A dog named Lump

I have been thinking about Picasso a lot for some reason, and was drawn to a book by his good friend, and world renown photographer, David Duncan Douglas. "Picasso and Lump: A Dachshund's Odyssey". Lump the Dachshund belonged to Mr. Douglas, and would accompany him on visits to Picasso's. From the first meeting [documented in the book], Lump and Picasso formed a comfortable union, and Lump basically stayed on there while Mr. Douglas traveled for his assignments. Lump had the run of Picasso's house, also inhabited by a boxer called Yan and a goat, Esmeralda. Picasso owned many dogs in his life, but it is only Lump that he held, often like a baby we are told. While he preferred to work totally alone in his studio, only Lump was allowed in, and the dog appears in 15 of the 44 "Meninas" studies of this era [1957]. Picasso once exclaimed, "Lump is not a dog, he's not a little man, he's somebody else." I responded to that, and it speaks of a couple dogs I've known, and definitely Pino.

At some point, Lump became sick, suffering from a spinal condition prone to his breed, and Picasso put him in a vet clinic in Cannes. When that vet could not help Lump, Mr. Douglas retrieved him and took him to Germany to his old vet for more help. Lump stayed there in the care of this trusted vet for some time, but the dog could not be cured, and eventually, Mr. Douglas took him back to his own home where he lived out his life. Lump was never able to visit Picasso again due to his condition. In April of 1973, Mr. Douglas lost two dear friends. Lump died one week before Picasso.

Butternut Empire

Remember spring, the weather begins to warm, thoughts of vegetables dance in your head, you rush to buy seeds and you set out to create your vegetable empire. Only this year, you will do it all correctly, you will not rush and try to get too much planted at once - that only leads to messy rows, mixed up plant tags and sore backs.

No, this year, you will have a real plan, even if it's in your head, or scribbled on the back of a seed bag.I thought this year I had planted just the right amount of butternut. But like the last three years, I forgot one important thing - I plant them in 'the gold mine' as we call it. A huge hill of compost created from years of the former owner's horse manure, and now mixed with our horse's, and swirled in with the best fertilizer you can get - sheep poop - and the occasional donkey-goat mix. The man who eats at Apifera truly gets a taste of the farm.

And in true Apifera fashion, I first gathered the squash in piles at the gold mine. Days later, hauled them to the house. Days after that, arranged them to create a Big Tony pathway so he can sit outside out of the rain. And now days later, or has it been weeks, I dragged tarps down to cover them at night should we get a frost. Eventually, I will drag them down to the cellar, and try to create order there.

Rome was not built in a day.

Another man reawakens

Last Wednesday, BW ["Black White"]bravely and calmly allowed me to put him in a cat carrier and take him into his "re-awakening", as I call them, so as not to alarm the kitty he is about to lose his manly gems. I had spent about three weeks slowly tendering up this stray that came upon our farm, a big beauty,and he warmed up pretty fast, obviously starved for attention. Within two weeks I had him accustomed to the front porch tribe versus the barn cats, the latter being a much tougher bunch. He then began sleeping on a comforter I put on the deck for him. I trained him to eat in the crate, and that morning, there was no trauma. After 20 trappings of strays, this was a relief, for both woman and cat. He had a couple bad wounds I'd been trying to doctor, but the vet was able to really clean them well, and treat his ear mites. He really is such a loving cat, he adores being held, much more than many of the tribe. Big Tony has somewhat adjusted to him being on the porch. I have soothed Big Tony's heart and ego by confirming to him that no one takes over his throne and title as king. So thanks to all who participated in the BW raffle - the art was sent to someone in NYC who is going to share a lot of it with people.

Neil messages

Anyone who knows me well knows that I have been a Neil Young follower since I was about 12 years old. I was in 8th grade when I bought "After the Goldrush" and it remains a album that resonates insights I always need to hear - even though the insights can be different as I age and evolve. I have never had some kind of rock star crush on Neil Young, rather, it is master guide-pupil relationship. I usually have about 2 dreams a year in which Neil Young appears, rarely speaks, but the lesson I take away from the dream is one that I just wasn't getting on the world plane, so Neil the guide comes in and offers some gem in a metaphorical way, and I have a lite bulb moment. I still paint NEIL on my jeans - to remind me to follow my muse, don't be afraid if you don't fit one genre, or if I get afraid of fitting in [which I do all the time] I just think of Neil, and his steadfastness to dance his own tune, even when the record producers were telling him something different.

Recently, I purchased Neil tickets for the Minneapolis concert in November, as we were going to take a trip to see my family. Plans had to be changed, and I had to sell my beloved Neil tickets. I've seen him so many times it's not the end of the word, but perhaps painting a quick, simple piece of him was my consolation to myself. So first I painted him as about a 30 year old Neil, and then I started to do a portrait of him as 60 year old Neil. As I worked on the latter, it became clear quite quickly that the face was not that of Neil's, it was my father as a much younger man. My father is in his mid eighties, and is not doing well. I knew that Neil had a message for me today. I won't disclose it here. But I did this portrait of my father. He was ana rchitect well into his late 70's, and he he loved good fabrics and wore nice hats and ties. I love his ties. I can still remember some of the ties he wore whhen I was young. It's funny how an object can hold so much memory, it can hold a life and bring it back.

When things go grumpy

Have you ever met a grumpier cow? I spent the day drawing, and everything was grumpy looking. I started with some ideas I wanted to explore with drawing people, they looked horribly horrible. My energy was all messed up and sometimes you can draw or paint your way out of it, but I think today it is just a grumpy day and everything will remain grumpy until tomorrow morning. I feel so badly for this beautiful cow, who really isn't grumpy in real life, I just allowed myself into his sweet persona. Sorry, Cow. I will bake a pie for you and we can share it, when I'm not so grumpy. No body wants grumpy pie. Energy is transferable, you know, so I will cover my head with a bag and hope that my grumpiness does not spread.

In the meantime, my grumpiness was lifted from me for a few seconds when I found out that I sold this painting , one I have always loved.

I hope this post doesn't make you grumpy, but sometimes my faithful readers think I am always sweet and content, like a fairy in the brook. Not so! Even those of us blessed with so much love, companionship get grumpy, even when you live with Pino Blangiforti and your dog does happy dances.

I'll be better tomorrow.

One small victory for the environment

This is the day many are writing on their blogs about the same topic - the environment. As you can see above, I am grumpy today. But I would be remiss not to write something, although I think my work and canvases speak for themselves about the environment.

However, I will announce that we found out this weekend that the sub development plans up the hill have been squashed, as the land use Board of Appeals [otherwise known as LUBA] reversed the County Commissioners absolutely inappropriate, ill thought out and not very well explained approval a year ago. Sadly, it took a lawyer and $9,000 or so to prove it; this is not the place for the legal ramblings of the case, but it is a clear victory for land use advocates, and the neighbors and we are pleased and relieved. Martyn and I had are names on the appeal, and neighbors helped donate money along with a local land use advocate group. There is still much to do [and money to raise], and fight for. I urge all voters in Oregon to vote YES for Measure 49 , if you care about water, air, plants, nurseries, vineyards, farms, and forests - and countryside lacking sprawl and billboards. It is what makes Oregon unique. I came from a state without land use planning and if there is an inch of ground, and given the chance, it will be developed for one reason - money.

Martyn and I also had our application approved and finalized and we are enrolled in the CREPS program. By doing so, we will be planting 400 or more native species of trees on our riverfront within the next year, helping to create shade and improve the health of the river and the fish and wildlife that must survive there.

Pie Love: Share a pie

While each day of the year is ripe for the opportunity to share of yourself, the upcoming season can be particularly painful and lonely for many people of all ages. Nor should we assume that just because someone drives a nice car and has a nice income that they do not suffer from loneliness, or pain, or fears. I think some of you have mentioned things like, "I just have never made a crust...' or "I'm not sure I can just show up unannounced with a pie...". Just...take...the...step...

If you feel silly delivering a pie to a neighbor you've never met, try taking one to someone you know. Tell them you are stopping over with something you found you just have to give them. They get a pie made of love, you get to give it and receive the energy beaming back from their face and voice when they say, "You made me a pie?!"

For starters, baking a pie crust really isn't hard, and the messier ones are often the best. If you like the home made pie idea, but feel intimidated by the crust, for heaven's sakes, don't fret. Just buy one of those pre-made ones. No, it's not quite the same, but it might get you over the hump. For all my pie baking friends and gurus, I am not promoting those plastic tasting crusts [I have used them in a rush myself]but if it gets you on your way to being a pie ambassador, great.

And if you have children, teach them early to bake a pie, a skill that really should be required to graduate from grade school. I was lucky to be raised in a home that valued home made food and baked items. I cans till remember the first pie I made. It was pretty horrible. Banana cream pie, very runny, chalky crust...Ah well, I was only 8 or so. But, I still remember it. Do you still remember your first store bought cookie?

Good deed doers certainly do not have to write blogs or announce to the world, "Hey, I baked a pie and gave it to a stranger today, I'm a good deed doer." But Pino and I like to hear from people making pies.

Sometimes Life Begets Nuts

Yes, that really is a tree, our beloved walnut that sits in the front of the house, in view from one of my studio windows. That tiny man is the master steward of Apifera, gracefully gathering our walnut harvest. We now have millions, it seems, walnuts drying everywhere in the house, including the oven dryer. Someday, we keep saying, we will build drying racks for the barn...In the meantime, we have been entertaining ourselves with a plethora of nutty quotes. Upon going to bed, we make squirrel sounds and say, "I'm ready for winter!"... In the morning, after turning the drying nuts on their racks, I say, "Are your nuts dry yet?"..."What are you doing today?...Nut'in honey"...and "I'm livin' in nut house"...It goes on and on.

Nuts, I gotta go...

Complex Conflicts

I was attracted to do an illustration of Patricia' Hampl's newly released memoir, "The Florist's Daughter", for it's universal theme of parent-daughter intertwinings and the internal conflict that comes with it. As her brother left home years before to start a life out West, Hampl stays behind in her hometown in Minnesota, always within the reach of her parents, as the dutiful and rooted daughter. Her librarian mother, a secret-wanna- be- writer, 'loved her daughter to distraction", while her artistic father [the florist of the title], held the belief that "order exists within matter itself and is understood as elegance." Her mother was the cheerleader for Hampl's career choice of writer, but her father taught her about beauty. As she longed for faraway lands, it was the opposite forces of her much loved and much loving parents that rooted her to her home town her entire life. She is so intertwined in her parents and they with her that at some times she lacks her own clear vision and voice of what her life can be.

I initially envisioned her as a grown woman in the piece, as the book begins at her mother's death bed, her florist father long past but still felt; but I decided it was appropriate to make her a young girl, as the dynamic they lived [or we all live] begins way before we are able to realize it has begun. As she sits devotedly by her mother waiting for her final hours, we are made to realize that upon her mother's death will also come the death of a daughter. She will be no body's child.

Obsessively Inspired Happy

I've been happily immersed, obsessed really, with doing new illustrations to improve my portfolio. It's wonderful to feel so inspired and wake up in the early morning thinking of ideas I've been gestating, then put them on paper. My new rep group in NYC has helped me focus in many ways, and begin to really ask 'what type of work do I want'.

I want book covers and plays . Pretty wedding planners. Anything to do with wine or landscape. Dark subjects. Light subjects. I want to do a store display at Saks that shows donkeys in Spring's best new aprons.

And of course I want children's work , and children's books . I've been working so hard to improve and learn and grow in my children's writing. It's fun. I'm obsessed. I've had some feedback on the first version of Pino, and am mulling through how to improve it.

It's a process. So for now, you'll have to be patient. But before I die, I will have a book out there about my little donkey. I made that promise to myself, the universe, and Pino. One can not look in Pino's eyes and tell a lie.

The Great Egg Caper

For weeks we have been wondering where the eggs are. No one is molting, there are still plenty of daylight hours and yet we have only been getting one or two eggs a day. Not that we need any more than that, but I did wonder out loud, "Where are you ladies hiding those eggs?"..."Hiding eggs? We're not hiding anything, goodness, not us, no not us, Ma'am. Just stayin' busy around the barnyard, peckin' and scratchin', cacklin' and cooin', lots to do, gotta run."

After a day of free ranging, all chickens return to Apifera Farm's highly desirable Chicken House. Perfumed in only the freshest of chicken poop, it has both front, back and side doors, as well as a secret ramp known only to chickens. Complete with ten roosting huts, it also can accommodate the guest that wants to sit up on a top bunk so to speak, in the rafters that is. While this proves wonderful and safe for the chicken, it requires the morning housekeeper to watch for falling bombs from above.

So last night, as usual, I count all the chickens before I lock up their hut. Hmmmmmm, one missing. This is usually one of the new young roosters, but this night, I know it to be one of my favorite hens, Zuchi, a charming Frizzle. She never strays, and I begin to worry when I can't find her in any of the best hiding spots. It is now dark enough that I get my flashlight and make one more search in and around both barns. No Zuchi, but I did find a lot of bats.

I was quite despondent, but decided that since I had seen her an hour earlier, she was most likely hunkered down in a good spot and would return in the morning to the cockle-doodle-crowing of St. Francis of Assisi. Morning came, and no Zuchi. Morning feedings came and went, no Zuchi. While her flock made their morning rounds, no Zuchi. I prepared for the inevitable, and hated myself, tromping back into the house to announce to Martyn what a lousy chicken farmer I was.

About an hour later, Martyn appeared at my desk with a basket of about 25 eggs. He had gone to get some wood and found a nest tucked way under some cedar 2x4's, a cozy spot with some hay, and a little roof from an old board we had put down at some point. And there sitting roosting on those eggs was none other than Zucchi.

Not available at Target

New game:

Get a sheep.

Put her by a wall.

Get a whole bunch of cats.

Line them up on the wall.





When all the cats tap the sheep

at least once with their paw

they win and the game's over.

To be sung to the tune of

"I Have a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts"

I've got a lovely
pair of underpants,
A lovely pair of underpants have I,
When I rush from a sheep,
And land in a heap,
My lovely underpants
you can still spy.

©K.Dunn

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.