Do you know this girl ?

I do...

I'm Just a Wild and Crazy Guy

Ah, the sights and sounds of fall...pretty, crunchy leaves, pumpkins glowing, crisp air to breathe, and the chortling tones of a 300# ram chasing the ewes in the front pasture...

Last night I separated out the 5 yearling ewes who would get to sit out of this year's breeding. "There's plenty of time to get pregnant, enjoy your unencumbered youth and good figures," I told them as I put them in the stall next to their own mothers. I hate the separation stage. This year it went remarkably well. Of the five young ewes, I have twin daughters of Coral Bell, Blue and Honey, who show great promise of being calm leaders of their mini flock. Any shepherd will tell you, a group of youngsters without the head ewe can act downright...well, stupid. But this group tendered up well, and Blue has the calmness of her mother and grandmother Rosie.

As the newly separated ewes ate their dinners, I went to stage two - separating My. T out from his flock of rams. I decided to only breed Mr. T, and then next year both T. and Joe Pye will be bred. I haven't told Joe Pye he's not on this year's schedule, but I suppose he's figured it out by now. He runs in the same pasture with Stella and Iris the goats, and as horrible as some of my tender readers might think, I know he's getting some action of his own. But don't fret, Stella and Iris hold their own, and even flirt with him when in season.

So I put Mr. T in the secure stall next to his ladies in waiting last nite, not wanting to throw him in all at once for what would be a party something like the playboy mansion before even herpes became an epidemic. Mr. T decided that the 6 foot high window was not that far off the ground, and if it got him to his ladies a little faster, well, it was worth trying to jump for it. I hammered up some temporary boards to keep the fellow a bachelor one more night.

Mr. T, like most rams, lives for two things. Food and procreating. That is his purpose and he does it very well. When I let him out this morning for his first day of party down time, he wasn't sure what he should do first - eat breakfast or get right to business. He decided to multi task. Why postpone a good time when you can do it while stuffing yourself at the same time? He spent much of the first 20 minutes or so chortling [ a definite turn on] and walking quickly from ewe to ewe with his head in a slightly lowered position [as in photo], lips curled up and quivering. I won't get any more graphic, but let's just say he got his mojo working.

Each time I looked out today at the front pasture, I saw T chasing after one or another ewe, a quick mount, and then right back to eating. Two or three bites, then rush off to another encounter. As Steve Martin's character would say, "I'm just a wild and crazy guy."

German Pie Ambassador in Love with Pino

Pino has a very new and dear friend, in Germany, making pies and spreading love to young children. Friederike! and Pino have been exchanging love and letters, and their love of pie. Pino was so enamored by the lovely blue lass that he had me make a small replica of himself, complete with apron, filled with lavender so he'd smell a bit less donkey like for his new sweetheart. You can see how thrilled and happy Friederike! is on her blog entry today ...This is a good way to encourage every one to take an hour and bake a pie, and deliver it to an elderly friend or someone in a nursing home. Pie is love, Pino says, and I have found him to be right. And it's apple season! You can visit your local farms and buy apples, or visit this wonderful resource to find a local farm near you.

Now, we have declared it Friederike! day on the farm. We are saying everything with an ! after it, and giving thanks to our new friends from afar!
!!!!!!!!!!

Flute on the prairie

The winds have been here, and the ride yesterday was so nice. I am trying to squeeze in as many rides as possible in the next two months before the rains come. Boone's mane blowing, the sound of his feet on the hard dirt road, flocks of quail fleeing from the bush. But the most unexpected memory of this ride was the sound of a flute coming from the property we always ride by, where a young father played for his little girl as they sat outside together, a llama in the background.

I struggled with new phone line issues all week, and the always challenging conquest of working through the automated tech support at the phone company. I worked on an illustration today about this endeavor for my portfolio , but I just kept coming up with thick dark lines and messes. At least I got my venting out on paper. I gave up for the time being, and painted this, available on the store site.

Greet your doorman

When I lived in NYC way before ipods and terrorist threat levels, I lived on the Upper West Side for a couple years and each morning I would walk to my office building on 57th St., winding through the Park and down Fifth Avenue. It took about 45 minutes and was a wonderful morning routine, topped off with a cheese danish at the corner deli...ah the glories of youth, eating cheese danish and never gaining weight. The same elderly door man in the same red top coat greeted me every morning with "Good morning, dear, you look good today, " said in a warmly optimistic way that made me feel good.

Twenty some years later, I put on my office attire of rubber boots and fingerless gloves, greet the sunflowers followed by whatever cats are in my path. I am now the consistently present doorman for the chickens, giving them a routine that is important to all beings. Opening up the back door of the chicken coop, I greet them every day with, "Morning troops!", as they pile out in orderly fashion, usually in a tidy row. They have much to do, and get right to business. No dawdling at the water cooler.

On a sunny autumn day like today, the compost pile full of squash is emitting heat in fogged breath, and I'm aware of the gentle shadows that follow me...donkeys lurking. If you sit still, they always come over. I continue my doorman duties and greet the ewes, letting them out for their daily work, followed by greeting and feeding all cats...and of course, Mr. Boone stands behind his own Mr. Ed like door, nickering lowly. Together, we are sort of co-doormen for each other. I tell him it's a good day, and his muzzle against my chin responds, 'Yes, always can be..."

That doorman in NYC, I suppose he has passed on...I forget his name, but I remember when I walked in the building, I felt welcomed, and it was a crucial part of my morning routine. He served many people this way. No job is too little. Even when you're greeting hurried office workers, or chickens and sheep.

Aprons, again...

And you thought maybe I might have calmed down a bit about apron wearing...I made some apron clad rag dolls, stuffed with Apifera's lavender bud. I sold them all,alas, before putting them online - so made another, shown here. This little farm cat wears a lovely pink and white striped half apron...Her raggedy blue tail is like that of many of our once ferels, caught in too many fences. She's looking for a good home, and can be found at the Etsy shop .

And don't forget about the current September art raffle , speaking of raggedy cats...

Yesterday I was able to take a long ride with Boone. We walked in a recently cut hay field of a nearby farmer who has 300 acres and graciously lets me ride there, enabling me to stay off the busy roads as much as possible. It is flat land, with the coastal range in the distance, but the openness reminded me of riding in North Dakota. And the fall weather made me melancholy. I felt old and young all mashed together. Life and good health are precious. I have so much to create. But the ride helped stop my head for while. Boone's large feet made the dried leaves crunch and the sound was comforting. I remembered other walks and rides, and short journies as a child, kicking leaves as I walked home, knowing there was a homemade snack for me and my dog to play with.

"Animals," they say

I've added a new section to the store site where I will put original animal portraits , such as this new piece "Old Cat Waiting for the Pumpkins to Turn".

I hope to be prolific, but be patient. I only have two hands, and until I learn to paint with my feet, or mouth, I will do my best. It seems I am just not painting fast enough for the animal lovers out there. I am glad so many people are moved by these - the love I have for the subjects seems to be transferred to the viewers, even online, so that is rewarding.

The elusive BW

The yin yang of nature and the universe has once again proven itself. After losing Blackberry to an unknown demise about a month ago, another has taken his place...sort of...or is trying. The elusive "BW" [Black White] has been roaming the farm for a couple weeks, in tact with devises that can make kittens in multiple doses. I will need to trap and neuter him, which will prove difficult, as putting out a trap will more than likely catch a variety of critters - Mlle. Le Pew perhaps, or a hungry and naive Little Orange. But it needs to be done.

The poor fellow appears to have been dumped. On the first sighting, his coat was shiny and clean, he was fatter. He now is thinner, has a gaping hairless patch on his jaw, a fight I'm sure, and his coat is duller. I think I can tame him up over time. But first he must be neutered. I hate trapping, it's traumatic for everyone, including me, but in the long run, it might save his life, as he won't stray as much.

So, I am having a raffle to raise funds to raise funds for the eventual neutering, along with possible med needs. Last month's Last Chance sale was very successful - over 60 pieces were sold out of 100+ pieces, so it really helped clean out the file drawers - or in my case, boxes on the floor. So now, you can enter the raffle for as little as $30 and win over 30 old illustration pieces of days gone by. It's a win-win situation, you help me help an animal, and in so doing you have a good chance of bringing home some little art pieces for yourself or, dare I say, holiday gifts. Visit this link for details and to enter, as well as see the images of all the art you can win . Pass the word around too. And thank you.

Stories in my head

I want to tell stories. Every night I wake around 3 am, the pretty - much - precise - hour that Big Tony announces in body language that he is ready to go out to begin his day. One who lives with cats know they do keep different hours than we humans. I have taken to using the hour or so it takes to fall back to sleep to let a free fall of ideas come, go, come back, fester...It appears that one of my many muses from afar is poking me for stories. And since I basically live within a storybook of my own [don't we all?] I feel propelled to create and write more.

So that is what I'm doing, and I am having so much fun. I feel a huge hand moving me a long since about mid August. Many exciting things happened this week, and next week I should be able to share some.

And now, it is a beautiful day, and to quote from a book I am reading [which deserves it's own post later], "Life is right in any case. Whatever comes, my heart is as open as the sky. "

Me and Mr. Boone

As promised, I wore my apron riding today. I got this one from a vintage seller online from Wisconsin . It lacks a pocket, which would be helpful when gathering apples from the trees along our ride. I'd also like to point out that I do have a shirt on under my apron.

We had a wonderful ride, the weather is perfect, warm, breezy, no bugs. I named him Boone because he is so sound and sturdy that I see him as my guide taking me all over. If I were stuck in the woods, I'd want someone like Daniel Boone around, so I have the horse version. I have not written about him because I wasn't quite ready to talk about letting Sky Flower go. That decision took awhile, it was a process. Sky is now living on the farm of my farrier, an experienced trail rider and mule skinner, and he is perfect for her. She lives with 9 other horses, and goes all over the place with him and his family riding on camping trips. I am so happy for her - I just couldn't take her to the next level, as our two personalities, coupled with my intermediate training skills, didn't mesh completely for me to make her a safe trail horse. I tried two and a half years, and I made the decision my safety had to come first, and hers. I know she is happy, and safe. And I guess she has a pet cow now...can't compete with that.

Boone and I have been out on the trail alone, and I feel safe, confidant and so relaxed on him. He is chestnut, the color horse I've always loved most. He is a gelding, i.e. - he is a BOY, and I love that. He loves food, he loves food, he loves food. And he loves baths and having his stomach rubbed. It takes a while to get to know a horse, but I like him. My goal was always to have one horse I'd have forever. I think I finally have that now. He's only 9, and I expect many rides together, many years together. I think of Sky a lot, she was such a beautiful mover, graceful...Boone is more like a big bear. I haven't taken down her name plate yet, I don't think I will. You know, when someone's gone, and you just can't cross their name out of the address book.

On the wave

It is the first of September. It is the beginning of the eruption for me.
An eruption of growth and art, so begins my prolific time. Life is very much a wave from the ocean,highs, lows, constant, a shore, a horizon to view and guide you, but always energy churning, sometimes on the surface, sometimes underneath. I love this time of year. While the pumpkins turn orange, and the harvest is in, I have so many ideas and visions. I feel great doors opening...but I really can't tell you what they are, because I just don't know what they are yet. But I am being led to focus intently on art, and I will go there now.

I'm also feeling like I'm being pulled back to illustration, but this time around I want to fit in better. I'm going to explore and paint and draw and focus. I will see, we will see. I feel I have value in the market, but where? Ask and an answer will come. My little book about Pino is percolating out there...and now I have other ideas I want to put on paper and do more books and manuscripts. So I am going to play with those. I'll write what I know. It dawned on me that my whole life I have a been a little entity into myself, always being told very wise things like, "Don't paint your clothes", and I always questioned these tidbits. I dreamed of things and had ideas as a little girl that I knew were not the norm of my little friends or family, yet all these things have manifested into a good life, my life. I took solace in my grove of woods, and did things only the woods and I knew, and we all felt just fine together. I have an idea there for a children's story...I'll percolate. There are many stories here on the farm, many characters. I want the world to know the characters, I think they will feel better after these stories. I think maybe that is my place right now. That's the part of the wave I'm on.

Pino Pie Ambassador Discovered in Germany!

The beauty of life - if you choose to view it this way- is that each thing that happens in your day can be viewed as a gift from a generous source. If you look at life' s occurances this way, you can accept things that happen in life in a positive manner, and in a loving way. It also makes each day a giant gift basket - and this week, Pino and I have had many gifts.

One is the fact we came upon a little blue sheep named Friederike who lives in Germany with her very generous and talented artist mother. While I have been enjoying the wonderful wonderful toys Sandra makes , Pino and Friederike the sheep have been exchanging emails. And, today, Friederike writes about her visit yesterday to a children's home , complete with a sweet gift, in Pino Pie fashion. Friederike seems to have the same open heart as our little Pino, and already was a sharing sort, but when she read about Pino's Pies, she jumped on board. I expect wonderful things from this sheep and donkey friendship. We send greetings to Germany and our new friends!

Apron reinvention

I have made a bold decision.

I will begin to wear aprons over my pants as a way to create a new wardrobe for myself. I just ordered two vintage aprons - the smock type with vintage red cherries and colored piping. And in these pictures I am modeling an apron graciously sent to me by fellow artist Amy Schimler who designed the cheery farm animal fabric. I told her I would take pictures, artfully shot, holding lavender with Pino and Paco sitting by my side, posed like Martha Stewart props, but alas, this is Apifera, not Martha's [for which Pino and Paco are grateful], hence the photos are...well...sorry, Amy, I will do better.

The brainstorm to wear aprons stemmed from the fact that I am turning an age when, body weight once carried up high now seems to be lower, and those teeny little tanks I wore allowing my lady tummy slightly peaking out now reveals much too much even for my eyes. As healthy as we eat, and as much motion as my body gets, I am done fighting the reality that my 49 year old body just isn't 'cute' anymore. Nor is it ugly. Rather than getting down about it, I will accentuate the positive. I will cloak my body in items that make me happy, and yet react well with my donkey filled pie-bakin' -chicken- scracthin' life, and look good with braids and boots. I want to feel free, like those teeny tops made me feel once, but with slightly better coverage. For some reason, aprons make me feel that way. So when I look in the mirror and see the chin sagging, arms getting a bit pudgy, I will stop, and look at the apron I have on and feel refreshed.

I will also begin riding my horse in my aprons.

I have always re-invented myself every 11 years or so, and I am now in my donkey-apron stage. Although since donkeys live to be over 30, I do not consider it a phase really, but rather consider the donkey's the guides of this phase. My mother gave me her old sewing machine that needs fixing. I yearn to learn to sew better, and I will make aprons. I will name the aprons, like I do the animals,
and I won't care how much paint or dirt gets on them.

You know you married the right person when you can both wear the same apron.

Summer Ode

Cups of white
laced with ants
I'd like to weave you
into some pants.

I'd wear you all day
with my best rubber boots
Perhaps I could make
the donkeys some suits

I'd be naked and bare
except for my hair
Underneath your soft
tendrils and lace

The world that goes by
might scoff and ask why
Do you waste your days
in such a silly lacey haze
When you could move mountains perhaps
in stead of taking lacey naps

Well I would reply
and let out a sigh
It is because of my naps
complete with lace caps
That make my eyes shine
and my life just fine

©K.Dunn, Yamhill, OR

It just is

There must be a spiritual meaning when a beautiful pure white chicken dies on one's anniversary. Or do I just seek one because I know in my heart there is no rhyme or reason to it, it just is. Miss Miho was only with us a short time, since March or so, but she was part of farm, she gave us eggs, and she was valued. She was the tiniest hen of our small flock, the only pure white one, and the bottom of the pecking order from day one.

When I went to put the chickens in for the night, I knew right away there was something amiss. Miss Miho was faced towards a corner, like she was setting, not moving. Her head was bent to the side. She was still alive, but all the signs indicated she was on her way. Her eyes were still open, but when I picked her up, her breathing was heavy, and she was pretty much unconscious I believe. I was afraid she might just be pecked by the others, so I placed her in my wire egg basket in a white towel, and she spent her final hours with us on the deck. I stroked her and at some point could feel the heat leave her body. She lived another hour. We do not know why she died, and never will.

It had been a beautiful day, a perfect day in every sense. I had had a wonderful ride on Boone that morning, and spent a rare afternoon off the farm, enjoying a visit to the farmer's market to buy food for our anniversary dinner. I made a peach pie for Martyn, complete with one of my 'raggedy lattice tops".

But when Miss Miho finally died at about 1 am, I cried like a baby. You know, deep sobs, head in hands crying. Somehow the death of that one chicken allowed me to let go of many sadnesses in my heart - sadness that I intuitively know is coming. It's as if I needed to sob for future passings, of both animals, friends, loved ones, and myself. Someone recently told me they found farmers to be a lot more raw and primal than many people. I agreed with her, and on the farm I'm intuitively aware of the uncontrollable daily flow of nature, and unconsciously I am made aware of my own death over and over, and other's deaths too. It's just so matter-of-fact. For me it is best to feel strongly, in the moment. The farm allows me to do this in a different way than when I lived in the city.

We've decided to make a special chicken burial area by the cedar trees we are continually planting on the property line. She'll grow into them then, and my little bird and rodent cemetary is too small for the many future chicken burials. As we went to sleep last night, my husband of four years whispered to me, "You make my heart full."

A donkey comes to life

I have my children's book manuscript ready to show possible editors and am just beginning to prepare it properly. Meanwhile, I've posted some rough spreads on the site.

I must say, I have been having so much fun working on the book, and would so love to see it in print someday. I realize that is a long ways off, and I am researching and keeping a positive outlook. Martyn and I lay in bed the other night and he read it out loud, it was wonderful. We both got teary eyed. "Good grief, she thinks her book is wonderful", say all the editors in a groan...I am going to start some other stories too, as I've really enjoyed this initial process - and I am surrounded by so many stories here on the farm.

Do you know when you do a rough sketch and you just can see it in finished form in your mind? I feel that with all these roughs in my dummy [for those of you who don't know the lingo, a 'dummy' is basically a roughed out book, showing sketches and type and the flow of the book]. I've only shown it to a couple people, and both wondered if the roughs should be the finished art, but I am not sure about that. I love them, but I see most of the main illustrations being in the color version, with possible spots staying in these sketchy monotone pastels.

This is all a learning curve to me, and I'm lucky and grateful to have some artist compadres who can give me some initial insights. When I started in illustration 10+ years ago, I wanted to do children's books, but ended up on a different path, which is fine, it was as it was meant to be. But I want to try again.

The quest continues

I wrote last year about my conflict of raising animals for meat. My quest for comfort is still unresolved, but it has been softened - not because I am any less feeling, but because I am even more aware of the importance of respecting livestock and those small farmers that are doing their best to provide food for themselves and others. Please do not write me and suggest my angst would be gone if I just became a vegetarian. Hogwash. Animal by products are everywhere, and simply ruling out meat is not as simple a solution as one might think. Nor is it my choice. While I applaud vegetarians that don't eat meat because they love animals, I have thought about this over and over and over. While some are quick to say things like, 'But you love animals, it is immersed in your art and life, how can you kill them...", I would respond, "Please come walk in my shoes, live on this farm, watch the interactions and the pecking orders of nature, and you will see that I am part of a food chain begun a universe ago. " My goal as a small farmer and human is to respect the food chain, but never act the pompous king simply because, at this moment in history, I am more or less at the top of the chain.

And so, here we are again, with the impending 'harvest' of the meat lambs on my conscious. On Saturday, the mobile butcher will arrive at the farm, and within seconds, the 4 animals I have cared for will be butchered, shot in the head - quickly. I am writing that bluntly, because I think people need to hear it. I will go through the usual blessing the night before, placing lavender on their nighttime stall, and thanking each one individually. I soften my conscious by referring to this as 'harvesting', as if killing a 5 month old lamb is the same as pulling a zucchini off the vine. Yet, in a big picture, I feel it is.

Many will scoff at me - but I watch the feral cats survive on a baby bird, rodents - am I to judge them? I watch a hen snatch a moth - am I to judge her? Am I to separate out the living beings of the many grass blades that my horse eats as unworthy of my angst? No - so if I am to rule out meat or poultry or fish, so should I rule out all living creatures including vegetables, fruits and eggs.

I am proud of our efforts here. It is very small scale. While the final days leading up to the butcher date are uncomfortable for me, it is what I choose to do - to raise a small amount of meat that has no foreign food in it, doesn't get hauled in from New Zealand or even out of state. The only energy I'm using is the air and the sun, and the 6 miles of gas the butcher uses to come to our farm and electricity of small amounts to freeze it. We have become more sustainable than last year, and this year we have more goals - it is an ongoing effort, as it is with many. The night of the harvest, we will eat fresh liver - it is our way of showing the animal that his life was not in vein. I always well up a bit when we eat our first meal of the harvest - not from sadness, but from pride - for both the animal and for the farmer. Chew slowly tonight, and give thanks, no matter if you are eating a tomato or a fillet - they all are bounties of our earth.

Encounter with a lady

The face I love, over and over, even if it is laced in the spicy scent of Mademoiselle Le Pew.

Mademoiselle Le Pew comes each night, when dark, to finish off the fine quality barn cat food that sits in a bowl for the front porch Apifera Cats. Mademoiselle is known to venture to the big barn to graze on other fine edibles of the other Apifera barn cats, but seems to prefer the front porch. Rather than being inside, Martyn and I tend to sit outside on the porch, enjoying the cool summer nites, and of course, where we go, so goes our noble dog Huck, and the one eyed pug, Billy. We have trained Huck to wag his tail from afar at Mademoiselle, but not run towards her, as we have explained to him that one must never startle Mademoiselle. "But she is so cute and quite attractive at nite with her glaring white stripe," Huck says with his eyes....Well, last nite he took matters into his own feet, and introduced himself much too quickly to dear Mademoiselle. One can not blame the lady for being startled.


All I can remember is seeing Mademoiselle walking rapidly up the porch where we sat, as she has no fear of us, and Huck in close proximity, and Big Tony right behind them. As Mademoiselle fled to her private room nestled in the Quince bush, dear Huck began to lick himself all over in alarm, "My God, what has happened to my usual doggy odor??" At this point the one eyed pug sensed something was amiss, and came up from under the quilt as he sat on my lap. Giving a skunked 90# lab a bath of vinegar and dish soap at 10 post meridian after one has had their evening wine is a sobering affair.

In the background, Big Tony sat watching the entire bathing process, as if saying, "Huck, I told you -Always approach her with quite dignity, like a cat would....".

Morning Has Broken

Every morning when I go out to do barn feedings and chores, the donkeys are usually lying in their morning repose...waiting to hear the gate open, or Huck bark in the backyard. These signals set the barn's occupants into their morning routine - the donkey brays that makes the rooster crow as the chickens get let out that makes the Pygmy rise up and then the goats are out and then the papa rams are out and then the ewes start baa-ing which makes the horse come in as the farm girl walks to the barn while the cats follow along...Each morning I find the donkeys in some form of morning relaxation, in the most charming poses, and I have yet to capture any on film. These pictures from this morning don't do their morning repose justice, but I will try to do better, if only for myself.

I am a hopeless homebody. I love being home, working on projects while the animals are all around, and Martyn is puttering on one of many farm chores. As I write he is in the kitchen making pickles from the plethora of cucs we have in the garden. Pino's Pies brings such joy, that I thought for Paco's sake we can have a label "Paco's Pickles"just for him. So that would be a 'plethora of Paco's pickles'...

So, the air is cool, and I will finally finish boxing up the remaining lavender bundles in the barn; prune back the cat mint, go for a ride perhaps, putz around awhile, taste Martyn's pickles...er...Paco's pickles - all in the magic acreage that two human hearts are intertwined in. There is much to be done, but today I will work at whatever pace I am propelled internally to.

Keep on

As my old homeland of Minneapolis suffers through shock, as two of my close woman friends endure cancer treatments, as bad things just keep happening to nice people - how is a sensing person suppose to respond? By going on with the work that brings inner joy and meaning. Otherwise, it is really an affront to those that are suffering, or dead, for they would give anything to go on with the work they loved, if they had a second chance. Talking with my friend today who has just fought back a health scare, and listening to ongoing news of the bridge disaster, it is impossible not be shocked into both the joy of life, but also the blatant fact that it ends, sometimes abruptly, sometimes alone, and scared. I am turning fifty in March, and I must say, my perspective on life of late has been even more sentimental than it has been in the past. The internal receptors that have been highly sensitive since I can remember, causing me to be a ma gnat for animals, wounded birds and the elderly, have also been sensing great comings of positivity for my immediate world. It won't be without life's boomerangs, but I am meant to write these little stories now, and paint the pictures that go with them in my head, and so that is how I spent the day, drawing a little donkey collecting blackberries in a red bucket so he can bake a pie.

I have never felt more positive that I am being asked to focus on this children's book and see it through.