A gift is coming to Apifera...and White Dog helped, I just know it

 

I was going to wait to share this news...but decided since so many people loved White Dog I would share now.

About a week ago, I was pretty much minding my own business, sort of, in the office doing paper work. I was killing a few minutes waiting for an upload when I just kind of accidentally, or intently, looked up 'Maremma puppies'. With that, I felt a pit in my stomach. I wasn't ready, and I really didn't think another pup was the right answer. I let it go. Went back to work. But that same day, a tech from my vet clinic-they all loved White Dog-sent me her friend's farm info since she had puppies. That sort of got me to snorting around the internet at puppies and adult Maremmas. Still did not feel right. None of them looked like White Dog.

 

I realized what I wanted I could not have-I wanted White Dog back. Impossible. 

 

In the coming days, I spent more time with Marcella, seeking answers about if, or how, to fill the hole in the barnyard left by White Dog. I talked to White Dog everyday when I walk over his grave. I told him if there is a dog out there that needs me as much as I need him, please help get the dog to me.

 

Well, somewhere in there I had an exchange with a nice farm woman with Maremmas who wondered about a rescue. She said, "It's a risk, but look how it worked out with White Dog." Hmmmm. There are so many Maremma and Great Pyrenees that get bought as pups, end up in a house without proper jobs, and they end up in a shelter. The story is old, it is repeated over and over-they don't have the space, time or understanding of the needs and DNA of this breed, and the cute puppy turns into an LGD without a job. I knew it was a huge risk and I wasn't interested, nor did I think it was wise, to start looking at all the sad ads in rescue groups or shelters. 

 

But I stumbled on a farm that takes in Great Pyrenees, and helps decipher what kind of job the dog needs and wants. They also raise pups and have goats and is very knowledgeable about the needs of a working dog.This is like Horses with Hope, the two equines we adopted from them were worked with for months to determine the best home for them. I knew what I was bringing home.

 

I looked at the face of this dog...in the photo you see here. He had been living on a farm so knows life on the farm, but appeared to be sterile, and that was one of his jobs. He was treated well there I believe. But he was placed with the farm that helps Prys. For the past year, the farm tried to find what job would be best for the dog, and even though he did well around goats and it appears other animals, they found that he loved people, and everyone loved him. They began taking him everywhere, and he even showed him a few times at AKC shows just to give the dog a new experience and see how he'd do.

 

I walked away. I had to separate my feelings of missing White Dog, with everything I thought I needed now, or wanted now. And one part of my grief was that White Dog had just started doing therapy visits and was a natural. I wished I'd started sooner, but that wasn't his main job then.

 

But I finally contacted the farm, and the more I told them about our set up, our therapy work, and how White Dog had just started doing that when he got his bone cancer...it all became clearer that I was pretty sure this dog could become an Apifera Ambassador. I had no doubts he was the one. But after much chatting back and forth, there was a span of days where I heard nothing, and I thought maybe I had fooled myself with magical thinking. 

 

But each time I looked into the eyes of this dog, I just felt he wanted this new job here, and I wanted him.

I went to White Dog's grave that night and I said, "Look, I thought it was going to be right, but maybe it isn't, and I'm scared. Can you help, if it is right for him to come here." I cried too. And that very night I heard again from the farm. 

 

And so...he is coming to live with us, and I will immediately begin walking him in the village. He loves to ride in the car, which also was a plus. He has been to restaurants and outdoor shops. In time, I will take him out with Harry to the village too. Imagine that, walking down the street, and there comes two beautiful white creatures. And of course, my goal is to share him with the elders on visits.

 

He is 20 hours away and I negotiated a very fair fee for them to bring him directly to us which is so helpful, and I thought best for the dog too. I hope it will be soon, but I will keep you posted. It is winter of course.

 

Cheese has died

Cheese has died. I knew it was coming in the past week - she has been fighting being anemic which I've been treating her for. She's old and compromised and if it was due to barber pole or another parasite, even with swift help it often is a death sentence. But like I said, Cheese was 14 and that is old for a goat, especially a disabled, crippled one.

Yesterday she was weaker than usual but still trying to carry on, but kept getting knocked over. At one point I found her cast. It is very cold, and I did not want her to die unattended, by casting. So I got her in the a safe place, covered in six blankets - where I could proper her against wall to keep her from casting. I gave her pain meds. 

The herd came to inspect my work and say their goodbyes. She died within a couple of hours and was pretty much gone even when the pictures were taken. The cold didn’t kill her but in her condition it most likely sped up her death by a few days. I’m grateful we were all their with her before she became unconscious.

I considered putting her in the heated cat suite, but the floor is slippery and it is an unknown space for her. She is a herd animal and I only considered it due to the extreme cold. But I knew her hours were numbered. Her time was here. She died hearing the familiar sounds of her clan, chewing hay.

Hail to you, sweet, determined Cheese. You were a trooper to go through life so boldly with your crippled legs. I will miss you greatly! I always loved seeing her in the morning and yelling out,

"Cheese!"

Language lessons of spirit

You learn a new language with the loved ones who depart this earth and realm. It happened with my parents, animals and friends who have left. Just the other day I was cutting vegetables, and I found myself leaning on the sink with my fore arms, slightly bent over as I worked-just like my mother used to do. I smiled and greeted her.

So when I awoke to snow, I said, "White Dog came."

It's our new language, forming. Birdie comes as light delicate flakes, White Dog comes in inches that cover the farm, and his grave. It was so beautifully quiet too. That too is so White Dog, they are shape shifters and he came and went without me noticing as I slept. I read recently that "fresh snow absorbs sound, lowering ambient noise over a landscape because the trapped air between snowflakes attenuates vibratio. That's why it gets quiet when it snows." 

 

 

Into the White...a mystery painting

Painting is a wonderful journey. It allows me to reach inside, share a story or a feeling or a revelation that has not been brought to my conscious yet. I often start with a thought, and in this case I had awoken with the words repeating into my head of into the white.

I know what much of this piece is symbolizing [which I don't feel I need to share here]. But there are mysteries to it I don't grasp. I might someday. That happens too, you paint something and it is years later that you realize what something in the piece symbolized. Martyn asked me what the grey area on the upper left was, and I said I didn't know really, although one could see it as a drape...but I don't know.

This canvas will be going to Sundance this month and be available there sometime in March.

The Animals and their Great Heated Bus Idea

 

I was minding my own business, putzing by the firewood pile, when a familiar voice asked,

“Mrs. Dunn, can we have the old oven?”

It was Pickles, of course. If you follow along, and heaven help you if you do, you will know the animals have been trying to get me to allow a baking oven in the barn. Of course, we all know as charming as it would be to have a bunch of short bodied goats, a pig and some fowl baking cookies, it would most certainly end in a disaster.

“No,” I said firmly.

“What if we kept it outside and used matches and firewood to get it warm?” asked Ollie the goat.

My mind envisioned the forest on fire and animals and firemen running everywhere.

“NO, “ I said, more firmly.

They both walked off, heads down, grumbling.

Later that day, I entered the barn to start nightly chores. The gang wasn’t as animated as usual, except little Hannah who is young enough that every second of the day is worthy of joy.

“You all look down and out,” I said.

“We don’t have a way to share our love with the elder peoples,” said Pickles.

We found out recently that due to the pandemic, we were restricted again from bringing animals into Cove’s Edge, and it was too cold for the residents to visit outside, which is still allowed.

“If we had an oven we could bake them cookies, and giant heart shaped cakes,” said Ollie.

Earnest arrived. He sat next to me, he seemed deep in thought.

“We need a bus, a heated bus, with a ramp,” Earnest said as he handed me an ad for one of those old hippie buses, the kind I saw as a young girl out west. There was a price tag of $50,000 on it.

“That’s a lot of money, Earnest,” I said.

“Mrs. Dunn, a bus! We can roll them in and have music on the radio,” said Pickles.

And they all started chanting, “Heated bus! Heated bus!”

“We could drive our friends to the village and look in the pretty shop windows,” said old Poetry the goat.

“Perhaps, Mrs. Dunn, we could stop at Oysterhead Pizza too,” said Earnest the pig.

“I’m surprised you wouldn’t want to stop at Eider’s for your beloved grilled cheese sandwich with cucumbers,” I said.

“I’m currently hankering for the crust of pizza, wood fired just right,” Earnest said.

“Mrs. Dunn, how much is $50,000?” Hannah asked.

“It’s many, many, many ones,” I said. “And it would take all of you years to raise it.”
Keep your hearts open, gather some things and I will drop them off for our elder friends,” I said.

The next day, Earnest the pig brought me a bucket with three goose feathers, one brown egg and     
some hay twine. A note said, “For our friends, until we get a bus. Love, Pickles and friends”.

“Here’s a $100 bill, Mrs. Dunn, for the bus,” the pig said. “I’ll bring more when I can.”

Bitter cold, temper tantrums...and the memory of his expression

We've had two days of zero degrees, but sunny. The winds are gone today. The wind here off the coast is strong and impressive, and then it echoes all around in the surrounding forest. But I do enjoy the cardinals in winter. Brings back memories of my parents and life in Minnesota with them.

I've been very temper tantrum prone due to the icey ground and the fact that extreme cold hampers my tasks. I just fly off the handle while I'm doing chores -like today when the goats split open a bag of feed before I could get it in the feed room. They head butted it and it was all over the ground. I had a fit. It dawned on me later that part of that is because I'm still upset White Dog is gone. My partner. I miss him. And even if he had not had bone cancer, 10 is getting up there for a large breed. Of course I don't get to be in charge of such things-perhaps it is best I can't control that.

I apologized to everyone in the barn for losing my temper. They didn't care. They had feed all over the ground to eat. they don't judge like we humans. They move on.

There will never be another dog like White Dog. As a friend pointed out to me in a lovely sympathy card, we all choose the dogs we bring into our lives-but White Dog chose us. And he got to us the year we decided to move to Maine where he could be in his beloved cold and snow. He hated rain. And I thought to myself, I gave him six winters here. I have hundreds of photos of him, and I'm grateful for that.

The night we put him down, we walked with the vet out to the barn, it was dark. And he greeted us like always. I keep seeing his expression he had on his face when we entered the barn. Tail wagged, ears pricked, happy to see us. I know we did the right thing, the leg had grown huge. the vet assured us it was the right thing too, and of course I had talked to White Dog a lot. But I do keep seeing the expression on his face that night- he was just happy to see all of us. And then he was gone.

White Dog arrived in such a mystical way that I know that will never happen again. I can't force a situation to happen like it did when he showed up out of the blue. The whole thing was a miracle.

Next week I'll start bringing Marcella out to the outer pasture...just to see how that feels. Out west she was my main helper, in Maine her duties shrunk a bit due to the layout here, and I want to try being with her more. She is very different than White Dog on so many levels. I'm open to another pup...the rescue dogs have a real risk factor and it's complicated by the many species we have here. 

I'm just trying to stay open.

 

An intruder comes

 

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I was actually joyful when I looked out and saw the snow. It snowed all day and it felt like White Dog was....Here There and Everywhere. His snow is different than Birdie's snow. It's stronger and more rampant. I am learning our new language, the language we learn after a loved one of any species dies. Some relationships are more human level based, some more spiritual-and White Dog was my spirit dog. In some ways Marcella is too, but White Dog is becasue he came to us in such a mystical way...his mystery he carried with him was always prevelant. I walk over the grave, palms down, and say morning greetings to him. Today I wrote him a note. When I returned to do chores tonight, it was still light and I was a bit agitated to see tracks all around that part of the barnyard. I searched to find a track clear wnough in the 4 inches of fluffy snow. I finally saw there were claws, so it was not a cat or bobcat [cats prints never show the claws]. The prints were quite small so I think it was a fox. I hope to look more tomorrow when the snow has settled a bit. The lobes of a fox sit differently than a coyote or dog. I'm not the best tracker by any means! It upset me becasue Ruthie could be taken by a fox. I was surprised that I never hear Marcella bark from her pig paddock, but she can't run up to that fence so maybe she was sleeping. The tracks were right up to the sheep gate and front of barn where Ruthie often hangs out. It made me miss him, and I was sort of upset the creature walked all over the grave and around it, upset becasue White Dog never would have allowed him on the property but he was right there on his grave. It shows how important his presence was [and is].

Healing art

 

As Old Apple watches, Ruthie stands near the grave and the energy was palpable.

I did this yesterday. Finally got some studio time. It already sold and I was happy it sold to someone who really understands the characters in the piece and what it means.

I get to be angry: soul work...grief work....you have to do it

Grief is active, it's a process they say, and it is. It is a long project without a synopsis, I guess. White Dog's death -in case you can't tell-is a big loss for me, on so many levels. I was dreading it and now that it is here I was right to dread it because it hurts without him. The barn was his domain, and every creature had their respect of White Dog...even Earnest the pig who almost killed him with the intention of it [ a tussle over dropped food].

But it is a process, I'm familiar with the process, and I have Nature all around me. I got in the studio today, finally [the kitchen remodel has consumed us and my brain just can't focus but I had to take a break from that and be in studio for a few days].

I was talking to a friend about anger, within our grief. And I'm in it! It's funny how anger sneaks up on you and one moment you are calm and the next moment you are yelling at the top of your lungs in the barn at a hose-yes, a hose-while your animals quietly munch hay. That was me yesterday, the hose was not cooperating due to the cold temps, so I screamed at it, and I swore and strung together cuss words at the sky. In fact my anger made Ruthie start fluffing up her feathers and chortling. She wasn't sure why I was mad at a hose but she wanted no part of it.

Don't tell a grieving person not to have anger. If you stuff anger, it will catch up to you. 

It's no a process that is linear. You don't walk through the stages of grief without taking a step back to a previous phase. You don't start with shock, then go to sadness, then anger then acceptance. You are in shock at first, and have moments of shock in the coming months. A photo can set you off. And anger is fluid I think, like love, anger twines around like a snake. You have to acknowledge it because if you are angry at a hose you are really angry about something more important. It's what you do with the anger.

So we get to have our anger. The kitchen remodel has also thrown 'order and control' out the window, but it is getting better [and will be so lovely, I will post pics when it is all done].

One thing I found myself being angry at the other day was the fact that my spirit animals have been taken from me, in succession. Birdie the llama, Opie the goat and now White Dog. All were just beginning their work as healing ambassadors. Opie was able to do that for four years, but White Dog was able to partake  here and Birdie really hardly got going but she was such a natural.

Why did the universe take those animals from me? There's no answer. It's not personal. But it felt like it. So I got angry, at the universe. 

I'm getting used to not seeing him in his body. But every morning I walk past Old Apple, and walk right on the grave and say something as I go about my day. I know exactly how is body is laid out and I know Martyn's shirt is under his head. I know he's okay.

Mister Rogers told us to look for the helpers. I was doing chores in the barn, and was reminded that White Dog was a helper to me. He helped in many small ways-like barking at Captain Sparkle if he pushed a gate open when I was doing chores. He alerted me. He could keep certain animals in line if he knew there was trouble.

Who is my helper now? That is what it feels like in the outer barn. Plus I just miss seeing his beautiful, majestic face.

Ruthie rings in the new year and....

 

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Well, the new year is upon us again. Just like a circle we start and walk around and start again, just like the earth revolving. I usually take the week between Christmas and New Year's Day to reflect, plan, ponder, evaluate...and do taxes. This year that was a bit off due to the kitchen remodel and of course, because of being present as much as possible with White Dog in the final days. 

I'm okay. I'm just really sad, deeply wounded sad. Each little thing I feel and see as I go about my day has lessons about my open wound, or provides a soothing band aid too. 

I am ready to be back in studio but I have to get the kitchen painted and cupboards and it is coming together so I hope to be back in studio in a week. 

So for now, I'm doing as White Dog suggested, when I miss him I turn to see him everywhere in Nature, and I take solace in the energy of all the creatures still here. I have felt him many times. I walk over the grave since it is there in my chores, and I talk to him a bit, or say a greeting like I always did. I still crave to take photos of him and will mourn that too. But I took so many and I am so glad. 

I don't know about this new year. I think we are still in for pandemic issues. I am not allowed to go into Coves with my animals right now. I have to come up with ideas. I will. I want to do more with hospice patients one on one. I want to work more with the blind. 

I want White Dog back. 

I hope you have good health in the new year because without it things get complicated fast. Thank you to everyone who supports Apifera financially and emotionally, and thank you to those who follow along and also buy my art and books. I have a good life and there is not a day I don't think about that.I have Martyn and my art and my farm. I don't take it for granted.

Being spiritual being having a human experience is conflicting-often. No matter what your belief system, we are here in human bodies and we are meant to be in those bodies to learn....and grow. It's the human being of me that is grieved by the absence of a loved one, but it is always the spiritual creature I am that helps me walk through it.

White Dog is now Here There Everywhere

I am just in deep grief right now. If you follow along on social media you know yesterday we put down White Dog. We will bury him today. I just can't write more about it right now. It's like an entire part of the fields and barnyard are gone. I do believe he is Here There Everywhere like all the other creatures and people who have left the Mother Ship. But as a human left behind, I am faced with deep loss of HIM.

The grief is physical.

 

The Annual Christmas Garland Festival

Years ago, a follower sent me a hand made felted garland. I had some fun with it and shared it in photos, with the animals taking turns to wear it. It became an annual Christmas tradition and is great fun for everyone, including my followers. That garland has been sewn together so many times! It has been dragged through the mud and pig mire and poop, but still keeps on giving love back to us.

I have been posting daily pictures all week of the Garland Festival over on Instagram.

I have been preoccupied with the kitchen remodel [also posted on IG]. I have never had a harder painting job in all the six houses I've remodeled. We ripped out two layers of ceiling to expose the original hand hewn 1760 beams. I'm finally getting about 2/3 done with just the ceiling. It is going to be so nice. Martyn is doing the counter tops over, and I will be painting the cupboards too. We're going to an alabaster white-pure, clean, fresh.

We get our snow and the ponies run in their bells

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A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm)

 If you follow on social media you know we have wanted snow, not only for White Dog, but so we can run the ponies. It was a pretty, fluffy blanket, perfect for Captain Sparkles tender feet and he and The Teapot are just pure joy to watch.

The joy is good for us, as we are journeying through White Dog's bone cancer. I write about it extensively on IG and FB so follow the journey there. I can't take enough photos of him. The main thing is I was focusing too much on the physical signs, and thanks to a dear soul sister I realized I was not letting him set the pace for what is to him, a spirit journey. He trusts me, and I must trust him, in our language and communication with one another. I must trust my senses so I can do right by him when the time does come. And that time is not today. One day at a time.

A friend sent me this qoute and it is so spot on with the feelings right now with White Dog. I know tohers who are also facing this in between time with loved ones. It is uncomfortable.

"It's hard to be there, that space between what no longer is and what is yet to be..." 

"There are heros in the seaweed", said Leonard

 “Look among the garbage and the flowers, there are heroes in the seaweed...” {L. Cohen}

We have had such warm days, and rain. While I want snow [which supposedly will arrive tomorrow] I have to say the warm weather makes chores easier. And, well, the fowl are extremely happy with their overflowing ponds. I love to look out on the front barn goat paddock at chores and see this scene. To me it is so peaceful. One woman said it looked like one of my paintings and I guess you can say this–they do merge, art and life.

One can see messy mud and mire and leafless trees...or one can revel in the sculpture of the branches and the reflections in earth toned water.

 

The animals and I pay tribute to Polly, who has given us snowflakes

 “Mrs. Dunn! Polly sent us the snow flakes!”

It was Pickles the goat, running in joy as I came out for the morning feedings.

I was taken aback. I had just found out myself in a morning email that our loyal volunteer, Polly, had died the night before. She had stage four lung cancer.

I stood silently, the snowflakes falling all around me, as the goats gathered at my feet. I looked at the sky and thought to myself, it is something Polly would do.

“Mrs. Dunn, Polly said she sent the snow so you can put the Christmas bells on the ponies and let them run around in the snow,” Pickles said.

I have been asking for snow, I thought.

Earnest the pig sauntered up to us.

“She was spunky, I liked her,” he said.

“She was kind. She put her arms around me,” said the quiet voice of the very old sheep, Calla.

“Remember when I got to pull her around the barnyard? That was so fun!” said Ollie, the biggest of the goats.

Ollie was referring to a visit here at the farm when some of our elder friends came to be with the animals, and Polly was there to help. I handed her a lead rope, which was attached to Ollie the goat, and told her she was in charge of him. Polly was a petite person, Ollie is about 120 pounds. As I went about helping the elder people, I looked around and there was Ollie pulling Polly around the orchard, showing her every blade of grass and all the apple trees he loved. But Polly had a smile on her face the entire time.

The snow continued to fall.

“Polly is free now,” said Auntie Bea, one of the old goats.

“What does that mean?” said little Hannah the goat.

“She is without a body,” said Auntie Bea, stoically.

“She lost her whole body?!” Hannah cried, and Pickles gasped.

“You don’t need your body forever, Hanna. You just need it here on Earth. But remember how you learned about Here There Everywhere? That is where Polly is and she needs no body for that,” said Earnest the pig.

“Polly is free of pain, Hannah. Her body hurt,” I said.

“Polly doesn’t hurt? This is excellent news then!” said Pickles the goat.

Pickles took Hannah and they ran around in circles in the fluffy dusting on the ground.

I headed to the outer barn to feed the horses and ponies. Harry the llama came over to me, his white fur dusted in flakes. Polly often helped me when we took Harry to visit our elder friends at Cove’s Edge.

“Harry, Polly died last night,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “She told me.”

I watched White Dog roll in the snow. White Dog got his snow, I thought.

I put the Christmas bells on the ponies, and off they ran in the snow, bells jingling. It was pure joy.

“Thank you, Polly,” I said.

 

{A video of the ponies running with their bells will be on Instagram later this evening.}

New painting

 I had a nice day in the studio and was pleased with this new piece. It is now on the shop. It is called "Tomorrows Were Once Todays"

Visit the shop to learn more about this piece >

My little shining Sparkle

He is so gorgeous in the morning sun. He was tied up because the farrier came today. Captain Sparkle had severe laminitis and Cushings that was not being treated or cared for when Horse With Hope took him on-they did a great job helping him and at some points weren't sure if he'd make it through the lamanitis. Grateful he did. But about a year into being here, he started really acting up with foot trims. One day was so bad, and dangerous for him and the farrier, that we give him a little oral sedative for trim days. I don't want him having any bad associations with foot trims again, after all he went through-nor do I want my farrier to struggle with that.

I really am hoping for a few inches of snow so I can let him and The Teapot run in their bells. They only run in snow. If there is one cold short blade of grass to be found, they will find it. But they really love to run. I feel like Captain Sparkle has been a bit blue lately. I put him in with The Teapot the other day thinking he might enjoy it, but she is such a little sass pants that he can't get near the hay, and there he was, standing out in the paddock all alone, looking perplexed. He prefers being with Biggs and Harry.

I love him.

The msytery of our 1760 house...I love it even more

 

{I am documenting the work over on Instagram]

What does any sane person do the day after Thanksgiving? Rip out the ceiling in the kitchen!

Our house was built in 1760, one of  the first houses in the village along with the Hilton place [this is my research anyway, still uncovering the history here]. It is a post and beam structure, and the only addition was done in the 18880's sometime when they added what was to be used as a Quaker meeting room [ a Quaker cemetery sits on the property line, property that was once part of this property which at the time covered 300 acres and went from the cove to Pemaquid Pond - I so wish I could see it like that! 

So anyway, we have remodeled many houses and the Yamhill house was a huge job. So the kitchen here is so small it is not that big of a deal. Um, sort of. But taking the ceiling out to expose the original beams is our goal. You never know what hides up there. A lot of mouse dust that is for sure. There was sheetrock from about 2005, then a layer of concrete from about 1800's and original hand hewn lathe under that and then the original pine floor boards and hand hewn beams.

I have to say, I feel like a kid again. This is how I grew up-with an architect father who like to remodel old houses. I thought of my mother a lot yesterday, as I did the hauling of the mess and MArtyn ripped the ceiling. How many houses did she do, a lot, and with two little kids. She never complained.

We found an old sheet from the Lincoln County News, from 1890. So cool. 

I am going to whitewash the ceiling and beams, the kitchen is small and needs the light. I am going to paint the walls and cupboards an antique white. I love the green, a color I've had in all my houses, but lately I want white and off whites. I was also inspired by the roughness and simplicity and sparseness of the Olson House. We will replace the outdated 1970's looking counter with pine wood and a new sink and fixtures, and new lighting. We also will take down the fireplace area roof -we think it will fall easily, it is the oldest in the house.

And we pulled all the old flat nails and will save them or reuse them.

But as we sat, exhausted last night after two days of demolition, I was so proud and felt so connected to this house. I loved this house the second I saw it online, as I sat in Oregon, panicking, since we needed to find something. It came on the market that very day, like an hour before I saw it, and I had email alerts on several sites. I called the realtor that day and put an offer in. We got it, with two other offers that same day. 

I feel like by taking the modern ceilings down, it's like setting the house free. We sat imagining the people that probably were outside the house hand hewning the lathe and beams. I wondered what they wore? Knickers? Probably not. The history of this area is intense. There is not a spooky bone in this house. I have done some research and have gotten to about the 1950's when it seems the house sort of sat uninhabited. We think at some point who ever was living here was living  pretty rough. And then around 2005 someone came in and modernized it-some of which was...mediocre, but none of it was unlivable and it allowed us to live here and work on the barns first.

Anyway, I was sort of dreading the ceiling demolition...such a mess, chaos...but I have to say, I am so energized and it has opened me up to all the other 'little' projects we want to do. And it generated some ideas for short stories I've been percolating for a year. I feel I owe it to the house. I feel like the house likes us and understands what we are doing for it. 

I love our house even more than the day I saw her.

A new tradition with help from Earnest the Pig

Happy Thanksgiving on this gorgeous sunny, crisp day! I hope the day gives you more light than dark, peace and an ability to see the things that have meaning in your life. I am grateful everyday for simple things-being able to be independent, free of pain in body or mind, a good home and husband, my animals, my life...as an artist and writer amongst the story makers in the barnyard. 

We put up the Red Ball Tree in the front yard and I just love it,  it is our third year of doing that and it brings me pure joy each time. And this year, I decided Earnest needs some extra love as he lives alone in his hut [he has animals all around him though]. We put up a string of red balls for him too. So the Hanging of The Red Balls is a new tradition, and it is not to be confused with Earnest the pig's balls. Sorry, I could not help myself.

 

 

How to be amongst the greiving-slip off your needs at the door

I think I've learned a lot about how to be amongst the sad and weary with my elder work, and I guess part of it is also innate, but like any human, I have daily lessons to learn about how to speak...and as importantly, when not to speak. The latter is harder for us humans.

I know for myself, sometimes I want to fill up a sad space with fun words, and I am very good at making people laugh. I'm learning about how my 'pleaser' MO has effected many things in my life - like choosing people I can not please to come on in. But of late I've learned, as this poem so well articulates, that one should not let the moment be about them, it is about letting the grieving or dying person speak [or not]. Or perhaps they just want to sit with you and let you witness their sadness. They aren't seeking advice [unless they ask] they just want a hand to touch their shoulder and make them feel 'I understand you are sad'.

One pattern I see online, a lot, is when someone posts about...let's use a pet as an example....someone posts that their dog has died and they express their feelings about why they are sad. And then a whole bunch of people [not all of them] post their own stories about their dead pets and how sad it made them when they died. There is nothing horrible about this, but I've learned, having done it myself!!, that this is not being present for the grieving person who wrote the post. There is probably a time and place to share stories of our own.

When I post about the death of an animal, or one in hospice, I don't take the messages like that as selfish, I just know they have not learned the skill of being present with the grieving, and it is a skill. And before the skill, one has to be aware they are doing it. It took me awhile! And I still stumble.

I did this recently, not with someone who was dying, but with someone who fell and has a TBI. It was a bad one. Much worse than what I went through. But instead of just encouraging them, or telling them I was their in spirit, I had to add that 'when I had mine, it took a long time to recover blah blah blah'. I was 'thinking' I was sharing a common understanding of how scary TBI's are. But maybe it just was not the right time or place to say it. No harm was done, but when I saw this poem I had saved, it made me realize this being present, and leaving your own bags at the door, can be applied to more than the grieving.

I will continue to hone this skill, and probably slip up here and there.

The animals worry about the demise of a tree...the annual drama

{My latest Tales & Tails column for The Lincoln County News}

I heard the slow shuffle of donkey feet as I left house.

Paco, I thought.

“Mrs. Dunn, I am concerned about the tree,” Paco said. “It is almost Thanksgiving.”

Every year, I have to reassure Paco that we’ll find the perfect tree in the woods well before Christmas.

“Paco, you need not worry, we will find one in plenty of time,” I said and we headed to the outer barn for his breakfast.

“I just need to get to the know the tree, so I can write a poem in honor of it’s demise,” he said, still concerned.

Just then, Pickles appeared out of nowhere, followed by Puddles and Hannah, and soon all the goats, old and young, joined us.

“Who had a demise?!” asked Poetry, one of the elder goats.

“What’s a demise?” asked little Hannah.

“A death,” said Earnest the pig who had wandered over hearing the commotion.

“Nobody has died!” I said.

“But we are going to kill a tree, so I must prepare a poem for him or her, to honor them,” said Paco.

Hannah began to cry. She had never had a Christmas tree since she was just born in the spring.

Earnest the pig consoled her, “Hannah, the trees have many purposes in life, and one is giving themselves to us so we can decorate them for Christmas.”

“But what if they have another purpose, like holding the squirrels and birds?”

“We always look for tiny trees, that aren’t strong enough to do that,” said Earnest.

Pickles gasped. “We kill the baby trees?!”

By this time we were to the outer barn, and all the horses and ponies and llamas were wondering what the big conversation was.

“Has something of importance occurred” asked Harry the llama.

Paco the donkey said very slowly, “I am worried about finding the tree in time, so I can write a worthy eulogy.”

“Ah yes, the annual tree crisis,” Harry said stoically.

George the goat appeared, eating something. George was always eating something. “The best part of Christmas is the tree, because I get to eat it after the holiday,” said George the goat.

Hannah started crying again.

“We could get one of those pink, fake trees with glitter, I saw one in “Sears and Roebuck”,” said Poetry.

How are they getting that catalog? I wondered.

“Sacrilege!” said Earnest the pig. “There will be no fake trees for Christmas!”

And then Boone, the mellow red horse, walked over.

“Everything we have to eat was once alive. Shall we stop cutting the grasses for our hay?”

Hannah screamed, “We kill grasses too?!”

Boone leaned down to Hannah and said, “My lass, we are in circular relationship with all of Nature. We poop on the grasses, and that feeds them. They thank us by growing tall, and then we eat them.”

Earnest the pig put his arm around Hannah, and Paco, “What do you say we all visit the trees, and share our poop with them?”

Officer Mittens report

 

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A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm)

Earnie dies...he mattered to me

One of our elder friends from Cove's has died....Earnie, sweet Earnie. If you follow along you know we loved him and have many photos of him with the animals. He was 87.

I think we first met him in 2019, or maybe 2018. It was when we first brought Opie over there. Earnie was a farmer his whole life, since he was a kid. He lost his arm as a young guy in a farm accident. He told me all about it.

Earnie loved animals, and they responded to him. Opie would make his sharing rounds with the people, but then he'd keep returning to Earnie. We all noticed it, and it was a sense of pride for Earnie I think. He was just a magnet. They knew his motives were pure, something you can't say for all people.

And then there was his tie die shirt which he often wore. I will remember him in that shirt.

I was at Cove's the other day dropping off puzzles, and I happened to get to meet his sister in law, who was with him a lot, including the day before, and hours before he died. She got to say her goodbyes and he did too. He lost his wife years ago, and also had two lady companions at Cove's who both passed on.

I suppose when you are in a home like that, especially when you are totally relying on care from others, and you can't walk or eat on your own, you can't do the normal things a body must do just to go through a normal day, I suppose there might be times where you wonder if any of it matters any more, or do you yourself matter. The elders, especially those like Earnie are often the ones people don't want to see, they avert their eyes, they don't know what to say. As one of the elders said to me, "They are afraid they will be like me someday." I believe she was right. Earnie mattered to me. And I know he mattered to the caregivers, and residents, and his extended family.

He was always at our visits and he always was in good spirits despite the losses and the health issues...despite losing all independence...he always smiled. He had some good farm stories too. I always told him I had to find a cow to bring for a visit-he had farmed cows his whole life.

I don't even know if he knew my name, nor the farm's. But when he saw me he knew who I was and what it meant. An animal could take him out of his head, out of his reality for moments and I'm grateful I could do that for him. In that way, I guess I mattered to him weather he knew my name or not.

We will miss him, truly, we will. I think he must be tie dying the sky somewhere, and riding a cow home.

{You can send a donation in Earnie's honor to Acitivity Fund at Cove's Edge. Cove’s Edge c/o Activities Program, 26 Schooner St., Damariscotta, ME 04543. This is a Medicare facility and these people operate on shoestrings.}

Another new elder creature is birthed

Mrs. Rosas has lived many lives. She still insists on walking in the fields, even though she can barely walk. Her clothes are a bit raggedy-she finds scraps in garbage cans and sews them and mends as well as she is able.

Mrs. Rosas is made of all natural cloths and a velvet cape. She is sewn with embroidery thread and her tail is mohair. She is very crippled, but can stand but needs her canes. She stands about 11".

Visit the shop >

 

Focusing on what I can do...I don't need to know everything about you and vice versa

This is not a political post, far from it, it is more a self healing post. I've been sad about our country for some time....and scared for democracy, to be honest. I wondered if it is wrong to simply turn out all news, all of it...is that selfish, is that the right way to handle all the upsetting [for me anyway] news? I think tuning it all out is irresponsible as a citizen and voter, so I am not choosing that path. I do get my news from online reliable papers, not social media and definitely not Facebook. And I find I'm just passing by certain articles-usually becasue the media, no matter which outlet, likes to rehash something over and over, and it becomes numbing, kind of like the last 4 years. I read it, explore what I need to, and step away...until I might yell at the tv a bit before we watch one of our shows.

But I was thinking that we know way too much about everybody, thanks to social media.

If I knew every thought of every elder I love at Cove's Edge....would that change how I feel? Perhaps. I know many people I enjoy running into in my weekly errands have very different thoughts than I do on many things, but it doesn't matter, because we focus on things we share. For example, at the feed store I have no idea what thoughts or beliefs are in most of their heads, I could assume I guess, but I focus on the fact that I can go in there and they know me and what I do and I can ask for advice on a sick chicken.

I get very depressed about our mother ship more than most of the other madness going on-and that includes important stuff like voter suppression, COVID, congress infighting, women's rights, and more. I am very sad for our Earth and I am not that optimistic, and I have always been an optimist. If we can't get along better than we are in one country, and men continue to rule the world with their main desire being power, I just don't see it changing enough that our beautiful Earth will be helped in time.

Still, I want to help people in my area, and people that are hurting, and animals. That is my plan for emotional survival and health. Just keep making art from my heart, keep writing, keep reaching out if I see someone is down, keep sharing my animals with the elders, keep smiling and being there for them in small ways which to them are big ways...keep my head down in the wind. The local paper had an article from the police departments that are suffering from staff shortages, and they pointed out how many more people are being arrested for road rage and anger disturbances–it makes me even more picky about the people I interact with. I prefer my elders and a handful of people, and my animals.

Because of my age, and because I see elders who must leave their homes or lose their mates, I have never been more aware of what I have. Each night, I really mean this, I look forward to being with Martyn by the fire, talking, sharing, his cooking...falling asleep together and his kiss goodbye every morning at 6:30. It can be gone in an instant, and it often is for people.

I have also taken in, soaked in, life more this year than I think I ever have. My time table is mine more than it has ever been and I've earned it-as many of you out there reading have. I've been a self supporting artist/writer since 1996 and I worked my butt off to get to this spot. I'm blessed to live on my farm, and see the sights I see, like this image of old Luci as I opened the door very early this morning-so regal she was in the sun and crisp air and autumnal colors all around her. I've become stingier with my schedule and rarely -unless I have to -make an appointment before 11. That is not laziness, it is practicality. I do not want to rush with my animals and morning chores which take about 2 hours. Not only to I want to move at a pace that will help me not trip and fall, I want to enjoy them. There are so many ways to fall! You don't think about it much in your younger years. But after the concussion, after aging some, I am very aware of it.

I want to see, like the sun lighting up the tippy top of Pino's mane at sunset.