Is this the last house?

Martyn and I have been talking about the major home renovations we want to do in the coming years. A new roof -we are thinking metal-in the next  few years will be needed and new first floor windows in wood for improved energy conservation, and appearance. We have talked a lot about a heat pump but there are problems with one in this old house so we are holding off on that for now. They are all the rage and I understand why.

But the window is closing as we enter our soon to be be mid sixties in the next couple years. What seemed like years to do things now seems shorter, and one really asks, "What do I want to do with my time?" More of the same, since I love what I do...but, what else?

I've always been a homebody, as is Martyn–besides fishing that is, which he hasn't done much of for years. I like a day trip, but I've done a lot of extensive travel in my time, and now I'm content on the farm and in my garden, sitting with Martyn and the dogs–perhaps boring to some, but peace to me.

But I also love the challenge and excitement of moving. I never thought we'd leave the last farm but after 13 years we did, and it was the best decision. So glad we did. I sometimes find myself wondering, is this the last house? I suppose it might be. My parents kept moving, it was in my father's DNA. My mother was a pro at packing and moving on her own, as am I. I was the one who coordinated the move West, not Martyn. I've fixed up about four houses before I met Martyn. But I also came to a point in my life where I realized that if my life had challenges and excitement on a daily basis in my work, I didn't have the urge to move so much, like in my upbringing [we moved a lot, sometimes just down the street].

This home has some issues for someone growing old in it, but one of the first women to live here, a mother of 7, lived in it until she was 100, in the 1800's. Imagine how different her life was than mine. Imagine.

I always loved May Sarton's memoirs. In her later years she moved to Maine, into a rather large house by the sea. I've always got that in the back of my head-a house by the sea. But it would have to be on the sea and I doubt that will happen not only do to money, but do to the challenges and availability of something. 

I love the house. It has some things I wish we could change-like having a bigger, proper mudroom and closets. That would be my dream. But all in all, we are content. And so for now, it is still where we are meant to be, and will be. I have been through this before, where one thinks they will never leave this house, or this place, or this 'thing', but things are fluid in life, including desires and dreams. 

A saxaphonist meets the donkeys, and I officially have entered the shortest season of my life

Yesterday we had a wonderful visit with a young man named Vincent who came to play the sax for the donkeys and equines. If you follow along you might remember a young man playing for tips on the street in my village and he was to donate the money to a charity. He had just heard about our mission and sent me two $20 bills. I was touched and honored. His little sister is a brave young horse hearted child who has fallen in love with Biggs, she came too and climbed gates like a monkey. She likes to call him Big.

So it was really fun and if you know donkeys you know they are very curious little creatures. I never have to bribe them into a scene with people, they just stumble on up out of curiosity. I really thought they might bray along, as some music makes them do that.

Boone was the show off. He had a ball. And I will give Vincent credit for being a pro and focusing on his music while Boone proceeded to lick him and investigate his hat. I think that could be his first album cover, don't you?

After they left, I wondered if they would remember me twenty years from now, as I remember some of the horse people I knew as a child. I expect to see this young family over the years, they are new to the area and very nice and it is fun for me to have well behaved, interested youth around as a good mix to my elder work. In my head I counted the years for the five year old to be old enough to drive, and I thought of how old I would be. I also thought of an older women who was about 70 when I met her when we first got to Maine-a horse person-and she is now close to 80. She too had a young family nearby that she nurtured as she could and they all grew up, and she grew old. And now I am her. I have taken my place on the great wheel of life.

A thought has meandered through my brain daily and it is not a scary thought, it just seems to keep showing up. I think it started because I've been seeing a lot of people in their early seventies dying. I read the obituaries, always have, even as a child, I don't know why. But now that I'm sixty four, it dawned on me that if I too died at 74 that is only ten years left. Sobering. I have never been one to have a goal of living to a very old age, I prefer not to. I always thought 78-83 seemed a good time to go. My mother lived alone after my father died [he was 83] until she was 87 and died suddenly but was active until then. 

I've been asking myself, if I did only have ten years left, what do I do with it? How many more paintings will I do, or want to do? How many more books is that? How many more animals can I adopt? Is this my last great house adventure? For the latter, I always thought if Martyn died before me–a horrendous thought–I'd move to the sea and get pugs. I probably won't be able to, but maybe there are great adventures left if I only have ten years. We don't know when or how we go [usually], but as you enter a certain decade you see what's coming up and it seems much shorter than what is in the rear view mirror.

I don't have a death wish. It is just a simple thought that keeps running around my head. In a way, it is a good thing because it makes me say everyday, what will I do today of worth?

Why is this so scary?

When I started this blog back in 2009 it was a new platform. There was no Facebook, Instagram, or TicToc. It was a wonderful time to get into blogs because people actually came here and communicated over a post. I became friends in real life with many of those people, and many still follow along in social media. The blog helped me get into writing, daily and consistently. My writing has really improved over the years because I work at it.

But in time, the other social media platforms have really taken over. I've been digging my heals in the ground about my blog for several years. What I like about it, for me, is it is a history all on one page of the farm and animals. It is a quieter place for people to come without ads and videos popping up in their feeds.

But I think the reality is...people who follow me generally don't come here much, and if they do, they don't comment or partake. That's fine. It's the reality of social media. Nothing stays the same, and blogs have faced that. 

I feel like I've been having to try to write on the blog–where as I more enjoy sharing my day and movies and stories on IG and TicToc - which all are shared on the Apifera Facebook page. 

I feel like the blog is....maybe done. But I'm fond of it. And as social media is always changing, having the blog is a safety net in some ways.

If the blog was gone, I don't think I'd notice much difference in donations, or art sales, since the blog seems to have become more of an archive of the farm's history, and my history when Apifera was started.

I don't know. I feel like it would be freeing to say....it'll stay up, but my daily writings and photos, videos, puppet movies and more will happen on my other platforms.

Why is that so scary for me, to let go...

Tails & Tales column: The Great Bean Fiasco

As I ventured into the barnyard, I noticed all the goats, and Earnest the pig, standing out in a freshly tilled area of the yard. Earnest had dirt encrusted on his snout, so it appears he had been the lead tiller which he is very good at.

“Pickles, you have the string all knotted up in your feet, and it needs to be straight so our rows will be tidy!” said Poetry, one of the old goats.

As Pickles did her best to make a straight string line, little Hannah followed behind her, plopping in
seeds in the dirt, tasting one every so often.

“You can’t taste them yet, they haven’t grown up yet!” said Poetry, clearly trying to be in charge.

“But they especially delicious,” said Hannah.

“What’s going on here?” I asked. “I thought we agreed you would only be growing pumpkins and sunflowers with my supervision this year?”

Everyone suddenly looked very guilty.

“Mrs. Dunn, it’s my fault. I love green beans. I found your seed packets in the feed room and...I took them,” he said.

“How did you get in the secured feed room?” I asked.

“Pickles,” the pig said.

“And how did Pickles get in the secured feed room?” I asked.

“She stood on me!” said Ollie the tallest goat. “Then she banged her head on the door over and over.”

“Works every time,” said Pickles.

My mind raced, remembering all the times I was sure I had put something in the feed room and couldn’t find it.

“Okay, look, what you did was wrong. But since you are planting the seeds for the good of everyone here, I will forgive you. But I’m not going to tend the bean garden, you will all have to do that on your own,” I said as I walked away.

“It’s just a bunch of beans,” said Pickles. “They have so much food in the house and Mrs. Dunn says her pants don’t fit so good anymore so I don’t know why she needs beans.”

“I heard that Pickles!” I said as I closed the door.

A few hours later I returned to the barnyard to do night time chores. It was eerily calm.  Earnest the pig appeared at the barn door.

“Mrs. Dunn, we decided not to  plant your seeds. I’m sorry we took them. I just love green beans, almost as much as grilled cheese sandwiches,” the pig said.

“It’s okay Earnest. I shouldn’t deny you something you love so much. Life is short, we should relish the bounties of earth, including beans,” I said. “Why don’t you and I go get the beans and plant them together?’

“I like that idea,” he said. He led me to his special corner where he often hid special possessions.
“They’re gone!” he said.

“I didn’t do it!” said Pickles.

“Me either!” said Puddles.

“Not I!” said Ollie.

Just then little Hannah wandered in. “Are there any more of those beans? They are especially delicious!”

Infrastructure-Boone and Biggs proof, hopefully

We have a lot of one or two day building projects in the barns-one to add a divider wall and gate in current Boone barn. We had used two cattle panels and it worked, until Biggs and Boone decided to Rambo them in gelding over play. They bent them up. Those things are expensive but they refuse to get a paper route. I have to get them No Chewed now before they eat them to the ground. Rascals.

Next up is putting the same divider wall and gate in the Llama Love Room where Luci and the sheep live. Then I'll have two nice roomy stall areas for winter and other needs.

We got the veggie garden tilled but I'm behind! I usually plant by 5/10 or so but it got away from me this year. We've had chilly nights so it isn't a big deal. I do hope my sunflowers do better this year and that I've controlled the rats better. They literally ate almost all my sunflower seeds. Mama Bear was ticked, and sad. I bought my sunflower seeds early as a lot of people are planting them in support of Ukraine which is great. I'll mainly do lettuces and beets and tomatoes. I stay away from squash here since the upkeep of keeping squash bugs off is intense. Of course we'll do herbs and pumpkins and maybe more beans since they are so fun to grow. Martyn has bravely admitted he planted way too many beans last year, mine had all been eaten by rats [last year was bad and I did not eradicate them like I usually do].

We also invested in $1000 of more split rail for the back equine areas. Those split rails were here when we bought the place and have weathered about twenty Maine winters so we are adding and fixing about 20 rails. We also have pasture fence up on it, but it looks nice so we opted to keep it. 

I got the front goat stall's deep bedding cleared out, took me three days. Teddy helped because he can smell the rats under the barn and in their tunnels. He actually did me a favor to loosen up the bottom layer of buildup. 

We still have to get the large dead tree off the coop, and fix the broken areas of the coop.

May is just that way. So much to do. But then at some point it gets a bit, a tish, less manic....until something breaks again or Pickles and Puddles decide to build a go cart.

I'm hoping to start getting elders out here! We were able to snag a porta-potty, not an easy task. I think this summer is going to be heavy tourist traffic. People are pent up. To be honest, every time I think of setting a date for an art sale in my Lovey Hut, I get queezy. I'm still a bit concerned about the virus.

I sat in the garden and my mother entered my body

The painting is called "Cloud Room", a place I can go to sit with loved ones that I miss.

I was sitting on the teak bench on the garden the other day, a beautiful spring Maine day without flies [yet]. The teak benches, there are two, were owned by my parents back in Minnesota and sat in their rose garden for years. I often had coffee with my mother every day there, as I was a freelancer and made my own hours. At the time, I had one friend who often told me I needed to go see other people and quit doing a mother visit everyday as I would never meet anyone [I was about 40 at the time and very single, two years later I'd meet Martyn]. I told her I liked being with my mom, and I'm so glad I had all those morning coffees with her.

Years later, my parents moved into a place where they no longer could use the teak benches and they gave them to me and Martyn out at the old farm. They jokingly said they wanted us to name the benches "Bob" and "Kelly", in their honor. We did. None of us could tell Bob the bench apart from Kelly the bench but it didn't matter.

So I'm sitting in the garden, as I said, on one of the benches, and I was really wishing my mom was sitting there with me, so we could talk...talk about stuff I wouldn't talk to anyone else about. I thought of all our chats on those benches, some with me in tears over some moron I was smitten with, some debating who would win the election, some just sitting, watching birds. As I thought of all those things, I found that I was slightly bent forward, with my forearms on my thighs–this was a position my mother often would sit in on those benches. I smiled...I knew it was her.

"I still miss you," I said. "But thanks."

The sensitivity of the donkey poet

 Sometimes I stumble on a poem Paco wrote and I am just struck by his sensitivity, playfulness and non ego.

A Poem by Paco

 

When I’m happy

You might be sad,

When I’m good

You might be bad.

 

Sometimes I have things to say really loud

Sometimes I look up just happy to see a cloud,

But you might be hiding, wishing I’d go away

You might be hoping to just make it through another day.

 

My mother told me this

and she told me all the time

"Paco, everyone is different

but everyone is the same,

We all have hearts, we all make mistakes,

We all have to bend over

when we go to lace our skates.”

 

I’m not sure what all that means

at least the skating part,

But I do know how I can sense

when someone near me has a broken heart.

It’s not really a smell,

nor does it have a sound.

But a broken heart can follow

any creature around.

 

And when I sense one near me

I stand very still

I imagine there are cookies

up on my favorite hill.

 

I guide that broken hearted creature

be it man, child or beast,

I take them to my imaginary cookies

and we have an imaginary feast.

 

We chew them up real slowly,

and with every bite,

The broken heart hears our vibrations

And starts to get a lot more light.

 

As our bellies fill with cookies

 Even though they’re not real,

The once broken heart

Notices it can still feel.

 

{copyright: Paco the donkey, Apifera Farm]

Apifera yarn now available!

I waited a couple years to process the last batches of wool. Processing is expensive but this year I  committed to making yarn, and all net sales go into the Apifera fund. When all the 175 skeins sell, it is a net gain of about $3500 for the non profit. Because the sale of the yarn goes through my online shop, it is not a tax deduction for the buyer, FYI [but donations are always tax deductible].

The white wool is from Calla and her daughter Little Sylvia Pettini. The brow and grey are from the other few sheep we had on arrival, but I rehomed them to a fiber enthusiast. Their wool is so beautiful and once we committed to being a sanctuary, I wanted them to go and have someone who loved fiber to have them. Calla is an elder we took on and her daughter Sylvia almost didn't make it. Calla had mastitis and Sylvia was nursed by bottle. I love them both and their wool is beautiful, and also great for dying.

Each skein is 125 yards, 2 ply and 3 oz. Visit the shop to buy some. If you are wanting a larger quantity, let me know so I can assure the shipping is accurate [I always refund shipping overages on the shop at shipping time].

Greeting the day!

 

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Pickles scathingly brilliant idea, again

{My latest piece for Tails & Tales for LCNME}

Teddy, a Great Pryenees, was recently adopted by Apifera from a rescue in Virginia. He was well suited to make visits into the elder homes, and he is a natural with the elders. His arrival to the farm also helped Mrs. Dunn, who was mourning the recent death of White Dog, the farm’s beloved Maremma.

“What do you do when you’re there, Teddy?” asked little Hannah the goat. Teddy and I had just returned from visiting our elder friends at Cove’s Edge.

“I stand, and they talk to me, and they hold me,” said Teddy.

“Did you know White Dog?” asked Pickles the goat.

“Yes, but we never met. He was working in his current realm to help me find Mrs. Dunn,” said Teddy.

“Mrs. Dunn stopped crying when you came!” said Puddles the goat.

“It’s true, Teddy has helped my heart, he is a gift from White Dog,” I said.

“Mrs. Dunn, what’s it like at the old people’s home? Do they have a barn there?” asked Pickles.

“No, I’m afraid not, they have lots of windows and bird feeders outside the windows, and stuffed toy cats,” I said.

“No goats?!” asked Pickles.

“No chickens?!” asked Marta an old hen.

Earnest the pig sauntered over to the conversation, “It’s sad they can’t have animals, but there isn’t enough staff to care for the people, let alone the animals.”

The animals all sat somberly, except for some cud chewing by the goats.

“Imagine, a home without animals?” said little Hannah the goat.

Suddenly, Pickles leapt up and said, “I have the most scathingly brilliant idea!”

“You were watching old Haley Mills movies again, weren’t you?” I asked.

“Yes! So we can be the animal staff! We’re animals, so of course we know how to take care of animals!” said Pickles.

“I don’t think you’ve thought this through, Pickles,” I said. “First off, you’d have to have a place to put the animals there.”

“Mr. Dunn can help us build a barn,” said Puddles.

“He has too many jobs already,” I said.

“We’ll get him more pizza from Oysterhead,” said Ollie the goat.

“Let’s just say Mr. Dunn could help, you’d still have to drive there to care for the animals,” I said.

“So what?” asked Pickles.

“You don’t drive,” I said calmly.

“Oh, I have that figured out. Harry the llama will use his legs on the pedals and I’ll sit on Harry’s lap and use my front legs on the wheel. Earnest says that’ll work,” said Pickles.

“It’s true, Mrs. Dunn, I saw it in an old Western movie,” said Earnest the pig.

Lord help us, and me, I thought.

I continued with chores, in ear shot of the little masterminds in the barn.

“I think we should get three chickens so they can have eggs, and one goat, and a cat,” said Pickles.

“And some frogs!” said Ollie.

I chimed in, “How about a pony to pull them in their wheelchairs?”

“Mrs. Dunn, that is scathingly brilliant!” said Pickles.

I so wish it could all come true, I thought.

There's a reason they call it slow stitching

Been working all last week on this 20" piece, which I am really enjoying. Sometimes I stitch in silence, sometimes to music, but I do find it is good for me to slow stich, as it makes me be less patient with outcome. One of the reasons I like acrylic over oil is I can cover up images over and over and don't have to wait. Stitching is not fast, everything about it is slow–threading the needle, stitching, reworking edges.

I am a novice stitcher, and sew raggedy just like I paint and make dolls, but I hope do be doing more. I might work on some 8-10" pieces next. It was rather adventurous to start a 20" piece but I had bought these flour sack cotton towels and they are great to stitch on too. It isn't done yet and I'm learning a lot.

I have not had that much to say here on the blog lately. My daily life with the animals and elders is so on display on IG and FB. I don't want to let the blog go though, it is a piece of history for me, I can look back and see the history of our farms and animals.

I guess I just feel that I have more interest in writing shorter things but when I do have something longer to write I will still come here to do it.

I feel that I am entering this new stage of my life. I guess turning 64 got me to seeing the future more as a chunk of time. When I was 30 or 40 or 50 it didn't feel like that. But I've always thought that living to around 78+ seems about right. I have no desire to live into my 80's or 90's if I'm unable to be outside, with animals or creating. Maybe it feels different when you get there. But my point is that I realized if I did live to 78, that's only14 years away, that is the same amount of time I lived in Yamhill. It is so odd to see it that way but it is a fact.

So I started seeing the next 15 year chunk more like a living creative project. What will I do with it?

I will keep doing my work here. I will keep writing and creating. But what else, what might I want to try or expand, or quit?

I do know I'm quitting certain people. I'm quiting 'yes' to many things and instead am saying, "No, I don't feel comfortable doing that for you anymore." As a pleaser, sometimes I say 'yes' before I think it through, or ask myself, "Do I want this, or is it this other person that wants this and I am capable of giving it to them and that is why they are here, but do I want to engage my energy in this?".

 

Tonight's lineup failed...but this cracks me up

 

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The courage of the sunflower

I've been watching this sunflower all winter. It was a volunteer mammoth that never fell and I let her stand. I can't help but see the symbolism of her - as Ukraine's flower, she is like any Ukranian now-roughened, torn and beat up, but she's still standing. I am not going to plow her down and will let her stand until she falls on her own. But my hope is the other sunflowers will be growing around when she goes down. And my hope is the torn Ukrainians will stand to see their next generation.

The Goofballs in the barnyard need your help!

Spring fundraiser! I usually do this in early March but the world is so upside down and I hesitated to ask for money when there is so much worldwide need and suffering. But life goes on in the barnyard because of your support. I will be giving away some prints and even if you share now before I announce those you will be eligible to win.

Costs are higher than ever, hay prices are expected to be high due to gas prices, our electric bill alone went up 20%, cat litter has gone wonkers, and fencing and building supplies are rising. 

 

Martyn and I do not take salaries out of the non profit. All money is put to direct use for the farm, animals, vets and maintenance. We do not charge our elders at Maine care facilities for our animal visits, and only ask for donations from private non medicare homes.

 

We love what we do. We've been taking in elder/needy animals since 2004. A lot of love, a lot of loss, a lot of beautiful moments-we are grateful for your support!

 

You can donate here on the blog, or at Facebook Fundraiser page, or by check [made to Apifera Farm Inc., posted to 315 Waldoboro RD, Bremen, Maine, 04551 Att: Katherine Dunn]

The doves returned, with my mother of course

I had been working on this canvas, and it started with a more realistic dove, but I didn't like it. The thing is my mother came to me the day she died as a dove-she sat in a tree for over an hour not moving while I was inside the picture window painting the house. 

So when doves have come to me in the past 9 years since her death …nine times out of ten it is her. The dove returned that nested here last year and I was thinking of that dove as I painted, I was honored she returned tot he same nesting spot, but I think I was really thinking of my mother.

I am not sure if this canvas will go to Sundance or not. If you are interested in it, please contact me. 

In which I lied to Franklin Muffinpants

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I guess we need more Teapot & Teddy Days

I had gone to the outer barn to get The Teapot, to take her to Cove's Edge to visit Linda, and other elders. As I was standing there getting a halter, a large white puffball showed up...Teddy! He had jumped another fence, this time a pasture fence without wood. The wire was not hot since Buddy had recently chewed the ground wire.

I know he jumped the fence because he wanted to be there in that barn with me, since that is the same barn he goes to every morning with me. He was upset he wasn't going and wondered "why" is she going there without me?

I know a good rule of thumb in working with animals is, what is the motive behind the behavior? Is he jumping fences because he's scared, because he wants me, or because he senses he should investigate?  I don't think he's scared. And as much as he likes me, I think it is a combination of the latter two. He spends his mornings with me in that area and barn, so this is the first time he witnessed me go there without him.

And for the record, Martyn spent all weekend adding taller fencing and getting the wire running again. I spent the morning adjusting some areas too and now I feel good about that one goat paddock. It took a year or so before I really trusted White Dog out west [and before he trusted me, I guess].

So I walked The Teapot out and went to put Teddy in his safe spot, his stall with large kennel. But he refused entrance. I tried many maneuvers, but finally gave in, and said, "Fine, you can come too."

It's something I would have done sooner or later, but since I was on my own that day had intended to leave Teddy home so I could focus on The Teapot, and the elders. But Teddy came and he and The Teapot were both great. There was no trouble walking them together and it was a really good accident that turned out well. The Teapot does great when she is on hard ground and can't be swayed by grass. She seems to really like the attention - unlike sassy pants, Captain Sparkle, who gets fresh [but in the cutest way!].

So I was really happy about this.

Linda, our elder friend who is in hospice, and also went blind a few years ago, gets a lot out these visits. They help her anxiety and she simply loves animals, and was an avid horse person in earlier years. We'd both been waiting for a warm day and it was sunny and 66! Oh was that nice. I was also happy to see how well both of them did when I handed the lead rope to my Girl Friday-there was no bad behavior.

We will have to do more Teapot & Teddy Days!

Pickles learns what peace is

 “What’s wrong with Mrs. Dunn?” I heard Pickles ask Earnest the Pig.

“She’s feeling upside down today” said Earnest.

“Upside down? That sounds dreadful,” said Poetry, one of the old goats. “It would give me gas.”

“Mrs. Dunn, what does it feel like to be upside down?” Pickles asked me as she jumped up on the rock next to me.

“Out of sorts,” I said.

“But it’s your birthday!” squeeled Pickles. Suddenly everyone broke out in a very disjointed version of the birthday song and despite my upside downess, it did bring a smile to my face.

“Are you feeling old, is that it?” asked Earnest the pig.

“Not really,” I said.

“How old are you, Mrs. Dunn?” asked Hannah, who was one.

“Sixty four,” I said.

“Oh my Lord, that is very old,” said Poetry the old goat. “You must not have long to go.”

“Humans live longer than goats,” explained Earnest.

“That’s even older than that ancient turtle that was in National Geographic,” said Pickles.

“I am moving as slow as turtle today,” I said. “Sometimes, you just have to be with your upside down feelings, even if it’s your birthday,” I said.

“When I get upside down, I close my eyes and think of the things that I can do to make it a better world,” said Earnest. “Like write a sonnet, or a poem of love.”

“That’s very nice, Earnest, and very wise. But the world needs more than I can give it right now,” I said.

The donkeys had slowly made their way across the field to join the conversation.

“Mrs. Dunn is upside down,” Pickles told the donkeys.

“Oh dear, being upside down is a dreadful state” Paco the poet donkey said.

“Just sit with me,” I said. And they did. “I am grateful we are all here, and not in danger in Ukraine. Those poor people, those poor animals,” I said. “If I could have one birthday gift today, it would be peace, and I would give it to Ukraine.”

Pickles leapt to action, and Hannah followed.

“Where are we going, Pickles?!” Hannah asked.

“We must find “peace” and get it to Mrs. Dunn,” said Pickles.

“Oh, little Pickles,” Earnest the pig said, “I’m afraid “peace” is not an object to be found, it is something one grows in one’s heart, and it goes out into the world through peaceful actions.”

“Why is that man hurting the people and animals?”  asked little Hannah.

“He has no heart,” I said.

“Then how will he grow any peace inside of him if he has no heart?” Pickles asked.

“He won’t,” said Earnest the pig. “He won’t.”

Hannah cried. Then Pickles cried. I cried too.

Old Matilda, the very old matriarch donkey cleared her throat to speak. Everyone stopped crying, as Matilda rarely spoke but when she did it was always with wise, motherly love.

“We must visualize the mothers and children and animals and elders surrounded with sunflowers,” she said.

And we did.

Teddy continues to share love

Teddy visited Cove's last week and we saw Linda, our elder friend who is in hospice care, and blind. She loves animals. We haven't been able to get The Teapot to her {she loves horses} due to weather but Teddy is almost as big as a pony so it helps her a lot. Teddy loves to be brushed too.

We also met a new resident and she was sweet as can be. Despite memory issues, she understood what an animal was and is and she enjoyed touching him and petting him. Next week Teddy will visit Lincoln Home for the first time.

He is doing well here. But we discovered he is capable of jumping very high fences if they are wood-he can propel himself over with his strong hind legs and claws. My farrier and I witnessed it and it was amazing. So we've had to adjust many areas so he can't get out. He wants to be with me 24/7! I knew he loved people and it is clear this is not an exaggeration. In fact, he's almost dismissive of the other animals, even Marcella. They get along but he clearly would rather be with me. I have been crating him in his stall at night [which Martyn reinforced for me this weekend] and it works well, as his crate is his safe harbor. I'm a firm believer in crate training. He is afraid of loud storms too and his crate will help him feel safe. I put Marcella in with him in the stall and then in the day I've got them together in a goat paddock. I thought Marcella would help him settle, and to be honest, I think it is more that he needs to know each day I will come out and be there. Once I leave the paddock, he cries for a few seconds, and settles. I've been putting him inside during rain because he's not that demonstrative with the goats and if it gets stormy I'm afraid he could panic.

So he is a very different dog than White Dog, and that is okay. One has to adjust to a new dog and we are. I just want him to be safe, and I also want to be able to sleep well knowing he is safe in his crate which he is. The crate we got is huge, made for Danes. He can stand in it and move around. It also means he can eat in peace, and Marcella can eat in peace. These dogs don't like interaction when they are eating, trust me. 

But he loves to know when we are going in the truck. He is going to be making lots of love visits.

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It's my birthday but I'm upside down

I turn 64 today. The sun is out. I saw my father at the window this morning-he came, as usual, as a single red cardinal. Moments later, my mother appeared, as a dove. So that was nice. I had made my mother's sturdy white cake with chocolate frosting a day ago, so I could take teeny bites all week. I just can't eat that much sugar and rarely do, but I thought of how many times my mother made that cake for me. 

Then the power went out and it made my day feel upside down, but it came back on two hours later. Note to self: you have to get confidant turning the generator on.

I just feel sort of upside down today, unable to make simple decisions, like what should we have for dinner on my bday. Or what should I do today. I guess its the weight of Ukraine on my mind and heart. I don't know. I did this painting this past week, in honor of the little child that died. I wrote about it back then when she died she was in her pajama bottoms that had little unicorns on them, she and her parents were trying to get food. She died in ambulance, with her parents bloodied and weeping. It was all just so sad, and unnecessary, and unfair. Fuck Putin.

The painting honors the little girl, and I called it "In heaven the unicorn on her pajamas came to life and her belly button grew a sunflower".

Maybe I'll drive to the ocean and looked out at her. I don't know.

My much younger and sweet farrier says I don't look older than 50. I think I finally look my age. I think I looked younger than many for some time, probably because I don't smoke and I take care of my skin. But in the last year, I see photos and what I see in the mirror, I think it looks 64. It feels like 64 is closer to the next decade than the last. That's sobering. I have a lot to get done.

Happy birthday to me. I don't have to worry about being killed by bullets today. I just wish I could put an end to the madness.

By the way, I treated myself to a beautiful robin egg blue linen scarf from a small company in Lithuania called Sand Snow.

 

One year with Buddy

It's the birthday of one of the biggest clowns on the farm, Buddy. He is one year old. The picture above was on the day he arrived, a quiet and somber little chap, but not fearful. Bear was more of 'hold me and don't let go' pup on arrival.

After Muddy died of bone cancer, we brought home a pup, Bear, and we watched him run around pretending The Goose was his dog friend. Bear played every day with Mister Bubbles, his large equine rubber ball. He loves Mister Bubbles to this day, proudly displaying it in his mouth at a fast trot.

Out West, we always had the two chocolates, Huck and Muddy. When Huck died, Muddy was getting older and he had our old pug, Hughie [still miss that guy to pieces, both of them]. But with Bear, it felt like we needed to not wait to get him a friend. The pandemic had hit, and Bear had a wonderful 3 months at Cove's sharing himself with elders. Once Covid hit, our outings were gone overnight, as was socializing him. I decided, what is the point in waiting to get another pup, we aren't getting any younger [we had waited five years the time before, so one dog would be mature when the pup came].  

Well, on came Buddy. He was much more independent than Bear, still is. Bear still feels more like my dog, and he still wants to be with me if I'm petting Buddy. But he has matured a lot and is now two+. In time, who knows, he might do elder visits again.

Having two younger dogs at once is a switch, especially labs, and with the four inside cats, a lot of bing bought bing boom. Everyone gets along but there are moments when I am clearly living in  a Booth cartoon [showing my age again].

There is just something nice about two chocolates.

We love you little Buddy, you are a good friend to Bear...and Franklin Muffinpants.

Would you be a brave Ukranian? Get the anger out of your body, she said, do art, write, speak

I think there is not a person in the world right now who is not distraught about the war in Ukraine. If you aren't, I don't understand. Coming on the heels of two plus years of the pandemic, civil unrest, political chaos....it all seems too much. But here I sit, not in a war zone–at this moment– so it is nothing compared to what Ukrainians are going through, the ones who haven't died that is.

It's wrong. I wonder sometimes if there is karma. I always believe the universal laws, invisible to us humans, always work it out and makes evil doers and crooks and liars pay, somehow. It often takes more time than we would wish. But you look at the evil that Putin has been doing for so long [please research this on your own if you don't know his career of atrocities], and you wonder why the universe hasn't stepped in.

So I'm devastated about the carnage, the plain unfairness of what Russia is doing, and gobsmacked by people in the political world in the USA who ally themselves with this deranged  dictator.

The images of the six year old girl, bloodied, wounded from gunfire or explosives while trying to get food with her young parents, that pushed me over an edge. But I had to look, and I did not glance, I absorbed it at length, caressing each of their faces, crying with them, praying for them. She was in her pajama bottoms, that had unicorns on them. She was trying to get food.

I feel we must not look away. We in our privileged places get to take breaks from the on the ground horror, but we must not look away. I have been studying the various links to how to help the people there, and eventually will pick one. I hope you will too if you are able. The bravery of these people, old and young, taking up arms. Can you imagine this? Can you imagine if Russia invaded Maine at the border of Canada, headed for Augusta, an hour away? Can you imagine being told to take up arms, make bombs and stand your ground? Would you do it? I asked someone the other day, all the people driving around with upside down flags, Confederate flags, or the people who brazenly stormed and destroyed the sanctity of the Capital, would they defend their state/country if this happened? Or would they join forces with evil, or become their own state and abandon what they had seen as corrupt government? I look around and I am not so sure that many Americans would be as brave in this situation. We have the privileged of not being on the border of such evil.

A friend sent me a quote from someone, I've since misplaced it. But it spoke about what to do with angst, anger or fear in such extreme times as this war is presenting. The gist of it was to not bury the feelings in your body, but to bring it out through art, poems, songs, creative expression, talking, shouting...One does not always have to go online with puppy dog photos and cats in hats. Sometimes even us happy people must shout through art. I noticed I lost a smattering of 'followers' on IG, most of whom I don't know, and i don't care. But there are people who just don't want to see it or hear it. They want the farm lady to just stick to the cute dog videos or magical goose pictures. I don't care about that, just as I would never do a painting 'that looks good with my living room furniture'.

I pray for Ukraine. But they need much more than prayers. I don't have the answers, and at first I felt we were not giving enough. The more I hear historians and military people I respect speak, I understand the dilemma we and other countries are in. Putin knew this. But he and his reptilian face [Madeline Albright's op ed was so insightful] are weakened by what he's done. 

Teddy's maiden voyage

 

It was meant to be. It worked out just as it was meant to. White Dog helped, I know it. But there were other invisible forces going on too. The rescue that had Teddy had been working with him for over a year, making sure they understood what Teddy's true calling was so he would be placed properly in the best situation. He really loved Teddy and after I shared photos of Teddy on his first visit to the elders, he wrote me back and was so at peace with the fact he waited until the right fit came, a fit he would sense and feel was right. I guess several other adopters came along but for whatever reason, he felt they would not be a good fit for Teddy.

We visited our friend Linda on Wednesday and Teddy was great. Linda is our elder friend who is in hospice care and has several medical issues but also went blind several years ago. It really helps her to hold animals, and we spent two hours with her, all the while Teddy stood and was brushed and hugged and loved on. 

Teddy and I are doing great and our routine together is becoming clearer to Teddy and it shows in his demeanor-he seems much less anxious about 'where are you' when I leave the barn to do chores. The routine is becoming consistent for him. Teddy gets to be a dog, Teddy gets to bark in his field in the day if he feels he should, and then Teddy get his own palatial stall to sleep in. I also started bringing White Dog in at night in his final year-there are donkeys and llamas out there and really no need for night time guard since we don't raise animals anymore, and all the goats are up near Marcella.

To be honest, I like this. I like knowing Teddy is safe inside. I have become a wuss, to be honest. It also helps me see how well, or not, he is eating. He is like White Dog, he grazes, or takes days to eat. So I switched foods and that seems to have been a hit, and, wait for it...I've been poaching boneless chicken breasts chucks for him. Gads, I'm getting soft! But he needs to put on weight.

To look out and see him in the snow today, in the storm, it is like white Dog and he were having a brief conversation,

"Teddy, you are doing great, thank you for helping her," White Dog says.

"White Dog, thank you for helping me get here."

Visit Instagram to see more of Teddy's first week.

He has arrived...introducing my heart dog...Teddy!

 

I knew it was meant to be. I knew White Dog was helping make this connection. I know White Dog felt my pain after he died. He could feel my pain when he was alive and in death I know he knew I needed something huge, a project.

And the I saw Teddy. And I kept thinking of his face, and I ended up adopting him from the Pyr rescue in Virginia, where they had worked with him for over a year to determine what would be the best job for him. I alos found out when he arrived that his first owner, his only owner, was an elderly woman who lost her husband and she had to sell her farm,, and she sent Teddy tot he rescue. My understanding is he went everywhere with her as well as guard her goats and hens. When I hear his first owner was a loving elder who had to give him up, I think maybe she too had asked the spirits to help Teddy land in the right place.

He arrive yesterday, we are forever grateful for the rescue to have driven him all the way here for a very fair fee. We felt it was best for Teddy, so we are so happy he did. I have a secure suite in barn next to MArcella for him. He did just fine on his first day, and night. I couldn't wait to get to him in morning. When I opened the stall door, he was lying about and at first his face looked sort of sad, but then it's like he remembered me and was happy. I did chores in barn while he ate, and then took him out to equine barn where he can be in field and come and go to see me. He definitely is still wondering where he is, but he's happy. I still don't want to put him in pasture alone until he settles more so he is going out in increments with me.

Today I took him to visit Martyn at work. He rides great! SO great for our healing visits to elders. He is unfased by chain saw and loud sounds too.

He is not White Dog, but there are moments where it is like they both merge in and out-when I look out in field and see him. White Dog was more an explorer, more brave, Teddy seems more like he needs my reassurance. He is not timid in the least, he just loves people.

While White Dog was my spirit dog, Teddy feels like he is my heart dog...and White Dog knew I needed him. He is the dog I need. I was thinking how Bear was going to be that, but once Covid hit, and we got Buddy for Bear, I feel like Buddy and Bear are a team, and they need each other. In time I think they will be possible candidates for visits, but not right now.

Teddy is a stoic guy who simply loves touch. How perfect for our elder friends. Stay tuned. And visit Instagram for an overabundance of videos and photos.

Earnest the Pig helps us understand what "hope" is...

 {My latest from my Tails & Tales column for the Lincoln County News}

 

I was leaving to get some errands done when I heard lots of chatter in the front barn. One learns to check in on such activity to make sure nothing is amiss–and it often is.

“Oh I want green beans, the stringless variety,” said Earnest the pig. “And of course, put me down for some large pumpkins too.”

“How many rows will 1000 beat seeds be?” said Ollie the goat.

My curiosity was on high alert as I looked down at the catalogue everyone was gathered around.

“Burpee’s Seed Catalogue,” I read out loud.

“Oh, Mrs. Dunn, the joy of dreaming of spring in February,” said Poetry, one of the old goats. “Makes my bones and joints hurt less just thinking about it.”

“I plan to grow only lettuce this year,” said The Goose. “I am getting different varieties but want a lot of Buttercrunch...so tender.”

“Mrs. Dunn, what are you getting?” asked Pickles.

“A back ache, thinking of all these garden beds. I can’t take care of all your beds, I have my own to tend,” I said.

“We’ve got a scathingly brilliant plan, Mrs. Dunn,” said Pickles.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said.

“We have talked to the chickens who will have grub duty, Earnest will till the rows, me and Puddles will be in charge of harvesting,” said Pickles.

“That is scathingly brilliant,” I said, doing a quick and tiny eye roll. “What if we just stick to pumpkins and sunflowers for you guys?”

Everyone stopped for a minute, some chewing on their cud as they pondered this new development.

“I really had my heart set on a green bean casserole–you know the kind your grandmother made, with mushroom sauce and shaved almonds, and crunched up potato chips on the top?” said Earnest the pig.

I’ll get you an Oysterhead Pizza instead,” I said.

“Fair enough, I like the shaved Brussels sprout one,” the pig said.

“I really like beets,” said Ollie, “especially the tops.”

“I always plant way too many beets and you’ll get some of mine,” I said. “So we’ll order sunflowers and pumpkins, okay?”

I started to walk away, and noticed Earnest the pig gazing out to the fields.

“It’s all about hope,” said Earnest. “In the middle of winter, the little seeds are under ground in the cold and dark. And even though we can’t see them, they are busy percolating, getting ready to be born. Imagine, living deep in the ground, hearing the winter storms above you for months...it takes courage to believe everything is as it should be and will evolve into what it will be. That is hope.”

The animals had gathered around Earnest, and had listened intently to his wisdom.

“Earnest, do you ever lose hope that winter will end?” asked Pickles.

“Well, I do love winter, but some winters are especially bleak, and relentless, and sometimes I feel
I’m losing hope,” Earnest said.

“What do you do then?” asked Pickles.

“I read the seed catalogue,” Earnest said.

Red Bucket

I did this last week, it is now on the shop. I called it "Red Bucket" because I want the viewer to have their own experience in deciding what it is about. Or maybe they just like the colors, I don't know. Some of you will see the symbolism, and the references to Apifera.

But I much like it. It pleases me.

Another very grumpy arrival to Apifera

Introducing…Francine. If you think she looks cross it’s because she is. 

She has been at the shelter since May due to her anti social behavior towards people. They tried many things to see if she would overcome her distaste to humans but to no avail. My contact wondered if a quieter life here would help or at least get her out of the shelter. She arrived today and is safe in a cubby cage and I doubt I will see her for a long time. She is okay with cats. 

I don’t think this will be a Walter story…but who knows. She’s had most of her teeth pulled. So we will let her be herself and maybe in time she might accept my touch.

It made me think of Rosie the pig...aka The World's Grumpiest pig But I'm Fine As I Am Pig. ROsie was living like a princess as a piglet in the home of an elder woman. She had her own room and bed and I'm not sure anyone really touched her. But the woman died and Rosie was eventually sent to a sanctuary. It was there she met Stevie the crippled goat-he was the only animal there that would tolerate her grumpiness. I happened to be wanting a pig back them, at the old Apifera out West. I called them and talked to them about Rosie, and told them I wasn't sure I was right for her since I'd never had a pig, but the more they talked to me the more they wanted me to adopt her. I also said I didn't need another goat as I had many elder goats I was caring for, but they said Stevie the goat had to go with Rosie.

And so we took them both and I am so glad we did. A remarkable story of acceptance and friendship-just the way you are kind of friends. Rosie was able to come to Maine with us. Since she was so grumpy and nobody tolerated ehr well [Stevie had died by then] we made her a special hut for the trip and she slept the entire way and was as content as can be. She lived another couple of years but grew old, and crippled. She was blind. The Goose befriended her and slept on her for warmth. I miss her.

But the point is, I could not change her and it taught me a lesson that my role is to create a safe place for an animal, and to observe, not force. Observe them over many days, weeks and months, and see what they need and want. Rosie wanted nothing, except a safe bed, some sun now and then and on good days, a belly rub.

So we will let Francine have her cubby, and she can come out in the dark and be a cat, and in the morning when the sun rises, she is free to return to her cubby. In time she might enjoy a window seat.

Blue clouds