Itty bitty love story

I have been feverishly working on a little love story, an itty bitty love story of huge proportions in my heart. I hope to have it complete this coming month ad we shall see where it goes after that. For those of you that follow along, you will recognize the lead character, and you will understand why it is a love story, and perhaps you will even understand the mission I am on to complete it. Stay tuned

Emerging Crones workshop is set for September!

So very excited to announce that the Emerging Crone workshop is now set for Saturday, September 17, 2016 here at Apifera Farm in Bremen, Maine. We will work in the current barn, with stalls of Misfits around us, sewing dolls, sharing crone wisdom, learning from one another, healing each other, guiding out stories lurking in us-or just listening.

The idea for this workshop has been long in the making, and when I had my painting workshop a summer ago at the old Apifera in Oregon, one thing we all realized was the love and story that comes out of gathering together at a table and working with our hands, and sewing is a wonderful way to do that-our foremothers knew this, of course.

Read all about it and register at the workshop blog. There is an Early Crone registration until July 15, and then you pay the regular price after that.

The emergence of the old goat lady

Sophie continues to let me know she is ready for relationship with me. When I first brought Sophie to the farm in Oregon, along with the very crippled and deformed Old Victor, she was shy and preferred to hide behind Victor, or stay out of the mix altogether. She let Victor do the bonding with people. And anyone that knew sweet Victor knew he was very good at sharing himself, especially with that amazing smile. We lost Victor last year to a natural death and he is buried in the former Apifera Pumpkin Patch of Old Souls back west. Before we left, Marcella dug up his grave and brought out some of his clean white bones, displaying them in a tiny row for me to admire. Years ago this probably would have upset me, but Marcella can not be held back, even from the fence that surrounded the cemetery-she smelled dead and went for it. There was some intrigue for me, I have to admit, to pick up his ribs and see if I could somehow put them back together.

But back to Sophie.

After Victor died, I knew Sophie would either blossom, or fade. I've seen it over and over after a mate is lost-in both animals and people. I had only had her I think less than a year, so I thought she might just fade. I had worked hard to get weight on both of them but after such long neglect it proved to be difficult. Sophie slowly became more personable with me, and started venturing out more on her own. She has never buddied up with any of the other goats, probably to protect herself from being knocked over. She has a genetic condition that makes her hind end crippled but still gets around fine. What I found was that it was on our journey East that Sophie seemed to really step outside of her shy self. Perhaps it was the tight quarters, but she just seemed...to expand a bit. I found that Sir Tripod Goat also expanded with Birdie the llama, and this was very pleasing since he was such a loner, only really interacting with me in the past months.

But every day, Sophie seems to look to me, not just for food, but for some scratching' and a time where she can be with me in a corner, leaning her body in to me. I've had other experiences where this change in temperament can be a good-bye, Wild Iris was an example of that. But I don't sense that with Sophie. I think she just knows, for sure now, that I am an ally.

I hope she continues on for some years, but she is going on nine, which isn't horribly old, but considering her years of living without proper food management, it probably took a toll on her body.

I shall let her lean into me until her time comes.

{If you like the work I continue to do with elder Misfits, consider a subscription or donation to help.}

Finally, it's me and Boone again

I haven't worked or been on Boone since May 3rd due to the move and today I made time to drive over and pay for some arena time where Boone and the donkeys had boarded last month while we made our way to Maine. It's a full dressage arena and is pretty nice and I had the place all to myself. I hope to find a closer arena to ride in, and one a bit closer to my raggedy budget! But, it was worth it and I had to get back on him and wanted a safe environment to do our first ride in, and its the only place I know.

I could tell by his body language that Boone was really happy. That made me happy. I wasn't sure if he would be a bit full of himself but as I learned through the past year's experience, riding your horse, consistently, is the best thing you can do for him and you. All the round pen work is fine, the videos of ground basis, but you have to get in the saddle and ride and ride. It pays off after a layover to have had those hours together to get back in stride. I apologized to him too, because I haven't kept up on grooming these past weeks and his tail is wind blown and needs some work. It was so nice being all alone,but together, grooming him in silence.

Except for the fact his feet are long and I need to find a new farrier here, all was well on our ride.

But the main thing I took away from my outing with Boone, is that he was happy to be with me, and ride together. He did everything I asked of him today and when I talked to him he kept his ears in his happy-to-be-with-you position. Boone will provide me with a link to normalcy after the upheaval of the move. We are in a different state, and region and know hardly anyone, but we are still me and Boone.

And it is also another feather in my hat to get back to my normal routines. Obviously it will take time to get all we need to get done here to a point where we feel settled, but each time I do something I love, something I did consistently in my Oregon life, it makes me more rooted here, and more sea worthy on the road.

As I drove home, an idea for a book came to me. It will resonate with all ages but be in a children's book format with images and fewer words. It will be a very therapeutic one for me, and I felt really strongly it would be a good way to get back to the art table.

The house that glows

From the first time I saw our Maine house in the online photos, I felt quiet, and warm, and accepted. This house is a welcoming house, it is not boisterous. It is calmer than I am at any given time. At certain times of day, it has a glow. It has stood since 1776 and has weathered storms of both nature and man. But somehow through all that it has remained calm.

At least, that is how I resonate with her, and I know that the few people who have had the good favor to come inside have said this too. Even when we walked into her empty, she was that mother we all cherish and want and need no matter how old or bold we are.

Today I put up some art. It pleased me and I realized it also made me feel more sturdy on my feet. I had planned to do some art today, but I am a nester, and I need to prep my nest, not only for the animals, but for my husband, and me. I like the house so much that I wasn't really rushing to decorate, or unpack boxes. I plan to paint the front room - not seen here- as it is a New England red on the wood work, that I like, but I don't like red next to green. I want my greens, my olive tones, all around me. It will be cool in summer and warm in winter. Since I plan to paint that front room, I haven't completely unpacked the book boxes, and I got lazy thinking I'd wait to hang art until the painting is done. This is the first house I've lived in where I didn't feel like I had to repaint everything. The buff walls are dirty and worn, and should be painted in time I guess, but I kind of like them that way.

The bottom photo is the view from our bed, an intimate glimpse, I know, but it is so pleasing to me. I have trees out both windows and you can hear the wind and birds. The small room seen at the top photo is a sweet center room of the house, with a small dining table. We found an old table for $45 yesterday and when we got home we gathered the four old chairs we had brought with us-chairs that came from Martyn's childhood and his mother had purchased from antique stores. Martyn came to me later and said he had had a moment with the dining room, because

"...it was like the chairs had been waiting all these years to live here."

We sit in the front room at night and can look into this room, and the fire. I truly love it.

As I put up the art today and brought out old favorite items, I felt really calm, and quiet...and...I felt just like me. I am feeling like me.

I shall paint soon.

That damn patience thing...and the llama smiles

Our barn set up is very different than the old Apifera. There are things I like about it much better-like having everyone congregated to greet me. And there are things I miss about the old layout-but that will change because we are building another barn which will create more space in other fields too and make the current paddocks less crowded. Right now The White Dogs can't run and it kills me, but they seem pretty happy and are guarding their Misfits.

I think I wrote recently patience is a virtue but one I often lack but as I 'mature' I find I'm getting more patient....usually...kind of...depending on the day and weather conditions. I am excited to be able to have the current Misfits out in the bigger paddock by the current barn-the one you see the donkeys in the photo below- because right now the Misfits are in two really big stalls with turn out. I hope to add some fill in low spots so they can have a mound to climb on. They like mounds.

Fear not-they are just fine and have ample roaming room. But I want them to be able to have more space and grass and some climbing mounds like they had before.

The plan is that once the new barn is built-hopefully by late summer-the donkeys and Boone will have stalls there with turnouts to the fields we are busy fencing. Then, the current barn will be more of a Misfit barn. I will have my workshops in the current barn and it provides perfect access to the animals. The new barn will store hay and equipment and will sit out in the field with its own road. During events, I envision that road becoming the entrance to Apifera.

It's beginning to be drawn in my head-and of course it will evolve as thing gets done and I can see it all.

As usual we are putting lots of time and savings into the farm. I underestimated the fencing we'd need, but its okay, we'll figure it out. The good news is it is very flat. The bad news is there are some marshy spots we hope to work on over time.

I'm also rethinking who we are as a farm. I miss my sheep. And the relationship of being on a small farm connected to both life, and death, and the cycle of birth to death, is significant to me and I would like to continue that. Mobile harvest units are non existent here. I have been talking to a lot of farmers about it. I made a vow not to haul my animals anywhere if we chose to raise a small amount of meat. I am sticking to that right now.

I still envision my life here to be about healing through story, art, workshops-but always connected to animals and Nature. I am excited to get in the thick of all that. But....patience. Damn patience.

So, the barn site will be prepped next week I think. We were disappointed we couldn't hire this great barn company, run by women I might add, who build post and beam barns. We just couldn't afford it so are doing a pole building, but will skin it in old wood so it will tie into the farm here. Martyn and I will be putting up the siding and all interior work, and helping with site prep. The roof will be done by a roofer. And we will have to put in a road there, no small cost. It will all be worth it when I see people driving up to have pie with me and Pino some day.

Want to help? Buy art at the shop or at Sundance. I am the sole income earner right now, perhaps through the year. I appreciate everyone who buys my books and art! Thank you!

Apifera is evolving yet again.

Hits you like the wind

I am a bit off kilter. I know this is a phase. I went through this in Oregon when I moved to the former Apifera from the city. It was jolting. It took me months, even a couple years to find my real voice. I don't think this transition is the same, as I am used to country life, farm, isolation etc and I've been writing a long time and painting and have my inner gig. But, my creative voice is a bit out of sync. I went to sit at my drawing table and my chair is too low so I sit on a bunch of moving pads for now. I left my old ergonomic chair in the old studio. Why? I don't know. I think the final weeks at the old farm were so hard in my heart that I was trying to get out as fast as I could without breaking down, coupled with the limited space in the moving van and I was leaving things behind, I had to, but why that chair- who knows, I did my best. And now, after the excitement and thrill and love of the new farm I have time to reflect on what I left. I underestimated how much I would miss...well, the dead bodies buried there. Sounds odd, I suppose.

But I was wrapped in them, all the creatures I cared for or hospiced, help die, watch die, or found dead. Yes there are spirits and energy that live on but knowing their bodies were all there like a big misfit family, I guess, meant more to me than I knew. On the other hand, it was holding me down.

As I was unpacking stuff I found so many momentos of old friends-Stevie the Kissing Goat, Aldo the Elder, Lofa, so many more, Guinnias, Floyd...Giacomo to name a few. I realized I had pushed that out of me, those goodbyes. I thought I'd said good bye, but I haven't. I suppose maybe they will come to me here in different ways, or in art. You don't need to tell me there will be new animals, and story, and life and death. I know this.

But, I realized that all the wind we’ve been having, really strong wind and it comes off the ocean and it's been gong all night and day-it is very comforting to me–it is a message to stand in that wind, and just get blown up a bit, tossel the raggedy hair clumps even more, let go but acknowledge-it is grieiving I guess. This painting was about wind, with Doris and June, two pigs I left behind with the new owners. I also need to make art again, and...sell it. Perhaps garish to put it at the end of a poignant post, but selling a painting is an acknowledgement for me, and it helps one's creativity pop, and checkbook.

I wondered though, how would I paint the wind today. I might attempt it.

Interrupting your news feed for peace

The view from my new studio window, my peace spot

Many people on social media are swept up into the angst of the shooting in Orlando. It is of course a serious, heartbreaking situation that deserves careful thought, and maybe in another Congress's lifetime, action. I heard one blogger, who for the record I have little enthusiasm or respect for, state that what bothered her more than the issues of gun laws and shootings, were the people who were not talking about it online. She inferred they were the scary ones. I thought this a very poorly thought out statement, and perhaps the motive was to gather a response from her readers.

You don't have to talk about it online, or with others, at this moment, to be caring, or concerned. In fact, I think reflection inward before speaking is a skill in and of itself, one that many are not taught, or were never taught. That instant feeling of hitting a comment post button to strangers seems mightier than the internal wisdom that percolates when we settle down, breathe, and think on our own first. I have also see a few thoughtful conversations about it -perhaps that is in the minority-but I saw that too.

I'm not perfect at it always standing back. But, I am blessed to recognize, for me and my makeup, the importance of returning, always, to Nature–the importance not only to my health, but to my ability to try to learn something in the face of a tragedy, one that has opened so many wounds on many levels.

My week has been free of such trauma. In times like these, I just seek the light of the creatures, try out the old oven for that first pie in Maine, and while I'm thinking of the hurt families and loved ones I do feel pain. But perhaps while bathing in the light around the donkeys, it is a safe place to learn something. Maybe there is something in that silence I can share somewhere that might soothe one tired heart. I don't know.

Piglets in a row, a llama smiles, a moment of smiles in the heat of the world

The first pie is baked at Apifera's new home

Cornelia the big sister makes me happy

My first raggedy creation-a fence for sunflower birthing

The light of the donkeys and Boone-can I share that somehow in art?

Hughie suffers

Hughie fell prey to vertebrae disk inflammation and we made a visit for the first time in Maine to a vet. I had been through this with the Old One Eyed Pug back in Oregon but he was much older. Hugh is going to be ten and Pugs are prone to this disease as are certain breeds of dogs, often the small ones.

It is so sad to see a sad Pug. Something about their faces just exhibit sheer pain and gloom when they are under the weather. As someone who suffered the greatest pain in my life last year with a sprained back, I know what these ruptures can feel like. The poor fellow cries out in the morning when he is picked up or has to get up so he can be carried down the step. By mid morning after his meds he is doing better. He is on bed rest, for 4-6 weeks, that is really the main thing that is needed. The anti inflamatories and muscle relaxers will help manage his suffering. If it continues with morning crying, I will revisit the vet. She did not want to use steroids, and I know the last pug had a real problem with them. But if he is suffering, we shall see. At least he is getting relief.

Moving to a new state, with this many animals, is always unsettling when you need a vet, especially if someone is suffering. The vet was fine, although it made me miss all my vets I had in Oregon, only because they knew me so well. I am sure in time it will be like that here, I hope.

I guess it comes do to trust, trust in new people, doctors, friends, contractors and service people. You don't really know who to listen to and like a dog, you have to sniff people out, then decide who to trust. It is all part of the discombobulation of a big move...in time, you put the pieces back together of your own infrastructure and things smooth out.

Every Troll yearns to accessorize

As mentioned in a previous post, with a move comes self exploration and a jolt of inspiration to make changes in one's life. When The Head Troll went to town last week, that was a surprise in and of itself to many of you, I'm sure. But I can understand what is going on here.

For twelve years, she was on top of every detail in the old barnyard-presidential elections, deaths and births, world and farm events, Halloween traditions in the pumpkin patch, Christmas Garland extravaganzas...and let's not forget her attempt to have a Summer Stock play.

But I think the move opened something up in The Head Troll, a space just for her. Just as a friend of Apifera noticed that our new Apifera seems 'softer', perhaps too The Head Troll has softened somewhat. While never a bully, she certainly had a head mistress-no nonsense personality.

So when The Head Troll came back from her village outing with a hand bag clutch, embroidered with her initials, I didn't question it. Nobody in the barn snickered either. Like seeing an old school marm dressed up out on the town, I suppose seeing her with a feminine handbag could have brought teasing amongst the Misfits. But it didn't. I think they too accept that she is seeking out somethings in her life that might have been missing....like accessories.

I'm dying to sneak a peak inside her handbag, but that would be wrong on so many levels.

{You can read all the many Head Troll stories going way back to her arrival}

Jumping in the deep end

When I was five years old we lived on Goodrich Ave. in St. Paul, Minnesota, right off Grand amongst the large homes of yesteryear. The neighbor had a pool, and they were my buddies. My mom never learned to swim and she hired Buzzy the 18 year old to teach me. I can remember the first day, I loved the appeal of the pool water, but was afraid to get in. Buzzy was very patient, he tried everything to give me courage to jump in. I remember it went on–him encouraging me, me balking.

Finally, he grabbed me and jumped in with me. And then, he couldn't stop me from jumping in over and over on my own. I was a fish ever since.

Making a huge move and change of life is just like that-jumping in with out anyone to catch you but with an inner excitement that you will swim and make it to the other side.

And if you do, you will surprise yourself. You will go from a new oven to one Paul Revere's mother used and you will find bread still can be baked.

I have people tell me this has to be my next book-the move-and I am pondering it. After all we left a place we loved and were emotionally vested in, but it wasn't like we were miserable. We weren't that young either. We spent a lot of savings to do it to haul animals and that is always unsettling for anyone, especially freelancers of sporadic income. Martyn left a 25 year list of paying clients that he will have to totally rebuild. And we continue to have to spend money to get the barn done and purchase furniture and supplies since we left almost all our household items due to the size of the house and the cost of the move [...this is not a preamble for a GoFund campaign...we made our own choices.}

I did leave all my wind chimes. Why did I do that, I wonder? I'm not sure I was thinking straight the last couple days of packing, I was just trying to get through it without having an emotional crack up, I think. I find some things I packed and feel it was simply a way to get me here-by packing it it felt like things, life preservers, were on board. But some, not all, but some have no meaning here.

Not everyone can move down the street, let alone across the country to a place they never saw. Sometimes it is financial, sometimes it is commitments to parents or children that keep one land locked. Sometimes it is fear, or laziness. And some people don't need or want to move. I'm not sure what the focus of this supposed new book people say I should write is. Is the theme about jumping into the deep end or the insanity of driving 5 days with 28 animals in a trailer and sleeping in stalls every night? I think the people are tired of women moving to farm stories, especially since most of the women in those books aren't really farmers. I'm not sure they are interested in my journey from coast to coast where nothing really went wrong. I can just hear some editor,

But nothing happened. Nobody escaped on the trip, nobody died, everything worked out. Where is the 'arc'? Where is the drama?


I think the best response is, I'm in the arc, man. I'm riding it. The trip out was chapter two. The arc is developing. The wood out back is full of arcs. That mouse has something to say, I think. I don't now. I didn't move across the country to write a book, but there is a book somewhere in all this.

The shepherdess in me is verklempt

I was so happy, and emotional, when I opened my copies of the new issue of the beautiful magazine, Wild Hope, to which I contributed an article with photos about some environmental work we did at the old Apifera in Oregon. They arrived yesterday and I sat in the car and cried a little bit.

I'm happy. No buyer's remorse. Let's get that straight.

But when I saw my old farm, Old Barn, my sheep my old land, Marcella running free which she can't do here yet, and the late but great Aldo the Elder, my throat swelled and so did my heart.

I encourage you to visit their site and buy a copy. The magazine's mission is to educate and inspire everyday people to look at their own relationships with the environment, and contribute what they can to making a better world for nature, in small ways or big. It is designed by the talented Jane Palacek who I always wanted to work with in my young days as an illustrator and never had the chance, so I was thrilled to get it. Thank you too to editor Kathryn Arnold for this opportunity to write about something I cared so much about, and still do.

The article discusses how we maintained a flock of sheep and other animals while we still designated a small portion of our land to help the wild lupine reseed which in turn would help repopulate the endangered Fender's blue butterfly. I'm pleased we have lupine here and lots of wildlife so i hope to tap into what I can here to help Nature.

In the past week as we settle-and there is still a lot of that to do-I have been analyzing if I want to get some sheep again. I'm leaning towards yes. We have land here that is a bit marshy in spots and would be fine for ruminants. I underestimated how much shepherding had entered my blood. Stay tuned.

Diary of a pig: June 3

In which Earnest the pig continues to write in his musings in his journal

June 3, 2016 Maine

I live much as I did, wallowing in dust after mad baths, waiting for a breeze to blow off flies and in the inner peace that I am always fed and watered.

The children are growing. They are right in the paddock beside me, with their mother and the tall elegant white lady who smiles a lot. I like her, she is somewhat odd in her movements but much like a giraffe I saw on National Geographic when someone copped that old TV out of the old barn. That was a great night for all of us.

We had rain yesterday, a torrent really, unheard of back at our old homestead. It left the paddock nearby flooded, but I slept through most of it. The rain here comes through the summer I'm told. This will be a treat.

As usual I think about love making some, with Eleanor right next door. We are set up nicely though, we are the right height to visit with noses and eyes and heads. But they secured it so I can't get to her. This is both comforting and exhausting. We don't need more children right now, they are the consequence of seconds of my release. But it's nice knowing she is there. Living amongst other species is fine, but as a pig, I feel at one with another pig.

It might appear nothing much happens in my journal. But I have yet to uncover percolations that were brought to the surface, briefly, as we travelled. And there are different sounds here, from the wood.

She said it feels like a softer Apifera

Someone I consider a friend to both me and my work and all things Apifera, who has been to the old farm many times, made a succinct comment after I posted photos of our new Maine property. She said,

It feels softer.

This really resonated with me and how I feel things unfolding here. I knew there were many lessons to our move and that I would also come to understand many deeper reasons than I can even understand right now as to why I felt propelled to uproot ourselves and our animals from a place we loved to move across the country. And one of the reasons is just what my friend said,

It is softer here.

Not only is the landscape smoother - I mean smoother in how it makes me feel- it has me acting more smoothly.

Perhaps, I thought as I was doing the usual feedings and chores this week, it is simply that I'm becoming slightly smoother as I age. But it is more than that. I clearly needed a change, a big change, not only to my environment, climate, and address but also to the extremeness of my daily life. The weather in Oregon had become to feel extreme to me as had some of my animal duties. I felt disconnected to people in  a community sense. I felt unrooted to the community. I feel more connected here, as I did in Minneapolis, even though I've been here less than a month. {This is not to say I don't love the friends I left behind, please understand that if you are one of them.}

As we live amongst boxes, rooms that need to be painted, and areas of the house that seek my attention for simple needs-such as a real waste basket in the bathroom instead of a paper bag, I have noticed that I am being remarkably patient [for me]. Patience is not my strong suit. But it is something I am leaning into lately. I learned so much from the near debacle of almost leaving my beloved farm and sheep in the hands of the wrong person-all because I got my wires inside crossed, propelled by my desire to get to Maine fast-that experience is like a canvas I have hung in my memory to remind me to slow down a bit...and listen not only to me, but to muses, elders, guides and earth.

I am here for many reasons. Some of those reasons I know. Others will become clearer as we evolve here, and Apifera herself evolves.

But I do think Apifera is softer. She needed to be to move on to her next chapter.

The flowering of The Head Troll

{Post Script: As some have asked, yes, she arrived home, before dusk as she said she would. However, she came back clutching onto a small handbag, with a shell handle.}

It is not my place to decide how any of The Misfits will evolve in there new environment. Just as I know my life will be stimulated in my new farm, creating new opportunities for expansion, why would it not be the same for the creatures that find themselves in Maine?

The Head Troll is aging, as am I. I sensed even back in Oregon her duties were beginning to feel heavy for her. She spent more time in Boone's pasture, especially after Marcella clearly became the guard of the main barnyard. I didn't feel sadness from her, more of a relief–like an old teacher who decided to go to a part time schedule.

So when I found this note tacked to the barn door this morning, in some ways I was not surprised. In fact, I felt happy for her. Nor does it surprise me she has ventured out to the village on her own, unafraid, to see what ever it is she has in mind-lunch perhaps? As someone who rarely, if ever, went out to lunch at our old farm, I can say Martyn and I enjoyed the luxury of eating out when we first got here two weeks ago. It felt like we were in Italy or Paris being waited on with no dishes to do. We can't afford to eat out much, but we hope to every so often here due to [hopefully] changed financial loads.

So The Head Troll is in town, somewhere. She is smart, I don't fear for her, people are sensible here and i suspect by day's end, there might even be a committee formed by resident village shopkeepers to put up a "WARNING SLOW DOWN TROLL CROSSSING" sign.

In which I meet Mrs. Mercy Studley

Yesterday while feeding, I came upon a beautiful little mouse in the pig food can, as I had left the top slightly ajar.

"Hello!" I said.

"Oh, hello, I figure you might come as I heard the animals rustling. I am Mrs. Mercy Studley," the mouse said.

I felt the hairs lift on my neck. You see, just the other night I had been reading the history of Bremen, our town here, and Mrs. Mercy Studley was one of the early inhabitants of a nearby village and at the time our house was newly built in 1760 era, Mrs. Mercy Studley was already 106.

"There was a woman from way back with your name, in a nearby village," I said.

"Yes," the mouse said.

"Did you perhaps know her?" I asked.

"Oh yes. She is me, or I am her. It is I."

{to be continued...}

What will we become now

The signs from the old farm, many of them, came with us. Some I couldn't bare to leave as they were meaningful on so many levels and can be hung here as our Apifera missions here become clear. Of course it will involve animals, my work with helping them and connecting it all to people. We are happy here. We were happy there too, but we seem to fit in here, to the land, house, barn and the surrounding towns. Everywhere we go we say we have just arrived and we make no pompous statements of what we think we know, we just casually and honestly say,

"We are new here, can you help us?"

and by the end of our time in a small town feed shop in Waldoboro, or a hardware store in Damriscotta, we feel we have learned new things and come one step, one day closer to settling. We have been told we will never be Mainers and that is okay. I understand historical territory, we were not born and bred here, nor were generations of our families. I never considered myself an Oregonian either. I will always be a Minnesotan I think. Maine feels more like an east coast Minnesota to me, whereas Oregon was exotic in many ways and the valley we lived in had the feel of renegade at every turn. Place, a sense of home and being, are deeply rooted in our souls and hearts, from even before our births as our mothers carried us about - a move shakes that all up and lets cream rise to the top.

Martyn looks like a Mainer to me. I suggested he just lie and make up a family history of make believe people so he could be considered a Mainer and I would be his wayward wife of multiple states.

Martyn is no longer The Dirt Farmer. He is simply, Martyn, but said with  a Maine accent [in closed company, we would never want it to sound like we are making fun]. We both decided we just want to be ourselves. The land here is very different than what we had in Yamhill. It is marshy in many areas, and the woods I'm finding is very marshy and I still have not come to find the paths that are supposedly entwined in the woods. Part of field is a low spot, marshy but suitable for a wildlife area I think. That is one of my future goals, to turn the wood area into an education place for bird watching and tree worship. But first things first.

We also live on a somewhat busy road, busy for us anyway. Everything is closer together here and even though we have 30 acres, we feel like we are in a 'village of farms' versus out west it felt like...open west cattle drive areas. The road is paved, and we have very little dust like we did in Oregon. I did bring a lot of the dust from the old farm with me. Seeing the furniture we managed to cram into the truck in daylight was...embarrassing. I did however pause, and think,

There is some of my old Apifera, as I tenderly dusted each item off with bare hand.

Our property is situated nicely though, and we feel rural, and in the winter and as we age, having the road right there will be a God send as it connects us to all the villages we need to get too.

Because of the road, we added more picket fence so our back porch is now enclosed in a lovely private area, and I can walk to the barn 20 feet away. I can see and hear my animals. Martyn even made picket gates.We started planting more garden, and say we will keep it simple-but I know us, we can't stop from making more garden.

Change is chaos but home is where you hang your hat

What it comes down to is this-very few things are needed for a settled daily life. Shelter and a place to sleep well, warmth, food, water and the ability to have a routine to clean oneself and stay healthy. The animals show us this daily, and in the move, they were provided with all of the above, just in different surroundings. They took it in stride, and to most of it, so did we.

The move forced us to strip down to basics for five days on the road. Although we did have our iphones, but basically we were camping in stalls. But as I lay in bed this morning I was thinking about how unsettling a move can be, and why. Is it the fact the furniture is in different spots, or that you don't know what time the mail comes, or where the best place to buy printer ink is? Is it that nobody knows who you are as they drive by your house, and you as the newcomer don't know the histories of each house and the quirks of nearby locals?

The first days of a move in to a new home are chaotic-chaotic to the point that is exciting and like an adventure. The empty house we arrived to clear of any furniture or "stuff" was so soothing really. There was a certain smell too, that is now gone, replaced by our smell. The dust here now is ours, not theirs. As we sat on the back porch, our new go-to spot last night sipping wine, I smelled that scent the house had when when we moved in 2 weeks ago, but then it was gone, blown away in the breeze.

In the first days there are no bad memories, and no knowledge of nearby property owners you might have issues with. It was nice unpacking cherished items this week, and I started to get a feel for my new studio space upstairs-an all white room, including painted floors, a dormer room that faces the field and apple trees with an office space next door complete with a sitting alcove to gaze out at the same trees, and soon-the new barn and horse field.

As hard as we have been working, I am also taking time to sit, and enjoy my animals. They are all troopers. We put the old traveling Rosie stall in the paddock, I thought it would be a perfect hiding spot for short Misfits. In fact, I immediately showed it to Scooby Keith, because he likes to be with Boone, but the donkeys were being a bit rambunctious with him.

"Scooby," I said as I pushed him into the hut, "You can hide here if needed, just remember that."

Last night as the donkeys were out grazing and Boone was dozing, I found Scooby in the hut. He captured what I said above-a home is a place you hang your hat, and create a life around the walls you are surrounded by.

Making progress

We are making progress. More fencing up so equines have a grass paddock, and now a shoot out to the beginnings of another field area. That field is about 2 acres and will be fully fenced this coming month. We will fence all fields by year's end, I hope. I also got up the piglet paddock/run that comes off the barn stall, and Martyn is working on putting up more picket fence which he is making so we can have Huck, Mud and Hughie running free in the yard again [that will be a relief]. Like I don't have enough to do, I couldn't stand not buying some plants for the garden beds by the house.

Something I really like about our new place is the proximity of the barn and animals to the house. When we sit on the back porch, our nightly routine, I can hear Rosie snoring, piglets suckling and can see the donks and Boone. The barn door is about 20 feet from me, where as the old farm was spread out all over. Things are closer together here which makes sense since winter is harsh and snow shoveling an issue. The new barn will sit about 100 feet from the other barn.

As is the case with creatures, they have immediate needs of fencing for safety, exercise and my ability to care for them properly. The property came with a small barn which is very well built but only two stalls-large ones-and that we are grateful for.I have runs we've put up off those, and in time that will be Misfit and pig area, but for now, the donkeys and Boone also have space there until the new barn and other field is fenced.

But everyday we make progress. Yesterday was a big one since I was able to get up the small pig paddock off the stall, and after two weeks of living inside, the piglets, Birdie, Sir Tripod Goat and Eleanor and Cornelia saw daylight. We were all relieved. I neglected to get a proper swimming pool for them so will get one, or help them make a small pool. Bad for mosquitos, but pigs like mud.

Boone is full of himself and I think I will rent time at the barn he boarded at to work some of his ya-yas out of him before I ride here. At the old farm, Boone had his own paddock and shared it with visiting goats or wandering sheep from time to time, but here in the day I let him be with the donkeys due to lack of fenced areas right now. He has been the dominant one which really surprised me as he is never the alpha with his horse buddies. Matilda is ever the protector of the minis and all in all everyone is happy. But it will be nice to get the larger fields fenced-hopefully in the coming month.

The piglets are pretty sweet, and funny. They are now leaping and playing with each other. Two are going to live with a friend of mine who also is moving to Maine from Portland and we have known her for a long time so I'm happy they will have a great home-I am fond of the two she is taking, especially the all ginger runt who is now catching up in size. I have been sitting and holding them all and he is the most personable.

The day a cat spoke like a lion

It is hard to even write this post, but since this blog was always first and foremost a reflection of day in and day outs of my life, I must. And in time, it won't hurt so much. If you followed our journey on Instagram, you will have heard this by now. But one Apiferian that was left behind, suddenly, was Itty Bitty Etta.

We had all the Misfits in the trailer that morning, ready to travel East. It had all gone remarkably well-even getting The World's Grumpiest But I Am Fine The Way I Am Pig into her travelling suite went much smoother than I thought it would. We were clipping along and ready to depart as planned around 8 am. I just needed to get Big Tony and Itty into their travel area in the trailer-a nifty bird like cage Martyn had built just for them, so they could sleep and have a litter box, and sit on perches and not be in crates the entire time. And I thought, safe.

I had lectured Martyn the night before-be sure you don't let Itty out in the morning-which is her routine. And be sure when we take her out we put her in a crate first to avoid trouble.

I went into the house and there was Itty, perched on the chair, calm, and I picked her up. She was so clam that I made a big mistake-for me anyway-perhaps not for her. I didn't put her in a crate. We got to the trailer, I got inside the tack room where the cats would travel, and she was fine, until I started putting her in the travel suite, which hung securely on the wall. Below me were Eleanor, Cornelia and the four piglets. I felt Itty squirming, yelled to Martyn to shut the door and as he began to shut it, Itty clawed and clawed and I had no choice but to let go, and she was gone, leaving me cut up and angst.

I pretty much broke down. Perhaps it was a necessary thing. I had not really broken down about leaving and maybe that was a final gift she gave me. I blamed and shamed myself the entire next 30 minutes as we gathered the final things to put in the car. I tried some desperate pleas to God to bring Itty back. but I knew she was gone, at least, gone for hours. She would not just show up in a few minutes or head to the house. And she didn't.

As we were leaving, the new owners showed up, which was a blessing as I could tell them what happened. They are already taking in Peaches, the sheep and Doris and June, and the chickens, and they were happy to care for Itty.

It was sudden, and tragic for us. There were no goodbyes with the five pound cat who was found on a rural highway, wet and cold and stick thin at a about 5 weeks old. Martyn adored her, and she him. If I had just let him carry her, I thought. More shaming.

The entire morning drive was marked by the event. We discussed all the possibilities of why and how, and in the end, we knew that the only thing to hang on to was that Itty liked it there, it was her land-she was more attached to the land and sense of place than to us. I truly believe this. But the human and caretaker in me kept seeing her face, hearing her "Meh" and wondering if she felt abandonned by us, the very people that saved her from a rural highway. The ongoing joke all these years was that I rescued her from a highway, but she liked Martyn.

Many have said that Itty spoke loudly and clearly that day-she did not want to go to Maine. But what if? What if I had put her in a crate and she was here? What if it was a stupid mistake on my part and she would have been here if I hadn't made it. Would we all be saying, "Oh look at Itty in her window, she is so content"?  More shame.

I had always had the fear that Itty would be impossible to contain here, and she would wander off and never be seen again. The house also is not as remote and there is a busy road. I had a plan to contain her in a room for a couple months just so she bonded with the house. But I always had a feeling deep inside that we would lose her in Maine. Perhaps, I decided over time, those internal fears were really Itty speaking directly to me.

Another friend told me the story that mimicked my fear-she had moved her cats from one farm to another home some 20 miles away. One of the cats was content, the other eventually bolted out of a screen and she never saw her again. She lived with that fact for a long time. I knew that could have been Itty. I also knew that every time I opened that cage in the travel suite she could have escaped. at any one of the layovers. She was wild that way- you know, Itty was Itty inside, but outdoors she became Big Etta.

So it is sad. Even though we feel like distant family to the new owners, and we know she is safe and warm and fed, it is sad for us. This will be the last time I write about her.

Apifera lands and all is well

My studio view from second floor- I especially love this old crabapple- there is another to the left and a vet good eating apple to the right

A photo posted by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on May 21, 2016 at 4:29am PDT

We have landed. We are intact and safe and happy. And there is much to tell you about the trip and our new place here in Maine. Despite a major surprise goodbye on the day we left-I will write about it this week-we had no trouble on the road with the trailer or The Misfits. All the horrible things that could and can happen hauling animals, did not. We nearly ran out of gas in the middle of Wyoming, but chugged into a one tank stop and survived.Other than that, we did just fine. All the worry about The White Dogs barking all night did not happen, the piglets thrived and grew, and Birdie bonded with little Tripod who now shares a space with her in the new barn. No flat tires, no run tickets, no drama. Just lots of road in front of us for five days. I can honestly tell you, I was happy to get past the West, and into the Midwest which felt like home. As we headed into eastern Ohio and then New England, I felt like I was coming home. I hadn't been to Vermont or NY since the eighties when I went to college. The houses and architecture just made me blissful.

In a way, it seems like years ago we set out from the old farm in Yamhill, just one week ago. {Visit Instagram to see photos of the trip} So much has happened, so many sites have been seen, feelings felt-goodbyes, hellos and the wonder of America as we drove for five very long days. Every night we landed at a different barn where I had pre-arranged lodging for us and the Misfits. The Misfits stayed in the trailer and we slept on an air mattress with Huck, Mud, and Hughie on their pads- always in a barn stall. It worked out great as I could throw the dogs in another stall to feed them while I attended The Misfits, and Martyn set up camp. It was a lot of work and by day two our routine was pretty streamlined. We drove about 12 hours a day and the final day we landed in Maine around seven, with a three hour drive to the new place. That final three hours nearly killed us! As we got to the house at ten, we made a wrong turn and in turning around, got the trailer stuck briefly, and a very nice man helped guide us out of what could have been a serious pickle.

When we arrived it was dark, but all the lights were on in the empty house. We found sunflowers at our door step and inside a food basket with goodies to eat, soaps, coffee, breakfast rolls and a bottle of wine. We were dead tired, so tired, but we took time to look around the house and loved it even more than we thought we would. I could hardly keep my eyes open, but we opened the wine and shared it in the empty old house.

We decided it was like right out of a fairy tale, the scene we found ourselves in. It was as if we had wandered a long time in the dark woods, looking for a place to rest, and we found a little elf house inviting us in by the light. That's what it truly felt like.

So for now, I will share some photos, and I have many things to write about.

Martyn has landed. I said to him last night it is as if he was born in this house- he agreed-we were up early to explore in the daylight- oh my, so much to share in coming days (copyright Apifera Farm)

A photo posted by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on May 17, 2016 at 6:45am PDT

Diary of a Pig: May19

In which Earnest the pig conitnues to write in his musings in his journal.

May 19, on the road to Maine, somewhere in eastern Oregon

I was able to see my children for the first time today, briefly. I am too big for them they say, emboldened, and might step on one. This is true. As I might have the intention of sniffing one as a greeting or acknowledgement of being their father, I too often am overwhelmed by my need to constantly eat and can be distracted easily by even a grain of feed nearby.

My riding quarters are separate from the others. My tusks can be problematic. I mean no harm with them, but recognize their ability to slice and dice. I am rather pleased with myself that I have this suite all on my own, although I heard talk one of the small goats might come in with me at the first layover.

The air vents allow me to feel the air move above me. The sound of the road is mesmerizing and makes me sleepy. It's like a long nap on a boat I must assume. I've never been on a boat, but we saw some on the National Geographic special last summer when we heisted that old TV out of the barn for a night, until someone ate the cord. One of The White Dogs no doubt, although I was blamed. I prefer to eat natural items.

So far, America feels the same to me as it did on the farm. But I sense change coming. All the same, I am still me, Earnest. It is good to be grounded in myself and not swathed by the dissenting voices I hear coming from the radio up front.

Logistics-our next few weeks

We will be travelling across America to Maine and hope to arrive May 16. At that point, I am unsure when I will have access to my main computer and internet. So the blog might be inactive for a couple weeks or more.

The best way to watch our travels is to follow along in Instagram which is the easiest way for me to post on a phone. I'll share those images on my Facebook profile page too.

The shop is on hiatus. If you were to put an order in from one of the book sites, I won't be able to ship for a few weeks, maybe sooner. Please feel free to email me though, I will try to answer any questions for you about art or book orders you want. Sundance still has lots of originals, as does RiverSea Gallery.

Once settled in mid-late May, the blog will be back!

How to stuff a trailer with Misfits

I would lie in bed these past mornings deciding the best method of getting all The Misfits into the trailer on move day-in a way that doesn't traumatize anyone, or break my back. The plan is to get the World's Grumpiest But I Like Myself The Way I Am Pig, aka Rosie, into her private traveling suite the night before with plenty of bedding and feed. She will scream and be horrible the entire time but once settled will fall off to sleep. She did this when we got her years ago.

Then Eleanor and her piglets will be put into their semi private suite and then we'll bring Cornelia and Birdie the llama in and shut the door.

Oh wait, I forgot that Itty Bitty and Big Tony will ride there too, in a private hanging bird cage type set up. In time, they will forgive me...I hope.

Then in goes Earnest who will ride in the front of the back trailer, maybe with Scooby Keith. In the bigger part of the back trailer will be The White Dogs, Raggedy Man, Sophie, Wilbur the Acrobatic Goat, and Moose and Goose. Sir Tripod will enter last, I will carry him in and decide the best place for him.

Huck and Mud will be in the backseat. Hughie will sleep soundly on his cushion on the floor. With any luck, they won't be farting the entire way. But we will roll with the punches.

I my goodness, The Head Troll. I am undecided as to which area she will be in. She will let me know. Like I've said before, she might be the third driver.

Walk on

So, as Neil Young said in song, sooner or later it all gets real, walk on.

And it is real. The van with all our belongings is on the way to Maine. We will be loading up all The Misfits, dogs and cats, and hopefully have room for ourselves, and leaving on Thursday. We plan to take five days to get there. We have layovers planned at various horse barns where we will pitch a tent and get some sleep and then head out each morning to see America.

I can tell you the excitement, as well as emotion, is building. In the next days, I don't plan any unusual send offs-I simply want to be on my land, alone with Martyn and my animals and remember it as our time as stewards, as we built it. The next owner will have wonderful adventures here and their own lessons. I feel like the energy we put into it will ooze for awhile, and then their energy will mesh with the land, and on and on.

I placed a White Dog, and old goat and a sheep in some branches, as a gesture for the farm that we will always remember it here, and our energy together is strong-we will watch over our memory with our hearts.

To be honest, I don't know what will happen the minute we drive off, with the sheep in the upper field, knowing my horse and donkeys are East, and my flock, Doris and June, Peaches, Otis, the chickens and Hazel the barn cat stay behind with the new owner. I suppose it will feel unsettling. I haven't decided if I will look up in the field one last time at my flock. I will just be there in the moment, but, once we hit the road, it's Maine bound.

We will be off to see America, and reunite with the equines-a glorious hello to look forward to!

From cat to cat-a divine circle

After the van was all packed, I realized I had neglected to take this large canvas that hangs up high in my studio. It was of my first cat, Gracie, who I got in NYC in the '80's and she lived to 18.

At the end of her days, I knew my time to put her down was coming and I told myself when I finished this portrait of her maybe I'd have the courage. I eventually did, she was my first real pet as an adult so it was hard. It was 1997.

When I saw I'd forgotten to pack the painting, I thought I'd just ship it to Maine. But then I realized - it is meant to stay here, I think. For the other red tabby in my life, Peaches, will stay here on the farm with the new owners. I think it was fitting- this painting's meaning has now shifted-to my goodbye to sweet Peach.

A hard good bye- we help Daisy and Iris float away

In all the excitement of the move and packing, there is a double good bye I am preparing for on Monday afternoon. It will not be an easy one. With much thought, on my own and with my vets, I have decided what is best for the elder matriarch, Daisy, is to help her move on, and we will euthenize her on Monday. Iris is also failing and it is not right to let her carry on and take the chance she will go south fast, which happened to Stella. She is very thin and weakening.

I do not have a ounce of me that feels I might be doing the wrong thing. I am doing what is best for the animal. Daisy is very special to me. She arrived here as a year old with her mother Rosie, also a favorite. The first ones often are. But Daisy is so arthritic now, it is hard for her to get up, and more and more, I just see pain and tiredness in her eyes. Today I watched her raise up in the field and she immediately stumbled. She can not stand anymore and hold her head up. Even if we were staying put, I know her time is coming. In fact in the last few days, she rises less and less.

Daisy has given me so much. Her stoic calm demeaner allowed me to learn shepherding. She allowed me to be the first time shepherd in lambing, and without rolling her eyes she tolerated me checking her udder and vulva almost every half hour. We laugh now, but she let me be the student. She gave us beautiful lambs, including Lilly who has been residing with her in these past months. So has Cornelia, and it breaks my heart these past days to see Cornelia asleep by Daisy. But maybe she knows. Lilly will be allowed to visit with Daisy after she departs as will Cornelia.

And then what can I say about Iris, or Wild Iris as we originally named her? One of my original muses, along with her sidekick Stella. As I was packing up the studio, it was very sad to see all the sketches of Stella and Iris that I was inspired to create for short stories. They were my first goats. Stella and Iris ate a lot of bramble for us...and roses, trees, shrubs and tulips. Iris was never as people oriented as Stella. While Stella was like a big old dog, Iris was coy, always on the lookout for trouble, horrible to work with on her feet, the instigator in any coup or fence escape. To this day, even though she has weakened, she still tries to rise above the herd and make trouble. I had a long talk with her a few weeks ago, and a beautiful moment occurred. I found her away from the crowd, pressed up against the cement wall and the horse trailer. It was an unusual place for her to be. I went to be with her and she did not make an attempt to leave-also unusual for her. I knealt down and asked her if she was checking out on me. She put her head on my shoulder, and sat that way for the longest time. I did not want to move it was so special, especially from a creature that considered that back scratches were for sissies. I told her maybe it was time to join Stella. I told her to think about it.

A couple weeks later, the vet was here and we agreed her condition was not great. She is weakening just like Stella did, and one day Stella simply did not wake up. I think that will happen to Iris shortly, but it is my responsibility to see that her end, after all her glory here, is done properly without pain or drama.

Our kind neighbor up the way came over Friday to dig the graves with his back hoe. With all we have going on, it was such a kind gesture. It took all of 15 minutes what would have taken a couple hours or more to hand dig. It's eerie looking down at the giant mounds of dirt by the graves, standing like pyramids, waiting for the bodies.

In a way, this is the fitting good bye for me to have as we leave our land. I am saying goodbye to two of the original members of Apifera, two of my first muses here. They all helped me gain a voice in my writing. I am also saying goodbye to their energy and presence that is visceral. To this day, Daisy is still talkative and since she is right out the studio, I hear her voice all the time. I think when I lay those two bodies down, I will have a long crying goodbye, something I haven't done yet because I am so busy.

Before we lay them to the rest, the vet will also be here to castrate the male piglets born this week, and microchip them for the trip. Apifera has once again presented us with the bookends we all live–birth to death. There could be no better send off than celebrating the miracle of birth along with the beauty of life that ends in a return to the Earth.

So it will be an emotional Monday.

Mothers in the move

Packing and moving has me thinking of my mother more than the usual-as I think of her daily. We moved all the time as I grew up. Anyone who knew the Dunns knew they moved and did it well. Sometimes we moved right down the street-back in Kenwood when the working man could still live there. My Dad would fix up an old shack, and then we''d move to another one and fix that one up. I loved it. While I did have some houses I bonded with more than others, I looked at moving as an adventure, excitement, a journey. I also learned how to pack, fast and well, and efficiently. I can't tell you how many people say, "Aren't you going to get help packing?". Moving a lot also gave me the courage and freedom in my adult years to not be afraid to move, even far away to a place out West. So I feel my parents with me as we pack. I am confidant they are busy doing other things they need to do, but I have to believe they are popping in, and enjoying the familiar feel of a house in disarray, full of boxes, and packing tape.

Surprise!! Eleanor has piglets!

You can't make this stuff up.

And while our traveling Misfit Mobile to Maine is crowded enough, I decided to look at adding four more piglets to the mix as a gift, not a burden. I could say that her timing was horrible. But actually, it was perfect. She pigletted [yes, I know it is called 'farrowing', but "pigletting" is our preferred term} in time for us to make adjustments to the trailer, and it so happens a vet was scheduled to come Monday afternoon for other reasons- so she can microchip the piglets and castrate them - they were all boys. I do not have a vet in Maine yet, and finding one quickly might be an issue. If she had pigletted on Wednesday night before we leave, that would have been bad timing.

It all happened like this. Some months ago, three months-three weeks and three days to be exact [this is a gestation time of a pig], I found Earnest in with Eleanor after he had busted down a gate. I didn't get too concerned because she just wasn't acting in heat, but I did make a note of it on my calender that if he had done the deed, she would piglet 5/3. Then I went about my business.

A couple weeks ago when the vet was here to microchip everyone for the journey to Maine, I told her I thought Eleanore was sort of looking pregnant. She agreed, but we also felt if she was due in two weeks she'd look more pregnant. I had her on good grass and supplement so we figured she might have been carrying more weight than normal. And we didn't hear any heart beats.

A couple days ago, I noticed her belly drop. I ignored it, I didn't want to face the chaos piglets in the middle of a road trip could be like. Then yesterday morning, I spent time with her and I could tell her teats had swollen. But I couldn't feel any heart beats or movement, and usually by that time you can if they are pregnant.

Last night I was done doing chores and couldn't see Eleanor anywhere. All the animals were still out grazing, dusk is a favorite grass eating time for them. I went back to her old paddock, where she had had her other piglets. I couldn't see anything as I walked in to the corral, but there was that feeling of something being amiss. Then I saw her, laying down, with one little piglet newly birthed.

While weeks ago I had hoped she wasn't pregnant, I have to say, it is a beautiful send off. The birth is a letting go, isn't it? She let go and had piglets, we let go and move to Maine. We take with us elders, and babies.

I think I already have a taker for two of them for pasture pets in Maine. It's all working out.

That Earnest!!

Follow along with Pino and gang

The equine hauler posts daily updates on their Facebook page. I in turn get messages from her so it is helpful and comforting to know where they are staying, and seeing photos at every stop. You can follow Pino, Paco, Lucia, Matilda and Boone! too on the hauler's page.

The donkeys and Boone are off to see America

I had anticipated this day with emotional optimism-knowing the haulers are excellent, and the equines will board at a wonderful place in Maine until we get there ourselves.

Everything went well. The hauler's trailer was just a tish too big for the turn and culvert, so we walked everyone down to the road and it was just fine. In fact, it was nice, it was like a little farewell parade. No cookies needed, they all walked at a good clip. Paco and Matilda are riding in one compartment. Boone is in the middle, and last in was Lucia and Pino who share a stall. They were all well behaved. They will have five nights, with layovers providing them ample room to roll and stretch overnight. They even get a brushing.

The hauler has threatened to keep Lucia so I told the destination barn to count all donkeys when they get out. Many have said they might steal Lucia, the Teacup, she has that immediate effect on everyone.

I had talked to the donkeys about the trip, and Boone. While some pessimists might scoff at my imagination, I truly believe they understand. I just told them to remember it is temporary to be on the road, and I am following. Besides, I said, you get to see America.

How many donkeys out there get to see America?

I had many moments with Boone that were emotional this morning, but I held in the big cries. He doesn't need that. Boone is a pro, he came for Colorado and is used to long hauls. He trailers so well, and even the hauler said, "He doesn't seem to rattle." But this morning I spent extra time with him, breathing in his smell, rubbing his eye lids, just sitting with him. When I brought him out of the barn, I knew that was our last walk out of a place that had bonded us in so many ways. I don't know what my horse barn will be like there, and the comfort of knowing your surroundings are going to be shaken as we rehome ourselves. But, as the song says,

I'll be seeing you in all the familiar places.

My nearby neighbor knew it was hauling day. As she saw the trailer turn onto the main road by her yard, she snapped the photo of the trailer going east. It was so moving and symbolic in so many ways. A departure, a journey, leaving the past for the unknown, the hero's journey with donkeys and horse.

God speed my faithful friends, we will meet you in Maine.

Walking the gang down to the hauler's trailer as the sinks and Boone head out to Maine before us (copyright Apifera Farm)

A video posted by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on May 3, 2016 at 10:06am PDT

Conversation with Equines: the last day on Donkey Hill

"So it's not today, but tomorrow. It will be like today, just different," I told the donkeys.

They watched me. We all sat in the morning sun, I kneeled down rubbing bellies as they gathered around me, their normal communing position.

"You will be together, and will be camping nightly at nice places. I'll be right behind you in two weeks," I continued, calmly.

"How many of todays is that?" Paco asked.

It is Paco I have whispered to over and over. He is the worrier. But he has his herd, and good travel caretakers.

"It is 14 todays, Paco," I said.

"14 days before today seems like yesterday," Paco said.

"Time goes very fast, Paco, even when you are a donkey," I whispered in his ears. And they swished their tails and ran up Donkey Hill for their last day on their farm.