A real cat now

The final Apifera Farm cat has been neutered. Little Orange took the big step yesterday to neuterdom.We told him what we told all the cats before they were caught and brought in to the vet -"You're not a real cat until you take responsibility for your reproductive organs". They always listen intently to the speech. Little Orange, being the most teeny member of the Apifera Farm possé,is also one of my favorites. Perhaps it was the fact he was born in a wood pile in the middle of winter, or that he is the teeniest little orange thing, or that he still kneads the ground wherever or whatever he is doing. He joins me in the front garden to weed, he loves to be held, and he is the only one of all the cats that does not go to the big barn for feedings. He entered that barn once, and looked so proud at the accomplishment, but I guess he only needed to do it once. He prefers the front deck, where he can sit on wicker and have his very own garden which to this day he firmly believes was created just for him. When I brought him home from the vet, he is the only one of the cats that didn't leap out of the cage and take an hour or two to be alone in the safety of the blackberry bushes. He chose to sit in my lap, kneeding, and looking at me every now and then as if to say, "I'm REAL now, right?"

In his honor, I made greeting cards available on the store under "Farm Whim" section.

The road to total Apifera neuter/spaydom has taken 2 years. I am relieved it is over, for now anyway, until someone dumps a cat and it wanders up to heaven on the hill. And the word is leaking out to all ferels in a 20 mile radius -"Apifera - go there- warm barn - good food- safe- woman nice-husband harmless" . Trapping cats is stressful, for me and the cat. I hate it. I hate walking out to the barn that day knowing I am going to trick an animal that has learned to trust me over a few months, into crawling in a cage for tuna. Some I was able to touch as kittens, and hold, so trapping was easier, but never as easy as you think to get a cat in a cage that is used to living under the stars. Anyway, it is an important thing I want to ask you to do - please spay and neuter your animals. If you are feeding them it is your responsibility. I was blessed to be raised by a family that always had pets, and understood that responsibility and passed it on to me.

I am still working on a way to set up an escrow fund for donations so that cats in the area can be trapped and then spayed/neutered at my country vet. I have had one talk with the bank on how to set up an escrow, but don't know legal ramifications and details yet. So it is taking time I just don't have at this moment. But I will. And again, to all of you who have donated over the last two years to help me defray the cost of 20 spay/neuters [4 were nearby barn cats I helped]- it is greatly appreciated, by me and Martyn, and Lavandula Angustofolia [Gus], Miss Prairie Pussytoes, Mr. Bradshaw, Hazel Nut, Sweet Pea, Mr. Tomentosa, Big Tony, Mr. Pumpkin Head, Blackberry, Mama Kitty, Mr. Plum and Mr. Quince, the Late Mr. Weed, Little Fig and Teasel.
And last but not least, Little Orange, who is very real indeed.

When home is a field

Like I don't have enough baby animals to fret over, I now have three more. Less than an ounce each I suspect, baby sandpipers.

Saturday as we were tilling in the front lavender field, we were careful not to disturb the ground nest of the mama sandpiper. We had found the nest over a week earlier, and marked it with stakes so we wouldn't hurt it by mistake. The three small speckled eggs had survived another week, and we kept on with our work after we checked on the nest. About two hours later, I checked the nest again before a lunch break, and there was a brand new baby, who looked so much like the egg - survival of the fittest in action, the speckled baby looking just like the egg, blending in so perfectly with our speckled ground. By the time we came back from our picnic on the tailgate, all babies were born and amazingly mature looking within an hour - again, survival.

Thanks to the way we are maintaining our fields naturally, the left over green mulch allowed the nest to remain safe, or as safe as can be. I thought later how if we had put down plastic ground cover, we would not have had that experience with those babies. It made it feel like the hard work was helping three small little beings.

That night, as we sat on our favorite sitting spot now that the warm air is back, looking up towards our hills and hay fields where the neighbor cows are pastured, we saw the newborn calf out in the field for the first time. He was frolicking like a lamb, going to all the cows and introducing himself, then running back to Mama. Then back again for more introductions. It went on and on. Babies on the ground, babies in the hay field, babies in the barn. Babies everywhere. And I worry about each one, not every minute, but I worry the gates are closed after I drive off, worry the dog up the road will get in somehow and work someone into a frenzy, worry the hawk I love will pick the baby birds up. It's a relief sometimes to go inside.

So this morning, as Huck and I returned from town errands, I came upon those three baby sandpipers - There they were with mama, on our gravel road, making their way towards the stream. They were remarkably larger even after 3 days. Three days they have lived, in a 700 square foot area of land at most - a trip across the driveway to the stream must be pretty exhausting. And confusing. I stopped the car so mama could gather them to safety, but one little guy panicked and ran the opposite way, back to the pasture he knew. Huck and I must have sat there for 20 minutes, waiting for that patient mama to gather her family, which she finally did.

Between the warm air on my skin and the sound of the babbling stream, dog at my side, it was 20 minutes well spent.

Moo decipherings

I took a break from painting yesterday to work in the lavender field for a couple of hours. It was our first real summer-ish day, and being inside all day wasn't possible. It was perfect temp to work in the field, new enough in the season that being a bit hot felt so good, and no bugs yet to spit out as I worked. As I was working, I could hear one of the near by cows that are kept in our adjacent acreage. It was a different kind of moo. I stopped to watch her at a distance, and as all the other cows were off grazing, she was standing, head up, very still a long way from the herd. I knew immediately she was most likely in labor. It dawned on me how I have learned a lot about the nuances of animal sounds and their different meanings since moving to the farm. I was pleased when later on, I found out she had been in labor. I think it is safe to say I know more about pregnancy in ewes and cows now than I do in humans. I would have no idea what to do with a woman in labor, perhaps get them to a near by barn and prepare a bucket of warm water with molasses, check on them every half hour or so.

She's my favorite cow of the herd, the only red one amongst the black Angus group. She has incredible eyes, and I have told the farmer who owns them I think I want to buy her. He chuckled. He has learned that although we are new at all this, we try our best, and work hard, and that is what proves you out here with these crusty guys. He once said to me, "I could spend all day watching my animals"...and I agreed. That is our common denominator. We have gained his respect as he has watched us in rainstorms and heat waves working on the fields or putting up cross fencing or redoing the old barn. He comes over sometimes to check up on the electric fence or something, and he often will stand around for an hour telling me animal stories. Sometimes, I've heard the same story a million times, but I never let on. They seem to get better with each telling.

This picture is of the same farmer's bull. One day when we first moved here, Martyn got up and causally said, "Katherine, there's a bull in our field". It was Hotshot. He was standing so pristinely in our front field, surrounded by dog fennel weeds. As far as bulls go, he is well mannered. For much of the year, he is kept separate form the herd and brought over at breeding time. It was so heartbreaking to hear his wailing when he wanted so much to be with his girls. So I would visit him through the fence and give him carrots which seemed to please him so much. When he ended up in our field this morning, I replied in a sleepy daze, "He's here to have carrots with me"...Later we found the area of the fence he had mangled to get through to our side. Some might assume he was trying to get better grass, or get a little closer to view his far off herd, but perhaps his inspiration was my carrots and companionship.

It's raining mamas

I'm surrounded by good mother figures and milk producers out here, well, except maybe Lewisia Pinkie who abandoned her little second born twin, Little Rue. So for mother's day, you can overwhelm the mothers in your world with must-have items from my Cafe Press shop. I mean what mom doesn't want shirts and mugs and such with this little face on it. After spending the week painting abstracts - which I love, and this week's finished piece just sent me to the moon and back, it rewards me so much - I enjoy making these silly little items which hardly anyone buys, thanks to my lack of marketing them. But, that's ok. It's chilly and rainy, I banged my knee on the way to bed last night and my shoulders are all cramped up from reaching high to paint the 48" canvas - so, I have this hankering' to bake chocolate chip cookies and sit by the fire. Before I know it, it'll be Pinot Noir hour...It's been forever since we were both inside on a weekend not working on some farm project. Spring is stopping and starting here. I read that California growers are really suffering this spring with the rains, unable to get their crops in. Some will lose their first planting. I am a mother of lavender, I guess, and witnessing their tiny little wet feet in the overly soaked ground makes me want to gather them all up and bring them in for the nite. Just like I tried putting a little dog rain jacket on Baby Rue today - she loved it, but the other sheep all fled her in a panic, and then Rue followed which made them run from her more - it was amusing, but I called her in and took it off, which calmed her flock. I even left the goats in, they hate the rain, and even Sky Flower hung out in the barn all morning. I took the time to just be with her, brush her over and over and over - each time I went to leave, she'd knicker, and I'd blow in her nostrils and rub her eyelids which she loves. It's hard to walk away from a barn full of love.

Wolves Will Not Eat Me Again

With the lambs safely born and under the wing of their mamas, I can focus again on art. I've been painting, but in broken up time frames. Now, I'm revving up for exciting new things - like painting for a new gallery in Atlanta that opens May 5th called Dalton Cowan Gallerie. [I will post their info when their new site is up soon] I have known the two owners for a long time now and I am so happy and jazzed to have my work there. Rob is a woodworker and artist and Stephanie is a renowned artist in her own right. The Atlanta market is a strong one, and I know they are going to soar with this gallery. "Teasel Weed and Dirt Greet Spring", shown here,is one of the pieces I will send down there. A lot of people ask me what teasel is - it is one of the most magnificent 'weeds' around - Tall, strong stalks, it grows anywhere and anyhow. It gets a cone-like flower on top with purple prickles that browns out and makes a lovely dried flower. I hope to harvest them this year and sell them for the farm. Most people out here would call that nuts, but I know there are some kindred souls out there that know the beauty of weeds such as these. I have teasel friends all over the property, and I appreciate how they feed the finches, and they also make wonderful hair brushes for all my little elf and fairy friends that live in the oak grove on the property.

I am feeling re-energized after a topsy-turvy business week. I am pulling all my work out of the Santa Fe/Santa Barbara outlets for business reasons. When one door closes, many more open. Within a few hours of the my decision, I was freed up to do some little abstracts instead of falling into the old mind frame - 'let's see, that guy only likes it when I do red ones, or women with birds." Sometimes an outlet gets hung up on what's selling, and they don't allow the artist to expand and flow where their muses want to take them. They are scared they will lose income or customers. They want you to do want is safe for them, and cloth it in words like "I really think that type of painting is your best, do more, they sell quickly". You get caught up in in it. And to qoute my guide Neil Young, "'People want to know why you don't make your most famous record over and over again,' he said. 'Because it's death.'"

Trusting oneself is one thing. Finding other people you can really trust to talk about your art in a helpful, guiding manner is another. While in the end it is me, the artist, that must listen to my own voice and trust it, it is also very helpful to find certain guides in one's life that can really help you through the muck of your process and path as an artist. Sometimes you think you've found one, but often it is wolf in lamb attire, calmly and Buddha like holding your hand, and offering you trinkets and gold coins to keep you going when you need it most as you the artist make your way through the forest.

This week, I was reminded that besides my own inner voice to trust, I have the wisdoms of some wonderful artist compadrés to back me up- they know who they are. I have some loyal customers that buy pieces some wolves leave on roadsides. And when I look at a painting like the one I have shown here, I say, "Bring it on wolves, you can't eat me."

Woman Horse, Horse Woman

It looks like one of my paintings today, a soft fog over the hills and pastures, and as I poured coffee into my cup, a blackbird flew and landed on the top of young tree. Perhaps it is like an old episode of Outer Limits - at the end of the show, our little farm is just part of a large painting.

I now have acquired another handy skill - banding, or as I like to say - castrating. No one says 'castrating" , but why sugar coat it - I have now altered the life of at least one small lamb who's destiny is now set. He will be butchered in late fall. The process itself was not that bad [for me anyway] and I was prepared for the lamb to get down afterwards and flop around -thanks to a heads up from my wiser shepherd sister over at Donkey Dan's place - but he got up and just sort of went on his way. Afterwards, I had a cast of something hanging over me - -I felt uncomfortable with being master over this small creature - I am in fact making decisions that will end his short life. Perhaps too, it was that I thought I had put up a boundary in my heart and head between the three rams to be butchered, and have not touched them much - but this morning I had to hold one in my arms and soothe it while we did what we did. He had a heartbeat, and warm little head and long eyelashes. He was not any less cute than any lamb, yet he had been designated, by me, as a meat lamb. I hate this. It has made lambing season different for me. If I live on a farm and raise livestock, some of them have to go, some of them stay. Some of them become trouble in the herd and are time and energy draining, some are just plain mean, some are dangerous. Those decisions seem to make sense. But when it's a tiny lamb, it's a conflict.

I was supposed to go down to the front lavender fields and weed for the morning, but instead I felt a strong need to be with Sky Flower, my horse. What was going to be a short 15 minute workout on the ground, turned into a trip down the road to my horse neighbors, and then a 2 hour trail ride with them. Being with the animal that I have worked so hard with for a year and who has come so long, along with me, is rewarding. It is even magnificent. A 1500 pound animal that has the ability to crush me if she chose too, yet agrees to work with me to learn subtle cues like 'cluck' means take one step, not two steps, Sky, but one step. And now she does. So she and I, we learn together even though it's not always pretty, or graceful. I was feeling tired before the ride and almost didn't go, but I am so glad I did. Sky and I had a good ride, and we got one more inch of trust built up between us - after all it is just as much about her trusting me not to lead her into danger, as it is me trusting her to believe me that I won't lead her into danger. She went down roads she had never been, and saw scary rocks that looked like trolls, and heard waterfalls that sounded like oceans and walked over bridges that made strange echo sounds that sounded like cannons. And through it all, she responded to me, and carried me home safely, where a flock of sheep stood on a hill, and a man worked in a field, and two goats greeted us as we neared the barn.

Springing

Today it was so blatantly Spring that even the dirt could be heard singing. Huck and I drove into town to go the feed shop for horse bedding and sheep vaccinations [where I resisted for the third week to buy spring chicks], then stopped to do our weekly shippings and then onto the grocery store for a quick shop of essential food.

As I walked into the grocery store, one of the regular employees , who is mentally challenged, greeted me at the door by stating "It's Spring! And the flowers are springing!" And then he laughed, and I laughed, and the more he laughed, the more I laughed. Two kindred self entertaining units, we enjoyed the moment. He also told me in a much more serious tone that the flowers like spring because they get hurt when they are in the dirt too long, which seemed like a very wise observation. This encounter, though brief, was one of the bright spots in the day. But there have been so many - like watching Huck's lips flap in the wind as we drove home with his head out the window. Between watching that in my rear view mirror while watching the coastal range out the front window, all the while listening to the new Ray Davies cd [loudly], well, spring had definatly sprung for this old farm girl and her hound dog.


Getting home, I was pleased that my temporary -monkey-cross- fencing in the yard area had held up, and there wasn't a flock of sheep meeting me on the main road. Yes, you people that know me or read this journal regularly know that I have supernatural skills building "monkey houses'. If you don't know what a monkey house is, you must first read some former posts on them [visit the December 12, 2005 entry]- but this picture is a perfect example of cross fencing done the 'monkey house' way. I wanted the sheep to mow down the grass in about an acre of property that is between our barns and house, and give them some nice lush grass to eat as the pastures are bare, or just sprouting. I had just enough pasture fence to get from the vegetable bed door to the other pasture fence, about 40 feet, but had to come up with ways to hold the fence up, since I had no posts there. So, my monkey-house-fence consists of a garbage can with wire strung to the fence and a ladder stuck in the fence, and some sticks and wire and wire around the sticks attached to the ladder. It works. I don't think it would make Martha Stewart's 'it's a good thing' list, but then again, none of this farm would [and for the record, I have nothing against Martha Stewart and consider her a genius in styling and propping a 'mythical life'].

I spent the rest of the afternoon cutting some teasel weed, which I'm determined to sell to the dry floral market. It has to be stripped of it's thorns, and is labor intensive. We have tons of it, and it is considered a weed of course, but like an artichoke or thistle has such magnificence and stamina, how can anyone not want it all year in a vase filled with yarrows or other dead weeds?

So, that is all. It is warm, it is windy.
It is Spring.

Combined dreams set free

What can I say, this is my man. Somehow, after years of hooking up with selfish, immature, moochie boys dressed sort of as men, I was given the wisdom to see what a gem this one was. I knew the minute Martyn knocked on my door 4 years ago that he was a kind soul, and that we would be friends. I quietly knew more at that instant too, but didn't share it with anyone, not even myself, and experience has shown me that when one has a knowledge they don't shout to the word, it is usually a solid knowledge based on real inner understanding.

Our story is worth repeating, only in that sometimes I forget how nice a story it is. I moved to Portland in 2002 from Minnesota; I grew up there, had lived many places, but after 15 years in Minneapolis, decided I needed a big change of terrain and lifestyle. I looked for two years at small country towns in Minnesota and Wisconsin, California and finally visited my brother and his wife in Portland, and the minute I got off the plane, I just knew. Less than year later, I packed up the car with two dogs and a chinchilla an headed west. I've never looked back.

I had found a sweet little tiny cottage in a nice neighborhood, and as the moving van was unloading a man knocked on my open door. I can still remember exactly how his voice sounded as he stuck his hand out and said, "Hi, I'm Martyn Dunn and I had to meet the new neighbor with the same last name as me." Yes people, we had the same last name, and in Minnesota there are not a lot of Dunns. it seems in Oregon there are quite a few. Upon meeting, I learned he was a landscaper and we shared a passion for gardening and growing anything from the start. He lived right next door in a postage stamp size cottage which was the cutest little gem in the woods you've ever seen. It had a lot of charm, he'd done a lot of work on it, but perhaps what I remember most from the first visit is he had his living room full of tools for his business. We became friends, were the same age, had both been single quite awhile and were not daters. When he told me he was an avid fisherman, my little mind became engaged even more, as I had always wanted to try it, and had vowed too ever since I saw it in Colorado. He had drawers full of feathers and things for flying ties, and soon he taught me how to fish. I got to see parts of Oregon noone else had even heard of because of those fishing days. On one very hot day, over 90 degrees, I could hear a lot of rustling going on his side of the fence, and could see trees shaking. About 30 minutes later, he showed up at my door with a bowl of freshly picked cherries which he had gathered by climbing up his own cherry tree. It was at that exact moment I let myself in on the secret I knew on the day I met him - I would marry him.

So, after we were sure we weren't related, we were married in our own gardens that we had created. We continued to live in our two houses, and eventually had to move. So we took the plunge and went for our dream - a farm where he could build a little nursery and I could have animals and raise lavender and stuff. When we would go fishing we'd always see places with riverfront property and I'd tell him we would buy some riverfront so he could get up and fish on his own river, and I'd make him pies of berries, his favorite. And here we are.

Pictures are good at making one slow down a little and remembering all that's happened, and all the little surprises that led up to taking that picture. So if you have a dream, let it grow on it's own but set it free too.

Little Mice Tales, and His Highness on the Loose

All heck broke out about an hour ago, when a startled shepherd looked out to see his royal ramness, THE Mr. Joe Pye Weed out of his regular pasture, and grazing in the front lawn area. How did this happen, you ask? Because the same shepherd left the ram gate open. This is one of those 'slap your shepherd hand into your shepherd head' moments - this is not a good shepherd thing to do, leaving gates open. So, a bit of a ram wrestling match proceeded for the next 30 minutes. Fortunately, with a lot of ear twisting, ear pinching, rump holding, and throat strangling - and the luck that there was a 100 feet of pasture fence on hand, the shepherd was able to get Mr. Pye Weed into a grassy area to graze for the day -until she risks her limbs and life again to get him back in his Royal Pad. This the same little Weed I used to hold and kiss - but as you mothers out there know, "they grow so fast', as you see from these pictures, Mr. Pye weed is no sissy - [watch for father's day t-shirts soon]...

On a nice note, I had an early morning work out with Sky Flower, riding her on the roads and practicing some of our recent lessons together. Their was a light breeze, and her mane was blowing, and the English Daisies were blooming. It all smelled so good. But now I must paint - which is good, as I am full of Apifera.

A proper place for little souls

Today was the first real spring day, the kind of day that makes gardeners get twitterpated. The kind of day that makes you forget it ever rained. I could actually hear things growing, really, the grass makes this sound when it grows - at least the grass on Apifera Farm does. Huck and I drove into town to pick up feed, and on the way home I couldn't resist stopping at one of our local small nurseries and buying some more honeysuckle, and chatting up with the two owners. Just seeing the plants and feeling the warmth of the sun made me change my plans for the day. Painting could wait until tonight - 65 degrees and sun were my muses today.

I indulged in working in the garden, and got all wrapped up into re-configuring my entrance to the Apifera Farm Small Rodent and Bird Cemetery. I'm quite pleased with myself, and even though my stone work is always crude, it brings me pleasure. I laid some old split rail that we brought up from the cow pasture, and created a series of 'rooms', one area for sitting near the cemetery. So now one can sit and visit with all the little souls buried there. And later in spring or summer, I will be able to expand the burial area. As I lay the split rails out in square rooms, it reminded me of being little and how we would make rooms out of leaves, piling them up to create walls. It was magical then, and it was magical today.

I must say, I do spend quite a bit of energy and time on that cemetery. I chose to hand paint the headstones and varnished them for protection. But each year I have to repaint them. I wish I knew how to etch in stone - but goodness, this would be a little time consuming. "Oh sorry, I don't have time to do a gallery show this month, I am busy etching bird tombstones..." Still, the quite of working under the two Redwoods while I care take the little cemetery is very soothing.

We had a wonderful weekend combining a lot of work [including hanging the door to our vegetable area which is now protected with deer fence] with a pleasant meandering journey over to a nearby Mossback Farm, owned by a couple we met recently. Val and Rich are so kind and gentle, very informative, from diverse/creative backgrounds and very busy reworking their farm to be more fertile and productive. They used to raise meat chickens, but cut back for a million reasons [their blog is very informative about agriculture and small farm issues] They have some sheep and a cow or two and are doing all this without any out buildings or fencing - they use temporary electric fence allowing them to rotate pasture. It was so good for us to visit another couple on our playing level, so to speak, doing the work bit by bit themselves, on a shoestring I assume, as we are, but enjoying it, and believing that they are making a difference for the land. I really felt good stuff going on there. It made me love our farm even more as we drove back home, and I heard the familiar sound of the driveway gravel under our car, and heard the sheep bleat and saw a swish of a palomino running up the hill to our barn. Home.

Kind little moments

When I finished these yesterday, I thought they were too kind, not strong. But today when I put them up on the store, I felt different. I commented to someone recently that I found it odd that I am in the middle of some conflicting feelings about some things, yet my paintings still seem peaceful, calm, optimistic, mystical, hopeful. It is as if I make a safe, ideal world in a 2D space, a space I can retreat in, or perhaps actually live in. Perhaps, as I walk in this world of war, financial uncertainty, separation from old friends and family, the shocking realization that people actually do die, and the anxiousness of a new shepherd's impending culling of some animals she now feeds and shelters - perhaps these little paintings are my ability to see one quiet moment of beauty and peace, and that is what I prefer to recognize consciously at this time. I choose the latter observation. Painting can help uncover on a conscious level, what the subconscious already knows - for me anyway. It might take days or months or years to see something in a painting that you knew all along, you just weren't ready to accept it, or announce it to yourself. So perhaps these paintings also hold secrets I know deep down, but just don't feel like seeing 'out here'.

I'm glad I'm the age I am now. I couldn't be thinking this way, or doing any of this farming stuff, in my 30's or early 40's. I wasn't ready to leave the world of 'revolving things' quite yet. That time was great and all, it was just so much more self absorbing. We're all self absorbed in certain ways, and an artist has to be, but then it was constant analyzing of one's self, looks, every word out of your mouth "what does that mean?', reading countless books on inner peace and soul finding missions, looking for signs in so many things, sharing way too much with way too many people, never getting filled up with any of it, and always looking for the upswing, caring too much about peripheral objects and about what people thought. Yea, my skin was firmer, but it's still skin that functions as it should and that's all I need.

I have all these creatures to care for now, 22 acres that gets carved out bit by bit, an old barn that is being helped by our hands. A marriage that caresses me, a husband that really likes me even after a 'crabapple moment' as we call them. I looked at a magazine the other day at the grocery store which I haven't done in ages. It showed the new trends in handbags. At a time in my life, this would have been stimulating, now it isn't. I'm stimulated by what's right in front of me. And when I need more than that, I just have to turn in 5 degree increments to see another view. OK, I would like a donkey. OK, I still get turned on when we get to buy new lumber...Hmmm..I guess maybe I am self absorbed, but it is in daily moments, not personal motives, career moves, award shows, clothes, makeup, trends, new restaurants. The lumber will help the barn or make a house for the goat. the donkey will protect the sheep, and ...play with me. I can dress him up in fun outfits. It took awhile to get here, I bought a lot of clothes and shoes and stuff too. Didn't need most of them. And I do need a new pair of shoes because Huck ate my favorite studio clogs. But it's been 7 months, and I just didn't feel too rushed to get them, I will, sometime.. "I used to have a treasure chest, got so heavy that I had to rest. I let it slip away from me, didn't need it anymore, so I let it slip away...." ...you know, Neil.

Oh, and Coral Bell had a beautiful, chocolate ewe lamb last nite at 5pm. I was so proud of her. New mom and all, she did it all with such dignity. And In keeping with naming everything after plant life, I have officially named the little ewe abandoned by her mom " Meadow Rue" . She reminds me of little Roo from Pooh Bear, as I hold her in my jacket while I feed her the bottle.

Honey, shouldn't we bring her in the house tonite?

On Friday at 4pm Lewisia Pinkie gave birth to twins. It was not a smooth process from the start, as she is a new mom and the most timid of all the ewes. Around 3 pm, I saw her standing and grunting and I immediately went out to gather all the ewes back to to the barn from the pasture I had them in that day. This meant shepherding the flock over some of our property, from one fenced area to another - usually this is a smooth process with Rosemary leading everyone in orderly fashion. Of course, the one day I needed to get a ewe in labor to the barn NOW was the day that Rosie just had to have some of that spring grass, and once Rosie gives up order, all hell breaks loose- Lambs running all over, Lewisia Pinkie running around with two little feet sticking out her rear. I fortunately got her in to the lambing stall soon after, but she did a fair amount of running around and I was sure that baby was going to fly out of her for an airborne delivery. When I got her into the stall, it was only a matter of minutes that she lambed, standing up. All appeared fine, she did everything just like a pro, licking the newborns, her teets were giving milk and she was feeding both. When I checked on her Friday nite, again, all was well and the ram lamb was big and tall, getting milk; the little ewe was smaller, but looked good. All that calm would soon change.


Saturday morning it was immediately apparant something was not right. The ram lamb was quite listless and just didn't seem with it. But more disturbing was Lewisia had now taken to head butting and very aggressive behavior towards the ewe lamb. She was not allowing her anywhere near her. We watched for about 20 minutes, but her behavior was so aggressive, we put up a wire fence to separate mom and baby ewe, but mom then just tried to crush her in the fence. So we caged the baby ewe and got the bottle out. I immediately consulted all my books about this, [and got loads of support from fellow shepherdess over at Donkey Dan's], and it is not that rare for a new mom to reject a twin. We tried rubbing the lambs together to reintroduce her scent, we checked the mouth on the lamb to see if she could be causing pain in sucking, and Lewisia's udder was fine. We forced Lewisia to stand still to let the ewe lamb get her milk that first day, but it was too dangerous we felt - too many big feet around little heads. We kept trying through the first day to re-graft her, but Lewisia was just freaked out by her.

So, it was feedings every 2 hours for a couple days. It was little naps in my lap and nite time lullabys. To say I am in love with this little ewe lamb is an understatement. She now comes to me across the pasture, responds to my voice, and likes to be held in the sun. I have her in a sunny little fenced area I concoted for her, so she can be next to other lambs and ewes, have sun, but separate from Lewisia.

The boy lamb had is own problems for that first two day period. His listlessness got worse, and even though Lewisia was trying to get him to feed, he just didn't do well at it. Within the mid part of the morning, we saw him really decline. So we interfered and fed him bottles too - By the midnite feeding, he was so much stronger. He now appears on his way and his running and jumping, so is over the hump.

I am afraid I am a little bit like those people you see in the movies, who have calmly prepared lists and read many books on the baby's arrival, but when the moment comes, they walk in circles... I am getting calmer, and relize with each lambing I know more than the last, signs to watch that are good, or bad. But still, when the initial moment of apparent labor starts, I can't contain telling all the barn, "We're having a baby!!!" [as goats, horse, ram, ewes, and cats say 'here she goes'] and my pace quickens, I do a few circles and start grabbing useless things, like, empty buckets. One can always use an empty bucket though, I've found.

And after all calmed down, including me, especially me,
I was able to show proud Papa, Joe Pye Weed one of his daughters.
Amazingly, I got something that can melt any shepherd's heart,
a kiss from the old ram himslef.

A flock, and some cat scratches

If you happen to be in the mood to go to Astoria, Oregon this Saturday, the "Flock" exhibit opens at RiverSea gallery. It's a nice little group show of 9 artists, including yours truly. I was pleased with the pieces I did for it - how could I not have a nice time painting birds. Someone told me if I ever painted a red cardinal to let them know - and it made me miss the cardinals of Minnesota, and I think I will have to do a painting of one as a tribute. A red cardinal on fresh white snow - it's a lovely, crisp site. Although out here we have the magnificent magpies and stellar jays, which some people hate, but I find them wonderful.

I am just settling down, after a rather, hmmm...traumatic morning of cat wrangling. I was suppose to take the last three cats in for neutering. After 17 trappings in the past 2 years, I am hoping this is it. These last three, Pumpkin Head, Little Orange, and Blackberry eat and sleep on the front porch - away from the cats in the barn. They are much more domesticated, and I have been holding them and even bringing Little Orange in on occasion to sit with me. They follow me around and garden with me. I thought this 'wrangle' would be easy. So confidant, I only got out one cage, and sat it in the inside of the house by the front door. When I went to do the morning feeding, I swooped them up easily, all three at once, held them, calmly brought them in and got them in the cage - but Blackberry got out, and ran to kitchen area. They are very quick, and until you do this, you just don't know. So I retrieved Blackberry, just before he was about to freak out and jump in the kitchen cupboard of china. Martyn was there, as were Huck, Billy and Big Tony - and at this point things were still relatively calm. So I had Martyn open the cage door, with the other two cats still in it- and I gave him all sorts of directions, as he's never caught any of the cats before and I knew he had no idea how rascally they are - well, he didn't act fast enough, combined with the fact that suddenly Blackberry freaked out and put all four clawed feet INTO my arms [if this has ever happened to you, you know that those claws do not come out, the cat just leaves them in you and you can't even shake that cat off of you] This is precisely the point where the morning went haywire. Martyn's reaction was to help me, so the cage door flew open, Little Orange and Pumpkin Head went skidaddle out of the cage and proceeded at a full cat frenzy into the living room. Meanwhile, Blackberry dislodged himself and went with them - as did Huck and Billy and Big Tony to get in on the action. Ever hear of what a squirrel can do if it gets in your house? Well, three semi domesticated kittens is worse, I think. Within a 2 minute range they had literally climbed up the curtains, knocked bowls and vases off the shelves, and even broke a window. Martyn was able to grab 2 expensive pieces on the ledge, fortunately. Meanwhile, I had no choice but to ---scream! And what did I scream? "OK! Everybody out of here" Oh, yes, that was intelligent. That made sense to cats in frenzy, a chocolate lab who thought it was a new action game, and a one eyed pug who just stood in the middle of it all watching blurry things zoom by. And then there was my pore, kind, gentle husband, who would move the ocean to my doorstep for me if he could, and the look on his face, which suddenly fell into the palms of his hand, as he heard things breaking as cats were fleeing...

Well, they all got the front door, and the damage was done. I was able to get Pumpkinthe Head soon after. And Blackberry came out to the barn for my barn feedings and I was able to grab him. I have cages all over for trapping, so there was one handy. But Little Orange was not to be seen, and as of this writing, he is in hiding. I am so upset with myself, that I put him in such distress. He of all the cats should have been the easiest. I shold have put them in one by one in separate cages. I thought doing all three in one swoop would be less stressful, but I should have know better.

At least two are getting neutered today, and I'll be able to do Little Orange more easily, if he ever comes out of hiding. I feel just horrible for him. The new holes in my arm were washed and dressed, I think I'll live. But my cat wrangling pride is hurt. I hate putting animals in distress, and trapping is always traumatic, but I really botched it.

Fortunately, I did a lot of work last nite, and there are new originals for sale on the online store.


Come home to me, Little Orange...

Drop by drop comes wisdom

I am in a passage of late, a passage from early adultness to mid adultness, a passage that sees many faces leaving this realm onto the next one - faces one has known all their life. I've talked about this in recent posts, I think. It is a passage that causes me to think things like, when I see the face of this little Norwegian girl, "Let's see, she would be about 30 now.". I took this picture in 1981 when I spent 3 months studying and traveling in Norway - all the children seemed to look like this there, especially once you got out of the cities into smaller towns. Photographs have a way of capturing a moment, but it is a myth really, that photo is a myth. Each person that looks at it will create or conjure a whole story into that particular photo, and it might not have anything to do with what was really there. Just like we look at Garden Design magazine, see a farm somewhere, and conjure up how those people live, act, are. But it's just their persona on print. You don't know someone from a magazine, or a blog, or a series of movies. It takes a long time to know someone, and all their folds and crevices.

So, I go on my way happily, and in this passage, I play games in my head like, "When this tree is 10 feet tall I will be 75 and my parents will be gone and so will Martyn's and Huck and Billy our dogs will be gone, and all the sheep too."
If I get particularly wrapped up in this particular game, all played in the safe confines of my head - and not shared - I can proceed to freak myself out. Not because I am afraid of aging, or death. It is the idea that the world as I know it now, will be so drastically different from the perspective of the 'group on top" so to speak - I'll be entering another passage where my turn to explore in the next realm will be the next big road trip. Hmmm. So this passage I am in now, is so much more juicy than the 20's or 30's or early 40's. It is better. It gets better every year. It gets bigger and more safe in a way, understanding it really will all end 'here, as we know it". No time for whiners. Everything coming into my life seems to be sent to me to help explore and prepare for some huge losses to come. Like the CD "Magic and Loss" a '91 release of Lou Reed - man, I love Lou Reed. Or Roseanne Cash's "Black Cadillac" [a beautiful tribute] which on the liner notes shows a photo of something she scribbled on the wall - "and drop by drop comes wisdom through the awful grace of god"...

So turning 48 on Friday was wonderful. It was a perfect birthday. I did what I felt like, which is pretty much what I do everyday. But I indulged in baking my favorite cake. And enjoyed a longer moment in the barn. I got a few surprise cards and a beautiful 5 foot tall trumpet vine from Martyn, along with my favorite dinner - HOT DOGS!! Yes, I really love hot dogs, even though they are pretty crappy, I know. That'll send you to the next realm quicker, I guess. And our weekend was so full of hard work putting up our vegetable deer fence and giving shots to lambs - AND, thanks to the encouragement from Donkey Dan and his mother over at Farmgirl Fare, we managed to find the courage to ear tag the three rams {Thanks you guys!}. It wasn't so bad, for them, but I didn't like doing it. It just had to be done.

Snow on a pumpkin head

We awoke to lovely huge flakes of snow. It reminded me of years spent growing up in Minnesota, when you awake and there is that silence, but yet you can sort of hear the snowflakes. It is so different than the rain, gentler. We don't get it often and it'll be gone by night - although the mountainpasses are socked in with 12 inches. I am always amused that in Oregon when it snows [there is maybe a 1/2" on the ground, none on the highways] the whole place stops. Schools are closed, things cancelled. My husband took a snow morning and lay in bed much later that normal-we lay there being goofy and singing made up italian opera to Big Tony the cat who sat on our chests.The goats walked out of the barn and stopped dead in their tracks, "What in the world happened here?" they asked me. But it was Mr. Pumpkin Head who caught my heart with this picture moment...


I just posted this piece on the online store. I was going to put it in the upcoming "Flock" exhibit at Astoria next week, but held this one back to sell myself. I like this one immensly for some reason. I am in a 'protect our fruit tree" mode, as we posted the little area with our fruit trees, along with our vegetable bed, and we will put up deer fence this weekend. A harbinger of Spring this Sunday was three barn swallows - "Swoopies", as I like to call them - were back in the horse barn, ready to make nests. Let the shows begin, of nite time swoops and acrobatics that are wonderful to watch with a glass of Pinot and your honey by your side [and dogs and cats drifting amongst your feet].


I have been running Stella and Iris the goats with the sheep. There was some head butting the first few minutes, but all is well. Morning breakfast can get complicated, as Stella is such a boss, and so is Rosemary the head ewe, then add the three boy rams who shouldn't even be in there, but I get tired separating everyone out and sometimes a shepherd just has to say, "Oh well". It still brings me much amusement, delight, joy, glee to see a group of faces like this - the goats especially are such charming devils. One shepherd tip - while walking in mud covered with slush and holding three buckets of feed while you are in front of your small flock, proceed gingerly, as it is very easy to get "swept" through the gate onto your butt and then head licked by goats and ewes. But even that is not so bad if you get to have sheep and goats, and horses and cats and dogs. And my new fantaasy - a donkey.

Paw prints of the heart

Today is the birthday of my old friend, Louie Louie, who left this realm in '04 at the almost age of 14. My companion and road trip warrior was consistently feisty with a touch of tenderness.

Some animals, like people, leave bigger prints in your heart than others, and there are huge ones all over my body from Louie. I get death, but the idea he would actually die on me seemed more fantasy than future reality.

I use to have this irrational fear. When Lou and I would go on our annual spring trek to Colorado from Minnesota, always through our beloved Badlands, I would envision getting into a car accident and as the ambulance pulled me out of the car, Louie gets out and gets lost and I can't help him. It never happened. After I put him down, I had similar irrational thoughts of him, somewhere, needing my help.

This dog could have had his own talk show or at least written a good memoir. He got out of a motel room once - by a maid's hand - while I sat eating dinner in the motel cafe. As I went back to my room, I passed the front counter.

"Hmmm, that looks like Louie, " I thought. It was. Louie was working behind the front motel counter, helping the motel clerks check in new customers.They found him a natural at customer service.

They say you don't fully understand a death until new life comes along after grief. On the farm, the lambs bring new life. Death walks side by side with birth here. The cycle of life and nature is natural and death feels like one stage of it rather than a jarring interruption. The body is just the holding tank like the water in the sheep trough that overflows and meanders to the river below. Louie's going on and on too. Somewhere.

I still would rather have his curly head below my feet as I type today, and a look up front his sleeping spot, as if to say, "What are you doing next?"

When I moved to Oregon in '02, Louie was already failing, blind and mostly deaf, loosing teeth, arthritic, and had had one minor stroke - but he was still
present and happy. He still loved my voice because it meant what it means to me when I hear my favorite person's voice.

I took him to the ocean for the first time. He probably could barely hear the waves, but as we walked on the beach, he trotted along like a kid, and as always, kept looking up at me every minute or so to say, "Isn't this great?!" When I look at this photo taken that day, I can just feel his course coat, and see his whitened, blinding eyes looking towards my voice.

His ashes are still in the box that I picked up from the vet that day. I hadn't intended to keep them. I planned to spread them on the farm he hardly got to know, so daisies could grow from him, and for me. But I can't bare to spread them as I'm afraid I might scare him.

"Where are you?" he might cry out to me.

It seems safer to have him by the nightstand, in his little box, with the lid closed, where I know where he is dry from the winter rains and safe from irrational car accidents.

The silent cloth

I am in a state that I have learned will pass, but I recognize it by it's silent cloth over my senses.

As I did barn chores, the banter I carry on with the animals was not present - I worked in silence. It was replaced with background chatter in my head about the ways to bring in money, the ways to keep going and make a living and not get sucked down by taxes, mortgages, equity line payments, heating bills, insurance payments, child support, old cars about to die, fencing that hasn't been bought yet, how to market lavender in an industry I am stumbling through, how to create art that is art and not a commodity from inception. This chatter has been present for me since I began as a freelance artist 10 years ago. I've survived by allowing the chatter to come, make a plan and keep doing it. If one thing doesn't bring money, flow to the next. Keep going. Never be through. Don't sit down. Never settle. Keep selling, selling, selling. It's exhausting. I'm exhausted. If I were a millionaire, would I be an artist? I have absolutely not one doubt I would be. I have always done art, even as a child, as a way, a desire to communicate something - usually a communication with myself of course. But would I have an online store, full of greeting cards and any other way I could think to sell my art simply to pay bills and survive? This I don't know. Maybe the selling of a piece is part of a final circle in the making of the art, an approval thing, that I need. Or enjoy. Of course it is a gift to make art that some people really respond too - to find out there are people who have watched your work for 10 years and get joy or an emotive journey of their own through it. That is one of my jobs here in this realm. It's my work. I take it seriously in that way. But today I don't feel light, I'm exhausted by it lately - the running of the machine. "The medium I've grown to like best is leisure and doing nothing. I'm in turmoil continuously with that side of my nature that requires leaving a record of my desire for order and for communication. The urge to communicate in a tangible medium is all tied up with urges of personality, ego, ambition, economy - Why do I send paintings off to a gallery except for those reasons? Otherwise I'd be free to let my life be a trackless medium." [Morris Graves as interviewed by Katherine Kuh]

I had a desire some weeks ago, inspired by old books on sun prints of plants, to make sunprints per se, by scanning all the various dead plants and weeds I find around the farm. This was the first one, of a dead/dying camelia branch. It pleased me, and still does. For two weeks or so it has sat unpublished from the internet, not seen by anyone. And for two weks I gave it the grace to just be itself, without thinking of way to try to sell it. But now, as I look at it, I can hear the chatter again, "This would be lovely series of prints - who can I show..." On and on, on and on.

And when I'm not getting sales, even teeny ones, I get down. I feel a bit invalid.
So that is how the silent cloth can shroud me.

Animals speak one by one - listen

I have been saying for awhile now that I want to write the stories of the various animals that come and go, often stay, on Apifera Farm. And now I have begun, finally. I created The Animals of Apifera blog that will have individual stories, some told directly to me by the animals, of the particular animal's life, or how it got to our farm. This is a long process - there are many stories to write and many more to come. I am already hopelessly behind, as the Apifera Farm Small Rodent and Bird Cemetery already has about 10 lost friends to honor. I will also be adding a map of the farm, and other facts and trivia about the animals. The first story is up - and I can't guarantee when the next one will be up. Be patient. It is especially difficult to write the stories of those that have passed, as I wrote those stories down on burlap and scraps of seed bags as they came to me in the wind and through bird messengers.

A face to love, and a monkey cage

How could a shepherd painter not be filled with comfort when this is the face I see first when I walk in my studio? The head on that dog, I want to touch it - certain things of beauty I want to touch, experience deeper than is physically possible, and this is when one is inspired to paint, or write, or create perhaps, when the physical just can't be consumed by simply sitting in awe.

The weekend was filled with a bustle of farm activities, not to mention my matey's birthday [spent having a lovely dinner at french restaurant Cuveé with chef fantastique, Gilbert Henry in our own little Carlton, Oregon - a gem in the middle of farm/wine land. We are so lucky to have it]. We spent most of Saturday gathering materials from Wilco for our vegetable garden, and more posts for the orchard area to keep out Fred and Ethel, and Fred and Ethel's many relatives. We went a little more in debt by buying a new compressor and super dooper framer nail gun, which I am afraid to load or touch because it's the size of my head. But the best part of the weekend perhaps was building another....monkey house, or in this case, a monkey cage. Yes, I know some of you have been waiting for more, and now you have one. This bamboo cage is just one of 5 that I'll make for a some scattered fruit trees we planted, that aren't part of the other little orchard area. I don't think I can bear another spring of seeing their little leaves chewed down. The beauty of these cages is that when Fred and Ethel see them, I think they will appreciate them as unique sculptures, and leave them alone. If they do venture their head in, they will get their head stuck in part of the interior monkey frame, and it will be so confounding, they will back out nicely and move on to grass and weeds. There is, I suppose, a chance they will become entangled in the cage, and carry the entire monkey cage with them when they run off. I am also going to hang little poems and windchimes on them to bless the little trees and give them instrumental music to go with the bee and bird sounds.

The only downer of the weekend was we left Huck in one of many pastures while we worked. Huck lives for three things, 1]food; 2]us; and last but not least, 3]poop. In fact, I think he would re-arrange the order of that list and put the latter in first place. I do not worry about poop-eating beasts, it is what it is. But after three hours eating mud and sheep/goat droppings, well, you know the rest. Fortunately, we own 3 shop-vacs, and fortunately the poor old guy was saavy enough to do the deed in the studio and not the living room. Lesson, do not put poop-eating beasts in poop infested pastures of other beasts for three hours.

Mlle. Helen Von Stein

In keeping with naming all animals on the farm after plants, we named Rosemary's little ewe "Mlle. Helen Von Stein", which is a variety of Lamb's Ear. This picture [she is on right] doesn't do her justice or show you her beuty, as she is gazelle like - I tried to find a Grace Kelly name derivative of something, but Helen Von Stein is quite lovely I think.

It is quite clear we need a new ram to mix into our line, along with Joe. When we got into this, I read as much on genetics and breeding as possible, and talked to many breeders of all levels. It gets confusing fast, but basically we need to skip a gneration each breeding. I will probably get people telling me not to worry, or to do it another way, but since we are raising primarily breeding stock at this point, it seems prudent. I don't relish keeping two rams, but, my goat breeder does it successfully in one pasture - and if you can have two of those big boys around, it seems I can handle two rams. Besides it gives me another reason to create yet another....MONKEY HOUSE!

My next learning curve is ear tagging. The rams will have to be tagged. I've registered everyone, and anyone leaving the property or being sold needs one. I think I've practiced on enough oranges. It seems cruel, but it is the law and needs to be done, or as they say, get off the pot.

I had a Neil Young dream last nite. But I can't totally remember it, and this bother's me, as when Neil appears in my dreams
there is always an important message to me. He never speaks, or speaks little. But the message is powerful. I'm disappointed in myself I can't remember it.

My writing is sloppy today, disjointed. I apologize. I was sick all week, and there are some things going on that are distracting me. I will clear my head today, I hope. Now, I must go feed Mlle. Helen Von Stein and family. And greet Old Oak who is one of many an Oak clan that lives near Helen's pasture. He is covered in moss right now, his winter attire, and he looks lovely next to blue sky.

"I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in." Muir