Donation for Pino

The Great 2008 Rooster Roundup

NOTE: All the chickens in these photos are alive and well.

Into every chicken owner's life comes a time when one must face facts, protect the flock, and well, take charge of the rooster gangs.

Last summer I brought home a dozen fertilized eggs from another farmer. I wanted to add to our small Bantie flock, but I also wanted to introduce the green egg laying Arancauna. Our original 7 bantie hens got right to the task of setting on the eggs and 20+ weeks later, we had chicks. And of course, 4 of the 7 that lived wereroosters.

I naively played head games with myself, saying boldly to Martyn, "Everyone is getting along just fine, it will be good to have a variety of roosters around to protect the ladies while they free range..." SIlence from the mate.


Weeks later, when the polite boy roosters became real man roosters, things changed. At 6 months, the 'boys' had formed three groups. Group one was Old Papa [our original Bantie rooster] and one of the new, young roosters who I call Crow. These guys were perfect gentlemen to each other, and the ladies. Group 2 consisted of 2 roosters that weren't that bad individually, but together could be like two raptors around the cats and hens. And then there was Group 1, comprised of one rooster who I named Bad Ass. This rooster ruled the hen house, ruled the cat food area, ruled the barnyard of donkeys. He was as far up on the pecking order as he could be. He was the schoolyard bully and he just didn't give a hoot what hen he hurt. He even kept Frankie kept at bay, and nobody kept Frankie at bay.

Bad Ass sealed his fate quicker than he might have, when he pecked a hole in the neck of one of the little bantie hens. I doctored her up, and for 2 days she seemed ok, eating, etc. But one night she simply vanished. I of course to this day blame Bad Ass, as I think maybe the hen was weakened, and perhaps an owl got her or...who knows. No trace was found of her. I immediately confronted the evil doer, "That's it, Bad Ass, you pick on my hens, you're out of here." He was unimpressed.

So, I began frantically reading to try and learn to kill a chicken. While I had no qualms about harvesting Bad Ass, I wanted to do it properly, and poured over books and web sites trying to find the best way. Within a couple weeks, Bad Ass had again been pecking hard on little Inky, another Bantie. These Leghorn crosses were so much bigger than the Banties, and it was a near death experience every time he went at them. That was it. I snapped.



I caught Bad Ass, and the Group 2 posse, and put them in secure barn stall. I would find someone to come help me do the deed properly, but for now, they were safe, plenty to eat, plenty to drink, and my hens were safe. The next morning, a creature raced behind me as I went to the barn. It was Bad Ass, rushing to get to the cat food area, as he knew my morning feeding routine. I swear I heard him taunting me as he raced by. Be darned if that rooster and flown up about 15 + feet and found a tiny escape route, leaving the Group 2 posse in the dust.

So I secured his escape route, and once again caught him. But within an hour, he had escaped again. Bad Ass was just getting badder.

"OK, Bad Ass, do what you want, sleep outside for all I care. You're on your own." Fortunately, two of our good farm friends [actually three, they brought their adorable new baby, a real charming fellow] came over in the next days to help us with the proper chicken slaughter. We couldn't have had better teachers. Of course, the night before the act, I couldn't for the life of me catch the 3 roosters. All the advice of going to the chickens at night in their roost is fine- for most roosters- but Bad Ass was an escaped con, an expert at protecting himself. He had a million places to flee in the big old barn. I gave up after an hour.


Finally the next morning, D Day, and I somehow casually got the three marked roosters in the hen house, and caught them all. They had a few hours before the deed, so they were calm and collected, as was I. I thanked them all for their sacrifice, even Bad Ass. One never takes the slaughter event lightly.

That night, we ate Bad Ass. I did not have one moment of regret. Or guilt. He lived 6 months in sun, in charge of the barnyard. He died quickly and was treated more humanely than he treated others. And the next day, we had 4 eggs, a sure sign the hens were happy to have the posse gone. Old Papa and Crow both remain gentleman. I'm glad, as Crow [shown here] is just so beautiful. And Old Papa will always have a home here.

A typical morning for Miss Prairie Pussytoes...

Aprons are love

I think the reason I love aprons is the same reason I love pie - they are memory triggers for spending time in a warm kitchen with people now past - before I had a mortgage, or health care insurance issues, or falling down fences.

Not only do aprons cover up enough of my midlife middle, they allow me to accessorize any raggedy farm outfit, but still allow me to function as a raggedy farm girl/artist/shepherd. It's sort of like wearing a dress, but I don't have to cross my legs, and I can bend over in the chicken coop without showing 'too much' to the hens.

So if you see any vintage aprons that I might add to my weekly wardrobe, please let me know.

I also got a nice message today from Germany, alerting me to these boots. They would look quite spectacular with an apron while I deliver a pie with Pino.

Blankets

The new snow that fell last night is heavy, a late March snow if I were still in Minnesota. As I walked to the barn in slush, the steady rain had already began to fall. The temporary blanket of nature's best neutral covered all the crap one accumulates on a farm and doesn't quite get to the barn: hoses, buckets, pails, tins [one can't have enough 'holders' on the farm]...or the rotting pumpkins in the compost area. No one seemed that pleased with the slush, but the lonely clear cut above Boone's paddock seemed grateful to be covered, so as not to show it's scars.

Pumpkin Head is Gone

I can hardly look at this picture of Pumpkin Head from when he was a kitten. He used to love sitting in the egg basket.

Like his litter mate Blackberry, he just disappeared without a trace. He was one of five kittens born to Mama Kitty, and lived the first months of his life with his litter mates under a wood pile. It was during my 'trapping-neuter-spay' period, when I was capturing the litter that came with our farm, that turned into three litters because I couldn't catch the Mama fast enough. Mama now lives happily on the porch, her children all around the farm, but no longer does she slip off to bring food for her brood. She has grown plump and although she will not let me touch her or pick her up, she does follow me around the farm sometimes, but always at a distance - sitting up on a hay loft to see where I'll go next.

Pumpkin Head lived on the front porch, with Little Orange and Mr. Plum, and at one time Blackberry. His litter mates Fig and Teasel were sent to live on another farm. He was always at dinner and breakfast. When the kitchen lite went on in the morning, it was Pumpkin Head who sat on the outside window ledge, watching me inside. He knew breakfast was coming.

Two nites ago, he wasn't at dinner. I've been through this before. If a cat is gone two full feedings, it is not good. If they aren't there the next morning, it is bad. And by the second nite, it means one thing. Many nice readers wrote me when Blackberry disappeared last month, encouraging me he might come back. "My cat was missing 1 week and came back," they'd write.

But I know he won't come back. I gave him a front porch with blankets and food. He would have died a long time ago without that care. He never created any unwanted kittens, and he had companions You can't take semi ferels and put them in a house. I just hope he didn't suffer.

Someone shared this Neruda poem with me
[thank you, Meg]...

"Let us sit down soon
to eat with all those who
haven't eaten;
let us spread great tablecloths,
put salt in the lakes of the world,
set up planetary bakeries,
tables with strawberries in the snow,
and a plate like the moon itself
from which we can all eat."

Reminders of firsts

Watching Lucia quitely ponder her first snow flakes reminded me to stop and remember the thrill of the first snow. Growing up in Minnesota, we almost always had snowy winters. Winter isn't really winter to me here in Oregon, even though there is a season change. So a breif snow day is magical.

The fact that a liquid up in the sky turns into white flakes - how can one be so jaded not to stop, stand, and admire the snow? It lightens my heart.

I'm glad snow is white. Imagine if it were blue, it would be fabulous, but white goes with everything, and gives everything contrast.

If my posts seem heavy, dulled, it is because I am manically painting the kitchen. We have lived in a torn up kitchen for 3 years, and have finally reached a 'light at the end of the tunnel'. Other jobs were more important when we moved in - the place was a mess, outdated wiring, no furnace, bad fences and more. I feel like this year we turned a corner on the 2 biggest jobs - irrigation and the kitchen. Still so much to do, but an organized kitchen is my yearning, and it's coming to fruition. It's off white beadboard and butter yellow cupboards and plank floor. It screams out for pie baking. Once again, the merits of a handy husband are everywhere. Martyn is doing it all.

And as I paint another cupboard, I prepare mentally for 2008. What will happen this year? What characters will I encounter, or lose? I dream of art directors connecting with my work, illustration jobs, a publisher for Pino, and a new voice for our country. I have so much to paint.

Again - thank you so much to all my readers who write comments, and emails, and cards. I usually don't respond in teh comment section - it takes to long with a land line - but I appreciate your thoughts.

Peace Please

We awoke to my wish - snow flakes. My other global wish will take much more from many people working together. Meanwhile, the flock is at peace, as are all the animals in the barn. Martyn and I are warm, working inside, the cookies are baking. Pinot Noir tonight, with some of our farm raised lamb meat, sitting in front of the fire with Huck at our feet, Billy on my lap, a blanket, and Martyn in his rocking chair with Big Tony on his lap.

Thank you too to all the cards Pino fans have sent this week - it's heart warming.

I'm full up.

Littles are Happy

The dreary rains have made it necessary to pull out all techniques of fighting the blues...my arsenal includes: lots of fruit, run on the treadmill, keep drawing, donkey-Martyn-pug-Huck-horse hugs and......COOKIES.

I was a self entertaining unit while baking with my new mini donkey cookie cutter from my German artist friend . What better way to give Lucia her first important job on the farm - spreading cheer with cookies. I had way too much fun baking them, but packaging them up with the "Little Lucias" pink label and adorning them in pink cotton rags, well, I was completely happy throughout the whole experience.

The back label points out the farm fresh local butter used, as well as Apifera eggs.
Who knows where the sugar was from - I do buy King Aurthur flour. Testing of cookies was completed by Pino Blangiforti, and Paco Giovannetti gave final approval.

It was almost as much fun sneaking up to my friend's house and tip toeing up to the front porch and hanging the package on the door. A difficult task when the family dog wanted loving, and the barn cat too...

I did have a raw dough hangover for a day. I confess to adoring raw dough. When I was little, my much wiser and very grounded brother would warn me I was going to die someday from raw dough or kissing dogs. So far I'm still here.

More ongoing...

Another installment of the ongoing "He Was" series has been posted on the portfolio site...

Honor the Light

Yesterday was St. Lucia Day, the Festival of Light. I was inspired to do this piece to honor the celebration, after visiting Bibbi Forsman's blog [an incredible ceramic artist!]. . It has been [many] years since I was in Sweden - I'm not even sure Abba was around yet, but her blog reminded me of the charm of her country, as well as all of Scandinavia. I can only imagine the charm of the holidays there, for even in June, Copenhagen and Stockholm felt like a fairyland to me.

Lucia is an ancient mythical figure with an abiding role as a bearer of light in the dark Swedish winters. According to one Swedish website: In the old almanac, Lucia Night was the longest of the year. It was a dangerous night when supernatural beings were abroad and all animals could speak. By morning, the livestock needed extra feed. People, too, needed extra nourishment and were urged to eat seven or nine hearty breakfasts. This kind of feasting presaged the Christmas fast, which began on Lucia Day.

In today's Sweden, people dress in white gowns and wear crowns of light [which used to be candles]. I guess there are many traditional songs honoring Saint Lucia, and the Lucias serve glögg or coffee, along with these little crossed buns. If I've my facts wrong, maybe a Lucia expert can enlighten me, please.

Next year, I hope to remember this tradition, and I'll have a festival with our own Lucia. "Light" is a worthy thing to honor.

Ongoing Process

I have begun a new personal series called "Once He". . I began with one original painting, and then created a new painting over top that original, scanned it, and then repainted another piece over that original. In the end, there will be no originals, only scans which I might turn into gicleés and then promote the whole series as an exhibit somewhere down the road, maybe.

The series depicts my personal processing of someone’s life, and death.

A memory or life does not have an ‘original’ to hold in one’s hand, the memory of a life is made from a past series of moments. These pieces also had a moment, a life, and then were painted over to create another. I destroyed one life to get another. The originals were only for me to have. Nobody in the whole world saw the original but me. No one can take that memory of that original from me.

I will post new series pieces as I do them in the "Once He" section of the main art site.

Gifts for Pino from Germany!

What does it mean when the donkey gets more mail than the human? Pino Blangiforti received a holiday gift that filled us up all day with love and joy - and I'm sure it will continue. One of our Pie Ambassadors is Friederike! from Germany, and she sent Pino this wonderful package, full of hand-madeness, as well as a cookie recipe and cookie cutters. And it is his first mail that had to go through customs!

Not just any cookie cutters were in the gift - but a sheep, and a DONKEY! How did she know I was unable to find a donkey cookie cutter? Ah, and it is a nice small cutter, so the baker of these future cookies will only gain, say 10 pounds instead of 20.

The original doll is created by Friederike's! human companion and artist, Sandra Monat , and I've written of her before. This Viking angel will watch over the flock and herd, as well as our whole farm. Visit her site to see her magical creations - a word of warning - unlike my raggedy dolls, this person actually knows how to sew.

Thank you, Blue Sheep, from Pino and me. You made our day and week so much more lovely!

Under deep

Sometimes I get overwhelmed with how deeply intertwined my art is with my sub-conscious. You paint something and it comes true - or I should say, it is already true. My sub conscious just knows things way before my conscious braid does. This spread is from the mock-up of my children’s book about Pino. At one point in our walk home with Lucia, I said, “Look, there’s the valley,” I had my arm around Lucia and braids in my hair. Sometimes the revelations of one's art to the maker are not earth shattering revelations that will change the world. But it reminds me there are many wisdoms within my sub conscious, waiting for me to sit down and recognize them.

And then there were three

Last Spring, I took care of my nearby farm friend's donkeys while she was away, including a little 2 month old lady named Lucia. She is daughter to Gabriella and Angelo, the same mother and father of our Pino Blangiforti. To be honest, I probably immediately started devising a Lucy Ricardo scheme on how I could sneak her home someday. Well, my friend is reducing her herd [and I will be posting some pictures of the jennies she has for sale later this month], and there was no question, I must have Lucia to finish off my little herd. There was no immediate reason to get a third donkey, but no hard driving reason not to get a third donkey. Like I said, I did my best Lucy Ricardo scheming and pretty much had Martyn on the same page within a day. He's a smart man, he knows how to keep a happy household - let the lady of the house be in charge of livestock and animal purchases and sales.

So today, little Lucia took her first journey outside of her birth farm. My friend and I, accompanied by her ever lovely Fiona the Bull Mastiff, walked the 2.5 miles from her farm to ours. Everything was new to her, the sound of the water in the streams and culverts, cars on the gravel, new sounds everywhere, and smells.


She did so well, and as we neared our farm,, she met Rudy, the gelding that lives across the road from us. Rudy lives alone, is never ridden, and he took such a shine to Lucia. I will have to walk her down there often. She let out a little bray for him!

Up the road we went, and I yelled out to everyone, "I told you I was bringing home something special! Lucia is here". The goats and rams gathered on their hill and watched as we walked up the road. She saw chickens for the first time, and then we let her free with Paco and Pino. Paco did his usual grumpy bossy stuff, but Pino was pretty calm. I'm sure he could smell his mother. I spent the day sitting in one of our grass paddocks with Lucia, and later let the boys in. Lucia is no push over, and after some kicks, things calmed down. I did put her in her own stall tonite, she's too little to be out all nite. She has a special window made for her tiny size so she can reach out to the other donks.

So, please be patient with me and the onslaught of Lucia pictures and art that will most likely come from this purchase. She is very symbolic of many things for me right now, something I will try to put into words later.

New Pie Ambassador Discovered!

When you get envelopes like this in the mail, your day just gets happier, better than the good it was before you opened the box. Kiran of Portland is now an Official Pie Ambassador, and the art that came with her envelope made me even happier. Her mother kindly wrote a wonderful story about baking their pie, which Pino patiently listened too, as did Paco. [Paco, by the way is grumpy, and is quite content just having pickle duty in summer.] Read more and see Kiran's art over at Donkey Dreams.

Kiran Pronounced New Pie Ambassador!

We have a new pie ambassador, who chose to draw a picture of pie to express her inner most feelings of the subject. I am not one to dissect others art, and always say, if you can put it in words why the need to paint it. I just I was so HAPPY to open the mail box and find this envelope. When I opened it, I felt even happier. As if the drawing were not delight enough, Kiran's mother wrote a long, wonderful story about making a squash pie for our Pino Pie mission. You can read the entire story, - she writes! - but let me highlight what I think is most rewarding to read from her letter:

..."But I knew I needed to make a pie, and it didn’t need to be perfect to make someone happy. After all, as you are teaching us, the beauty of a pie lies in the eyes- and the stomach- of its beholder. Pies are made to be passed on. And so now the difficult question, with whom to share this wonderful new and unusual delight? There are so many deserving, yet only one available (I did make two, but we ate one). But given this success, I doubt this will be my last pie of the season. In fact, this might just be the beginning of a new pie challenge in my life- taking the unconventional, and making it pie. And for that, I have you to thank, dear Pino."

And what's great, the experience of Pino's inspired her to make cupcakes and give them to someone! This is how it works, people! One pie at a time, one donkey at a time, one Kiran at a time.

We thank you, Kiran,and Miss Salmon Poetry Lisa, you will be receiving your official Pino Pie buttons soon.

Unspoken

I was commissioned to do a painting of Neil Young for a person's husband. I put on "Live at a Massey Hall" and jumped on the treadmill at the end of the day. My treadmill looks out of all glass doors, so at night I can see my reflection when I walk on it. The first song came on, and the words grabbed my throat and pushed them into my belly. It was clearly a letter for someone I know, someone far away in body, but who is at the top layer of my heart right now. Someone who is suffering, and I can't get words out of me. I can't. My reflection in the glass showed a woman who is halfway through a life, not a child anymore. Soon, I will be nobody's daughter.

When the dream came
I held my breath
with my eyes closed
I went insane,
Like a smoke ring day
When the wind blows
Now I won't be back
till later on
If I do come back at all
But you know me,
and I miss you now.

In a strange game
I saw myself as you knew me
When the change came,
And you had a
Chance to see through me
Though the other side
is just the same
You can tell
my dream is real
Because I love you,
can you see me now.

Though we rush ahead
to save our time
We are only what we feel
And I love you,
can you feel it now.
© N.Young

And the ram got wet

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

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

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

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

Poem for Pino

Pino recieved this wonderful message from a new fan, and he cherishes poetry. I love knowing moms are out there singing little songs and poems to their children. And passing them on to donkeys! Cheers to Rose!

pino-
i sing this song to my kids, but i'll put your name where i put theirs:

pino pie
pino pie
if i don't get some
i think i'm going to cry!
take away the green grass
take away the sky
but don't take away
my pino pie.

love,
rose

Wind in the Dolls

They've been talking all week about the big storm coming, and it is now firmly under way. Winds of up to 100 mph are predicted for the coast and our valley winds could make 70 mph. I'm hoping I don't fly away, but if I do I hope I have a donkey or maybe Boone at my side for warmth. I'm keeping my fingers crossed the power and phones stay on. We sat by the fire last night listening to the torrents of rain, dogs and cat warm at our feet. Being inside in a storm, makes one feel graced.

Going out to do barn chores in the wind gusts this morning was special too. There's always sort of this anticipation in a wind storm. I don't take them lightly after making it though a straight line wind storm in Minnesota. Out here, the barn roofs flap and the barn itself makes the most peculiar sounds. The pouring rains pound the tin roofs, animals all inside, soaked, their bodies letting off steam. It feels safe in the barn, especially on a rainy day. I spent time buckling down the hatches, and giving extra hay to everyone. The chickens are miserable and I'm low on feed. I was almost lost in 4 tons of hay bales, as I climbed to the top, about 15 feet up, and put my foot in a crevice. Safely back down on the ground, I slipped in mud but Hazel the barn cat was there to greet me. Even the ewes, always up for stormy weather, have stayed in the barn most of the day.

As I quickly made a new trench in Boone's pasture to help keep as much water away from his dry area as possible, I was struck with the fact that I get to do things almost all day that I got to do as a child. I was making a little river in mud, and creating little channels to alleviate the gutter runoff- it was just like making streams and dams as a child...And I climbed on hay bales - up on top, it felt like a tree house. I came inside and made more raggedy dolls , like this Grandmother Mouse, and the Funny Looking Donkey. Working without a pattern or plan, just free form, just like the messes I made as a young girl.

Here comes another wave of downpours. I can smell soup cooking in the kitchen.

Homes Needed

Homes are needed for some of my beloved raggedy doll messes. Visit my Etsy shop to see these and two more cat raggedies. If you want that perfectly sewn doll, these will not work for you. But if you can look at imperfections as personality quirks, and a messy dresser as an independant thinker, these dolls will be your friends. All are filled with our own Apifera Farm lavender bud. While I can't compete with prices of some production sewers, I can tell you that the hours in each one were spent in that creative zone where the world disappears. The happiness I experience while making these is immersed in each doll - and you just can't put a price on happiness.

I will be doing more dolls as I have time. They bring me such joy to make. I really want to do a girl, her donkey and a basket of fresh pie - but I haven't figured out how to do the pie [filled with berries] in a way that won't take me all day.

Next week, I have BIG donkey news. And in case anyone is wondering, I do plan on getting back to painting next week.

Write a donkey, pass it on

I am gathering all things pie for Pino's Pies. I have big plans, and a full heart.

So, please write my donkey a letter, which I will in turn read to him. Tell us about your favorite pie memory, be it baking a pie, eating a pie, getting a pie, a pie gone wrong, your favorite pie shop - or anything pie.

Consider your act of writing this letter as not only a gift to me, but also a gift of peace. By writing about pie, you are taking 15 minutes or so out of your day, and writing about a peaceful, love filled thing - pie. In so doing, you are putting 15 minutes of peace into the world.

Ask your friends, children, classrooms, mothers, grandmothers, fathers and others to write Pino about pie. Spread the word. While Pino's Pies encourages people all over the world to make a pie and deliver it, it is also a wonderful gift to share the stories of pie. The pie gets made, then eaten. But the memories of the pie maker and eater live on, and bring comfort over the years in ways you may not know.

By taking time to write me and Pino, you are acting as an assistant pie ambassador. And your name will be added to the official list on the Donkey Dreams blog list.

Gifts from the hands

I recently read a blog advocating people not buy anything for a day or more.

I do not have a problem with people shopping, or buying - let's face it, I need buyers to survive as an artist. I guess I would just advocate that people stop and slow down, and make choices based on heart, versus what corporate marketers point out as trends that one must have to look right and feel better. There is so much of the same out there, not only in clothes, but in music, big box stores, cars, advertising, children's books. I can't tell the Kmart ads from Target anymore - all use red and the same feeling music. The masses seem to be walking around in the same post beatnik black/grey outfits and driving home to their houses with Ikea kitchens and Dwell furniture.

Not everyone wants a hand sewn raggedy doll, or a piece of art. That's ok. It's ok to buy a sweater, even one made from another country. But there is a choice, and the consumer does have power. But hearing people advocating not buying for a whole day makes the struggling artist and farmer feel lousy. Small business owners struggle.

So, even if you have a Dwell looking home, with post modern furniture, these raggedy wands will add an eclectic feel - your guests will wonder where you purchased them. And you can tell them you found them through a blog of an artist who lives with donkeys and wears aprons and rubber boots.

Write a donkey, pass it on

I am gathering all things pie for Pino's Pies . I have big plans, and a full heart.

So, please write my donkey a letter, which I will in turn read to him. Tell us about your favorite pie memory, be it baking a pie, eating a pie, getting a pie, a pie gone wrong, your favorite pie shop - or anything pie.

Consider your act of writing this letter as not only a gift to me, but also a gift of peace. By writing about pie, you are taking 15 minutes or so out of your day, and writing about a peaceful, love filled thing - pie. In so doing, you are putting 15 minutes of peace into the world.

Ask your friends, children, classrooms, mothers, grandmothers, fathers and others to write Pino about pie. Spread the word. While Pino's Pies encourages people all over the world to make a pie and deliver it, it is also a wonderful gift to share the stories of pie. The pie gets made, then eaten. But the memories of the pie maker and eater live on, and bring comfort over the years in ways you may not know.

By taking time to write me and Pino, you are acting as an assistant pie ambassador. And your name will be added to the official list on the Donkey Dreams blog list.

Home

The importance of having a home, a harbor attached to the shore, is exaggerated when leaving that home for a week. I am a hopeless homebody. Everything I might need in one day is usually right in front of me, or on the back 10. How fortunate for me. We took a week to visit family in Minneapolis, leaving our farm in the trusted care of an experienced farm person who stayed and cared for all the animals and house. The days of putting one or two dogs at the kennel and locking the door, and stopping the paper delivery seem so easy, are easy. The trip was worth the effort for many reasons, but landing back on Oregon ground, seeing the sights that have become my new home, were welcome.

The importance of leaving once in awhile is to remind me that I am not the creator of all of this. I am just a trusted steward. The animals do live without me. The fences stand up just as they did when I left. The fog was here to greet us. I used to think that if I focused hard enough while sitting in the plane as it took off - repeating over and over in my head and heart - "Please get us all their safely, please bring me home safely, all these people on this plane have friends, family, pets that need them - please get the plane off the ground" - I used to believe I actually mattered to the plane getting up off the ground. This may sound ridiculous and egotistical, but it was also a burden. Perhaps another beauty of leaving the over self absorbed younger adult years, is to understand one doesn't hold the power to get the plane off the ground, but when one arrives at the destination safely, one has the power to relish it, cherish it as a gift - then take that gift and do something powerful with it.

And so I returned home, full of that gift. And while the animals all survived just fine without me, there was a difference to their step as I greeted them for morning feedings. The donkeys walked closer to the gate to greet me rather than standing back at their barn door. Frankie waddled all the way in a mist to greet me even though she hates rain. I am convinced they missed me. But more important, the gift of travel allowed me to acknowledge how welcome their faces were for me, and my day.

Our farm sitter had cut fresh eucalyptus branches for our house, and had the fire going. This morning I was greeted with our first green egg from one of our young hens - her first, and our first green egg. I praised her profusely.

Small givings noticed or not

I have been working on improving the Donkey Dream blog. Please subscribe to it's feed if you are interested, as I will be adding more ideas through the holiday, and making plans for next summer's Pino Pie Days at the farm. And visit the store site for new things in the Donkey Art section.

I have one idea of making a rag doll and donating them to children's wards or elder care places. I also am interested in getting a group of international artist/ sewers who would each donate one or two handmade dolls - farm theme related - and then I could have a special Pino Giving Day. It's too late to do it for the holiday, but I'm a firm believer that the holiday is every day [in fact, I confess, I get a little cranky about Christmas at Halloween, and now adults have taken over Halloween - oh, don't get me going]...

Anyway, I was thinking about how I can get more people involved in the Donkey Dream blog, and get people to share their pie giving experiences. And then I realized, it is not important that people write me their experiences. What's important is that I go out and effect one person at a time, in my own way. By delivering a pie, or writing my stories, or helping one old person on my own. I do like sharing what I do, I like that about keeping a blog - it is a document for me. It is why I started my farm blog to begin with - so I would look back and enjoy the memories, see where we came from, how much we've done and learned.

I was reading a passage from an inspirational book on care giving by Maggie Davis , and a quote by Mother Theresa hit home. "I never take care of crowds, only of a person. If I stopped to look at crowds, I would never begin."

I guess that is how I feel about Pino's Pies. One pie at a time, a person is touched. I'm sure there are others doing one small thing at a time, quitely, without drawing attention to it in a blog. Once, about 15 years ago, my then boyfriend broke up with me, I was so down, immobilized by it. I was not a church goer, but took myself to hear the choir and be with people. I was looking for anything, something, to bring me comfort. I was getting over a cold, and had a coughing fit during the service. I tried so hard not to cough, and finally decided I must leave, so as not to disturb people. As I started to get up from the pew, the very elderly woman, sitting alone next to me, reached out and touched by hand. She had a throat lozenger for me, and I sat back down. I can not tell you how that tiny offering was so meaningful. I'm sure she had no idea. But it was 15 years ago, and I remember her kindness like it was yesterday.

That is what Thanksgiving is to me. Small givings, daily. You never know when you are that old woman handing out a throat lozenger.

Good Bye, Little Birtie

Birtie the chinchilla, was the smallest member of Apifera Farm, and we said goodbye to her today. She died as unexpectedly as she had arrived last winter. A neighbor had rescued her from a household of neglectful college students, and she figured I would take her in. Actually, she drove up the drive and put the cage at the doorstep - by the time I got the door open she was in her car, telling me I had to help this poor animal. I had recently buried Tucker, the other chinchilla I took in back in Minneapolis, and I was not looking to take on any more rodents.

The little creature came with no name, so I called her Filbert, or Birtie. She was very timid, and it took time to tender her up. I am not really an advocate of having pet rodents, especially a lone one, but they are sweet little creatures. I decided she had been through enough, so I kept her. Rodent or not, she needed a stable home.

Not long ago, Birtie developed a condition that I knew was not good, and it was obvious she was ill. It appeared to be related to kidneys, and there wasn't anything I could do medically. I knew she would die from it , but she was still eating, sporadically, and drinking. I kept her three decker condo near one of my drawing tables, so she had companionship while I worked. Last night when I returned from barn chores, I saw her body in an odd pose. She was dead but her body was still warm. She must have died when I was in the barn. I felt badly I wasn't there to hold her while she died, but she was not one that really liked being held, and perhaps having the normal sights and sounds of the studio was comfort enough.

I wrapped her in french linen, and made a little scarf of vintage cotton. The little red string was a toy she liked, and I placed 2 raisins at her feet, and a sprig of fresh lavender to sooth her soul. In dry weather, I'll paint her headstone properly. She rests next to Tucker.

Death is not bad. It's not morbid. It's just part of the project of being alive. The actual act of caring for the body is very important, I've learned.
Digging the little hole for her body, tending the grave, it's very important for me. It's not really about honoring the dead, for the fact they lived and meant something to someone is honorable enough. By carrying the body and burying it, it shows me what death is. It's OK. Death is safer than life, really.

Angst combatted by new thoughts

I did this piece recently and want to do a series of them, but maybe incorporate words as in a story. Not sure. Mulling. The computer issues I had all week put my head and heart in a mess. I do believe causing physical pain to people or animals must be avoided, but after 5 days of non cooperation from computer devices and online tech systems, I did what any thinking/feeling/soulful person does - I hit the device causing all the angst. It did no good. It won the battle. And now, it sure to get back at me in some form today. I am hoping it will all pass by Monday.

The end of the year always has me thinking of what I want to reshuffle. I'm mulling some changes to the online store, including changing the Donkey section to really include more donkey art of all kinds.I've added the nursery/children's section , which will include little items, along with pieces I create for both books and portfolio that are more child related.

And I added some holiday originals that were created originally for holiday card market. They will make fun home holiday decor.

Chicken Named Dog

Every morning there is a strict routine of farm feeding, perfected over months of tweeking the system. On the way to the main barn, I now open the front door of the hen and gentlemen's house, so that the chickens can be in their yard, but not the barn yet until I'm done with chores. This keeps my perfected routine from going haywire, like having the gentlemen eat all the cat food before the cats get a chance.

So it is with great pleasure I introduce you to Chicken Named Dog, the white chicken on the left. She is not the prettiest of the chickens, she is all white with some hints of grey. And standing next to this gentleman she looks plain indeed. But Chicken Named Dog as become a favorite of mine. She is named such because she follows slowly at my heels, like a loyal dog. She doesn't get pushy really, she just stays right there with me, but always at my heels. If you are walking around and you sense a presence, it is Chicken Named Dog. Chicken Named Dog is the first one out the door, and I greet her with her proper name, "Hello Chicken Named Dog!". She does not have a nickname. Nobody called Black Elk "Elk", or "Blackie", he was Black Elk.

The funny thing is, Martyn is convinced Chicken Named Dog is a gentleman. I am convinced otherwise. It would seem when living on a farm one should know ladies from gentlemen, but, not always I guess. Either way, this is Chicken Named Dog.

A little retreat

"I know I'm little, but I can't I leave for one day and night without you falling to pieces? " asked Little Orange as I went to do morning feedings. I picked him up and squeezed him into my face, rampant kisses pursued. Perhaps he had just had enough of being 'little' and needed to prove a point. Whatever the reason for his 24 hour retreat, I was relieved to see him tucked under his favorite wicker porch chair this morning. After being squeezed and kissed way too much, he looked at me as if to say, 'Can I just eat breakfast now?"

Wordless

I have many thoughts, but few words to express them. This will pass, but I just have had an overall quiet blanket over my mouth and typing hands.

I am also quite worried that Little Orange has gone missing. He never misses breakfast. Last night we heard a scuffle near the porch. Perhaps he's still hiding, but his compadrés are all here and he's not. I think having the once feral, now sort of feral, creatures is hardest on my heart. I can't protect my farm from a bomb, I can't predict a fire; but I can put my sheep in at night, and the dogs in and the chickens in, and the horse and donks are safe in gated pastures. But I can't protect the ferals. I really can't protect anything from anything. It makes me feel like this painting.

Proper perspectives on life

When I'm hugging the donkey, this is what I see.

What as age brought me, now nearly 50 years of living? That a day is like a wave. It has a rhythm of its own. You can't control the rhythm, but you can ride it out. When riding out any day, a donkey hug helps. There are really no good and bad days, there are days. There is just life to go along with.