Loss and light

Rosa lost her two lambs. While I remained calm and fulfilled my role as helper, nurse, confidant and mother, I failed to be able to help her fully and had to finally call a vet around noon yesterday.

She went into visible labor around 7 am and the lamb's mouth and toe were visible. A half hour later she had made little progress. I've learned not to jump in too soon, as more damage can be done [I learned this the hard way a few years ago]. I felt as a new mom she might not have known what to do, so gave her an hour. Then I stepped in, but she was so tight, and my small lubricated hand could hardly feel my way around. I did manage to get the whole head out, but it was clearly a dead lamb, and a big one. I tried my best, and so did Rosa.

He gave her an epidermal and had to tube lubricant into her. He got the first lamb out - a huge ram lamb of 15# [about twice the normal size for us]. The twin had never fully formed and was about a pound, a little girl. I felt better when the vet assured me I never would have gotten the ram out on my own, nor would Rosa, mainly due to the size but also because she was bone dry inside - probably because the lambs might have been dead awhile [he could tell from the fluid, I guess].

It was a traumatic day, mainly because Rosa was suffering. I did notice that each time I came in the stall, she tried so hard to push it out, as if I could help her. No pulling worked, we both needed help.

I was dead tired yesterday afternoon after all the chores but felt compelled to put something, anything on paper to honor the lambs, and me. I thought what a gift to have the ability to purge, heal and emote through a drawing to myself - and then turn around a day later and share it with others.

Rosa is in the sun today, letting the earth and medicines help her heal. I have other mothers to be to help and reassure. And a beautiful big chocolate lamb is in the pumpkin patch, with a tiny little sister nestled at his side.

And Audrey waits...

"Audrey is as big as a boat," the Dirt Farmer announced as he walked in from the barn.

I try not to use this phrase around any of the pregnant ewes, but it is statement I can get behind when it comes to Audrey. I feel for her. She also has a swollen ankle and I gave her a pain med but she still can't put weight on it. Someone suggested Epsom salts so I'll try that I guess.

Rosalita went into early labor this morning, so it might be a long night. I asked all the ladies to only have day births, but no one ever listens to me around here.

Apifera gives us new life

The first lambs of the season were born early Saturday morning to Nellie Moser. Two beautiful, chocolate girls, almost identical. The proud papa is Little Walter who definitely put his color gene in the mix. Things can go south in lambs their first few days, so I'll be relieved in a couple days.

I arrived to do barn chores knowing Nellie had gone into labor. She's a seasoned mother which always helps, and there in her stall was a little girl still wrapped in womb gel. I made sure she was breathing right, and let Nellie do her job. Nellie is not the most personable of ewes but mothers very well. She much prefers her privacy and still stomps her foot around people [a sign of anxiety and warning to the flock]. So I let her be.

As I prepped all the lambing stalls on Thursday, I had a movie in my head starring every mother sheep of the past eight years of my time here at Apifera. Each stall had a memory - the birth of the very first lambs, the place where Rosie lay dying surrounded by her daughters and grand daughters, and the thrill mixed with fear of our first triplets. Each year, something is learned, gained, and often something is lost. This year feels more precious in a way because my flock and I are in a transition, a transition I haven't quite put down on paper or into words - but a a change is in the wind with a settling down the road. I vowed to take it all in, slow down [as much as I can] and merge with each nuance of the season, and so I have.

It's a miracle, life. So is death. It's all so big, so complex - but then again, it's pretty simple when you come right down to what makes a good day - breath, air, warmth, a safe spot, food - and an innate sense you're okay standing in the spot you woke up in.

My copyrights

There has been a lot of confusion about reposting and sharing of images flying around the cyber world of late.

Please take time to read about my copyrights and what things might get my legal dander flying. I appreciate your understanding, and if you ever have a question, just email me.

It's all going "duckily"

The art/print sale is going duckily - I have made this word up to replace saying "it's going swimmingly" when it's raining. The Bottomtums inspire a lot of new vocabulary for me.

I am putting 3-5 new images up a day. Most are priced at 18.50 plus s/h. I will be shipping 1x a week from now on, that way, you can purchase one or two, and if you find some later in week I can add them to your shipment and not charge extra s/h. {You'd have to email me to let me know which ones you want].

Here's an old portrait of a young, dignified JoePye Weed, our first ram who gave us many lambs over the years. In some ways, I miss him, in other ways, not so much. I think I get wispy thinking of him because I was so full of eager abandon that first year or two - no one had died, no graves had been dug - I was an innocent in many ways.

I have two art/print sales a year to offset the cost of maintaining Apifera's adopted barnyard animals. All have been adopted from New Moon Goat Farm, Sanctuary One and Lavender Dream Donkey Rescue - others have been brought in as strays or through special needs situations, like Priscilla the old goose and the many semi feral cats.

R.I.P., dear Clara

Chickens really get under your skin. And when you have a flock there are always certain ones that entwine with you more than others. Such was Clara. Along with the other two Buff Orpingtons, Florence and Golda, she was a charming, friendly and personable chicken. She had wonderful buff undergarments. The Buffs are such a wonderful breed, more like dogs as they follow along and are very personable. Golda doesn't run, she skips and it makes me so happy. Florence is more like the big sister.

I caught Clara looking listless two days ago and suspected Cocci. If you've ever had chickens and one goes sick - and chickens do go sick - and you've Googled the symptoms, you will be bombarded with so many possibilities that you never really know what took them out. But I treated her for Cocci with Sulfa, gave her Probiotics and vitamin liquids. She ate well for me and was still walking, but more in a drunk stagger. Her eyes and balance seemed better the next day and I treated her again. By night she seemed like she might pull through, but...I just knew.

This morning she was very weak and her eyes were shut. I tried to get water in her, but she was failing and couldn't stand. I had her in the chicken hospice unit in the chicken coop, covered in a hay blanket and held her several times throughout the day but she was really out of it. She died around four p.m. surrounded by the sounds of her flock. She is buried under the shade of the bamboo.

It's never a delight to bury an animal, but there's something so humbling about the life of a chicken. They are such busy creatures, busy, busy, busy! And they provide one of the earth's most perfect packaged foods - an egg. I always thank my hens for their eggs, and when I know one is dying, I repeat my appreciation over and over.

Clara never shied away from hanging out in the barnyard where the action was - which meant where I was. I love the picture at the bottom of this post, as you can see Clara comin' on over to check out the scene.

Clara was a working chicken. She provided eggs...and companionship.

Black Elk, Campbell, Jesus and me

I often speak about Old Barn as if she is a creature in and of herself, because she is.

While I spend enormous amounts of time in Old Barn it is often to fulfill my daily duties as shepherd or animal caretaker. But I do stop, more and more since I am aging and I need to take breaks more between walking loads of hay or water to and from stalls. These moments of rest give me the opportunity to really be of her, not just in her or with her, but of her.

I did not grow up in a church going family and I searched in my early adult hood for what my faith was. I had some ideas, no doubt. When I moved to New York City in my mid twenties I was very alone and began going to a high Episcopal church of an old friend. I found it comforting - the hymns, and the feeling of community. The history of such an old building intrigued me - who had sat in the pew I was in, I wondered? I never felt anger or judgment from the stones, brick and beautiful light emanating from the stained glass windows, but eventually I did feel like a misfit and the sermons began to feel like one man telling me his fears, twisted into a sermon.

I could always walk into a church - in New York, in Minneapolis, in Paris or Zurich - and take shelter and comfort, knowing the walls would engulf me, the light would warm me and room itself would silence me into clarity. I would not be judged by the building itself.

That's what Old Barn is for me, my church, where I worship with pitch fork and donkey breath over my shoulder. When I am in her care on a windy or rainy day with only whisperings of straw fluttering about, or a hen scratching, I am of her.

If I could meet Jesus, and I would love to have him out, especially if I could have Joseph Campbell on the same visit, and maybe Black Elk, I would take him to Old Barn and we would break pie there, and just sit.

Lesson of the hen

If the ground below you swells and all around they are rushing, squacking, pushing you to go right or left...then stop.

Stop yourself and think, "What do I need right now?"

If all you need is a dry brick then you are in a good position. A position that does not elevate you in rank, but gives you perspective on the others rushing about. There you can ponder, "I was younger once too, I rushed more, but now I have this dry brick all to myself."

Art sale - helps adopted animals

The sale goes on through March.

Twice a year I do a real push to help offset the costs of nurturing our adopted barnyard animals. The animals here will always receive what they need in vet care and nutrition and water- and love and attention from me - but my art sales not only help us make a living, they help the Apifera misfits thrive here. Feed and hay costs continue to rise. We've added more pasture and more fencing to give more land a rest for longer periods. We've worked hard on mud control to help keep foot rot and other bacterias down. Twice a year I do water treatments to prevent Cocci. Worming, vaccines and topical nutrition for old dry skin of goats and pigs...it all adds up. I always tell people that $10 helps buy a bag of 40# feed and $5 buys Probiotic to have on hand - always- for ruminants. Matilda gets a hoof trim every two months since her feet were neglected.

So buy some art- prints are reduced in price to as little as $10 and larger archives are down to $75. There is some original art too- I might add more. I will be adding more "onesies" - prints that have only one left and won't be reprinted.

A good day for a pig

It's that time of year where I put the animals to work to help me pre-till the vegetable garden. They root and fertilize, making my late March work easier. It's a beautiful relationship, woman feeds animal, animal gives her companionship but also works in the garden, contributing their own little nutritious packages to spread about the dirt - and the worms sing. I used to give this job to the mini donkeys, but they treated the garden as a giant dust play pen, and ended up compacting the soil - and giving me lots of entertainment.

So I thought Rosie would be delighted with this job. But first she had to enter the vegetable garden. This became an impossible task for her, even though the elevation drop at the entrance was a mere inch. I tried everything to coax her in, even cookie parties.

"Nope. Not gonna down that scary step, said the pig. It must have been a depth perception issue. So I made a variety of steps out of bricks.

"Is this better, Pig?" I asked.

"Nope, not gonna down that scary step," said the pig.

Farmer thinks, ponders. In minutes she returns with a black stall mat.

"Pig! Surely this will be perfect for your pretty little piggie toes and help you get to the mecca of dirt and roots!" I say with enthusiasm.

"Hmmm..." says the pig. "Hrumph. That wasn't so bad."

"Thank you dear, Pig."

Rosie the pig was adopted from Sanctuary One, along with Stevie the handicapped goat. Sanctuary One is a 'care farm' in southern Oregon where animals, land and people work together to heal, nurture and inspire.

"Misfits of Love" presentation

I'm very pleased with how things are flowing in "Misfits of Love" and now I have an online presentation of the working Table of Contents, the introduction and chapter one. Each chapter will begin with a narrative about the animal, followed with a 'conversation' with that animal in a fable style, for lack of a better word.

The first chapter is - of course - about the first old animal to be adopted by Apifera, our almost 19 year old goat, Old Man Guinnias. I felt this piece of art just captured his soul entwined with mine. I really sat back and just soared when it was finished - I hit the sweet.

The intention

Thanks to "Misfits of Love" being funded by my generous pledgers via Kickstarter, I've been able to focus on shaping the initial parts of the book. I don't know if all artist-writers go through this, but I have to see spreads on paper at an early stage so when I'm writing and painting, I can see it in my head. All of this might evolve, but this is my process in making an illustrated book.

I found writing the 'Introduction' a challenge. I wanted to explain how I got here, but I didn't want to simply regurgitate from my memoir, "Raggedy Love" [currently looking for a publisher]. I also thought a lot about why this book is worthy of being sent out to the world. While the animals are beautiful even in there old, twisted bodies and bring me companionship, smiles and an outlet to nurture, write and paint, I kept coming back to my "intention" - the same intention I was born with.

Just as I tried to help a wounded moth as a child, it was not the act itself that is so touching to people, it is that I actually believed I could help. I never lost hope for the moth's survival in my child's heart. It is that hope I carry with me when I'm nursing a starving goat like little Aunt Bea or feeding a wounded rooster. No matter what the outcome, I try, and so do the animals. We work together until as caretaker I must rest and acknowledge the facts giving the animal my blessing to move on if it must, with or without my help.

The Head Troll nuances

Frankie, also known as The Head Troll, always reminds me that in one second - the time it takes to click a new photo - life has moved on to the next moment. Each photo encased the many nuances of her being. Sit back, and enjoy some moments of Frankie.

New writing for "Life with Dogs"

I wanted to let you know I am writing some articles for a really wonderful online magazine called Life with Dogs. The site has a huge following and posts articles about health, news, humor and much more about, well, dogs.

My pieces tend to be more about my experiences living with dogs, including my last post about my old friend, Louie Louie, the fox terrier who was my companion for 14 years, and accompanied to Oregon where I eventually met the Dirt Farmer. In fact, the first two post I did require handkerchiefs, but crying is cathartic.

So please visit the site and enjoy!

Conversing with chickens

"Good morning, Jane!" I said.

"Greetings," Jane replied.

"What are doing up there?" I asked.

"Over time I've learned it's helpful to start my day on top of a ramp so as to see the view from all angles. It brings me perspective of what's to come."

That nose

The nose of Itty Bitty never ceases to capture me, or maybe I should say enrapture me. The result of gazing on it for even seconds makes me want to try to capture it in a painting, but I haven't tried, at lest not yet. Why try to do it justice with colors from a tube when I can just gaze on the real thing and reach over and touch it.

Huckleberry Pie eye

Huckleberry Pie, aka Huck, turns seven today.

The greying on the chin has started, the stiff muscles after long runs are showing, the length of naps has increased, but one thing will never change - the look, the eye, the glance. The soul.

I do believe all creatures - and that includes animals, humans, trees, carrots and rocks - have soul. I was once told by an old boyfriend years and years ago - he was raised in a fundamental religion [um, you might understand why that didn't work out] - that animals didn't have souls. This one brief statement put me on a journey to discover concrete answers about the soul. I always thought anything natural had a soul, but had never really researched or pondered facts to back it up. It actually was a blessing because it allowed me to explore a lot of different philosophies and come to an understanding of what my beliefs were spiritually. And for myself, soul became more of a verb, an essence that we all have, that can shine even when we are damaged or hiding.

Soul is bodyless, in my opinion, but it can take up residence in eyes and hearts, or the wind or rain. Carrots have soul, yet we eat them - I truly believe vegetables and grains and grass have souls - As Joseph Campbell said, "Vegetarians have never heard a carrot cry." I have many vegan friends and acquaintances and I never, ever suggested they think differently, in fact, I never bring the topic up because many don't seem to be able to discuss it with a meat eater without going viral. Oddly, many seem to promote vegetarianism on to to me, and one person - a stranger - even suggested I was a hypocrite for saving animals but then eating meat. I disagree, but I really don't owe anyone an explanation. I spent seven years as vegetarian. I spent a lot of time figuring out what I believed. I'm at peace with my place in the food chain and the realm I am in now, the Earth.

What dos this have to do with Huck? His soul is carried in his eyes. He doesn't will it each morning to share his soul, it is just there. I never tire of feeling it, seeing it in his eyes.

Paco's birthday party

I was quite relieved when Paco requested a Fig Newton layer cake for his birthday party on Saturday. Without frosting.

The guests arrived precisely at 3pm and got right to the business of eating. There were no party games or gift exchanges at his request. The party was held in Giacomo Realm and Matilda, the elder of the group, took the first bite. Stella was asked to leave because she ate Paco's bow tie, so Iris left with her. Kind of a relief. Paco did prepare a poem for the occasion but chose to read it telepathically. I don't know how it works but everyone seemed to like it. No candles were hurt- or eaten- during this party.

After everyone left, Paco stood with me for awhile to have his belly scratched, and his butt. Pino gets all the glory, but Paco had his special day and he just looked so content.

See a slide show of the party here.
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Paco's Party

Our dear little Paco turns seven on Saturday. Unlike many of the adoptees here at the farm, Paco actually had a papers. He has willingly and happily participated in all the Pino Pie Days - in fact he is quite the lush with guests - and he never complains about Pino's social platform.

So I thought this little poet needed his own special party. I told him just this morning, and by noon he was picking dress attire. I hear he wants to read a new poem.

Paco came to Apifera right after Pino and his suitcase had a very bossy bad attitude packed inside. But it was all exterior gruff covering up the heart underneath. He lived in a home with many jacks in one small area, all forest with no grass. There were many goats, peacocks, sheep and lots of testosterone. He was at the bottom of the ranking, so imagine what he had to do to keep up with getting food. So when he arrived here and met Pino, well, he just decided he was going to be in charge....with everyone, including me, the farrier and the vet. It took two years, but Paco has matured and settled into a wonderful fellow and friend. He still likes to scout and let others know he is - sort of- in charge, but he is very loved.

I kicked a gate and cried with the pig

The Head Troll, aka Frankie I'm Not a Boy, turns nine or ten this year. She shows here that one doesn't need a velvet cushion to rest on. But we all need to stop and listens to our light bulb moments.

Before you read this post, know this: I am not going anywhere. And my work has just begun, it's just shifting to my misfit aspirations.

I have been journeying along and have come to a small stream, much like the one that runs through the donkey pasture. I will get to the other side without problem, but I do need to acknowledge that I'm at a crossing over point and I need to make the steps.

And the old goat will speak

We did it. I say 'we' because the fact that my Kickstarter project, "Misfits of Love", funded over the weekend was a collaborative effort. The combination of my heart mixed with the old souls in the barnyard all these years simmered and baked into wonderful stories and art...and some lessons.

Once born, these stories evolved and matured like any child and eventually found the right time to fly off, to be what they were going to be. They interacted with readers all over and many of those readers reciprocated with pledges. Like old geese returning to a needy mate, these stories will journey without me, landing where needed most.

Now the real work and fun begins. I am still reveling in a bath of light. I'm very proud! I have so many ideas. There are still 8 days so you can still pledge - I won't be pitching to you any more - but if you do pledge, the money would be used for more editorial/design help and would also offset any Paypal/host fees. I also am interested in making Podcasts and having the stories narrated. I will be in touch with pledgers in spring with any rewards they are owed.

I am going to think outside the box, which should come easy for me. While I do want to see a publisher pick this book up, I am weary of the slow grinding wheels and trepidation of many publishing houses. I got very depressed watching my memoir "Raggedy Love" sitting at houses and being turned down for being "lovely, but too quirky" or hearing, "It's just not a big enough platform". Perhaps that is another reason it has been very good for me to raise $8,750 in 48 days - I did that. While I will pitch the book to publishers, I also plan to move forward in any way I can to let the stories come alive to the public, via podcast, radio, articles, photo shows and more. So stay tuned. This is an evolution.

I held Old Man Guinnias extra close last night. He is becoming more crippled from his past neglect. His back foot, turned even more and weehttp://tinyurl.com/7c45h2ykend from overcompensating for his front shoulder [or vice versa] has begun to collapse more. But he still stands when I come for morning feedings, he still greets the sun and eats like a logger. One of my goals is to take as many photos of him as I can- my dream is he will see his story evolve and maybe I can sit with a book in my lap and read it back to him. He is nineteen now, as near as we can tell.

Heartburn of the artist and a plea to the silent ones

I am working on ideas and sketches for "Misfits of Love". I am finding the fund raising is sucking my creative energy and many ideas are in left swirling and percolating in my head. I am so very close to getting funded. But I can't stop the chatter in my head until we reach 100% - so please put me out of my madness and pledge. We need only $1,130 to get there.

While I underestimated the stress of raising this much money - for me, and not a sick animal this time - I also was surprised at how proud I felt nearing the end. I didn't realize what a feeling of accomplishment I'd have watching the amount grow. I'm so touched by the many project backers that have raised the amount of their pledges.

So I'm asking the many people that read this blog - especially the anonymous ones - to make a pledge. I've spilled open my heart to all of you for seven years, sharing old goat stories, puppet ponderings, chicken underpants and donkeys poets. Where else can you get all that...for free? It is not comfortable for me to ask for money for myself - I underestimated the heartburn I'd have from 60 days of doing it - but I am now asking.

Pledge here, as little or as much as you can at any reward level.

I gave my love a red bouncy thing

Through torrential rains or fog or sleet, he never ceases to lose exuberance for life. What a role model he can be to us all - the ever joyful, willing, chocolate velvet eared Muddy Waters.

Memory on a sheep's back

Snow clusters in herds on the backs of my sheep. I drift back to a walk long ago with my father. As a pine branch waves to greet us, flakes fall and herd on his wool coat clinging to life, only to melt one by one.

There are 14 days left to fund "Misfits of Love" a book of illustrated narratives about the old creatures of Apifera. I believe these stories, photos and art will inspire readers to look at old creatures in a different way, and that in some way it will also translate how they look at old people or old objects. The world has become fast paced tweets with products are made to only be cost effective if they are tossed rather than refurbished. This quiet little book will take you into the realm of old souls who have wisdom and dignity despite their histories. Rather than pushing them aside as last year's models, I feel one of my roles in this life is to care for them, cherish them and share them through story, art and photographs.

If you have pledged, thank you. If you have shared the link, more thank yous. If you can keep sharing, tweeting or writing one person who might pledge, please do it. If you can up your pledge, please do so. All of these efforts are meaningful.

Here again is the link to the Kickstarter page for "Misfits of Love".
http://tinyurl.com/7c45h2y


Visit my Kickstarter page now to pledge >

Floating to heal

It seems so many have lost their way from nature and earth. One does not need to live in the country either to be connected to the natural world on a daily basis. Having said that, just because one lives in the country doesn't mean they act in partnership with nature.

While I have never lost touch with nature, I have felt internal urgings of late to place myself in very specific places here on my farm. One place that keeps coming into my internal movie - commonly called my head or inner vision - is the large Savannah Oak on top of Donkey Hill. This is a magical, powerful place for me. From it's vantage point, the farm floats. I rarely come right out and tell people the farm floats, but it does. It's not a secret, it's just an experience I savor for myself and translate only in color layers in paintings.

I too have been known to float, another experience I have shared with only a few close, understanding people. I have been doing it since I was a child. My first memory of floating off was when I would take a bath, and even though my body was still there, I was somewhere else, just...floating. Not flying, not doing anything, just resonating and floating. I never told anyone for years about floating, and sensed it was not "normal". But I liked it, a lot.

But I began to understand through fellow floaters that I am here on Earth, now, to be a a spirit in a human body, not the other way around. My time here has meaning, and if I am going to float, it should be put to good use. Floating to regain composure in angst or sadness is positive. But to float away to escape is not something I aspire to anymore.

You would think that on a farm, 100% of my interactions are with nature. But like all of you, I am faced with finding balance as a farmer-artist-writer-wife-daughter-friend-worker bee-blogger-marketer...and soul.

I spend a lot of time laying my hands on my animals. What a beautiful, meaningful life I am living. But I am having real urges to spend more time with the Savannah Oak this year. I want to press my back on her waist, letting her arms wrap me and her leaf hands lay on me, healing me.

Chicken intersection

When old and blind hospice the young

There are twenty one days left to fund my Kickstarter project, "Misfits of Love". I'm very proud I have almost reached 50% and am over $4,000 in pledges to help my stories of the old and adopted animals of Apifera enjoy a wider audience. There is still a long way to go, so please pledge now, or share with as many as you can. And thank you to all who have helped! One of the stories in "Misfits" is "Hospice of a Lamb", shared in this post.

Barnyard traffic

Unencumbered bottoms

Sometimes when mingling in the barnyard, I have great epiphanies. Just yesterday I mused that humans have bottoms once tailed but now tailless and when clothed we can not admire the individuality of each bottom.

But in the barnyard, all bottoms are free, unique and unencumbered from cloth.

Distracted normality

I gave myself the task today to get one bit of art down on paper. I also gave myself the freedom to just do it fast and not care where it would end up - in a print, online somewhere, or in a pile of other art - or tossed.

I have been doing a lot of writing and creating art for my book ideas, which keeps me on the keyboard, not the drawing board. The fluid motion of making a line when drawing or painting does not exist while typing. I was feeling stuck, heavy footed, heavy worded. This piece is just a small step back to fluidity.

I've spent a lot of energy this year care taking animals that I know are most likely not going to make it. It affects my flow. After 8 years, I can now say that. And this too makes me want to paint, to free my body up. It also makes me want to walk up to Old Oak and sit with her, my head pressed into her skin. Soak in me, Old Oak, I'll take you places, I'll draw your lines someday.

I yearn to take one animal on a long walk, and document it only in photos. No words. But which animal? Picking one means leaving so many behind. My tendrils are connected to so much, might it be time to snip something in a spring pruning?

I suppose many could look at this piece and decipher many meanings. I know what I feel in it. But while lying in bed this morning I was thinking of myself as a little girl, and how that girl came along on all my art journeys and transitions - my art is full of both child and woman. But I feel my writing is talking more to the woman, not the child. That's not a problem, I just woke up thinking about the child - the one that never felt heard, but learned to entertain herself in nature or where ever she was taken in adult land. I remember someone once told me, "Be nice to her, that little one," and it was those words I awoke too.

I feel huge transitions might be coming. I feel a need to put bigger canvases on the wall and mark them with large strokes. I haven't worked on a large piece for many months. Sometimes I think these yearnings are a panic, where the artist or woman retreats back to a former medium, style or product that feels safer because she did it once and survived or gained some kind of satisfaction from it - either emotional or financial. But other times, like today, I feel a small voice urging me to let go, let go, let go, and go forward - to what will be.

Morning has broken

Morning has broken on Apifera in this new year. The stream in the donkey pasture is on its way to the river at full force, my ewes bellies are filling with life, the promise of "What will come to me and us?" was rampant in my brain as I cleaned the paddocks.

It's so much better not knowing what is to come. No fretting about unknown angst and pain and no reveling in the joys - but the expectations of days full of living is what gets my heart pumped up. It gets me out of bed.

I don't make resolutions since each day I act out my intentions through my work and activities. When I fall or falter, or stagnate on a path I thought I was supposed to be on, I try to figure out what I need to do to either accept a new course, or get back on the path I fell off of. It's a constant dance for all of us.

An author I admire who has been a mentor to me recently sent me an email in which she called me "intrepid". I thought this was a wonderful word for my new year.