The monthly animal update

I thought I'd begin giving a monthly update of the Misfits and any other working animals that have news to share. I won't mention everybody in monthly posts, we'd be here all week, but feel free to ask about anybody if you'd like. If you like the work I do here with the animals, or my art and story, please consider a subscription. Scroll down to see lots of photos.

Sir Tripod Goat is settling in well. He is still a bit of a Here she comes I must flee or be caught kind of fellow, but he is doing fine. When he first arrived with Ezra, he would go off and be in the duck hut during much of the day, then eventually came out more and more. Now when I arrive in the morning, he's sleeping with everybody else in the lower Misfits Village-Stevie, Rudy, Professor Otis Littleberry and Raggedy Man, and usually Uno the rooster who has a rogue spirit. Sir Tripod Goat can not use his hind back leg, and is basically a Tripod. While he isn't that old, he will definitely have more issues as he ages due to this deformity.

Old Mama Sugee, the elderly near-40-blind-earless wonder has put on wonderful amounts of weight. I did a post on this not long ago. I took her winter coat off to brush her and was so pleased to see her hips had filled in pretty well. So happy for her. We've had not seen an incident of seizure since they were happening last summer. Mama and her ancient daughter Wilma are living up by Boone this winter, with the rams, and the new girl llama [name announcement soon!] and she is brought in every morning to eat in a private suite to ensure she gets her senior formula, and Wilma doesn't get it -Wilma is chubby and has founder issues, so we have to watch her.

Victor and Sophie, the genetically crippled fiber goats that were born with conditions that make their hips and pelvic areas not operate properly, making Vincent pretty crippled, and Sophie somewhat so, are doing well. My biggest challenge is getting them sheared in coming couple of months. Victor was rescued by New Moon Farm, along with Sophie, and their matted coats were so bad that Victor had raw skin. I noticed a patch of Victor's matted hair had torn off leaving a small raw spot so i spent time trying to get the pee-matted wool off his belly. It is a challenge. Another reason I don't usually take in anything with wool or heavy fiber [our sheep are hair sheep, no shearing].

Wilbur the Acrobatic Goat, as some of you recently read, was the victim of a barnyard bobcat strike, most likely a young bobcat that didn't have his hunting skills down quite yet. We know that Benedetto and Marcella helped ward him off, and fortunately Wilbur suffered lacerations on both sides of his neck, but no other wounds were found. I doubt that bobcat will be back soon, but to be sure, all Misfits in the upper barnyard are locked in barn with Benedetto now, and Marcella is on patrol.

Scooby Keith has had a bout of respiratory issue, on and off this winter, which I treat with Penicillin. He seems to come through every time, and it at this point seems to be seasonal, so it might be allergy related. Scooby wintered in the goat barn, in the hay room near Hazel the remaining barn cat, and where Boone's stall looks into. During the day, he goes out with Boone and he suns and naps. Horses tend to like goats and Boone gets along with everyone. Scooby still is sporting his winter fleece, which came with the many old dog coats people sent for the Misfits.

The Head Troll is very busy, of course with normal barnyard procedures, but now with Misfit Summer Stock. Even though she is as powerful as ever, she is aging, and also sleeps in the same area with Scooby. I've noticed she naps more, and now rests on her knees to eat. We don't discuss the aging of The Head Troll around here, because we think she might live for ever.

Stevie is doing really well after our scare last June, where he was falling a lot. He has kept his weight on so well, and after years of working on his horrible feet, the 'hook' is finally gone. Took a lot of work to get there! He continues to be the farm's best kisser and is looking forward to this year's Pino Pie Day to give some out.

Rosie, the world's grumpiest pig, spent the winter her a semi private suite in Old barn, with a rogue gang of hens and Papa Roo, and passing donkeys. She had an eye infection and it caused her to be somewhat blind, so she preferred the solitude there. In the next weeks, Rosie will try leaving the upper barnyard where she lived, to move down to the Lower Misfit Village, where Stevie, her old friend lives. I am hoping she will like the duck hut, and she will have more green grass. we think she will prefer it to being with the White Dogs, and Earnest and Eleanor.

Stella and Iris are living now in retirement in the barnyard, after leaving the Donkey pastures for good. Stella is becoming week in her hind end, making it sometimes impossible to rise on her own. Iris might live forever, we are not sure. They sleep with Victor and Sophie, and sometimes the ducks.

Priscilla and The Bottomtums have finally, out of the blue, started going down to the lower fields to eat slugs, which is a good thing since they are bad for sheep in the spring. They followed the piglets there one day and now forage their each day. They also like the pig pen since there is lots of mud. Priscilla is 25+ years old, and about twice a year, she has laid an egg for us-which I have to find before Earnest does, or Marcella.

Old Rudy is very, very arthritic. But he is such a trooper. He still likes to venture down to the lower field when it is available to him and graze. It takes him a very long time to return, but he retains a wonderful attitude and is very loving. He is thin but eats well.

Raggedy Man and Professor Otis Littleberry are puffballs and live in the Lower Misfit Village. They are masters at grabbing food from anyone, but are the funniest little chaps that it is hard to be cross with them. Raggedy still looks like a Muppet.

Goose and Little Moose spend their days happily, always. Moose prides himself on being the littlest Misfit, and likes to mount Goose to tell him he may be short but he is a big boy.

Old Mother Matilda and her donkey gang are all just fine. Matilda held her weight well with senior feed and a nice winter coat tht she willingly put on. Paco still writes her poetry and thinks she's his mother-we don't try to dissuade him. Pino is doing his very first venture into Portland with his April 9th Pino's Book Mobile of Love where he will help me sell books, and share his heart, along with Lucia.

Aldo the Elder has adjust to his new llama co-worker, a beautiful, young black male who still has not presented his name. Meanwhile, a young white female llama is currently living with the rams, near Boone and she and I are fast becoming more than friends. Stay tuned.

Spring fashion-it's all about the lips

One of the glories of spring on the farm is the beautiful earth toned lips the sheep wear. So suck in those cheekbones, ladies, and put on your lipstick!

Daisy, oh Daisy our beloved gummer

Daisy turned twelve. She is our oldest sheep and along with her mother Rosemary was a founding mother of the flock. She and Rosie were the best teachers a novice shepherdess could have had. We loss Rosie in the horrible Spring of Death, she was too young and she was such a marvelous sheep in every way-coat, personality, and mothering ability. I think back to that first lambing, the excitement before any lambs had come, the constant fretting, are they going to lamb today? If we only could have known what was going on inside her head when I was going through the first lambing season. Probably something like,

"Really? You just checked my udder five minutes ago, don't fret, I am not having this baby today."

Daisy has provided so much to the flock, and to me. After Rosie died, I expected her to become the lead sheep. While she was and is respected, she seemed to take another approach.

"What a relief, I can just let the younger ones take charge."

Sheep hierarchy is very interesting to watch, and it isn't always pretty. Head banging and rough housing are just sheep language for reshuffling the pecking order. I've noticed that Daisy has never seemed to participate, or be the recipient of it.

In the past year, I have watched her decline. She is now toothless, a true gummer which makes her a bit thin right now. Everyone looks scruffy this time of year, with shedding and coming off winter grass. Soon the grass will be much more nutritious and bellies will expand overnight. Daisy has begun to separate herself out a bit from the flock at night. I took these photos this morning while she was still napping. Her front shoulder is very gimpy, and she is always the last to enter the field. Last night I noticed she could not keep up when the flock came running into their night time pasture when I called them. I will have to decide if pulling her out of the flock so she can be in the fields by the barn is what is now best for her–I would also take her daughter, Lilly, who is also part toothless and getting up there in years. But it might be best to let them stay with the flock, as long as they are in the lower fields. It's getting to the point where it worries me to have her in the upper pastures_if she went down, getting her quickly back to the barns would be almost impossible. She is the first one I look for in the morning and I always count heads when the flock comes in at night. I really miss breeding her since she always gave wonderful colored lambs, usually always with a white cap on their heads. I retired her around seven, after she lost two of her triplets one year. I will bury her with those twins, up on Sheep Hill near her mother.

Many of the original animals of Apifera-the ones that came before there were a gang of Misfits-are aging. The Head Troll, Stella and Iris, Papa Roo, and Daisy and the first lambs. The results are inevitable. Some losses are more pronounced, causing a visceral reaction of the skin, body, mind and soul. Such will be the case when Daisy goes. But until then, she has grass, sun, and a flock of relatives. It is a good life for her here. I take notice of her beautiful cinnamon hair every day.

New chicks lighten up the old chick

It never gets old, bringing home some new chicks. It's been awhile since I've mothered baby chicks in the bathtub, and I forgot how fun it can be...and messy....and loud.

I had the Nursery all ready for them in the main coop-but then my heat bulb broke on me, so I brought them into the small guest bath. One day led to another-it is easy to start being too human, telling yourself,

"Oh it is too cold out there, they might catch a draft. Better give them another day in the tub."

Besides, it's nice to go in and use the facilities and while you're at it, chat with the chicks.

I much prefer having Mama Hens sitting on chicks, but our flock is getting old. We are down to 11 hens and I'm guessing about 5 are retired from egg laying. I know I am suppose to cull hens, but, nope, not going to do it. Just like my sheep, they provided a service to us by giving us food, and they retire here. I really wanted some more Buff Orpingtons, so got two and I also ordered a couple of Golden Sex-Links, which I've never had but are supposed to be good layers. Since we eat 75% or more non-meat diet, we love eggs and use them for fritatas and all sorts of things.

So I went to the feed store to pick up my chicks, but only the two sex links were in, and the Buff Orps wouldn't be there for another few weeks. Not ideal, since now I'll have two crops of babies, and hoping here won't be issues with pecking.

So why are there four chicks in the photos? I really was minding my own business, and the girl says,

"You wouldn't want some Silver Laced Wyandottes, would you? We over ordered."

Why not. Bringing home only two chicks didn't seem right.

Yesterday was very warm, and the I moved the chicks to the super nursery area. It is part of the main coop, which is about 12' high and 15 foot room, cement floors and built in nesting boxes. Pretty nice. Martyn put up a frame wall and we hung landscaping material that allows the chicks to have viewing of the hens, but they are in their own private room. It even has it's own ramp and dutch door going outside when they are ready for it. I checked on them this morning and they made it through their first night of real life chickeness, versus human involved living in the tub chickness. Chicks can break a heart, they can just die. It happens. SO I am always glad when they get a bit bigger.

I'm excited to see them grow. I was thinking of our first hatchlings years ago, which led me to think of our first lambs, and first piglets, and first everything in the last eleven years. The joy of watching these little creatures grow each day before your eyes and develop feathers and wings by leaps and bounds-the joy of having new life, or trying new experiences is something I hope to never lose.

I posted something on Facebook today-noting that my goal is to bring activities into my life that expand my soul, not retract it. Working with the animals, growing them, helping them, breeding some or hospicing others- it expands my soul. I was noting that being on Facebook has begun to feel the opposite-like it is puts my soul in a retracting mode. Having the chicks reminded me that my life in the barnyard expands my perspectives and soul.

The barnyard puts on a play...oh dear

I knew something was up. I had heard lots of pounding of hammers, or one hammer, and a sawing sound, which is always scary when it is coming from the barnyard during the week, since The Dirt Farmer is not home. I was busy, really didn't want to be bothered with diversions, but when I looked out the studio window I realized i better get out there.

I entered to find some of the pigs in heated discussion with The Head Troll–something about inappropriate dialogue in their scripts.

I have learned to step back and observe before offering assistance in these matters. While they are my charges, The Head Troll, as well as Marcella, are my under soldiers and I have to let them manage without my interference if at all possible. The Head Troll threw her arms up in the air, tossing her notes to the side and fell down into her director seat.

Where did they get the director seat, I wondered. Best not know, for now.

"Break! Cut! Take five!" The Head Troll said.

Earnest came over to sit with me. He was the only one not wearing an outfit.

"My pantaloons didn't fit me, so I am naked for the dress rehearsal," he told me.

I rubbed his belly, hoping he'd say more.

He did.

Apparently The Head Troll got a bee in her bonnet to put on a play. She was inspired by some old movie where everyone works together and builds the set and make the costumes and someone writes and directs, and at the end of the summer, voila, an audience is given the gift of a play.

I have got to toss that old TV out in the milk parlor, even if there is no sound on it.

At first, the idea of a Misfit Summer Stock seemed like a really bad idea to me. I have a show myself in the fall, and a workshop in June, and Pino Pie Day, and a Pino book mobile-the added pressure of helping out with a theatrical production starring pigs and crippled goats seemed like bad timing.

But as I got up to leave, I looked at the trial set they had built. It was a miracle it was still standing from the raggedy way they made it-but I immediately got a twinge of excitement.

This is just what I needed, I thought. A Misfit production to be part of, something fun and real, with living creatures instead of a computer screen of profile photos. I remember as a child watching Spanky and his gang on television. They were always putting on a play of one kind or another. I partook in each one in my mind and then would go out and try to do one on my own, with myself and my dog. It was never quite the same.

So here I had a wonderful opportunity presented to me-to be part of a gang! To put on a show!

I asked the Head Troll what role I might have, or how I could help. She said she will be back with ideas soon, but her first priority was to rewrite some pig dialogue.

Stay tuned as the Misfit Summer Stock progresses in the coming weeks and months!

Your name could be picked out of the donkey bucket for this art!

Someone might take this original 13" x 9" painting home.

All you have to do to have your name put in the special donkey bucket out in Pino's barnyard is go on over to the pre-order site for the new and Donkey Wisdom journal. You have to order at the Donkey Art Lover reward level. If you already ordered at the $65 reward level, your name will graciously be put in the bucket too.

I'm also tossing in some Misfit Mail postcards for all pre-order shoppers, so come on down!

You all have until April 17 to pre-order at these prices. Once the journals ship to me after the 17th, a new buy page will be created.

If you have a friend you want to share this offer with-you can send them this newsletter link that explains it all.

It's just donkeyronkulous!

We celebrate the birth of the World's Grumpiest Pig! Rosie!

Today's is Rosie the pig's 7th birthday. She grows grumpier each year and we like her that way. You can read all about how I took Martyn fishing one time and came home with a grumpy pig. She came complete with a crippled goat who we all know and love as Stevie- yes, the one who gives kisses.

Pig language is intricate. It took me much longer to learn than goat, donkey or horse. While Earnest is polite, and Eleanor never stops talking, Rosie...well Rosie starts out a grumpolopapous and gets more so.

Her alter ego the Grumpy Pig Puppet is here to honor Rosie and all her Rosiness.

Happy Birthday dear Rosie! Today I woke her up from her morning nap and gave her eggs, which she liked, but then let me know she was disturbed at being awake.

Easter walk on Muddy Hill

We took Huck and Mud up to their favorite romp on Muddy Hill. We wanted to see how the grass was doing since the flock is destined to eat their next. Such a juggling match when you cross pasture-but in a way it is part of farming I really like, once I learned to go with the flow and not fret about the natural pace of Mother Earth's rhythms. And of course that rhythm can change each year depending on weather conditions which makes cross fencing and multiple barns a must for convenience and animal care.

Huck was very happy to be allowed to run free on the hills. He is so old and gimpy now and can overdo it so easily with his front shoulder. But to see him out there again, he looked so happy. Broke my heart-in a joyous way. And that is what Easter is to me-joyous celebration of life. I was not raised in any church, but always loved the Easter celebration. Bunnies aren't bad either, but Easter feels like an opportunity for expansion. So I guess it was appropriate that Huck got to expand today. Looking down at the flock, and Aldo the Elder, I felt blessed, with Martyn, my charges and this land. It is not perfect which is a wonderful fitting since we are so flawed too. We were pleased to see how the grazing of the sheep was helping the small stream that runs through the property-at some point it might not, but for now, it is helping eradicate certain weeds and blackberry.

I like looking at my flock. I was thinking what a simple pleasure this is and how farming has many of these internal moments of peace-despite the hard work. I would assume that a farmer with a large operation has these moments too, but they are hard to explain to another.

This morning, I smelled a scent that comes at Spring. The sheep manure begins to dry and it mixes with the new grass scent, and it is almost a salty smell. While some might wonder how manure's waft can be pleasing, certain kinds of it, in the right conditions and amounts float me to a wonderful place of contentment. Come to think of it, it's not floating, it's a solid feeling of standing on the earth and reaping it all in while I do chores.

May your day be one of renewal!

Benedetto's bobcat

We were working in the barnyard today, securing a certain part of the fence that the White Dogs tend to jump up on. It is with good reason. This part of the fence looks up into the woods, and that is where wildlife pass by. Every night when I leave the barnyard after feedings, Marcella runs to that area and barks for about a half hour. The first thing Benedetto does in the morning is run to that area and check it out.

Of course Benedetto and Marcella were right there with us, watching every thing we did to the fence. I was kneeling down petting one of them when I realized Wilbur was standing next to me. Wilbur is an agreeable goat and not one to seek out mushy talk, but he does like to stand for scratching. So I obliged him.

"Martyn!" I gasped. "Come look at this."

The photo can't mimic what we saw. The claw marks were long and left welts. I'd guess they were about a week old from the condition. They were on both sides of his neck. They were huge. No way were they left by a barn cat, no way. Besides, the two remaining cats that still live in the barn never come in the barnyard, nor do the remaining porch cats-and if they did, this is not something that would have happened as they are tame and elderly. And Benedetto does not tolerate cats. It seems to be his one passion-chasing them.

We started thinking about it, and realized that from the looks of the wounds, this might have coincided with the night Benedetto broke out last week-something I didn't share here, yet. That particular night, we had gone to bed about eleven, and heard Marcella raising a real fuss. Her barks were different than her normal nightly 'Hey, I'm Marcella barking, stay out of my barnyard" barks. We decided we better check it out. And we realized Benedetto was gone. We walked to the nearest property hoping he was there, but no such luck, and decided it made no sense to wander around in the countryside armed only with a flashlight. The next morning a neighbor down the way called and had Benne. He had gone to their house once before, so they fortunately knew him and contained him until morning.

That next morning I saw where he'd gotten out. It was the place by the fence we were fixing today, a place that Benne likes to sleep by during the day. And it's the place the dogs go to bark at night into the woods. It is also the same spot where years ago I encountered a bobcat in the barnyard, calmly walking by at ten in the morning.

As we looked at poor Wilbur's wounds, it was like he was saying,

"Thanks for finally noticing."

I felt badly about that. He had not acted unusual at all and since he still has his winter coat, I didn't see any signs of blood, cuts or discomfort. And he was eating and acting like the little acrobat he always is. But then I remembered that when Benne came back from that nightly outing of a week ago, he had two big scratches on both ears, long wounds that I had blamed in my mind on Earnest. When the dogs get up and moving, they look for any feed that has been left behind, and so does Earnest. It can lead to scuffles, and pigs have very intense incisors that can leave rips in a dog. Marcella has learned this lesson, Benne was learning it, I figured.

But now we really think that that night a Bobcat was passing through, and Wilbur was in the path, or went to investigate, who knows. I leave the youngsters out-Moose, Goose and Wilbur and usually confine the crippled Victor and Sophie, the ducks and Stella in stalls for their safety. If it had been Moose, or Goose, who knows if they would have faired as well as Wilbur.

We thought of a raccoon, but the position of the claw marks, and the space between each claw didn't make sense for that. Nor does a skunk.

This might also be what happened to our beautiful Vivienne the hen, who disappeared not long ago and we never found any remains.

This morning we also flushed out a grown coyote as we were up investigating our upper fields. It is always magical to see a wild creature living in nature, but also reminds us each time that we are just the stewards here, living on their land.

I continue to understand the important job The White Dogs play. Who knows what we don't get to see after hours. I will start putting the little ones in stalls at night, I guess. Even with the White Dogs, it might be wise.

Watch out for those rabbit ears

A mother returns in a tulip, and a horse turns 17

On April 4th of 2013, my best friend died-my mother. She was only 87. I say "only" because you never would have guessed her age and I never totally acknowledged she'd ever die.

And on April 4, 1998, another good friend of mine was born. A big red horse with a sturdy build and stoic manner entered the world, far from me in another time-when I still longed for a farm and horse and was living in Minneapolis, my horse had entered the world. I often think of him those first 10 years with out me- what was he doing, what did he look like as a colt?

So when my mother died, suddenly, two years ago, I was in shock. The little birthday ride I had planned on Boone that day did not happen. I felt everything leave my body that day. At first I thought it was a real drag to have my horse's birthday entwined in my mother's death. Anniversaries bring up so much-and now how would I ever forget her death day, as I can't forget it is entwined with Boone.

That day as I did feedings, I told Boone,

"My mom died," and I cried into his neck. He ate his hay in contentment. I cried. He ate, I cried. And I realized, this is a wonderful merging of two circumstances-a death and a birthday. I remember thinking at that moment,

Oh, oh, oh, it's her! She arranged this!

She was still the mother, saying in her matter of fact way,

"Now, look, I know I died and you are sad, but get on that horse! Remember how long you waited for him? Don't worry about me, I'm fine."

I thought this last year on the 4th, and I will think it this year, and in years to come.

We are here in the living. I plan to shed a tear whenever I need to, but I am happy in the living, for now. I suppose at some point, and it may only be a seconds worth of time, I'll be ready to go. But for now, I will celebrate the 4th as a Celebration of the Gifts of Death and Life.

Death is to life as night is day. It has been said in much more poetic ways over and over for centuries. Nature shows us the entwining of the two states of being each day-how can the flower be born if it's seed pod isn't broken apart only to become a shoot breaking through the underworld. The farm of course is the grandest theatrical production of life and death on stage together. Just as life wins the hearts of the audience, a mysterious stranger comes into act two only to take over, again.

The day my mother died many messages were brought to me. I was sending out invisible S.O.S's, and the universe around gave me as many lifts as I was open too. My mother loved tulips, and she gave me a huge quantity of tulip bulbs to plant at my farm-some years before she died. Within time, the bulbs petered out, and each spring there were fewer tulips. And the year she died, I saw only one shoot coming up. And it bloomed at her death. I treated that tulip not like a symbol of my mother-I treated it AS IF IT REALLY WAS my mother. I put a protective cage around her so the sheep wouldn't trample her as they went to the fields in the morning. And as her petals began to fall, it was like losing her all over. But then I remembered the lesson of her death day. It's life that remains to be cherished. There was beauty all around the fallen tulip, that tulip had done her job.

I wasn't sure if Mother Tulip would return this year, but she did. This year, I smiled and smiled when I saw her.  It was like getting a bouquet of one from her. She is still the only tulip in the front yard.

So, this coming week- we are going to celebrate in honor of my mother, and Boone. We are going to celebrate the birthdays of Rosie the grumpy pig who turns 7, and the birthday of our beloved elder matriarch of the flock, Daisy who turns 12. I will be posting ways you can participate in this Celebration of the Gifts of Death and Life very soon. Stay tuned.

The Blue Bridge

The Head Mistress on duty

It may not always look like it, but Marcella is always watching what is going on in her barnyard. She is over a year now and I can see the maturity level rising. She has really good instinct which her breeder worked hard over the years to maintain - he breeds for working farm and has a flock of his own and also educates about the Maremma breed throughout the year.

I sat today at lunch and took this sequence of images of Marcella- all within about ten minutes. She may look beautiful, but I wouldn't want to be a stranger entering her barn at night.

Noses on high alert

I finished this piece the other day and found it really evocative for some reason. I think part of my child soul is in this piece, perhaps residing in that little red barn, peeking out at her landscape, planning her day of adventure. The plum trees have blossomed and there is this slightly sweet scent in the air-all noses of Apifera are engaged in active smelling year round, but I suspect spring makes their nose receptors on high alert.

Sophie's content morning

I had noticed the fog had begun swooping over the valley after we awoke to a beautiful, sunny morning. It often happens and I suspect by afternoon it will be sunny again. It is beautiful and always catches me in the throat as much as the heart,

"Have to get my camera," I thought.

I was returning from a few minutes of photo play and saw a white mop in the barnyard, perfect positioned against her barn of red. It is a spot she is often in, but today she seemed to pose for me. I didn't have my favorite lens on, darn it, but still, caught her. A photo to look at now, and years to come, and remember,

"That was Sophie."

{You can make a monthly sponsorship to help me with the many Misfits-the special needs animals who come to spend their elder years here, no matter how long they have}

Preparing for wings now

I'm focusing on painting and creating for both my September show and Sundance. Always a balancing act because you get some pieces done and someone might want a piece, and you the artist want the income, but you need to build a show and get a feel for how it is evolving. For me that means seeing the pieces together. So I just decided the only way around it is to paint my eyeballs out through May! Then break to prep for Pino Pie Day and the Workshop, then continue to create puppets and other creatures in clay or fabric for the show. I'm excited about the show as I haven't done one since 2013 and this one is a 2 hour drive so I have a bit more wiggle room with the types of things I will be able to drive there, versus shipping.

This piece is called "Preparing for Wings Now".

Commune like a donkey...sometimes

One of the graces of my life here is I have many creatures around me without opinions. I have many opinions, I'm sure you do too. Opinions are important, especially to the person with the opinion. With technology today, opinions come all day long. It's hard to look away sometimes, isn't it? I know many people that are irritated by so and so online, yet they continue to peek at their news feeds. I do it too. I hate it, but I do. Such a waste of time and energy. I have a note on my wall in front of me,

"What do you need right now?"

to help me walk away from that compulsive human behavior. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

It seems some people, many with strong Facebook presences, take glory in their opinions to the point where they become bullies. And they are the worst kind of bullies-the ones that claim they don't tolerate bad behavior on their pages, but they turn around and act cynically to certain commenters. Some of those commenters might need a push out the door, but some are just sharing their opinions, or asking the wrong questions in the poster's mind. These same bullies that constantly shame commenters on their Facebook pages, can then turn around and are flabbergasted when that same person stands up to them-and the initial bully calls the commenter a bully. 

It's ridonkulous!

Recently in an interview, President Clinton was asked about race relations in our country, and if he thought they were getting better or worse. Part of his answer resonated with me. He said part of all the problems in the world right now, including race issues, is we care too much about being right, not necessarily discussing issues and exploring facets of opinions.

Like the Buddhist saying,

"Do you want to be right, or do you want to be at peace?"

My interactions with the animals do not require that we sit around and discuss politics or hot button issues- thank goodness, because you know The Head Troll would probably be right about everything. There is no right way for the goat to chew, there is no right way to dress, and the color of my skin or the sagging of it is not important to any of my gang. All the chatter of the outside world can be put in a box while I sit and do chores with the animals.

The trouble is, one still has to live with it and hone our communication skills, and our listening skills, to deal with online aggression and over shouting of opinion.

More and more, I just want to be. I want to paint, and create, and just do it. I love sharing to an audience. I do. I admit it. I see my work as a cycle-it gets created, but it is when it is shown to the outside world that it fulfills its own destiny. It is out of my control after that. It goes off and emotes whatever it has in it to whoever cares to sit in front of it.

I had a thought this past week that has kept coming to me. What if I just disappeared-socially? I lived unconnected before, we all did. Would I be like the tree that falls in the forest-if I wasn't sharing constantly, would anyone hear me? Would anyone remember to check in once in awhile? Would it matter?

It's a beautiful day here. There was no bully behavior in the barnyard at breakfast. There is a big blue sky of opportunity above me and paintings sitting waiting for my non opinion. I hope you might stumble on a donkey waiting to commune with you- or any other creature or human that might sit with you for moments of uninterrupted non opinion time.

Watch out for outsiders

I did this piece yesterday, and when I finished, I thought,

"What an odd little piece..."

but I soon realized it is a perfect reenactment of what I feel is going on in my life right now. I can't really figure out how to write about it, yet, or if I should write about it in an public and honest way. So I guess my muses just helped me paint it for now.

Paynes gray and sheep

The sky this time of year can bring incredible displays of Payne's Gray, and juxtaposed next to my sheep is always so striking. I never grow tired of it, never see it without an internal gasp.

Aliens land at Apifera

In the past months, we've been working on developing our upper fields so that we can graze the flock there and give our lower fields more of a rest. This means a lot more fencing, which is half done. It also means I get nervous about passing coyotes and other predators who can easily go under a fences. We've been hearing them more passing through. I still bring my flock in at night to be in paddocks by the barns or the house. And since Marcella is still a work in progress, and Benedetto is still a runner in process and I don't trust them completely yet, I decided to acquire more llamas.

Rather than get adults, I opted to raise some up. I found a great llama breeder nearby who also has sheep. It was a pleasure working with her to pick a couple youngsters out. I am still so new to llamas but find them very interesting. Aldo the Elder was adopted a year or so ago and while he defiantly knows sheep and guards, he is old and his pasterns have fallen. It would be inappropriate to put him in the upper fields. He does really love it when the flock is in the lower field where he can watch over them. Sometimes when he sees them up in the higher fields, he does his little llama whine, telling me he is a bit agitated his flock is so far away.

So, I came home with two 10 month old llamas. My reasoning-yes, I actually had a plan- is that I will put the male up in the upper fields with the flock. When the flock moves down to the lower fields, he will come along, but he will be separate from the female llama. The female llama [the white one in the photos] will stay with Aldo and she will eventually be separate from the black male. This separation will happen in the next couple weeks. I will have to castrate the male when he is about 15 months. I learned you want to wait to castrate the llama male due to growth requirements.

I really wasn't thinking of getting two llamas, but since the Maremmas are being problematic for me, I wanted to know that I would always have a llama in my lower and middle fields where Aldo is now. So when I went to look at the llamas, this little white girl was all lovely with me, and I thought Aldo would love having a mate again since he lost his long time partner to old age. The black male was much more skittish, which is fine. He is to bond with his flock, not necessarily me. I will have to do a bit of work in the coming two weeks though to gain his trust more. He leads very well and his former farm worked with putting halters on them.

We brought them home yesterday and they traveled just fine. The poor boy though was shaking a lot getting in the trailer-so many new experiences all at once. The girl is very calm, more personable. They led well into the orchard area and Aldo immediately rushed over, not so much friendly, as,

"Hey, wait a minute who is coming into MY area with MY sheep!?"

I let the llamas off their leads and there was no real trouble, but within minutes, Aldo retreated from them, which surprised me. But by day's end, he let me know, and them, that he was the lead llama, fallen pasterns or not! It is the first time I've seen Aldo spit, and he did so when the girl kept trying to make friends.

At the end of the day, I wanted to try and catch them both for some one on one time. This was problematic. It didn't help that the White Dogs stood at the gate barking. It became more of a lesson for the dogs, that these two odd looking aliens are now living here, no need to bark at them. I've heard no barking today, they learn fast. But when I did try to catch the two youngsters, I couldn't, and tried all my tricks for llama catching. The boy was getting stressed, and at one point Aldo tried to guard me from them, but then a minute later, Aldo spit on the young arrivals. So I quit for the night.

This morning, I awoke to find the two youngsters under the big Doug Fir out back, surrounded by the flock, and Aldo was nearby. Aldo is still a bit peeved at me, I'm not sure exactly why, I think because he saw me trying to round up the young ones. In time, I know the girl will tender up pretty good, but right now, I'm just letting them relax, there is time for separation and learning in the weeks to come.

The fiber from the male will be beautiful, so I will learn how to get a good shearer for their fiber.

I am awaiting their names, which will come to me as I get to know them better.

Today's guest blogger: Paco the Poet

{I have asked Paco to write today's post. It's a good way to let him express himself and it gives you all a fresh view on life. Paco is our resident poet, and worrier, but he's very loved and no donkeys have been mismanaged to bring you this post.}

They keep telling me to come over.

"On that wood? It seems skinny. I am not skinny," I told them.

I was worried. I might float away on the skinny rivulet below.

They could hear my thoughts.

"Don't worry, Paco, it won't break or float away. We want you to come. There is so much to eat up here."

That was Pino. He is the star. He was the first donkey and he is a star. He has books and a pie day and he is a star. I am a normal donkey.

"Mother Matilda, are you going to go over it?" I asked her.

She just trotted by me and never even looked back. She does that. She is confidant. She shows me in action what to do, without words.

"Wait, you are leaving me here?" I asked them as they turned away.

And they did. They climbed the hill and left me in the pasture.

I will be brave. I will eat here today.

This isn't so bad.

Wait, I can see their ear tips up on the hill. I must call them so they know I am still here.

"I am still here!" and I brayed and brayed.

I see their ear tips again. They acknowledge me with their ears forward. But now their ears are relaxed, in bramble. They are not worried about me.

I was brave all day. The sheep came down and I took them to the barn. I protected them from possible hawks. You never know when a huge hawk is going to swoop out of the sky and pick up a 200# sheep. I worry about that. It could happen. So it is good I'm here for them.

Snapshot moment

Sometimes, often really, nature gives us such unexpected and beautiful juxtapositions like Uno the rooster against the little, young weeping cherry tree.

Look carefully and you shall find

Sophie has this knack for finding the best places to take a nap, nearby so she doesn't miss anything, hidden so the pigs and hooligans don't bug her.

Workshop is filling up

If you are pondering taking the June 27th workshop here at Apifera, you might want to consider enrolling now to secure a spot. We have a wonderful group coming from all over the country-I'm just thrilled! This is going to be a day of soul and story, merged with animal energy all around. It will be a gift for me too, believe me.

There are still at least 5 spots left, and I might allow a few more after that. So just a heads up for you.

You can read all about the workshop and sign up if you are ready.

"Hey, lady!"

I get a lot of,

"Hey, lady!" shout outs around here. They have a good point, I think.

"Put that thing down and get us some breakfast!"

And I did!

Marcella and shepherdess confrontation

Marcella at this gate this morning, ready to start over, as am I.

{Update- Marcella has moved on, so have I. We had a great working day yesterday and all is well. Chalk it up to life.}

Marcella and I had a confrontation yesterday. I failed her in a big way. I made a mistake and I am disappointed with myself because I knew the second I was doing it I was pushing her too far.

I got up Saturday all ready to get my flock into the barn to begin the job of giving them spring shots, trimming their feet and deworming them. I would have 32 ewes to do and it would be good day of work with my flock even though it would also be tiring. Tasks like this can clip along at a nice pace, or one snafu in the barnyard can set things off track. I have to bring the flock into the goat barn, but first I have to put any Misfits, and the dogs, into stalls so I can have my sheep in the front two stalls and isle. I herd a few sheep at a time out of the stall into the isle, halter one at a time and work on them; after each one is done, they get sent out to the barnyard so I don't get confused. Much easier than keeping a list like I did in the early days.

I arrived at the barnyard gate in the morning ready for action.

Hmmm, no dogs. No goats, or pigs. It was raining, but that never stops Marcella. I sensed a barnyard mischief session was going on somewhere.

As I got to the goat barn, Marcella stuck her head out. She looked happy. Happy in a way a kid looks after he just stole the entire cookie jar and ate it before mom came home. The goats were standing around looking like they knew something wasn't quite right but weren't able to pinpoint what it was. And Benedetto, sweet Buddha Benedetto was lying in the corner, staying out of all of it.

There in the isle was a white bucket, a white bucket I had hung over six feet off the ground. I had left it there last week, high up on the wall, after I had wormed and trimmed the goats. It had stayed there safely and I thought it was safe from Marcella. I don't know why I didn't take it into the hay barn where I now keep all my meds in safety from her, but I didn't. Marcella loves to chew on plastic, she is getting better with age, but still does it if given a chance.

She had taken the new jar of dewormer that was in the said bucket and dumped it by chewing off the top. I had just bought it. All the needles I had used to give shots the week before were strewn about, fortunately I always recap them, and she had chewed anything that was plastic-all the syringes and wrappings. Thank goodness it was Valbazon and not Ivermectin, the latter is much more lethal in large doses and the wormer had soaked into the straw bedding underfoot.

I was livid. We had a financial snafu this past week , right before my birthday. We will work through it in time, not looking for pity, but the timing of it stunk, like most financial surprises. It put a damper on an already emotional birthday. I was having to really scramble with juggling money and when I went to the feed store to buy supplies, I made a big sigh when I saw Valbazon was up to $50. It seems to go up and up every year. Ah well, all is well, things will be okay, suck it up.

So, besides the fact my day of routine was now altered, $50 was down the drain, and that is a lot of money to lose when you are trying to break even on a small flock.

I scolded her, and she went on her side, submissive. But I'll be brutally honest, I sort of snapped. Maybe from the financial stress, or the emotional issues of grief and loss that came to a head over my birthday, I don't know, but I over reacted. Marcella got up and went into the front stall to be away from me because I was still mad. I followed her and just asked her why she had done that, and went on and on how hard things were right now. But she was up against the back wall, and I was walking towards her as I spoke in an angry tone.

That was so stupid of me. I'm ashamed. My anger got in the way of a good training moment with my working partner.

Of course she took it as a threat. This is not a pet dog. This is not a pug, or a lab or any other non guard dog. This is a breed that for centuries has been bred to protect. And I was in a stall with some of her charges - Victor and Sophie- and I was acting threatening with my tone, and was walking toward her when she was backed up to a wall.

She jumped on me, growling, and latched onto my arm. I had a coat on, and it was a soft latch- but it was to tell me,

"Look, I'm not going to take your threats, stop it."

I turned my face from hers and relaxed and she let go. And I walked away. But it didn't end there.

I took her into the hay barn to feed her, and did other feedings. Eventually I went back to the hay area and I kneeled down about 10 feet from her, and called her over. She came right away, submissively, tail wagging and head down. I petted her and told her I was sorry, that I had done that all improperly, and I went to lean my head near her, onto her shoulder which I often do. I had my big, floppy hat on. I don't know why, but she let out a soft growl at me. Then stopped when I moved my head away. I thought maybe it was my hat, but I got up and went about my business. She was not ready to trust me yet.

Not long after, I was doing more chores in the barnyard, and Benedetto was hanging out with me and over comes Marcella. She leaned her head into my shoulders ad we just sat together for some time, in silence.

I told Martyn about it and I told him how I had really failed out there, I snapped in anger. I wasn't even mad about what she had done, it was all the other stuff that happened that week and I let it take over. They always tell you not to ever get in the arena to train when you are mad. This is so true with any kind of teaching of any creature. I know this, and somehow I didn't have the skills that morning to walk away from my own anger.

It deeply saddened me that I failed her that way. But today, was a new day. I will strive not to fail her again.

Walking with moons and other stuff

Just some donkey house keeping. The new Donkey Wisdom journals are at the printer and I should have them by mid April if all goes well. I'm really excited to get them out to those who have taken time to pre-order.

I might sound like a broken record, but want to emphasize how important pre-sales are to me as an indie creator. It allows me to pay for printing in larger quantities so I can keep the product price down, as well as keeping me out of debt. The money goal on the pre-order site pays for printing only, so I don't see income until after that is paid off. I'm a bit disappointed we haven't had the pre orders for the journal as we have for the last two books. I'm not sure why and we all have our limits of products, sales, crowd sourcing and donkey power...wait, we have no limits with donkey power.

So if you are thinking of buying a journal, it helps a lot if you do it now. And the pre-order pricing is going to be the lowest retail price.

And one other garish mention-the $20 doodle sale ends tonight.

Eerie journey through the woods of light

Yesterday morning I went for an early ride, alone. I am very fortunate to have access to my nearby friend's land with riding trails, free of cars and wandering dogs–although we run into an occasional critter, as there are many living on the 200+ acres of property-all in protected lands.

I know there is the occasional cougar up there but have never seen one. It's ridiculous to think they aren't there, as it is high up, remote and the males have large territories. I have always been afraid of cougars, having read some bounty hunter website when I first moved to the farm that scared the britches off me. Coyotes I can handle, bobcats, hawks, eagles–but I've always felt if I ran into a cougar that would be it. I've heard differing opinions on this, but what most will say is you can't outrun them, and you can't lay down for them. One hunter told me that they are always looking at me if I'm in a remote wooded area. The area where I ride is country, but there are properties of 100 acre parcels around, cow farms, sheep breeders and horses, and of course- filberts, orchards and grapes.

My riding friend had an incident where her very seasoned horse became very agitated on a solo wooded ride. She respected it, and they headed back to more open trails. My other friend was hiking in this area and knew the land well, but it was nearing dusk. She said she had a 'feeling' on the back of her neck, and knew she was being watched by something, and decided to head back since it was getting a bit dark.

So on my ride yesterday, I was pondering how many creatures might have been watching me and Boone. Boone is a very good trail horse. When I bought him, the man told me he was sure footed-which he is- but also that he was very attentive but not in a high strung way. Anyone that knows Boone knows that "high strung" is his opposite! On trails, Boone will often stop, and watch. I allow this-as I feel it is his personality and instinct. Sometimes I know it is a trick to eat grass, but when he stops in a certain way, I assume he is sensing one of our forest friends.

We entered the woods, a nice trail, somewhat spooky but in a beautiful way. The light was exceptionally eerie yesterday-maybe it was my melancholy mood. Yes, it was my birthday, but I was a bit blue. I had certain people on my mind that are aging and failing, and I felt a huge void for my family that are mostly gone now. As wonderful a life as it is, I just felt sad yesterday, sort of like I could feel as a little girl when scared. I felt vulnerable.

As Boone and I rode, I sensed there were many messengers in that forest with me. I don't like to combine technology on many of my rides-but I did take my phone out to capture the light if possible. I did not alter these images but when I got home I felt it was a document of that forest being alive-both in reality but also in a spiritual sense.

When I got home, I had a letter from my only surviving Uncle, my mother's brother. He is a wonderful guy, and health issues are catching up to him and his wife. He always remembers my birthday. He is the final blood elder who will be in my life. He told me he was looking at a photo of my mom as he wrote the letter, and that he too missed their chats.

I think that was my sadness in the forest. It was my sadness, but also the sadness of my Uncle and maybe my mother knew it and just wanted everyone to be okay, she is okay, she said it through the branches in the wind. The light of the forest seemed like the sadness we face after we lose everyone, and the weight it takes on all of us, especially the last remaining elders who are still at the party with one foot in the room and one out the door. But when I looked up through the trees, there was sky, a different kind of light, a light of life here on earth.

I might have been a Bridgette

I was born this day fifty seven year ago, in 1958. That same day, my Grandmother Katherine died–she was fifty seven and left me with the name I now bare. I was supposed to named Bridgette, which really upset me as I was young since I thought Bridgette Bardot was fabulously exotic. I think I could have been a Bridgette, but Katherine is a well suited name for me.

Grandmother's photographs did not show a fifty seven year old-part of it was the era, the hair styles and clothes. And part of it was she worked full time as a nurse, helping start one of the first settings for crippled [the term then] children in Minneapols. She had three sons, one was my father. And when those boys were young pre-teens, their father left my grandmother for his younger secretary. It was a shocker for everyone, as he was a prominent physician in Rochester, Minnesota-a small town of wealthy doctors who all knew the comings and goings of everybody. Divorce was unheard of then, it was a black badge you wore about the town. She did not want a divorce and she carried a torch for my grandfather for many years. My mother told me a really heartbreaking story-a year or so after my grandfather left her, and was with his secretary living in Washington D.C., my grandfather paid for his young sons, and my grandmother, to come out to visit. He paid for everything and put them all up in a hotel. The trip just happened to coincide with their wedding anniversary so my grandmother was sure he was going to reconcile. But he didn't and he had cluelessly planned the trip without even remembering the anniversary. I can feel her body sinking that day.

I was never told about the divorce until my twenties. My parents thought it would tarnish the image of my grandfather in my mind, and they didn't want that. Each year I'd get books for Christmas from my grandfather, and sometimes I'd go visit him in Washington D.C. I did not like my step-grandmother. Nobody did. As my grandfather grew elderly, he invited me out again when I was 17. He hadn't seen me for many years and he kept accidentally calling me "Kappie". This was my grandmother's nickname. He would sit and talk to me, with this adoring look on his face-and he'd slip and call me Kappie. This riled my step-grandmother. But I liked it, as I had grown up thinking of my real grandmother as a mystical creature-one I was named after, and had many similar traits too. The photos I had of her when she was a young woman showed angelic but strong beauty-in my young mind. I'd examine her face, wondering if I could be so lovely someday, and brave. When I turned eighteen, I was given her wedding ring by my father. I cherished it and wore it every day on my right hand, until I married Martyn.

I think of my grandmother a lot, and how she died at the age I turn today. It seems so young, even though back then fifty seven was more like seventy plus. She had diabetes and had a stroke on the cold Minnesota morning I was born, falling to the sidewalk while she waited for the bus to take her to work. My father told me after I was older that he had been called to the hospital and was told that at the scene passers by didn't help her, they thought she was drunk. It haunted him his entire life, and it does me too, that maybe she would have lived-who can know. If that had happened to my mother-I am not sure what scare it would have left-so the older I grow, the more credit I give my father, with all his flaws, to have gone on as well as he did after that.

The juxtaposition of my first day of life with my grandmother's last never fails to capture my imagination. The upheaval it must have caused everyone. But it reminds me of life here, and it helps me feel how my father might have felt. A lamb is born on the same morning an old goat falters, fades and lays its head down one last time. It happens everywhere in the world over and over-light and dark, salt and pepper- come in quickly without choice. Without the upheaval of death there wouldn't be life. It is the only way of nature. A tree seed bursts though the dirt, destroying that smooth surface of ground, to sprout its new trunk. We don't mourn that, we notice the sprout. Somehow I've grown to see death this way-it makes room for other things that might be looking right at us.

I don't want to die on my 57th birthday. But I'll share something. I do think if it all came down to one moment like she had on that street, I think I might take a deep breath, and rest. I plan to go on living, and will relish it, but life does begin to take small chinks out of the armour. These chinks don't make me sad, they just make me realize that the last breaths might be a soft, gossamer piece of relief.

Little $20 gems

Little gems all for only $20 each-I rarely lower things to this extant, but it is time to freshen up and clean up...and make some pocket money for donkey cookies.

Visit the shop-this little sale ends Friday.

Not in the mood for art? You can pre-order the Donkey Wisdoms blank journal-also at a low price that will go up once it is on the retail market.