Rooster seeks love, no qualifications needed

Ward Schumacher the rooster, not to be confused with Ward Schumacher the artist, is busy looking for valentines. The Spring like air in the past two days has sent him calling on a variety of the barn yard ladies. I admire Ward, he is not afraid to be spurned by any of them. For any of us who have suffered through past Valentine Day rejections, this is inspiring. And anyone who dares to win the heart of Franklinia, aka Frankie, really has hutzpah.

The first legend of Valentine's Day, and perhaps the best known, began in Rome, when Emperor Claudius II was involved in many bloody and unpopular campaigns. “Claudius the Cruel” as he was called, was having a difficult time getting soldiers to join his military due to the belief that Roman men did not want to leave their loved ones. So he cancelled all marriages and engagements in Rome. The good Saint Valentine, a priest in Rome at the time, defied Claudius and continued to perform secret marriages for young lovers. When Valentine's actions were discovered, he was sentenced to be beaten to death with clubs and to have his head cut off. But while in prison, it is believed that Valentine fell in love with a young girl said to be his jailer's daughter, who visited him during his confinement. Before his death on February 14, it is alleged that he wrote her a letter signed, " From your Valentine". In 496 A.D., Pope Gelasius set aside February 14 to honor St. Valentine.

That motherly glance

With two weeks until due day, the ewes tolerate my 'udder checks', but this morning Coral Bell looked at me as if to say, "You just checked my udder yesterday."

The weather is drying out, and warming to 50's this week. I'm hoping for 2 weeks of dry sun and I have all lambing stalls ready. The grassy orchard area is all lamb proof for the new arrivals. Ah, spring. Newness. Starting over with deeper roots.

Proper proposals

Donkeys are very loving. I have seen Pino Blangiforti quietly swoon little Lucia, but she is much to young for dating. And, well, they are related, I'll have to give her the talk soon. Paco Giovanetti is a much bolder amoureuse, a bit pushy, but some gals like that type.

I did this piece in honor of the upcoming love holiday. I imagined what Pino's father, Angelo, must have done to persuade Gabriella to breed with him. Gabriella is polite and I imagined she required some kind of proposal. Angelo is quite the lady's man, I can attest to this.I'm sure he put out all the stops.

Or perhaps I was trying to recreate my own fantasy proposal. Six years ago or so, my dearest was sitting in the kitchen, in torn jeans, eating cheese - we had just returned from grocery shopping. I remember being very grumpy that night. I'm not sure what he witnessed or experienced at the grocery store to inspire him, but he sat in that kitchen, eating cheese, and quietly, but firmly, said, "I'm going to marry you." It was one of those proposals where the recipient has to stop and say, "Are you proposing?". Martyn has his own very unique, subtle, romantic way, much like Pino Blangiforti. It's charming.


Anyway, so many people have asked me if there are originals or prints of recent donkey art, that I finally did test prints of some choice pieces, and have added some to the store. These are archival inks printed on 13x19" fine art archival paper. The colors are stunning.

In me

"Imagination is my best friend, gotta' watch out for the greedy hand", so wrote Neil. The greedy hand can come in many forms - from the outside world of bosses, big brother, clients, family, pollsters...Or it can come from within - pushing ourselves too far, questioning ourselves, trying to get into the jeans you wore in 1999. So when I feel these greedy hands, I have a variety of ways to conquer them. Call them life skills, that I'm finely tuning.

One way is to create my own special band, perhaps with BW on drums. Kissing birds would arrive and further entertain me. There are many horrible things that us in life, some horrific, some passing nuisances. Some can't be wiped out with one little excursion into the imagination. But, it helps level the playing field. I'm very graced to have figured that out years ago. It's so important to recognize the one thing one has in life that can't be taken away - even if I were blinded, crushed by hospital bills, left in the woods. I'd still have my own unique imagination.

Motherly signs

The anticipation of lambing season hit me this morning, perhaps because the weather has lifted some and it smelled a bit like spring today. Or perhaps because Rosemary's belly has expanded to motherly size, and her udder has developed. Even her teats are huge. Yes, we pay close attention to teats around this time of year. With our fourth lambing upon us, I don't get quite as panicked over lambing time, but I never let my guard down either. I usually pull out my sheep books, and read all the bad things that can happen. Last year I even bought a scalpel, what I was going to do with it, I'm not sure, but it seemed like a good tool to have around. {We found it indispensable when we had to butcher the roosters however.}

I am a bit concerned that Rosie is going to lamb much earlier than her 150 day term, which is 4 weeks off. Usually her 'bag' hasn't developed to this extant, and her hips are sunken too, another sign lambing can be near. But when I saw those teats this morning, all big and shiny, I just had to ask her, "Do you know something I don't know?" Rosie is our head ewe, I depend on her to lead the others when they become rattled. She is an excellent mother. If Rosie could talk, and she told me, "Ba ra ram, we must move to higher ground, now. " I would immediately get the gang going.

Pre-lambing time also means a bit of extra caring for the mothers to be. Like a bit of special mother food [we feed only pasture, and winter hay, but for 4 weeks prior to lambing, and 4 weeks after, we give them a helping hand with supplemental feed]. I have taken to spending more time in the morning with the ewes, rubbing the mothers-to-be- between their front legs which they swoon over. It also allows me to touch and work with the younger ewes which helps immensely in calming the flock when you need to handle them. Keeping the flock under 20 really allows this interaction, and it definitely makes lambing more enjoyable, and makes shots and medical attention much better for all.

I asked Rosie for girls, but, this is not up to us. She will provide us with what we need to survive here. We have not bought any meat since harvest time. We eat vegetarian about 50% of the time, and it is very important to us that we can live like this. It is hard for some people to understand how I can eat lambs, especially since I am an animal lover. I didn't get here overnight, but I have thought about this for many years, and I'm at peace with it. Anyone who raise livestock will tell you, the boys come out cute, but very quickly, the testosterone kicks in, and the farm can fall into chaos quickly. The boys must go. But we thank them for what they give us, and how they sustain us, so we can sustain the farm.

Exhibit Opening

I am participating in a group show, “What’s Inside-Exploring the Potential for Change”, at Mary Lou Zeek Gallery in Salem during February. All sales will benefit the Poyama Treatment Center in Independence, Oregon, a non profit that helps children of abuse and neglect.

Participating artists received a wooden box through the mail and were asked to use this as their starting point . Each 8" x 8" box was sent “as is”, and was not packaged, but rather processed directly by the postal service firsthand. Each artist was asked to involve a young child and ask them one of four questions concerning their feelings of what makes them feel safe. The answers for these questions are inside the finished boxes for the viewer to see and read.

The child I collaborated with said that being with her mother made her feel safe. This sounds simplistic, but it is such a universal need and desire for all of us, that I wanted to honor that. The inside of my box [the image here is of the front] is like a keepsake to my mother, but also, can be a keepsake for any mother. Or maybe a keepsake for the mother one never had. Little surprises are inside the box. The children of Poyama, and many others through out the world, aren't as graced with this mother aura as I or my collaborating child are. So I am glad that my art will help a child in some unknown way down the road.

The exhibit will open on Tuesday, February 6th at 10:00 am pacific time. The public will be able to bid on the box art, with beginning bids at $50.00 and $5.00 increments. This year there is a maximum bid of $200. This week, the entire show will be posted online at www.zeekgallery.com. Calls can be made to the gallery to place bids: 503-581-3229. The bidding ends February 29th, 2008 at 6:00 pm pacific time.

Poyama Day Treatment Center works with children who are caught in the crossfire of abusive and neglectful domestic environments, educational settings ill prepared to meet mental health needs and the bewildering bureaucracies of social service agencies. They are a small not-for-profit psychiatric day program dedicated to serving up to 23 emotionally disturbed children between the ages of 3 and 12. They provide individual and group therapy, grief counseling, social skills and self-awareness, anger management and parent support groups. With a staffing ratio of one adult for every 3 children, they have used art therapy, ceramics, drawing, painting and a variety of individually crafted approaches to help children look more deeply into themselves and their lives and to explore the potential for change and healing that lies within.

Thanks to the ever wonderful Mary Lou for inviting me to participate.

Morning Donkey Parade

Pino, being the gentleman of the herd, takes up the rear. Lucia, the little light bearer, is always in front. The ladies are always permitted to goes first. Paco, must be in the middle, so he can watch Lucia, and be better than Pino. And of course, Pino doesn't care - but the expression on his face tells me, "Did I do okay in the parade today?".

The return of Ethel

If you've been reading my blog for awhile, you might remember Ethel, the deer that lives on our land, and returns every year with new family members. All are given the secret handshake in order to enter our fields. Ethel and children are welcome around house, now that the vegetable area and young orchard are protected. How do I know it's the same deer, you ask. Because I gave her a protective moon. You'll have to read the story I wrote to understand.

Pumpkinhead found dead

I opened the door to the pump house, and gasped. At first I thought he was alive - his body all curled up in a typical cat sleeping
pose, his tail twined tight around his body like a scarf. He was in clear sight, tucked into the corner of the 10 x 10 shed, snuggled down in some fallen insulation mixed with hay. I guess I knew he was dead, but as I got closer, he looked so peaceful...maybe...no. He was dead.

There were no signs of stress or trauma really. His little orange head was tucked in between his paws. I examined his body, and the only sign of distress was right around one side of his nose, which looked liked the skin had rubbed off. His eyes were still there, no other creatures or maggots had started their work on him. I examined his body for wounds or bullets, nothing, except a few drops of red blood exiting his rear end. I thought maybe he had fallen and died of trauma, but, it didn't add up.

Pumpkinhead disappeared on January 4th - there is no way his body would have looked as it did when I found it if he had died that long ago. In fact, I've dealt with enough dead animals now in various stages out here, and we think he might have been dead only a day at most. He just wasn't that stiff, and animals stiffen up very fast. Why didn't he come back to the porch? To add to the mystery, Martyn had entered the pump shed two times last week, and there was no Pumpkinhead in the corner. If he had been alive, and able, he would have fled from Martyn, as he is more acclimated to me. This means he crawled into the pump house shortly before I found his body.

I'm only happy I found him, and then he did actually die in a safe spot. I carried him to the front porch, where Mama and Little Orange were. Orange is the only one of that litter left. He sat with the body like a dutiful brother for a minute or two, then went off to the garden. It was I who was pushing my human emotions onto the scene. The animals had already moved on. I buried him at the side garden, under lilacs and quince, a favorite cat hang out, especially in rain or hot weather. I will paint or engrave his tombstone in spring.

A tail, and more...

I did a little series about Huck and his tail this week, intended as a promo to a select group of past clients. I've been wanting to write a story about Huck's tail, but it's still just one of a myriad of ideas mushed in my head.

For those of you who haven't met Huck, you can read about his 'Guide to Happiness" here - and it's completely free.

I also want to mention two upcoming shows of artists I love and admire.
One is Dan Dutton, who I am just coming to know. This man has whim, incredible drawing ability, is a musician, a story teller, and he lives in a magical cabin in the woods of Kentucky. He has an upcoming performance "The Faun" in historical Louisville, Kentucky at the 21C Museum [Jan 31-Feb 1].

Then there is the upcoming show of Ward Schumaker's books and drawings at the Meridian Gallery in San Francisco [Jan 24 - March 1]. I only wish I could be there. I've loved his work for a long time. Ward is married to my all time favorite Vivienne Flesher. I broke the news to them that I named one of my new hens Vivienne, and it seemed only logical to name the new rooster Ward. They took the news well. Not everyone would, but in our family, having any animal named after you is considered an honor. If I could just teach Ward Schumaker the rooster to draw like Ward Schumaker the artist, I'd be on to something.

Water is a gift

I think I'm much more aware about our resources since moving to the farm. How can I not be? When the well goes dry there are more consequences than not having water for our own use - but a whole barnyard of thirsty beings will suffer.

We have much more work to do before we are the land stewards we want to be. But putting the holding tank in was a big project, and it is a good start. We can water all the animals now, and keep our struggling cedar trees alive we planted [of which 30% died due to lack of water. We can use the river water more efficiently, and though we won't water our field regularly, we can without being wasteful. We can also help the 400 seedlings to be planted this spring on the riverfront - intended to bring the acreage there back to native plants, which will help the river.

We need to do better with our gray water, but have some mickey-mouse systems in play until we get the energy and money to complete those tasks.

So I was inspired to do some portfolio pieces on living green. I just hope it's not one more fad for the masses. It's should be a life commitment, not a Target trend - or I hope it is. The earth hopes too.

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.