it is. I moved to Portland in 2002 from Minnesota; I grew up there, had lived many places, but after 15 years in Minneapolis, decided I needed a big change of terrain and lifestyle. I looked for two years at small country towns in Minnesota and Wisconsin, California and finally visited my brother and his wife in Portland, and the minute I got off the plane, I just knew. Less than year later, I packed up the car with two dogs and a chinchilla an headed west. I've never looked back.

I had found a sweet little tiny cottage in a nice neighborhood, and as the moving van was unloading a man knocked on my open door. I can still remember exactly how his voice sounded as he stuck his hand out and said, "Hi, I'm Martyn Dunn and I had to meet the new neighbor with the same last name as me." Yes people, we had the same last name, and in Minnesota there are not a lot of Dunns. it seems in Oregon there are quite a few. Upon meeting, I learned he was a landscaper and we shared a passion for gardening and growing anything from the start. He lived right next door in a postage stamp size cottage which was the cutest little gem in the woods you've ever seen. It had a lot of charm, he'd done a lot of work on it, but perhaps what I remember most from the first visit is he had his living room full of tools for his business. We became friends, were the same age, had both been single quite awhile and were not daters. When he told me he was an avid fisherman, my little mind became engaged even more, as I had always wanted to try it, and had vowed too ever since I saw it in Colorado. He had drawers full of feathers and things for flying ties, and soon he taught me how to fish. I got to see parts of Oregon noone else had even heard of because of those fishing days. On one very hot day, over 90 degrees, I could hear a lot of rustling going on his side of the fence, and could see trees shaking. About 30 minutes later, he showed up at my door with a bowl of freshly picked cherries which he had gathered by climbing up his own cherry tree. It was at that exact moment I let myself in on the secret I knew on the day I met him - I would marry him.

So, after we were sure we weren't related, we were married in our own gardens that we had created. We continued to live in our two houses, and eventually had to move. So we took the plunge and went for our dream - a farm where he could build a little nursery and I could have animals and raise lavender and stuff. When we would go fishing we'd always see places with riverfront property and I'd tell him we would buy some riverfront so he could get up and fish on his own river, and I'd make him pies of berries, his favorite. And here we are.

Pictures are good at making one slow down a little and remembering all that's happened, and all the little surprises that led up to taking that picture. So if you have a dream, let it grow on it's own but set it free too.

Little Mice Tales, and His Highness on the Loose

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

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

A proper place for little souls

Today was the first real spring day, the kind of day that makes gardeners get twitterpated. The kind of day that makes you forget it ever rained. I could actually hear things growing, really, the grass makes this sound when it grows - at least the grass on Apifera Farm does. Huck and I drove into town to pick up feed, and on the way home I couldn't resist stopping at one of our local small nurseries and buying some more honeysuckle, and chatting up with the two owners. Just seeing the plants and feeling the warmth of the sun made me change my plans for the day. Painting could wait until tonight - 65 degrees and sun were my muses today.

I indulged in working in the garden, and got all wrapped up into re-configuring my entrance to the Apifera Farm Small Rodent and Bird Cemetery. I'm quite pleased with myself, and even though my stone work is always crude, it brings me pleasure. I laid some old split rail that we brought up from the cow pasture, and created a series of 'rooms', one area for sitting near the cemetery. So now one can sit and visit with all the little souls buried there. And later in spring or summer, I will be able to expand the burial area. As I lay the split rails out in square rooms, it reminded me of being little and how we would make rooms out of leaves, piling them up to create walls. It was magical then, and it was magical today.

I must say, I do spend quite a bit of energy and time on that cemetery. I chose to hand paint the headstones and varnished them for protection. But each year I have to repaint them. I wish I knew how to etch in stone - but goodness, this would be a little time consuming. "Oh sorry, I don't have time to do a gallery show this month, I am busy etching bird tombstones..." Still, the quite of working under the two Redwoods while I care take the little cemetery is very soothing.

We had a wonderful weekend combining a lot of work [including hanging the door to our vegetable area which is now protected with deer fence] with a pleasant meandering journey over to a nearby Mossback Farm, owned by a couple we met recently. Val and Rich are so kind and gentle, very informative, from diverse/creative backgrounds and very busy reworking their farm to be more fertile and productive. They used to raise meat chickens, but cut back for a million reasons [their blog is very informative about agriculture and small farm issues] They have some sheep and a cow or two and are doing all this without any out buildings or fencing - they use temporary electric fence allowing them to rotate pasture. It was so good for us to visit another couple on our playing level, so to speak, doing the work bit by bit themselves, on a shoestring I assume, as we are, but enjoying it, and believing that they are making a difference for the land. I really felt good stuff going on there. It made me love our farm even more as we drove back home, and I heard the familiar sound of the driveway gravel under our car, and heard the sheep bleat and saw a swish of a palomino running up the hill to our barn. Home.

Kind little moments

When I finished these yesterday, I thought they were too kind, not strong. But today when I put them up on the store, I felt different. I commented to someone recently that I found it odd that I am in the middle of some conflicting feelings about some things, yet my paintings still seem peaceful, calm, optimistic, mystical, hopeful. It is as if I make a safe, ideal world in a 2D space, a space I can retreat in, or perhaps actually live in. Perhaps, as I walk in this world of war, financial uncertainty, separation from old friends and family, the shocking realization that people actually do die, and the anxiousness of a new shepherd's impending culling of some animals she now feeds and shelters - perhaps these little paintings are my ability to see one quiet moment of beauty and peace, and that is what I prefer to recognize consciously at this time. I choose the latter observation. Painting can help uncover on a conscious level, what the subconscious already knows - for me anyway. It might take days or months or years to see something in a painting that you knew all along, you just weren't ready to accept it, or announce it to yourself. So perhaps these paintings also hold secrets I know deep down, but just don't feel like seeing 'out here'.

I'm glad I'm the age I am now. I couldn't be thinking this way, or doing any of this farming stuff, in my 30's or early 40's. I wasn't ready to leave the world of 'revolving things' quite yet. That time was great and all, it was just so much more self absorbing. We're all self absorbed in certain ways, and an artist has to be, but then it was constant analyzing of one's self, looks, every word out of your mouth "what does that mean?', reading countless books on inner peace and soul finding missions, looking for signs in so many things, sharing way too much with way too many people, never getting filled up with any of it, and always looking for the upswing, caring too much about peripheral objects and about what people thought. Yea, my skin was firmer, but it's still skin that functions as it should and that's all I need.

I have all these creatures to care for now, 22 acres that gets carved out bit by bit, an old barn that is being helped by our hands. A marriage that caresses me, a husband that really likes me even after a 'crabapple moment' as we call them. I looked at a magazine the other day at the grocery store which I haven't done in ages. It showed the new trends in handbags. At a time in my life, this would have been stimulating, now it isn't. I'm stimulated by what's right in front of me. And when I need more than that, I just have to turn in 5 degree increments to see another view. OK, I would like a donkey. OK, I still get turned on when we get to buy new lumber...Hmmm..I guess maybe I am self absorbed, but it is in daily moments, not personal motives, career moves, award shows, clothes, makeup, trends, new restaurants. The lumber will help the barn or make a house for the goat. the donkey will protect the sheep, and ...play with me. I can dress him up in fun outfits. It took awhile to get here, I bought a lot of clothes and shoes and stuff too. Didn't need most of them. And I do need a new pair of shoes because Huck ate my favorite studio clogs. But it's been 7 months, and I just didn't feel too rushed to get them, I will, sometime.. "I used to have a treasure chest, got so heavy that I had to rest. I let it slip away from me, didn't need it anymore, so I let it slip away...." ...you know, Neil.

Oh, and Coral Bell had a beautiful, chocolate ewe lamb last nite at 5pm. I was so proud of her. New mom and all, she did it all with such dignity. And In keeping with naming everything after plant life, I have officially named the little ewe abandoned by her mom " Meadow Rue" . She reminds me of little Roo from Pooh Bear, as I hold her in my jacket while I feed her the bottle.

Honey, shouldn't we bring her in the house tonite?

On Friday at 4pm Lewisia Pinkie gave birth to twins. It was not a smooth process from the start, as she is a new mom and the most timid of all the ewes. Around 3 pm, I saw her standing and grunting and I immediately went out to gather all the ewes back to to the barn from the pasture I had them in that day. This meant shepherding the flock over some of our property, from one fenced area to another - usually this is a smooth process with Rosemary leading everyone in orderly fashion. Of course, the one day I needed to get a ewe in labor to the barn NOW was the day that Rosie just had to have some of that spring grass, and once Rosie gives up order, all hell breaks loose- Lambs running all over, Lewisia Pinkie running around with two little feet sticking out her rear. I fortunately got her in to the lambing stall soon after, but she did a fair amount of running around and I was sure that baby was going to fly out of her for an airborne delivery. When I got her into the stall, it was only a matter of minutes that she lambed, standing up. All appeared fine, she did everything just like a pro, licking the newborns, her teets were giving milk and she was feeding both. When I checked on her Friday nite, again, all was well and the ram lamb was big and tall, getting milk; the little ewe was smaller, but looked good. All that calm would soon change.


Saturday morning it was immediately apparant something was not right. The ram lamb was quite listless and just didn't seem with it. But more disturbing was Lewisia had now taken to head butting and very aggressive behavior towards the ewe lamb. She was not allowing her anywhere near her. We watched for about 20 minutes, but her behavior was so aggressive, we put up a wire fence to separate mom and baby ewe, but mom then just tried to crush her in the fence. So we caged the baby ewe and got the bottle out. I immediately consulted all my books about this, [and got loads of support from fellow shepherdess over at Donkey Dan's], and it is not that rare for a new mom to reject a twin. We tried rubbing the lambs together to reintroduce her scent, we checked the mouth on the lamb to see if she could be causing pain in sucking, and Lewisia's udder was fine. We forced Lewisia to stand still to let the ewe lamb get her milk that first day, but it was too dangerous we felt - too many big feet around little heads. We kept trying through the first day to re-graft her, but Lewisia was just freaked out by her.

So, it was feedings every 2 hours for a couple days. It was little naps in my lap and nite time lullabys. To say I am in love with this little ewe lamb is an understatement. She now comes to me across the pasture, responds to my voice, and likes to be held in the sun. I have her in a sunny little fenced area I concoted for her, so she can be next to other lambs and ewes, have sun, but separate from Lewisia.

The boy lamb had is own problems for that first two day period. His listlessness got worse, and even though Lewisia was trying to get him to feed, he just didn't do well at it. Within the mid part of the morning, we saw him really decline. So we interfered and fed him bottles too - By the midnite feeding, he was so much stronger. He now appears on his way and his running and jumping, so is over the hump.

I am afraid I am a little bit like those people you see in the movies, who have calmly prepared lists and read many books on the baby's arrival, but when the moment comes, they walk in circles... I am getting calmer, and relize with each lambing I know more than the last, signs to watch that are good, or bad. But still, when the initial moment of apparent labor starts, I can't contain telling all the barn, "We're having a baby!!!" [as goats, horse, ram, ewes, and cats say 'here she goes'] and my pace quickens, I do a few circles and start grabbing useless things, like, empty buckets. One can always use an empty bucket though, I've found.

And after all calmed down, including me, especially me,
I was able to show proud Papa, Joe Pye Weed one of his daughters.
Amazingly, I got something that can melt any shepherd's heart,
a kiss from the old ram himslef.

A flock, and some cat scratches

If you happen to be in the mood to go to Astoria, Oregon this Saturday, the "Flock" exhibit opens at RiverSea gallery. It's a nice little group show of 9 artists, including yours truly. I was pleased with the pieces I did for it - how could I not have a nice time painting birds. Someone told me if I ever painted a red cardinal to let them know - and it made me miss the cardinals of Minnesota, and I think I will have to do a painting of one as a tribute. A red cardinal on fresh white snow - it's a lovely, crisp site. Although out here we have the magnificent magpies and stellar jays, which some people hate, but I find them wonderful.

I am just settling down, after a rather, hmmm...traumatic morning of cat wrangling. I was suppose to take the last three cats in for neutering. After 17 trappings in the past 2 years, I am hoping this is it. These last three, Pumpkin Head, Little Orange, and Blackberry eat and sleep on the front porch - away from the cats in the barn. They are much more domesticated, and I have been holding them and even bringing Little Orange in on occasion to sit with me. They follow me around and garden with me. I thought this 'wrangle' would be easy. So confidant, I only got out one cage, and sat it in the inside of the house by the front door. When I went to do the morning feeding, I swooped them up easily, all three at once, held them, calmly brought them in and got them in the cage - but Blackberry got out, and ran to kitchen area. They are very quick, and until you do this, you just don't know. So I retrieved Blackberry, just before he was about to freak out and jump in the kitchen cupboard of china. Martyn was there, as were Huck, Billy and Big Tony - and at this point things were still relatively calm. So I had Martyn open the cage door, with the other two cats still in it- and I gave him all sorts of directions, as he's never caught any of the cats before and I knew he had no idea how rascally they are - well, he didn't act fast enough, combined with the fact that suddenly Blackberry freaked out and put all four clawed feet INTO my arms [if this has ever happened to you, you know that those claws do not come out, the cat just leaves them in you and you can't even shake that cat off of you] This is precisely the point where the morning went haywire. Martyn's reaction was to help me, so the cage door flew open, Little Orange and Pumpkin Head went skidaddle out of the cage and proceeded at a full cat frenzy into the living room. Meanwhile, Blackberry dislodged himself and went with them - as did Huck and Billy and Big Tony to get in on the action. Ever hear of what a squirrel can do if it gets in your house? Well, three semi domesticated kittens is worse, I think. Within a 2 minute range they had literally climbed up the curtains, knocked bowls and vases off the shelves, and even broke a window. Martyn was able to grab 2 expensive pieces on the ledge, fortunately. Meanwhile, I had no choice but to ---scream! And what did I scream? "OK! Everybody out of here" Oh, yes, that was intelligent. That made sense to cats in frenzy, a chocolate lab who thought it was a new action game, and a one eyed pug who just stood in the middle of it all watching blurry things zoom by. And then there was my pore, kind, gentle husband, who would move the ocean to my doorstep for me if he could, and the look on his face, which suddenly fell into the palms of his hand, as he heard things breaking as cats were fleeing...

Well, they all got the front door, and the damage was done. I was able to get Pumpkinthe Head soon after. And Blackberry came out to the barn for my barn feedings and I was able to grab him. I have cages all over for trapping, so there was one handy. But Little Orange was not to be seen, and as of this writing, he is in hiding. I am so upset with myself, that I put him in such distress. He of all the cats should have been the easiest. I shold have put them in one by one in separate cages. I thought doing all three in one swoop would be less stressful, but I should have know better.

At least two are getting neutered today, and I'll be able to do Little Orange more easily, if he ever comes out of hiding. I feel just horrible for him. The new holes in my arm were washed and dressed, I think I'll live. But my cat wrangling pride is hurt. I hate putting animals in distress, and trapping is always traumatic, but I really botched it.

Fortunately, I did a lot of work last nite, and there are new originals for sale on the online store.


Come home to me, Little Orange...

Drop by drop comes wisdom

I am in a passage of late, a passage from early adultness to mid adultness, a passage that sees many faces leaving this realm onto the next one - faces one has known all their life. I've talked about this in recent posts, I think. It is a passage that causes me to think things like, when I see the face of this little Norwegian girl, "Let's see, she would be about 30 now.". I took this picture in 1981 when I spent 3 months studying and traveling in Norway - all the children seemed to look like this there, especially once you got out of the cities into smaller towns. Photographs have a way of capturing a moment, but it is a myth really, that photo is a myth. Each person that looks at it will create or conjure a whole story into that particular photo, and it might not have anything to do with what was really there. Just like we look at Garden Design magazine, see a farm somewhere, and conjure up how those people live, act, are. But it's just their persona on print. You don't know someone from a magazine, or a blog, or a series of movies. It takes a long time to know someone, and all their folds and crevices.

So, I go on my way happily, and in this passage, I play games in my head like, "When this tree is 10 feet tall I will be 75 and my parents will be gone and so will Martyn's and Huck and Billy our dogs will be gone, and all the sheep too."
If I get particularly wrapped up in this particular game, all played in the safe confines of my head - and not shared - I can proceed to freak myself out. Not because I am afraid of aging, or death. It is the idea that the world as I know it now, will be so drastically different from the perspective of the 'group on top" so to speak - I'll be entering another passage where my turn to explore in the next realm will be the next big road trip. Hmmm. So this passage I am in now, is so much more juicy than the 20's or 30's or early 40's. It is better. It gets better every year. It gets bigger and more safe in a way, understanding it really will all end 'here, as we know it". No time for whiners. Everything coming into my life seems to be sent to me to help explore and prepare for some huge losses to come. Like the CD "Magic and Loss" a '91 release of Lou Reed - man, I love Lou Reed. Or Roseanne Cash's "Black Cadillac" [a beautiful tribute] which on the liner notes shows a photo of something she scribbled on the wall - "and drop by drop comes wisdom through the awful grace of god"...

So turning 48 on Friday was wonderful. It was a perfect birthday. I did what I felt like, which is pretty much what I do everyday. But I indulged in baking my favorite cake. And enjoyed a longer moment in the barn. I got a few surprise cards and a beautiful 5 foot tall trumpet vine from Martyn, along with my favorite dinner - HOT DOGS!! Yes, I really love hot dogs, even though they are pretty crappy, I know. That'll send you to the next realm quicker, I guess. And our weekend was so full of hard work putting up our vegetable deer fence and giving shots to lambs - AND, thanks to the encouragement from Donkey Dan and his mother over at Farmgirl Fare, we managed to find the courage to ear tag the three rams {Thanks you guys!}. It wasn't so bad, for them, but I didn't like doing it. It just had to be done.

Snow on a pumpkin head

We awoke to lovely huge flakes of snow. It reminded me of years spent growing up in Minnesota, when you awake and there is that silence, but yet you can sort of hear the snowflakes. It is so different than the rain, gentler. We don't get it often and it'll be gone by night - although the mountainpasses are socked in with 12 inches. I am always amused that in Oregon when it snows [there is maybe a 1/2" on the ground, none on the highways] the whole place stops. Schools are closed, things cancelled. My husband took a snow morning and lay in bed much later that normal-we lay there being goofy and singing made up italian opera to Big Tony the cat who sat on our chests.The goats walked out of the barn and stopped dead in their tracks, "What in the world happened here?" they asked me. But it was Mr. Pumpkin Head who caught my heart with this picture moment...


I just posted this piece on the online store. I was going to put it in the upcoming "Flock" exhibit at Astoria next week, but held this one back to sell myself. I like this one immensly for some reason. I am in a 'protect our fruit tree" mode, as we posted the little area with our fruit trees, along with our vegetable bed, and we will put up deer fence this weekend. A harbinger of Spring this Sunday was three barn swallows - "Swoopies", as I like to call them - were back in the horse barn, ready to make nests. Let the shows begin, of nite time swoops and acrobatics that are wonderful to watch with a glass of Pinot and your honey by your side [and dogs and cats drifting amongst your feet].


I have been running Stella and Iris the goats with the sheep. There was some head butting the first few minutes, but all is well. Morning breakfast can get complicated, as Stella is such a boss, and so is Rosemary the head ewe, then add the three boy rams who shouldn't even be in there, but I get tired separating everyone out and sometimes a shepherd just has to say, "Oh well". It still brings me much amusement, delight, joy, glee to see a group of faces like this - the goats especially are such charming devils. One shepherd tip - while walking in mud covered with slush and holding three buckets of feed while you are in front of your small flock, proceed gingerly, as it is very easy to get "swept" through the gate onto your butt and then head licked by goats and ewes. But even that is not so bad if you get to have sheep and goats, and horses and cats and dogs. And my new fantaasy - a donkey.

Paw prints of the heart

Today is the birthday of my old friend, Louie Louie, who left this realm in '04 at the almost age of 14. My companion and road trip warrior was consistently feisty with a touch of tenderness.

Some animals, like people, leave bigger prints in your heart than others, and there are huge ones all over my body from Louie. I get death, but the idea he would actually die on me seemed more fantasy than future reality.

I use to have this irrational fear. When Lou and I would go on our annual spring trek to Colorado from Minnesota, always through our beloved Badlands, I would envision getting into a car accident and as the ambulance pulled me out of the car, Louie gets out and gets lost and I can't help him. It never happened. After I put him down, I had similar irrational thoughts of him, somewhere, needing my help.

This dog could have had his own talk show or at least written a good memoir. He got out of a motel room once - by a maid's hand - while I sat eating dinner in the motel cafe. As I went back to my room, I passed the front counter.

"Hmmm, that looks like Louie, " I thought. It was. Louie was working behind the front motel counter, helping the motel clerks check in new customers.They found him a natural at customer service.

They say you don't fully understand a death until new life comes along after grief. On the farm, the lambs bring new life. Death walks side by side with birth here. The cycle of life and nature is natural and death feels like one stage of it rather than a jarring interruption. The body is just the holding tank like the water in the sheep trough that overflows and meanders to the river below. Louie's going on and on too. Somewhere.

I still would rather have his curly head below my feet as I type today, and a look up front his sleeping spot, as if to say, "What are you doing next?"

When I moved to Oregon in '02, Louie was already failing, blind and mostly deaf, loosing teeth, arthritic, and had had one minor stroke - but he was still
present and happy. He still loved my voice because it meant what it means to me when I hear my favorite person's voice.

I took him to the ocean for the first time. He probably could barely hear the waves, but as we walked on the beach, he trotted along like a kid, and as always, kept looking up at me every minute or so to say, "Isn't this great?!" When I look at this photo taken that day, I can just feel his course coat, and see his whitened, blinding eyes looking towards my voice.

His ashes are still in the box that I picked up from the vet that day. I hadn't intended to keep them. I planned to spread them on the farm he hardly got to know, so daisies could grow from him, and for me. But I can't bare to spread them as I'm afraid I might scare him.

"Where are you?" he might cry out to me.

It seems safer to have him by the nightstand, in his little box, with the lid closed, where I know where he is dry from the winter rains and safe from irrational car accidents.

The silent cloth

I am in a state that I have learned will pass, but I recognize it by it's silent cloth over my senses.

As I did barn chores, the banter I carry on with the animals was not present - I worked in silence. It was replaced with background chatter in my head about the ways to bring in money, the ways to keep going and make a living and not get sucked down by taxes, mortgages, equity line payments, heating bills, insurance payments, child support, old cars about to die, fencing that hasn't been bought yet, how to market lavender in an industry I am stumbling through, how to create art that is art and not a commodity from inception. This chatter has been present for me since I began as a freelance artist 10 years ago. I've survived by allowing the chatter to come, make a plan and keep doing it. If one thing doesn't bring money, flow to the next. Keep going. Never be through. Don't sit down. Never settle. Keep selling, selling, selling. It's exhausting. I'm exhausted. If I were a millionaire, would I be an artist? I have absolutely not one doubt I would be. I have always done art, even as a child, as a way, a desire to communicate something - usually a communication with myself of course. But would I have an online store, full of greeting cards and any other way I could think to sell my art simply to pay bills and survive? This I don't know. Maybe the selling of a piece is part of a final circle in the making of the art, an approval thing, that I need. Or enjoy. Of course it is a gift to make art that some people really respond too - to find out there are people who have watched your work for 10 years and get joy or an emotive journey of their own through it. That is one of my jobs here in this realm. It's my work. I take it seriously in that way. But today I don't feel light, I'm exhausted by it lately - the running of the machine. "The medium I've grown to like best is leisure and doing nothing. I'm in turmoil continuously with that side of my nature that requires leaving a record of my desire for order and for communication. The urge to communicate in a tangible medium is all tied up with urges of personality, ego, ambition, economy - Why do I send paintings off to a gallery except for those reasons? Otherwise I'd be free to let my life be a trackless medium." [Morris Graves as interviewed by Katherine Kuh]

I had a desire some weeks ago, inspired by old books on sun prints of plants, to make sunprints per se, by scanning all the various dead plants and weeds I find around the farm. This was the first one, of a dead/dying camelia branch. It pleased me, and still does. For two weeks or so it has sat unpublished from the internet, not seen by anyone. And for two weks I gave it the grace to just be itself, without thinking of way to try to sell it. But now, as I look at it, I can hear the chatter again, "This would be lovely series of prints - who can I show..." On and on, on and on.

And when I'm not getting sales, even teeny ones, I get down. I feel a bit invalid.
So that is how the silent cloth can shroud me.

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.