The survivor...Scooby Keith

In 2014, Scooby Keith entered my life. He was not the healthiest old goat I had taken on-but healthy old goats weren't my goal. He was prone to coming down with pneumonia type symptoms, and each time, he and I would beat it, together.

He of course came with his very own personal elderly llama, Aldo the Elder, who I miss greatly. When he arrived with Aldo, Scooby was very independent of the herd of Misfits, preferring to roam on his own, or hang out with me or Aldo. I always listen and watch a newcomer and try to see what their comfort level is.

So we continue the routine we have had for some time. Scooby currently sleeps with Eleanor and the piglets, and Sir Tripod Goat-the latter is also very much a loner. But when I feed the pigs and Tripod, I let Scooby out to be with me as I prepare all the other breakfasts. Scooby visits his own food dish, checks out the chicken coop and then lets me know when he is ready to return to the pasture-usually just about when I get back from feeding the sheep and equines.

Scooby is going on 16 years old and it shows. His coat is thinning as is the weight on his backbone. But he is still a strong little character. He hasn't had a cold situation for over a year. I am going to put a jacket on him for winter. I did that in Oregon too, but here of course it will be colder, but it will be drier which is a blessing.Cold is one thing, wet and cold is another.

Scooby is not the handsomest bloak, and as far as looks attracting visitors, he is at the bottom of the list. But I am so fond of him, he reminds me a lot of Lofa, and Old Man Guinnias who was also bonded to me not the herd, and did chores with me day and night.

I hope he can be with me into his twenties like Guin, that would be special, if he can do it.

Scooby's current bedroom mates

His name is Rat

He still gets up and walks, with crippled bent legs, as he is very old, a survivor as many rats are. He likes to wear his boxer shorts and shirt, and has one nice suit vest he still wears. He doesn't walk far, but always tries to look up at the stars, slowly, as his neck gives him problems now. He prefers night to day.

He also is made of part love, a bit of stoic pessimism for living so long, and rat like ingenuity. One of kind.

His name is Rat.

{Available now at the shop}

Six years ago this week, a one pound sensation came into my life

Six years ago this week, this coming Saturday to be exact, a one pound cat came into my life, out of the blue, on a rainy rural highway. She leapt out of the bramble as log trucks were coming from both directions. My heart almost stopped. She somehow managed to avoid death, and as I pulled off the road, she sat waiting for me, in the middle of the highway, as if the yellow divider line was made especially for her as a guide.

I was on my way to an appointment and had Huck in the car. I remember thinking,

I do NOT need another cat. I can not bring this cat home.

At that point of Apifera, we had 25 cats. We had arrived in 2004 to the farm, and were immediately greeted by a little orange tabby tumbling out of the hay bales. That was Gus. He was one of five, and Mama Kitty was busy getting pregnant, by none other than Big Tony. By the time I could trap/spay/neuter the kittens, Mama had another litter who I also trapped/spayed/neutered. It took me two years to trap Mama, and she had a third litter but moved them to a neighbor's barn. In between, other cats just seemed to arrive, hearing perhaps that the accommodations were good. And they were. Samuel Noel, Mr. Bradshaw, One Eye, BW, Tomentosa, Miss Prairie Pussytoes and of course, Phinias T. Barnum. Oh, and Miss Peach.

I turned the truck around with this kitten on my lap. I was sure she was going to freak out, and driving with an unknown cat, uncaged, was dangerous. I had had trips to the ER because of working with feel kittens. But she sat on my lap, calmly, occasionally uttering her infamous,

Meh.

I took her to my vet to see if they could take her but they were full up. She was only 1#, skinny, bad eyes and we weren't sure if she would make it. When Martyn came home that night, I greeted him at the door.

"I was minding my business. But I had to bring her in," I said.

He later told me he assumed I'd brought a raccoon in the studio or baby skunk. But when he saw her that day, he said, like he was looking at a newborn baby,

"Of course you had to bring her home."

This the man that courteously told me-many eons ago-he could not tolerate cats. He and Itty were bonded from day one. She immediately favored Martyn and we used to joke that I saved her, but she would choose him if forced to pick. He loved that cat. I'd catch him cooing to her, or talking to her like an old school chum. Itty was very independent but each night, when she chose to come in from her Big Etta world, she would venture to Martyn's side of the bed.

Meh, I'd hear, in her faintest form of "meh". And he'd put her under his covers.

So the sign you see here had a real meaning when I made it way back when. No other sign at the old Apifera brought more delight to visitors. To me, it has no meaning in the present day at the old farm, it's a novelty item now and I should have taken it down in honor of the beautiful story of 25 cats that all lived there once. I wish I had. It had a function then, to warn the delivery people and other trucks coming up the road, that, yes, there were indeed cats falling from trees.

So, here I am asking you to once again partake in Itty. That darn little cat. I am making one final push, in her honor, to get funding for this book. We have 10 days left.

If you can honor her, and me, with a pledge, I thank you. And I am grateful for the 90 current pledges, and tot he people who have upped their pledge, and shared the story with others.

Starting from scratch is just fine with me

From "Itty Bitty & Big Etta"

I've had a recurring conversation with many people who have lost parents, friends, loved ones and animals. It is something that I learned over time, that is the only way I get though losing someone-it is an acquired skill of being a living human...left behind at the party after another departs.

One must find their own unique language with the departed love one. No matter how strong one's personal belief's of an after world, or lack there of, it is very hard as a human to live with out the physical presence of a loved one. All the trappings we latch onto as humans are gone- the voice we reached out to on the phone for laughs, comfort, and advice; the image of a pet at our feet; the reality that an old friend is not going to suddenly appear at your favorite bookstore-it's a cold reality that comes with staying behind in the living world.

I also find, for myself, that this language I must learn with to communicate with each passed creature evolves over time–Like learning any new language, one has to work at adding to the vocabulary.

Dreams are important for me, a way to visit in a more visual way with loved ones who are gone. My parents are often in dreams. Oddly, before they died, I used to dream about dining with them but we were also always looking at empty houses, and I was always thinking in the dream I needed to get back to the farm, and find Martyn. They weren't frightening dreams, but those dreams seem to have subsided. They went on for years though. I now tend to have encounters with my parents in the woods, through the sounds of the leaves, or in a snowfall, a red cardinal, the full moon is always my parents together, the wind is always my father, and my mother comes to me in voice all the time-usually in encouragement, or motherly advice.

This art is from the "Itty Bitty & Big Etta" book. Itty doesn't come to me as much in dreams now as she did when we first moved, but it was always with the same message, that she is where she needs to be to be her true self.

The Kick campaign is winding down, ten days to go and we are only at 44%. I have analyzed it to death, asked questions of past and present backers, and am at peace whatever the outcome is. I'm done analyzing it. I just want to work again so am focusing on my studio. Marketing these campaigns is not for the shy-one has to keep asking followers to pledge, and as one successful Kickstarter campaigner told me years ago-you will lose some fans because of it, but will gain others. That seems to be true.

My life is shifting. It appears some followers weren't willing to make the shift. And that's okay. But I'm going forward. I have lots of ideas for shuffling the blog around, how I use social media [I failed last month at deleting my Facebook profile, but I have some new ideas on that for the coming weeks] and what work I want to generate in coming months-including my sewn creatures, and the novel idea I keep procrastinating on.

I'm starting from scratch. I finally figured that out.

I'm rebuilding my intentions. It meant letting go of some things, and some followers.

"Soon or later it all gets real, walk on." {Neil Young}

No words

Little Sylvia Pettini

Little Sylvia Pettini is doing very well. She has not quite caught up in size with her mates, but is gaining weight and eating well. And also I'm pleased her left eye is healing. She definitely has a slight scar on the interior eye from where she lay on it so much as a sickly newborn, but she no longer holds it shut and I am not treating it any more.

She is just the sweetest little imp. When I look out in the field she is the one that most looks like a little woolen doll. She always comes up to visit and welcomes hugs and holding. Actually this flock is so personable, and if I'm kneeling with Sylvia, one by one they all venture over. I wish I could have some pics of me and the flock. For now I take these rather silly selfies, and ponder at how old I am getting, nearing 59 soon.

The safety of the fallen leaves

I grew up with gorgeous fall color of Minnesota, went to college in upstate New York with road trips to Vermont ,so it is wonderful returning to the gorgeous display of Mother Nature's paintings here in Maine. Oregon was beautiful too of course, but you don't get the reds and oranges there.

An Oregon friend asked, "So, is the fall as great as the New Englanders claim?"

Short answer...yes.

But for me the sounds of fall are what bring me both the comfort of childhood memories, or college days, and also melancholy for those I love and miss. What is melancholy for a past time but the idea that it was safer, better, easier...I doubt it was, but when I walk through the leaves, that sound, it reminds of making leaf houses as a child, knowing I'd be going into a homemade meal of my mother's, dog at my side...nobody could hurt me. Did I have any worries? I'm sure I did. But melancholy makes it all safe, those memories seem worrieless.

So as I did chores last night, and raked leaves into compost piles, I knew I'd be going into a fire, a homemade Martyn meal, and a dog at my side. Did I have worries? Some, but once in the house, or in certain spots of my land, or barns, I feel safe. I suppose someday, I might feel melancholy for this.

{Have you been enjoying the photos and writing of the past ten years here? Please consider supporting my new book project, with only 15 more days to get it funded, I need your help.}

Martyn making another rock wall for next year's veggie garden

The pigs actually have a tiny sliver of an ocean view

The Small Bird and Rodent Cemetery grows

Memory: the day I fixed Opal's broken leg

White Dog romp

Since The White Dogs work in different areas, I give them days to just be relaxed and romp with each other, lots of wolf play and it is fun and interesting to observe. The weather has been so beautiful and we've been doing lots of pre-winter prep outside so I got to witness all the fun.

This is a crucial crossroads

We are at a crucial stage in the Kickstarter campaign for the new book and have only 18 days left. The initial pledges came in early and strong-thank you! But we are not at 30% which is usually a benchmark of success for Kick projects.

I am not going to ask anyone who has already pledged to up their pledge at this stage. We simply need more supporters. In the past 200 or so pledges usually come in to get us to $12,000-15,000. We are far from that, and only 18 days to go.

I will ask you to one thing. Write one or two people you know, maybe people who like cats, people who love art...people who love small intimate books, and ask them watch the video, and pledge.

If each of you bring in one to two people, it would be powerful!

{FYI, Itty Bitty is alive and well, and still lives on the old farm with the new owners. Some people were afraid to ask. While this is a book about a loss, it is about me losing a creature because I had to accept her true spirit and what was best for her, and accept this as what was meant to be.}

Morning rituals with White Dog...they matter

Rituals are important to the relationships I have with my animals and farm, and land. Rituals allow us to know that even in the chaos of a daily life full of the unexpected, a ritual can keep us balanced, even temporarily until we are back on track. My morning rituals with the animals gets me up in the morning. it is what got me through my father's death, my mother's and any other grief I was going through.

When we moved the farm to Maine, getting the animals resettled was my top priority, both in the barn, and in the house. Since we had such strong relationships, it wasn't that hard. Maybe some of the stalls were temporary, and now we are getting our paddocks and fencing more suited for long term use, but the animals adjusted immediately, very well. There was no drama for anyone. They had food, shelter, water, and the same voice of me coming and going as I always did. I spent a lot of daily time with my charges before we moved, during, and after.

White Dog has taken on a more active role here. I really didn't plan it. In fact, I was most concerned about both Benedetto and Marcella because we are on a very busy road, something I did not realize when we purchased the place. It slows down late autumn through May, but it is only about 300 feet from the barn, unlike our old farm. it is the one thing that, to be honest, I am having trouble adjusting too, but we are doing fencing and planting trees to help.

White Dog now lives with the sheep pretty much 24/7. He lives out in the new barn, with the flock, and The Head Troll, Sophia, Birdie the llama, and the equines in the next over pasture. Rosie the pig, er, The World's Grumpiest But I Am Fine As I Am Pig, aka Rosie, lives in her private suite there too. Marcella lives with Earnest, Moose, Goose and Wilbur the Acrobatic Goat. Sometimes the Secret Sisters and Francis [the chicken flock] visit. The White Dogs have wolf play days where I bring them together and they run and fight and get to relax. Eventually, Marcella will have more roaming room, but the fences aren't good enough, yet.

So here is my morning ritual today with Benne. No matter what gate I enter at, he is there. I can see that nose and those sincere eyes from the porch. I spend a good few minutes holding him, and looking into his eyes, deeply. One is not to over pet a guard dog, they say. I believe this and understand the concept. But Benne needs my acknowledgement, he always has. We still, nor ever, will know his true story. But I do know that he is a natural with the flock, and more relaxed than Marcella. He does a good job at night with wandering coyotes but he doesn't over bark either.

We go off to the barn for feedings, and after, I usually go out somewhere and just...look. I am still soaking things in. I am still introducing myself to the trees and The Wood, and trying to understand exactly what happened, and why. White Dog has definite places, usually corners away from the flock, where he perches himself. He is very content here, I think maybe more so than at the old farm. I think he has more purpose here. He was the barnyard guard there and here he is in charge of a bigger area of his own, and the flock. Marcella has her area to guard, and he has his.

I do my clean up chores and Benne comes and goes, dividing his time between checking a gate or two, and if I am near a fence line where he arrives, he never ceases to put a paw up for me.

"I'm here, don't forget, I'm right here," his eyes say.

Thank goodness.

{If you like the writing, photos and art I've been posting for the past ten years here, please visit the new book funding site. Only 20 days left.}

Vintage video of itty

Some vintage video of Itty when she first came to Apifera. Warms my broken heart of this memory. We are at 23% funded for the new book.

Itty Bitty dolls

I decided I'm going to have some fun and make Itty Bitty dolls [5" or so] and offer them on the Kickstarter funding page as a reward level, which has been set up to publish my new book, Itty Bitty & Big Etta {A Tale of Acceptance}.

We have 25 more days and are at 20% funding; no money is released unless we reach 100% of the goal.  

Each doll will be completely unique from the other and this is an example of one that combines felting with cloth. I will use as much found material and fiber from our farm and animals too.

Leaves like potato chips

Mother Earth puts her colors together so well. I was looking out the window at the hydrangea pinks next to bold oranges and thought,

I'm not sure I'd do that in a painting, but maybe I should.

Mother Earth, the painter and weaver of color and texture with the flock's gray's and buff's backdropped with The Wood is so beautiful. I haven't been in a New England autumn since the '80's and it is just as spectacular as I remember it. As a child in Minnesota our falls were beautiful too. At the old farm, we had leaf drop off but it was more like November and we didn't have the old trees around the house except Old Walnut, and of course we did not have the reds and oranges.

My leaf carpet goes everywhere I go right now, and certain animals treat the leaves like an open bag of potato chips-especially old Scooby Keith, he just loves the fallen leaves.

{As you meander through your autumnal day, please consider visiting the Kickstarter page for the new book project, "Itty Bitty & Big Etta" which is the complete opposite of the campaign season. I need your support and love. Thank you.}

Pino starts his therapy career

Pino has a been a healer since I first brought him to the old Apifera some ten years ago. I have shared many of the special encounters visitors have had. I have seen him walk around a group of people, slowly, and parking himself next to the person who came because they were having medical issues. I have witnessed his intuitive healing nature myself over and over, as he will appear out of nowhere to comfort me when I'm sad, or...perhaps calm me when I'm angry. He might need an entire book about him.

Bringing animals and people together, for mutual healing and respect, has always been my goal. And I am especially interested in working with elders, or the damaged, the sad, the lonely, with my animals to give them a lift, to bring some calm to them, a glimmer of home, or empathy. Touching and grooming an animal is a powerful, yet simple thing, and it provides not only bonding with an animal, it is soothing. I remember how my mother would stroke my hair if we sat on the couch together watching television, even as I grew into a woman. I always found it so soothing.

We became aware of Inn Along the Way, when we first arrived in May and instantly liked the founder. The Inn was once a working farm and stayed in the same family for generations. Instead of selling to a large well known retail chain, they chose to sell it to a group of people who had a vision. This group wanted to create a community for the elders who could live in small, simple but functional homes, and also have community, nature, and more of a farm setting. They are very interested in animal therapy. The group raised more than $500,000 to buy the land and buildings, and have an architect who has created the master plans. There is a beautiful old barn I would die for, and an old farm house to be renovated. It is situated near a wonderful little town so has nature, but is convenient. There will also be hospice caretaker cabins, respite cabins they are calling them.

So, we were asked to bring Pino, and my books, to their event yesterday, from 2-6, and we gladly went. They are now in the stages of having to raise more money-this is going to take a village, and lots of work, but I believe they are going to do it, and we are going to help, and Pino is going to help as are many of the Misfits!

The event yesterday was to generate excitement and also educate people about this concept of healthy and humane living for elders. There was old farm equipment that helped press apples into cider, and an old ice cream maker, and lots of harvest-apples, pumping and squash. And Pino met a new role model-large Belgian draft horses arrived. One of them was 2000# to Pino's 150#. It was pretty special.

But what was most rewarding for me and Martyn, was the people we got to meet that are part of the Inn Along the Way- the board members, and some of the family of the original farm and homestead. We have been invited to be part of the evolution of this wonderful project, and Pino and I are on board. I think it is going to blossom and evolve for us in many ways-bringing in elder facilities, working with art and animals, maybe reading days...I have lots of ideas to share with them. In the meantime you can visit their site -and donate if you are inclined. Or maybe you can generate interest for this concept in your area. Europe is so far ahead of us in this regard.

There was a little monkey named Thomas who was enamored with Pino and had a pretty full day of leading Pino around. Not all donkeys would have willingly been led like this, but Pino is such a natural. He knew he was dealing with a tiny one, and just did his job. Thomas was in the midst of potty training, and was very interested in Pino's anatomy, and how he pooped. It was pretty sweet-Pino can be a role model even for bodily functions!

When we got home, we sipped our wine and sat by the fire. I felt like I had connected with some people that I could be comrades with. I felt like Pino and I can make a difference there, and also have a community. I felt like Martyn can be part of it too, in so many ways.

Thomas was related to the original homestead owners.

Pino wore his Heinz Brummel peace sign and Cathy Loup daisies

Pino's new role model

"Hello, I think you are really amazing," Pino said.

Pino got to eat lots of good grass too

Waiting for the public in front of the old barn

Looking out at the property

We are all together

I get much comfort in the light of the barns, and at late dawn and early dusk. The light and the animals, and me, we are together, although some we knew and loved aren't here physically. But they once rubbed noses with each other, or greeted me with hooves or paws on my legs as I sat on a warm rock. They–the animals and rocks-know me in ways you don't. Even Martyn doesn't really know me in the same way.

Is this our place to stay for 10 or fifteen years? I asked the back Wood, and paddocks now shorn down by sheep.

I did not feel an answer...today.

I cracked my ribs this week. A mishap when a farrier walked into the barn isle, and Boone, behaving like a gentleman, backed up, as I had turned to close a gate. I immediately knew I was wounded but kept it inside, for various reason I won't go into. It makes my chores difficult, but I have had cracked ribs before and will heal. If I squat to pick up buckets [which is wise anyway] it hurts less.

This morning I entered the barn with feed buckets. I always feed Boone first, he is the most vocal. I told him I hurt, and I was walking especially slow. Usually he is over excited for his senior food to be placed in his bucket. I looked at him dead on and said firmly,

"I am hurt."

He stood. He waited, seconds-enough for my retreat-then ate.

I finished my chores and went to one of my favorite rocks, warmed by the sun. The sheep stood with me for a minute or two. They like rub downs, even Assumpta has figured out I am the one who leads and feeds, and rubs. I get up and we meander over to the under boughs of M'Lady Apple, her red bounties dripping off her arms. She has layered the ground too with her harvest so the animals may graze their all through the day for a tart fruit snack.  I say 'Hello," to Huck's grave, and Raggedy Man's. And the day is underway.

{All month the Kickstarter is raising money to publish my new illustrated book, "Itty Bitty & Big Etta". Please visit and watch the very special animated video, I think it will melt your heart.}

Conversation with the grumpy pig: is Rosie blossoming?

As some of you already know, The-World's-Grumpiest-But_I-AM-FIne-the-Way-I-Am-Pig, aka Rosie came to us many years ago when I was at that time piglets-a state to be in I will tell you.  I really wanted a pig and began a search for one to adopt. That's how I discovered Sanctuary One, and they happened to have a pig, a grumpy pig they told me...but she came with her own goat...a very crippled goat. I had many goats-old and crippled-so asked if i could just adopt the pig. "No, she has to go with that goat, it's her only friend."

The rest is Apifera history. Stevie-and are we ever glad he came to Apifera-was the only animal that would tolerate Rosie's grumpiness, and for the first year or so, Rosie slept only near Stevie. But like often happen when animals get more confidence in a new environment, Rosie began to sleep on her own, and eventually, she had her very own suite in Old Barn, which was just fine with her, it seems. I tried to get her to come outside again, but she stayed in that barn for a couple years, content with animals nearby, but not in her private bedroom chamber. But then we moved to Maine, and Rosie came with us in a private suite made of wood that Martyn made for her, which fit securely in the truck bed, away from any other animals. Upon arriving, we once again made sure Rosie had her own suite, except eventually I had to put some young chickens in with her. She was not pleased, and the suite was rather dank, so I made a new one in the new barn we built. Anything for Rosie. And Rosie seemed very happy, and her skin cleared up and in the past weeks, low and behold, she has decided to come outside again. In fact, she has come out every morning to greet me, just like she used to many, many years ago. 

And now, one of the piglets, a barrow [castrated male] seems to be interested in her...for her food, for fun, or for friendship? Who knows, but he visits her at the gate. Rosie is still on her own, but sleeps next tot he sheep and is very much part of the barnyard, but has her own suite and turnout. Could it be, Rosie is blossoming?

"Rosie! Are we outside today?" I asked as I found the pig at the gate, outside of her stall.

"Hrumpf um aha!" she said, not quite as grumpy as usual.

"It's a beautiful autumn day, Rosie!" I replied.

"Humrrumph!" she agreed.

Wait, she agreed?

And so, we have begun to wonder...could it be all those universal forces and guides I felt pulling us East to Maine was all for the sake of...a grumpy pig? Then again, why wouldn't Rosie have her own guides at work?

Will she make a friend, again? Perhaps Stevie is also guiding her.

{A gentle reminder, Kickstarter going on now to help birth the new book-do you love cats, or itty things?}

Help birth the new book!

A poetic illustrated tale of a brave kitten who had wings all along and no matter the consequences, chose to be her ownself.

The link to the funding page is http://kck.st/2dBkAFF

We have thirty days to work together to get another little illustrated book into the world. I am in love with the animated video we made [thank you to Angella Kussabe for her talent on this one!].

Please take time to watch the video and visit the Kickstarter page to help me get this story into the world. I will be sharing it a lot through the next thirty days but if we can get a strong showing this first week it always keeps my blood pressure down, and helps generate interest from the Kickstarter staff.

Do it for me. Do it for Itty.

Do it for all the creatures both animal and human you know that dare to be "their ownselves".

"Chipmunk! Winter is coming! Do you know it will be cold?"

We took down a dead Alder this summer that has about two cords of good, long boring wood for us and it has taken up most of Martyn's hours these past few days. We have about four cords ready maybe six. We have a furnace too so I think we are ready....for It.

We are not ones to have a warm house anyway, and the size of this place is easy to heat and keep pipes working. Yesterday I spent the afternoon stacking while Martyn took the tractor and retrieved the wood. He took great pleasure in driving back with yet another load, and dumping it near my feet, just as I had finished stacking the last load.

But there is something really therapeutic and rewarding about stacking wood. It is similar to getting the hay in the barn each year. You feel you are getting the nest all hunkered down for you and yours.

The entire population from all over the country is letting us know the winter is coming, as if we don't know. I just watch the little chipmunk outside by bedroom each morning-now there is a busy little chap. Funny, you don't hear anyone saying,

"Chipmunk! Winter is coming! Do you know it will be cold?"

Anyway...we know winter is coming. We see it in the beginning wooly coats of the equines, and early evenings, the wind sounds different because leaves are crisper and some have fallen making the forest sound...like winter.

We have a plan for keeping paths open to the barns in the snow months, and keeping the areas near the house manageable for the dogs. Our new frost free pumps we put in for water are ready for action. We will get my all weather tires this month and I need to get some more deicers for water buckets for barns. I'm sure we will learn what part of our infrastructure needs improving, but we can't do it all in the first summer/fall. We need more wood sheds, which will happen soon.

To be honest, I feel I need a nice cold winter with lots of snow. I wrote a list the other day of all the change and loss at the old farm, right up until this month with Huck and Raggedy's death. I shared it on Facebook not to seek sympathy, but to express that as I looked at the long list, I was overwhelmed. I think that by being in the thick of it all for those years, I really didn't have time to grieve long. I just kept moving on to the next death. I didn't shun it, I didn't get jaded, I felt it and did what had to be done, I expressed and homaged it through writing and art, but I also did not stop..not once.

I think this winter especially is the universe's way of letting me stop, crumble like the beautiful leaves all around me underfoot, hibernate in my little 1760 house and lick my skin and hold my heart. There is much percolating under the ground all winter, and spring will bring so many new things...new surprises...new creatures...and I will be rested.

Well, I guess it is pretty magical here too

After stacking wood all afternoon, we stopped at four and I looked out and saw all the animals in their fields, with the reds and ochres just beginning. It is a light gray today-both the air and sky-contrasting beautifully with the many white animals and autumn colors.

I was driven to go stand under M'Lady Apple, whose little tiny red fruits are falling abundantly, feeding sheep and goat and wandering dogs and llama. It was all very beautiful.

"I guess it is pretty magical here too. It's just taking me a little bit of time to always see it," I admitted tot the sky.

But when a mix of llama, goat, horse, sheep and donkey passed by, I could hear someone, or something, say...

"Look! A walking magical place!"

Rosie goes outside! Tripod hurts his nose! The Head Troll lines them up!

I sometimes wonder if our pull to Maine had nothing to do with our guides, it had to do with guides for the well being of The- World's-Grumpiest-Pig-I-Am-Fine-As-I-Am-Pig, aka Rosie. A couple years ago, I found Rosie shivering in a light rain. This was very unusual as she hates rain, and hates to be chilled. And she was nowhere near the barn stall she liked to sleep in. She was closer to Old Barn so I got her in there and bedded her down in an old lambing pen.

She never left. In fact, even in the new spring warmth, she refused to go outside. She had always loved the warm sun baths she took in her first years at Apifera. It saddened me, but she just was content in her large suite, bathed in Old Barn's light.
I suspect it had something to do with the arrival of Eleanor, who had come to mate with Earnest. And Rosie is no match for Eleanor.

Well, fast forward to Maine. Rosie again has her private suite, but it is next to the sheep pens. She is uninterested in being friends with anyone. You all know her only friend long ago was Stevie the goat, but he even started sleeping in another area as Rosie grew to like being alone. She likes to sleep, that is about it these days.

So I was really happy that in the last three days, she has been outside waiting for me for breakfast. And she eats outside. She goes right back to bed, but...she seems very content with her new sleeping arrangement. I suspect she is getting arthritic in her hind end too, which might be part of it.

Sir Tripod Goat's Nose: The oddest cut I've seen in awhile. You try your best to keep any dangerous object or fencing out of animal areas, but any farm is loaded with lurking dangers for all of us. I first thought it was just a scratch, but after I started treating it realized he'd sliced it somehow. He spends most of his time in his stall and pen, so I can't figure it out. But he is on penicillin and will be fine.

The Head Troll is aging. You can see it in her body and loss of muscle, thinning hair and one of her eyes is cloudy. She also has started to like getting scratched and petted, only by me, but this is unheard of. Our entire relationship has been built on a delicate balance of respect, hands-off care taking and love-hate day to day. Hate is a strong word, love-irritation? This is a goat that can get stuck in anything, I'm sure always for a good reason in her thinking. But she is now living out with the sheep, and Benedetto and Birdie, near the equines and Rosie. She is about 30 pounds I'd say, but is no pussy cat around the very large and dominant Assumpta, or Calla, the two matriarch ewes. The Head Troll makes it clear at feeding time what side of the hay you need to be on if you are a sheep, she somehow gets them all over there on the opposite side of her in one swoop, and watches for any transgression of boundaries to her side of the hay. If that happens, pow, head butt.

The Head troll still has it. I'm glad. I want her to live out her life as herself as much as possible. She has a pretty good stash of handbags too since arriving.