Growin' tails, and a big blowout

The rains of the northwest allow us to lull in plants and greenery well into the winter, if not all year. The constant moisture is also perfect for growing cat tails.
We never pick them, or prune them, and we are never sure where they will pop up in the front garden bed.

The rains gave us over 3" last nite. A 'real soaker', as they say. Perhaps the biggest news in the barnyard this week was...

...stop reading if you are a wimp...

the ever anticipated explosion of Mr. T's jaw line abscess occurred. This abscess was from a seed grain lodged in his jaw line, and it began forming over a year ago. When the hair starts falling off of an abscess area, it's time to lance it, so that if it is a contagious sore it won't infect other stock. As I did my usual barn feedings there stood Mr. T at the gate for dinner time, ready for food for his 350# body, and also ready to kick back in a dry stall bed. I noticed the hair was less on the abscess. This abscess was bigger than a golf ball, and hard to miss. I took a rag and gave it a gentle squeeze, just to test it.

Well...'Thar she blows!!!!!!!!'

Man, I won't go into more details than that, but I'm sure Mr. T was relieved. My usual remedy for all gapes, holes, abrasions was applied - iodine. He was not that impressed with the iodine flavor mixed with a fine vintage hay, but he'll be fine.

Art Helping Senior Animals

I'm kind of excited.

Many of you have helped me in my spay/neuter efforts with the cats, along with vet help when needed for those cats. Many big hearts out there! And now, my art will help senior animals needing a final refuge home, where they will be treated with dignity in their final months.

I've always been attracted to the elderly. I don't know why. The bitter sweet qualities of old age seem to resonate in my heart, and art. Older creatures are like weeds I guess, never displayed prominently in the flower shop window, but they are out their in the back alley still hanging on.

Now there is a section on my main art site called Helping Old Animals . When you purchase one of these prints [I'll be adding more as I do them], $25 will be used to support either Old Dog Haven or a senior dog still residing at Oregon Humane Society [they list dogs on their site and allow donations to specific dogs]. A designer is donating services for a brochure that will go to vet clinics [thank you Kristine!]. I'll post updates here, including animal pictures and bios.

Let me tell you more about Old Dog Haven . After creating the One Eyed Pug print for a vet, she put me in touch with them. She does a lot of vet care for them. Old Dog Haven has a network of foster homes that take in dogs who otherwise might have been left to linger in a shelter, or abandoned on the street. Many of these animals have lost their elderly human companions, some are abandoned because of their medical needs. Some people move and 'don't have room anymore." The goal is find these dogs "final refuge homes" where they can live out their remaining days with dignity, love, comfort and proper medical care if needed.

And, I will be a Final Refuge Home. I will take in one senior at a time. When that creature passes on, I'll bring in another one. Martyn has given me his blessing, on the condition I completely fund the dog through sponsorships or collected money. Old Dog Haven provides vet support but there will be food and certain maintenance medications. I will post a donation button soon for that, once I'm paired with the right animal. If you are interested in being a sponsor for my final refuge dog, let me know.

My husband doesn't read my blog. But I'd like to thank him, for being so open hearted about letting me follow my passion of helping animals. I thought I'd really have to work on him, but when I told him what I wanted to do, he said, "I will build whatever you need for it." I'm very graced to have found him. He still hasn't opened up to bringing home a needy pig to hang out with Frankie. I'll work on that. A little pie, some kissin'...I have my ways, all of which are legal.

Muddy fuzzies

The real rains have come. I welcome them, as it signals me to spend more time in the studio, more time in my head. My morning workouts with Boone are all but gone,and even getting a walk in now must be calculated between showers. When I moved from Minnesota, I was amused at all the different variations of the word 'rain' that the Oregon weather used.'Showers'means rain drops but light density of drops, "rain" means "It's really pouring", to name just two. It's interesting how culturally humans have had to find words to describe things. One word now emits a whole visual experience in one's head. Minnesota has many words to describe various intensities of snow - flurries, a dusting, slush, blanket.

I like the rains even with the drawbacks that continual water can create. But when I first visited Oregon back in '01, it was March, and I had left the cold tundra of my homeland. I remember the sensation of stepping onto ground in mid winter in Portland, and 'feeling' the earth as a soft blanket, versus a frozen solid form I had just left in Minnesota. I was ready to live in a climate where the earth was softer, and I wouldn't require a Lake Wobegon outfit just to go to the car and back. I love Minnesota, in fact, I miss a lot about it - the work ethic is more to my liking, the flatness mixed with lakes, and it's where I first walked, first cried, first ate. My Grandmother died on her city street, of a heart attack, 2 hours before I was born. My father once said that studies show most people return to their homelands to die, out of instinct. I can understand that. But I can't fathom that right now.

One of the drawbacks of rainy season, is my morning and nightly donkey hugs are very messy. In fact, I usually have to just kiss noses, and rub the one area between the donkey's front legs that manage to stay dry. This time of year, the donks are fuzzy with winter coats. They still roll in the compost pile, making full body hugs a dirty business. So, until spring, or a dry spell, nose kisses will have to do. Better than nothing.

Ring them bells

And so it has come to this. Like Maya Angelou said so graciously this morning, "America has grown up".

I awoke buzzing from the events of last night. Still feeling stunned, relieved, excited, hopeful, I did what I never do - I turned the television on in the morning. I wanted more reassurance that it had really happened, and I wanted to enjoy the taste of the win just a bit longer. People of all colors and heritages, women and men, gays and straights, young and old - they all came together to elect this man. But I hope it doesn't stop here. I hope that the grass roots energies that elected President Elect Obama will continue to grow and evolve. If there was ever a symbol of what happens when you work together from the bottom up, it has to be the Obama campaign.

But one President, no matter how intelligent, can't do it all. The old JFK quote that gets replayed over and over should perhaps be hung in nurseries and imbedded in ipods- "Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country." One must choose to find their own way to to serve this nation, as well as their own individual community. I'm grateful I can share the greatest gift I have, my art, to help animals in need, and other causes I care about. The election results have reminded the world that America is more than ipods and gadgets and 'things' to consume. America is a giant living organism, with a heart and soul. And I felt it last night. Many sacrifices must be made in the days ahead, but if we work together as Americans, we can reach the sky, someday. I really feel that optimism in many people. There will always be cynics. But I always feel cynicism is just a mask for anger and ignorance.

I'm really proud of Obama. I'm really proud he's our new President.

A time for prayer flags

NOTE: I'm shutting down comments for a few days due to the overwhelming amount of new visitors from being named Blog of Note. While I appreciate all of the legitamate commentors, unfortantely I have also been overwhelmed with opportunists just pushing their wares.

I'm very excited about my new fabric samples that arrived. As I told you a few posts ago, I stumbled on a company that prints small runs of fabric with your own design on it. Now that I see how well my two design printed, I'm happy to pass on the name of the company, Spoonflower. I have two designs right now that are available in my 'prayer flags' , and I'm brimming with ideas for more products.

One of my goals with my art, and our farm products, is to create things that I would have in my home. And in these economic times, like many of you I want simple ways to bring some comfort into my heart. I have always created little signs and poems on fabric and hung them around the farm and studio. Last month I did some hand painted prayer flags and you ate them right up. So I created these two designs intended for prayer flags, and you can purchase them over at Apifera-A-Day .

Each flag is still hand made, and I attach fabric scraps, bells, twine, little 'finds' to each individual flag. The fabric with the illustration on it is 8". A small twig from one of many cherry trees is sewn into the top. So they remain one-of-a-kinds, except the main illustration on the front is printed on a piece of cotton so I am not re-creating each illustration from hand [note: even farm girl-artist-apron fanatics have to get more work done than flag making]. So when you order a flag, you know what the main front illustration is, but you'll just have to be surprised with all the little additional items attached to it. Like sometimes a chicken feather - just roll with it.

The fabric is color fast so you can leave it in the rain. NOTE: © is not printed on the image, like int he photo. But future flags will have a tiny © included, discreetly. I add another piece of natural fabric in the back of the flag, and attach my hand made embroidered name.

So, hang a little flag, and hopefully it will make you happy, or calm, or peaceful, in a really small simple way.

Milk Rain

Tonight, at a little donkey's ass before midnight, the Ghosts of Fallen Cows will put on their annual "Milk Rain" show in the old barn.

Visit Tails & Tales, the short story site of artist/Katherine Dunn to read this story.

Now that's a pumpkin

Let's all give Paco a hoof and hand for helping us to achieve such pumpkin maximusinuss.

I did learn something: one requires a strong farm hand, perferably a landscaper type with a tree mover to decorate with these big boys.

Nose nuances

I took advantage yesterday to hang out with Boone, a light workout in the corral, then a leisurely walk down the road - well out in the open during mid day so we didn't get shot. Giant red deer are known to have roamed these roads, according to some hunters.

I like to ride up to some apple trees near our driveway, and while on top of Boone, grab apples for him. Boone is completely left-brained, food driven, so apple picking is a fun thing for him. What was funny on this walk is the dried oak leaves were all over the road, and he was really liking them, almost like he'd never experienced something so delicious with a texture so appealing. As he ate, I closed my eyes, and the sound of him chomping dried leaves sounded just like he was eating potato chips. Lovely.

This fall, the colors of the leaves are intense, more like a Minnesota or Vermont fall. Combined with the deep blue sky today, it was almost overwhelming, blinding. I pondered a sky of Payne's gray versus the intense blue of the day, and how it would combine even more dramatically with the mountain range of oaks and maples. I've been having a really hard time 'settling', and have been anxious this past week. Not really like me, and it's the chaos of the banks and the election. When anxiety cloaks me, I just plod on, and a walk helps. So I took Huck up the road a couple miles to the old Pike Cemetery, one of my favorite destinations. The air was really warm today, 75 or so, and as I walked by a field of alfalfa being cut, it smelled wet, but dry and warm. I surmised how a cut crop smells different in an autumn day of 70 degrees, than it does if it's cut in the first 70 degree days of spring.

These are just reminders that no matter what's going on in the world, there are subtle nuances that living creatures can admire and ponder. Once one figures that out, there is never a boring day.

Wanted: a national garden

Michael Pollan has written an excellent article in the New York Times, an "open letter tot he next President", and I hope everyone who reads this blog will take time to read it, and pass it on. I also know that this farm will be writing a letter to the next president stating our concern and interest in the food policies of our nation and how they effect the world, the economy, the farmers and the environment, as well as health and obesity issues.

And why not a Victory Garden on the South Lawn? Wouldn't that be fabulous. Imagine, all those pesticides to keep that lawn as perfect as they keep it, and all that water. And for what? Good looks. I hate the concept of a green lawn. I always have. My first little bungalow I owned in '96, I grew vegetables in the front yard. It was not well received. The little 5 year old came over one day and said, "Daddy says you like weeds and beans and he likes grass." Oh, how true. When parents say, "but the kids need grass to play on..." Oh, I must contain myself. Sorry, bring a kid to me and I'll toss him out in a field, or in the woods, or in the hay bale, and they'll be in heaven. It's parent that need grass, so they can delude themselves that their children are 'cleaner and safer" from, heaven forbid, mud, dirt, weeds, thistles and stones.

Anyway, the concept of a victory garden at the White House is not a new concept. As Pollan points out, Mrs. Roosevelt did this in 1943 [and the USDA was afraid it would the American food industry]. But imagine what a role model the new President and his family would be, if they got up each day and puttered in the garden. School children from nearby areas could come and help take care of the garden and learn from their own President how valuable growing our food responsibly is. They would get much needed exercise. Blackberries and ipods would be left at the garden gates. Children and their families could learn about nutrition, and the sheer pleasure and accomplishment of growing, and sharing, food. Picnics between families of all races and classes could be held.

And as Pollan went on: "You should make a point of the fact that every night you’re in town, you join your family for dinner in the Executive Residence — at a table. (Surely you remember the Reagans’ TV trays.) And you should also let it be known that the White House observes one meatless day a week — a step that, if all Americans followed suit, would be the equivalent, in carbon saved, of taking 20 million mid size sedans off the road for a year. Let the White House chef post daily menus on the Web, listing the farmers who supplied the food, as well as recipes."

And sheep.Sheep would demonstrate that the small amount of grass left on the lawn can be naturally mowed, and fertilized. No noisy men in red suits with leaf blowers or mowers. Of course they need a rooster, for ambiance, and ok, I put some donkeys in there too. I am hoping the next family to reside in the White House will be the Obamas, and I think those two little girls need more than a dog, they need donkeys.

Humorous anxiety

I voted today. What a glorious thing. It felt the end was coming, and like many of you out there, I am racked with anxiety over this election. Rather than go one about it, I will share this very humorous dark comedic take on it, by Larry David.

Now, I'm going outside, and take the afternoon to be with Boone.

Definitely sweater weather

Or as we like to say to Billy on cold mornings, "Oh my! chilly, Billy!" Humor is important all times, but most definately in these times.

Little turn ons

One of the best parts of upcoming raining season is Martyn pulls out his rubber suit.

When I worked in New York, oh my, I was in my twenties {!} and I remember a co-worker at the ad agency where I worked saying she just loved a man in a well tailored suit. I grew up in a household where quality fabrics and materials mattered, and to this day, I still swoon in fabric shops. So I did understand the concept that a man in a good suit can create a twinkle in a lass's eye. But when it comes to turn ons, there is nothing that makes me swoon more than my husband's rubber suit. Well, I guess I just shared too much.

Fabric experiments

I'm excited to try out a new online company that prints small runs of fabric. If it turns out well, I will definitely share the info. I want to create square swatches that I can use in hand sewn items. And since I can't afford one of those awesome embroidery sewing machines, I thought I'd see how mimicking hand stitching, and including fabric collage pieces, will come out on this fabric.

My mom gave me her old Bernina sewing machine, purchased in 1974. I have it down at the shop for a tune up, but hopefully it will still work just fine. I know some of you cringe thinking about the oddities I will now be able to create in my 'spare' time. Cat suits, donkey swim wear, more rubber suits for my farm man. Endless ideas. Actually, my main goal is to create blankets for the Apifera cats who must reside outside all winter. I've been buying old blankets at the Goodwill, but I want some that are kitty fashionable and have that 'Apifera essence'.

The 1974 Bernina has the original brochure in it, with my mother's handwriting. She was 48 when she bought it, and I was 17. Now I'm older than she was then. It gave me a jolt. Life does go by fast, and faster. That's why I want to learn new things as much as I am able. Do I wish I had been more patient when my mother tried to teach me to sew? Yes. But if I can learn to train a horse, or weed 4000 lavender plants, certainly I can conquer a sewing machine. Stay tuned.

And the barnyard mourns

Post Note: Thank you to everyone who wrote such nice comments and emails. It is appreciated and comforting.

As the morning sun came into our bedroom, I opened my eyes and my first thought was, "I know he's dead". I took my time getting to the barn for morning chores, as if procrastinating would change the inevitable.

Arriving at the barn, I heard the usual animal sounds - sheep bleating, a whinny, a little goat knicker, cats of many tones. But there was no sound of a sick rooster. I looked in Ward's stall, hoping, maybe...but he wasn't at the food dish like normal, and I could barely see a feather sticking up out of his bed box. Ward's body was slumped down in his little hay bed, already stiff, his beak slightly open, his neck curled like a swan. But his feathers still so light and breezy, so beautiful even after death.

The night before I had gone to put everyone in for the night. Ward had been under the weather again, limping a lot, his wattle always drooping. But he was eating and drinking. But the night before, he was making gurgling sounds. There was liquid in his lungs. He couldn't make any normal clucking sounds, and when I opened his mouth further, you could hear the fluid. His neck feathers were wet too. When I put him in his Ward Room for the night, he went into the corner, and faced his head down. I knew that was a sure sign he was in distress. I made a fresh, fluffy bed of hay for him in his bed box, and held him for awhile. I hated to leave him alone in his room, and thought about bringing him in the studio in a crate for the night, but the new sounds and lights would have just been more stressful.

So he died alone in the night. I plucked his finest tail feathers, and showed his body to his barnyard compadré Frankie, and then buried him in the front garden next to Mr. Pumpkin Head. He was always an outcast from the flock, and it didn't seem right to bury him in the hen yard. His headstone reads, "Ward 10/19/08. Rooster, friend, gentleman."

Damn, I really liked having him around. He was a fine fellow to have known, and I will miss him.

Lord Jimmy lives on

...the giant pumpkins were created by a mouse lord from long ago. The mouse Lord, named Jimmy, bred the giant pumpkins for geodesic home domes for his colony of mice, of which there were thousands. Mice workers would tunnel in and carve out the giant orb, creating a perfect winter home for a large family of rodents...

Visit Tails & Tales, the short story site of artist/Katherine Dunn to read this story.

Weekly ear meeting

While I'm never officially invited to the Thursday morning ear meetings, I do sometimes over hear the agenda. Today I heard some whispering about 'candy corn protocol' and 'gum remover'.

Ode to a cow

I just added this new painting for sale over at Apifera-a-Day.Our farm used to be a 100 acre dairy, years ago. That means there a lot of milk cows that were born and died on our land. I love cows. I really want one, but have resisted as milking is another 2x chore that adds to my diversion schedule. Plus, where you have one cow, you need two cows.

Anyway, I did this in honor of a cow I knew that died. Cow heaven does exist. It floats right above the barn here. I've seen it, but only when the perfect mix of weather conditions come together. Clover floats there too, and milk is served by bluebirds in frosty glasses to the cows.

I'm adding almost daily to Apifera-a-Day.

Read a little, eat a little

I had fun doing a series of about 20 b/w spot illustrations for a wonderful little food and literary publication, Alimentum. This food journal, printed 2x annually, is beautifully produced as labor of love, and features fiction and poetry related to food and cooking. If you are a foodie, and a reader, I suggest you visit their site and consider ordering a copy or two. They would make wonderful gifts for the cook in your life. I think my work will be in the Winter issue.

I always say that eggs are really a perfect food. What food when left in the roost can actually turn into an animal, but if taken from the roost can become a fritatta, or mixed into batter to make a cake. Eggs come with their own suitcase too.

Coming soon: Paco learns to say good bye to the giant pumpkins he's helped raise.

Keeping calm

It's really easy to be scared right now, isn't it? Uneasy, unsure. Wary. Weighted down with thoughts, of "what if?".

Oddly, I am pretty calm. I've weathered enough since going freelance in 1996 that I know it will be ok. It's always darkest before the dawn. This is a correction of greed. Sadly, many innocents are hurt.

So there is only one thing I can do. Look up. Keep making art. Focus on the now, the moment, and see hope in a new kind of future. I'm not a religious person but I have a firm belief in myself, and the higher strengths that comfort and guide me. I believe that working in the land and with my animals, as well as painting,is an open ended prayer to a higher entity. But lately, I have awoken around 3 am, somewhat restless, and I have taken to saying prayers in my head: wisdom for the masses to vote, wisdom to the world leaders, safety for Obama from the cynical machines, and prayers for new opportunities and projects for my art. Yesterday I took sometime at lunch to enjoy the warm day, beautiful day, to make a small prayer flag. It sounds so simple, but even in scary times, it is a choice to look up and sing a song. The song might not last all day, but it will keep coming back, if you bring it back.

I've always been an optimist, my father once said. No reason to stop now.
I painted this piece a few days ago. Called "And then the wind blew in", it is full of many things. You can make your own symbols, but it pleases me when I look at it. a few days ago. Called "And then the wind blew in", it is full of many things. You can make your own symbols, but it pleases me when I look at it.

New ideas and inspiration!

A quick update - I'm pretty excited. Emma has followed Donkey Dreams, our farm and my art and is also a hospice worker here in a large, well known, health care organization in Oregon. She came to our summer Pie Day, and we promised to re-connect and brainstorm about ways to develop Donkey Dreams.

My initial idea of bringing the sick and dying to the farm, via their hospice workers, was well intentioned, but not very practical. And the families caring for dying or sick are not going to put a donkey therapy session on their list of things that might help them or their loved ones. In fact, it might be an insult to someone to be invited to a donkey pie day for a day of relaxation. Seeing my mom go through hospice while my father died at home brought this home to me.

But, honoring the hospice workers is a wonderful, wonderful idea! Emma shared some of her thoughts and experiences as a hospice worker, and how one is so busy care taking, there is little room for debriefing, re-energizing the heart and grieving for their own clients. Their grief and stress builds up. We thought a day to celebrate the care they give to others, as well as recognizing their former and current clients, would help them on many levels.

So, I will begin to write an outline for a 'support and healing event' here at Apifera with our Donkey Dreams. I'm thinking it will be in summer or early fall '09. I have many ideas brimming in my head! This event might also benefit children and adults that are going through post-death grieving of a loved one, as Emma's hospice group often works with the Dougy Center, a national organization that provides grief support for children and teens.

I hadn't thought about giving donkey and farm therapy to the caregivers, and now, it seems so wonderful, and right, and obvious. Thank you, Emma!! This is a first step for me to build trust and a working relationship with these hospice caregivers at this organization. Stay tuned. It will take some time, but I must remember, donkeys do everything very s...l...o...w...l...y.

Sexual healing

In which Chickweed finally gets the girl, but the barnyard is in chaos....


After three years of building giant amounts of testosterone, Chickweed now has relief...I think. When we had our first lamb crop in '05, we had 90% rams. I saved most of them, thinking I could sell them as breeding stock. This of course was my way of not killing them, and I learned a valuable lesson on proper culling. One does not need three rams -that's 3 pairs of testicles the size of eggplants [no exaggeration for you non sheep people. ] We do keep two unrelated rams, as I choose to breed them in on-off years to keep the line fresh. Many breeders keep one ram, and sell him after two years and get a ram that is not related. Otherwise, "you'll end up with five headed sheep without teeth"as one breeder told me.


So, after selling more than 5 rams, Chickweed was and is left behind. I never understood why - he is charming fellow, and mellow which is nice for the shepherd. He wasn't any smaller than some of the other rams. So, I decided to prove him this season, ie show the ladies what he's got. While this is good news for Chickweed, it meant I had to provide three separate areas for three separate rams to hang with their girls. And provide another area where the young yearlings run who are not ready for breeding.

In other words, chaos in the barnyard. I hate breaking up the ewe flock. It creates 2 or 3 days of constant sheep bleating. And they have to live with their prospective rammers 24/7 for 30 days. On top of it, I put Rosie and Daisy in with Joe Pye, who shares his quarters with the Boer goats, Stella and Iris. Stella is the herd boss, so she spent a good day defending the hay area. Meanwhile the rams run around curling their lips in sexual anticipation and peeing all over - another sexual turn on for sheep. It's right out of a Barry White song.

The first year we bred Joe Pye Weed, we never saw him 'do it' with the ladies. In 30 days, not one mounting. But we had twins out of everyone. Mr. T on the other hand gets right to business. Now Chickweed, I am a bit worried about him. He is so mellow, and I only have one yearling ewe in with him just to see how he does. I thought he'd rush in there and go right to business, but he barely introduced himself. He was polite, not pushy like the other rams. Perhaps he prefers the comfort of the stall at night, when it's just him and Blue, alone together as virgins, under a tin roof with rain falling. I knew of a ram that had 40 ewes to service and they didn't get one lamb! I joked with them that '"That's what you get when you name a ram 'Lancelot'", he has a confused sexual identity. We name our rams after weeds, and I thought Chickweed, plentiful here, had a funny connotation, but perhaps it tainted his manliness.

I'll be glad when November 3rd is here, and all the girls are back together and rams are all back together. One slight adjustment in the barnyard creates such chaos. I did have a moment where I thought, "I can't wait to see what we get in the spring." Lambing season is always different every year, but the anticipation is palpable every spring, much like the return of the Western Tanagers, or the tulips.

Sent by a Pino supporter

One of the generous sewers that made aprons for Pino's big pie day this summer, sent me this fun picture from New Jersey. She saw this food grill and she and her kids were reminded of how much fun they had making aprons for Pino.

How sweet! Pino had heard of pizza pie shops, and thought this might be a sideline someday. Thank you, Scrappy, for remembering us, and for your aprons.

Full week, good things

It's been an intense week mixed with economic crisis and political theatrics and topped off with a case of poison oak. The rains came on Thursday, a relief, but it's amazing how you forget just how wet you get in one outing to the barn in the middle of a soaker. Still, I welcomed the smells of wet donkey and sheep hair and the way Boone smells even more like a horse in the dampness. My braids are clumpier in winter and I get to switch to my fall and winter hats.

I'm fortunate to be working happily on three private commissions this month from repeat collectors. Very fortunate. My newly sheet-rocked studio with white walls and new furniture arrangement is more open, and bright, and has me so happy. I'm just pleased every time I'm in it[Let's all say "Thank you, Martyn"]. I've even been dancing and doing some air guitar shows with Huck. That's a good sign my juices are flowing properly. I feel really 'full' of both self love and respect for my life, but also full of ideas.

The end of the week brought a visit from some artists who were teaching at the Portland Art and Soul event, an annual teaching extravaganza of artists from all over the nation. An artist requested way back in March if she and 2 friends could come meet me and see the studio and the farm. I get many requests from people, and I'm really touched people want to come out and meet me. I have to turn down a lot of requests, or be non-committal,just because one has to make choices of what energies can be diverted from art and farm. So please don't be hurt or insulted if I turn down your requests. But I'm really happy I was able to meet Tracie from Kansas. It was good to meet other artists, talk shop, talk love of lifestyle, laugh, and of course introduce them to the animals. Thank you for coming, Tracie, Marylin, and Jan. Your enthusiasm was so nice, and refreshing as was your apple butter and poetry book. And your generous comments soaked into me. You reminded me that this life I'm in is so.....mine. The One Eyed Pug got a lot of attention, and even passed gas for you,a good sign.

Next post....the sexual tension in Chickweed's 3 years of life comes to an end. Stay tuned.

Survival Tip #3

Survival Tip #2

So far, we have survived the first morning of hunting season. We are so grateful for Paco. He is preparing buckets for the flock.

Life with a goat 101

Buy a whole bunch of pasture fence. Make sure it's 5' tall or higher. Spend your whole weekend getting it up. Run electric wire on the top of the fence and the bottom of the fence.

Put goat in the fenced pasture. Explain to her that this is her side, and over there, that is your side. Explain to her that her side has electrical currents.

You are now tired. Get a lawn chair. Make a good sandwich, preferably with home grown tomatoes and good bread.

Refrain from alcohol at this stage. Sit in your lawn chair and enjoy your sandwich.
As you chew, notice the goat roaming in the nicely fenced pasture you made just for her. Call out to her,"Hello Stella! I see you!" Enjoy the sweet sounds of the goat calling back to you in goat bleeps. I will translate: "Hello! I see you too! What are you eating? You are so close, I can smell the bread! I love bread. Must have bread. I'll be right there! OH! Ouch! electric current, no problem, it's over now. There, here I am, I will join you and your sandwich."

Say nice things to the goat, then lead her back to the pasture with a bit of the bread. Ask her if she learned that touching the electric fence has consequences.
Return to your lawn chair. Notice now there are foot steps behind you. "Hello! I'm right here with you again!"

Try to refrain from yelling. Take your half eaten sandwich, forget about the lawn chair, and walk back to the goat pasture with your goat. Find a good rock to sit on. Sit and share the rest of your sandwich with your goat.

Survival Tip #1

Being a little worry wort, Paco not only has to worry about his giant pumpkin, but he now has to worry about hunting season. Fortunately, he didn't witness the bow incident last week, but he has heard the target shooting all over the coast range. Tomorrow being hunting opener, I suggested he try to channel his worries into ideas and drawings to share with others who might fear hunting season.

Frivolity

Is that a word, frivolity? It just seems to describe this recent piece I did for the Bark magazine, a great dog zine. It's a gift card for subscribers to send to friends. They wanted an every day, non-breed specific dog, festive without screaming 'Christmas'. I had much fun doing it, and the curtains and colors pleased me. There's definitely a little of my old friend Louie in that little fellow. Now go subscribe to the Bark, it's a fun read and they are avid buyers of good illustration.

I have to run, we are dragging extension cords out to the barnyard and rigging up an old b/w television. Pino wants to watch The Big Ear One Who Speaks Calmly debate the Grey Back Who Lacks Wrinkles. Apples, figs and crostinis will be served.

For him

I painted this yesterday in homage to our fallen friend. I felt peaceful and intent painting it, and more peaceful afterwards.

I was thinking how the land has seen many fall on it, blood runs deep under the ground on any farm. I am unclear as to the symbolism of the saddle like pattern I felt compelled to place on the deer. But it was necessary.

It was nice of many to comment, and email thoughts. Thank you.

Trauma at Apifera

In which a deer suffers greatly, as does a woman.

I walked back from the barn last night after feedings and noticed a white car by the river road. Our property sits on a hill, making road activities noticeable. I didn't think much of it, but took notice of three unknown men in the neighbor field. It seemed odd. When Martyn arrived home 30 minutes later, I asked if the white car was still on the road, as I was wondering what they were doing. He changed the subject, and, as our conversation is often jumbled at night, I again didn't pay much attention.

Little did I know they were tracking a wounded animal, a yearling 2 point buck that they had hit a mile and half away, across the river. It's bow season. They had approached Martyn as he was entering the drive, telling him they were following a blood trail.Knowing me as he does, Martyn kept this information from me when he entered the house, but when the white car suddenly appeared at our front drive, and three unknown men got out, I said, "What is going on?". Martyn rushed out, ' I'll take care of this."

They spoke some words, and the men got back in his car, and Martyn followed them back down . At this point, I looked out, and saw a young buck leap the fence and enter our front ram field, about 200 feet from me. He was clearly bleeding at the mouth, but had managed to jump the fence, and was headed towards the old barn, the normal path the deer take up into the woods of our property. The rams and sheep stood still, watching. The buck made it another 300 feet and was near the old barn. He was clearly dying, slowly. And this is the point where I can see his face so clearly, and his expression, his stance. He was about 50 feet from me. He was still standing, but wobbly. I stood still watching, but physically upset. He looked at me so intensely, and then collapsed. But he was not dead. Martyn had returned, and had left the hunters at the road, wanting to assess the situation before letting them come on our property and enter our fields. He gathered the rams in, and I went to assess the buck. He was struggling to breath, blood was pumping out his mouth. I was only 15 feet away. I could hear the gurgling in his lungs, he was drowning in blood. The blood was so thick and the color of movie blood. He finally let his neck collapse, and I told him to let go. But he couldn't, yet.

Martyn came and forced me away, and said we had to let them come finish the job of a badly placed arrow. I was livid. I returned to the house, and Martyn went to tell the hunters to come up and finish the job. By the time they returned, he was dead. What really gripes me is one of the hunters had said to Martyn, 'Once they go down, they're basically dead." Not true. That animal was shot around 5 pm, or earlier. He crossed a river and found his way to the deer path he had taken many times. He came on our property at 7pm. He suffered a long time. He suffocated slowly. He died completely in stress.

What upsets me most is I did not have the skills, or tools, to help him on his way. He came to our refuge, and I could have made it easier for him. I failed miserably as a steward. Not only that, but I was not calm. I was crying as I sat near him, asking him to let go. I added more stress to his death. I never want to be in a position where I can't help an animal out of it's misery again, quickly. I will consult my vets, and some hunter friends, and I will learn to shoot a gun. If this seems shocking for those that know my sensitive side, I can only tell you, my sensitive side is what propels me to learn this skill. It's the responsible thing to do.

I am not necessarily opposed to hunting. But I am opposed to bow hunting. I seriously doubt there are too many skilled bow hunters that can place a bow in an animal to cause it to die right away. Elk have been known to walk for days, slowly dying of blood poisoning. While the hunters did follow the law - they were hunting with approval of the landowner, I assume they had a permit, it is bow season, and they did ask Martyn for permission to come on our property, I do wonder if the event had an effect on them. They knew it caused great trauma to me, and when they said to Martyn that next time they would be more careful, Martyn made it clear, "there would be 'no next time on this property". I don't care what they think of me. I care what the animal felt, and what I felt, when suffering was presented to me.

Back at the house, I couldn't get the color of blood out of my head. I cried on and off - watching the economic and McShame news didn't help. We finally turned on "Grumpy Old Men" which made me laugh. But even there, the two old codgers are hunting a giant fish. They put it back after catching it - if only it could be like that in real life.

The idea that the young buck had actually come here to find a safe haven to die in, may seem like wishful thinking. Oddly it is an underlying theme in the first novel I have started writing. Did I create the storyline and it came to be, or did I only see the storyline in real life because I want it so much to be true? I choose to believe there is an understanding of what our land is for creatures near and far. If that means looking like a fool around neighboring hunters, so be it.

I slept poorly. By dawn, I could hear Boone out in the pasture, snorting and eating. I wanted to rush out and put him in a stall, forever away from stray arrows. But just as that unrealistic thought entered my head, Martyn rolled over in his sleep and put his arm around me, and Big Tony pushed his paws into me.

Simple sightings bring pleasure

Simple pleasures are abundant anywhere, and this season there is so much that feels juicy to the soul. Certain things bring back times of pleasure, or safety. These sunflowers greet me every morning, and lift me up in tiny seconds through out the day. How can one not hear them, "Hello there! I'm here and shining, do you feel me?"

I wish I could take credit for raising these beauties. Martyn and I went to a special event this weekend at the Portland Flower Market, the wholesale floral market for all of Portland. We are now members and have a booth there, which Martyn oversees during the week. One of the growers there, The Sunflower Kid, grows quantities of these giants, along with other fresh cut varieties. So I brought two bundles home, and ever time I look at them I feel ...so...satisfied.

Other bounties are arriving. Our little apple trees have giant fruit on them - their young tiny branches drooping as they are full of their offspring. Boone is relegated to taste the first harvest. Our little Asian pear tree too is full. We have one pear, and already ate the one plum of our other fl edging trees. I know someday I'll be sitting around, and it will dawn on me, 'Wow, I remember years ago when we planted these, they were so small..." Autumn brings out nostalgia of many kinds I find. It is my favorite season, but it is also the season I am at my most sensitive. This is not a negative thing. Channeling sensitivity into my art brings good things.

It's just there aren't enough hours in the day. Another feeling brought on by fall for me is the sense I must do many things, create many things, as my life is a gift, and it will not last forever. It is always a shock, to really grasp I will not live forever.

Paco's Pumpkin

In which you learn about Jimmy the mouse lord, and perhaps feel enticed to enter Paco's art raffle.Enter as many $5 quantites as you'd like. Enter by October 5th.

In case you thought I was just making it all up, I took this picture this morning of Paco guarding his giant pumpkin. For those of you who loyally follow my blog, you know that little Paco is a grumpy creature with a good heart, but with a tendency to over-guard everything that moves - that includes leaves and hoses. I have also been accused of giving too much attention to Pino. This of course is not true. Paco has no desire to be in the spotlight and press. He just wants something important to guard. So this year his wish came true when I planted these giant pumpkins just for him.

As I explained to Paco, and I will explain here for you, the giant pumpkins were created by a mouse lord way back before, well I don't know when. It was a long time ago. The mouse Lord, named Jimmy, bred the giant pumpkins for geodesic home domes for his colony of mice, of which there were thousands. Mice workers would tunnel in and carve out the giant orb, creating a perfect winter home for a large family of rodents. Mice prefer round objects to anything with sharp angles, allowing them to pile together in a natural ball form.

So I told Paco we must guard these giant orange creatures until the descendants of Jimmy [thought to have lived in the Northwest in his final years of life] take over.

Paco did not show any emotion when I declared him Pumpkin Guard - not his fashion to show any kind of joy. He simply asked where I would plant the pumpkins. When I told him the 'black gold' pile - years of horse and sheep manure all composting into rich, black 'gold' - he did seem to show a glint in his eye. For the black gold pile is where the donkeys are often found rolling and sunning in leisure hours.

As Paco's pumpkin has grown, he has taken his duties even more seriously. During day hours when the donkeys are in the lower sheep field, Paco has relegated Ward Schumacher the rooster to guarding the pumpkin. So fitting, what could be prettier, that red comb against the orange body. I sense a real pride in Paco when he sits near his pumpkin. Like many things we raise here, I remind Paco on a regular basis that this pumpkin is not ours to keep, we are just caretakers.
Still, I can see him slowly getting attached not only to the orange creature, but also to the feeling of duty that comes with guarding it.

So, I will buy some wood and such and build a special guard hut for Paco. We will place special items in the hut, and tell Paco they are his forever, to guard. I am not telling him until it is all done. It will only cause him worry. And he needs to focus on his pumpkin duties.

Pino's concern for elephants

Pino participated in the new blog which encourages animals to give their feelings, concerns and opinions, if any, on the political turmoil of the season. He is joined by many others, including the pug whose fear of baths brings him concerns about waterboarding techniques. A light hearted way to let some steam off for all creatures, so give your animal friend computer priviledges for a few minutes [risky I know - once they know your passwords it's all over].

Always

In which a song is heard, at the same time the sky speaks...

I was watching you, from above, long before life there was love

See those little girls dressed like China dolls, all for one, then one by one they fall
high on a hill where the world passes by
you never came back but I know you tried.

'Cause I was watching you from above, when it all falls apart there is love.

All these years to prove how much I care
I didn't know it but you were always there, until September when you slipped away
in the middle of my life on the longest day
and I hear you say

I'll be watching you from above
'cause long after life there is love...© R.Cash

The little worrier

What's going on in the little head? How are his thoughts constructed - in shapes and senses strung together like a little movie? Perhaps, just as we ramble on in our heads in full sentences, he rambles on in his own thoughts, only in brays, and snorts, and hoof scratching strung together in a symbolic code of donkey language. I am still learning the symbols, and hope to someday write a dictionary of donkey sign language for human observers.

So while I can't write the donkey symbols in his head, I can try to translate it here into human language. I know Paco quite well. He is a worrier, he is insecure. He can't quite get used to the idea he is safe here. He is the kid in the school yard who is invited on the team at recess, but insists on keeping the ball all to himself, because he just knows he'll never get it again.

So I imagine his conversation to himself in this picture might go like this: "I see them over there. Together. I see them. They have my hay. I ate the hay first. Now they are eating the hay. I need to go over there. They need commands. They don't know how to do it without me. They are always together. I need to make sure everything is properly done, like I do it. I'm worried about the hay. What's that noise now? It's a chicken. The chicken is in the hay. It's my hay. I hate the chicken being in my hay. I have to go there now. I'm worried."

Each night, I spend time hugging and grooming the donkeys. Even then, the chatter in little Paco's head can be felt. He feels he must dominate the herd even in a time of relaxation. I work with him to show him I am the herd boss, hoping someday he will see he doesn't have to be the boss of all. It's a lot of pressure on an animal to feel he needs to be in charge of everything. That is why I gave Paco pumpkin duties this year. I will write about that in the next post.

Magic can now be mailed

I have opened a side arm to this blog called "An Apifera-a-Day" which will offer hand made items and hand picked items from our farm. It might be a collage, a sculpture, a folk doll...a wrench, a wheelbarrow of chickens. I've also been wanting to do something with the many photographs I take, so am selling archival sepia printed photos.

There are a lot of bloggers doing one-a-day art, one-a-day poems, etc, so I thought, I can share things that are bathed in Apifera energy. Many people who visit speak of the energy of our farm being soothing and kind. I feel that way about it. So An Apifera-a-Day will give you a chance to have some of this energy, like a vitamin. Maybe I'm nuts, but it's my response to the new Palin doll that just hit stores, made in China I'm sure.

The online art store will remain up for higher end art pieces [and of course Pino's Apron Gallery]. I will have art on Apifera-a-Day, but I'd like to keep it farm related, and in the $25-$250 range.

It will keep my wheels turning. Like, how can I turn these crushed donkey droppings into something? So bookmark it, you never know what will strike your fancy.

Elusive mama

The ever elusive Mama Kitty, mother to 75% of Apifera's cats, is next to impossible to catch on camera. This photo then is fitting. She is such a beauty. But as I have written before, one can not touch her. The closest I came in 4+ years was to touch her nose. Still, she now hangs out at least and doesn't run. She still waits for me to leave the deck before she joins Little Orange, Plum and BW for dinner. The sweetest thing is Mama Kitty and Big Tony, once lovers, still rendez-vous in the morning sun, and again after dark. Mama doesn't play like the other cats, but when she is on a date with Tony, usually in the front driveway where there is plenty of dust to roll in, she flirts with her tail and her squeaks. I try to give them privacy and not watch any further. Fixed or not, lovers deserve their time.

I do feel like the original ferels are starting to lose steam. They are 5 years old now, so Mama must be 7 or more. I'm glad I could give them more than the one year most ferels will live. Still, it saddens me to think of the day when they will be gone. It will be a new era, and I suppose there will always be cats coming and going to the land of Apifera.

Nature's cover

I was thinking while picking vegetables tonight, how nature so wisely protects the bounty of each plant from large predators. I thought there were no zucchini [impossible!], but there hidden cleverly under green leaves, was a green zucchini. And the beans are so deceptive as they hang amongst their green hair, and green legs and arms. Tomatoes stick out wonderfully, like a red bird on a green tree [oh I miss the red cardinals of the Midwest], but then, animals don't eat them - except for Billy, he loves them.

We humans, no cover there. We walk the earth with faces exposed, ears sticking out and all perfumed up with soaps and shampoos attracting every predator in the area. Perhaps our only cover from such predators are hidden thoughts, disingenuous smiles, and eyes looking down as we walk.

One eye stroll

The veterinarian who recently purchased one of the animal prints, liked this new portfolio piece I just did so she purchased a print for her office. As a vet who specializes in eye issues, she loved the idea of a one eyed pug still having an enjoyable life. I wanted it to be bright and cheery,appealing to both child and adult.

And the little one eyed pug does have an enjoyable life. He has been gorging on fresh hand picked cherry tomatoes. He loves those darn tomatoes. Perhaps anything bulbous and round brings him comfort, like the full moon.

Just say no, Joe

Please visit the Donkey Dream blog to read about a wonderful therapy visit we had with Nuansi, who is challenged by apraxia and aphasia of speech. As you will read in my entry, Nuansi was able to have a reciprocal encounter with this sensitive little creature, without words.

I needed a bit of my own donkey therapy this morning after suffering through a certain speech by a certain governor of a certain state way up north, where, I guess, some people believe Polar Bears are not effected by global warning, and young teens aren't given adequate, oh excuse, aren't given ANY education about sex, but are told to abstain from those longings of the loins. Perhaps I will try this on the farm: "Joe Pye Weed, ignore your testicles brimming with hormones, go not forth to that ewe, for I have not married you together, and you must be brave and noble, and like them, you must simply abstain." And even though we are solidly behind the Democratic ticket we will vote for in November, I just wish I'd known that I could have run - I mean, I was a block leader one or two years in my old neighborhood. Martyn would have been a perfect VP pick for me- shoring up the white male fishing vote. And while I've never skinned a mule, or shot a gun, I've banded a ram testicle.

So all the groaning and shouting I did at the TV had me exhausted, and quite depressed. Obviously the cynicism of last's nights farce has left a bit of cynicism in my hand. I apologize, dear readers, as I do not use my blog for political rants. To cleanse myself, I took time this morning to sit amongst the donks, as they bathed in the fall morning sun. Pino was not concerned. Do you know, I felt so upset about world affairs, that, I confess, I shed a small tear or two on Pino's mane as I held him. I held him hard, and heard his breathing. And then he transmitted a message to me...it wasn't a sound, it was a group of letters that formed in my head as I hugged my donkey......o b a m a

Communicating without words

Pino recently had very special guests. Nuansi and her twin sister Ganjana [and wonderful artist friend Holly who took pictures] were making a long coastal trip down from Seattle. On their way home, they emailed and asked to visit for a Therapy Day. The twin sisters are film makers and artists and Nuansi is challenged by Aphasia & Speech Apraxia, which makes it difficult to speak. She uses short phrases with significant words, making it difficult to understand her, and for her to express herself. In addition, she has limited control of her voice box, making her voice unclear and difficult to hear.



What is so charming though, is Nuansi got out of the car with a huge smile, and continued smiling the whole time here. Her heart is huge, as is her sister's - this is further exemplified by the fact the two sisters traveled to Cambodia [with Holly] and along with 20 volunteers built 10 houses for a village. They have a made a short film of this effort, and left me a copy. It is a heartwarming, gentle look at a gentle country, torn up by genocide and poverty. I was very moved by it, and encourage anyone to purchase it. I really didn't know much about what the country looked or felt like, and I came away with a sense of that.

Nuansi also uses drawing as a way to communicate. She showed me some little sketches, maps really, of the places they'd been on their Oregon coastal journey. And she sent this one to me today. I am so pleased that she notes her day at our farm as 'best voice day'.All three artists took time to bring their sketchbooks into my studio and we shared as artists, which is always special.

I was also so amused that when they asked to have a Pino Therapy Day, they also requested to meet Ward Shumacher the rooster! Ward was honored! And of course, as you can see, Frankie the pygmy partook.

Pino once again showed his intuition. While Martyn and I gathered our three guests around all three donkeys, it was Pino that leaned into Nuansi. I really felt, I know, he sensed her communicating in unspoken ways. He did not need clear speech from Nuansi. Oddly, the night before their visit, I had watched a PBS show on using dolphins and horses to help a variety of speech challenged people. I had not opened my mind up to reaching out to this group of people, and I felt Nuansi's visit was a gift, and a nudge. Allowing such children and people to hug a donkey allows them to feel as a whole communicator, with or without words. It is the heart these animals sense. Pino senses fear in you, sadness in you, anger in you and calm and joy in you.

These are the kind of visits that make me feel good about Donkey Dreams. Thank you, Nuansi, Ganjana and Holly for writing us and opening your world to us.

Consequences of rooster love

While Papa Roo remains as the head rooster of the hen house, Ward has crossed the line into 'pampered adult cockerel". As one crosses the line from 'owning' a rooster, to 'loving' a rooster, there are consequences. Ever since Ward's battle with Papa Roo, brought on by Ward having blatant chicken sex with one of Papa's hens, I must now separate Ward out at night from the hen house clan. Ward has it pretty good - a 12' stall in the sheep barn, complete with windows. Since Ward really isn't part of the Papa Roo flock, he has developed a flock of his own - consisting of the barn cats, Frankie, and the donkeys. Ward even does the classic rooster dance around Frankie in the morning [roosters do a funny circle dance around their hens, to announce to everyone, "Hey, this is my lady, hands off."].

Nightly feedings have become complicated, as Ward wants to partake in not only the barn cat dinner, but also the sheep and donkey repasts. If getting a two year old to bed is hard, just try a rooster on a nice evening who thinks he's a cat, or sheep, or a donkey. Every night, I prepare strategies to win the game of "Pretend I'm Not Trying to Catch Ward". Now in the dark, or subdued light, catching Ward is easy. But free roaming Ward, enjoying the cool late summer sunset, is a different game entirely. Ward has a variety of moves to put the NFL on watch. Some nights, I confess, I have let him roost with the cats in the hay bales. I don't like to do this, fearing the barn owl will get him, but at a certain point after a long day, catching a rooster, even a loved rooster, loses it's appeal.

Yes, I love the damn rooster. Holding Ward when I do catch him, is very nice. Each sound he makes is an individual code or word. He likes to have his claws supported, and his ear flap rubbed make his eyes shut. I have learned that while sitting holding a rooster, rubbing his head and eyes brings him to a comatose state of relaxation - to the point that he can feel so relaxed that he ...well, let's just say I've learned to strategically locate his rooster rear so as not to promote droppings on my pants. [Another reason aprons come in handy].

I will continue to love Ward, and I will not cull him out of our farm. He will never be a stew. Silly as it is, his charm brightens my day.