Inspired by the old pig and her roomate, a turkey

I woke up thinking of this piece the other day, and set right out to paint it after chores. If you follow along you will understand that the title I gave it - Ode to the Graham Crackers - is appropriate. Hannah the elder pig arrived with a bag of grahams from her former owners who fed them to her daily. Most animals, I find, do love graham, so this was not a surprise. What was is that the pig's nightly roommate, the very independent thinker, Ruthie the turkey, also likes graham crackers. Well, let me clarify that, Ruthie appears to be slightly addicted to them. I have never seen her get so excited over a food before. The other morning when I arrived, Ruthie was waiting by the orange bucket that holds the graham crackers. She had taken out the package the night before and ate them all. So that morning when I arrived, she was puffed up and very upset, standing by the bucket, carrying on, "Where are the graham crackers?"

So...I painted this. Available at the shop. And if you get a kick out of mailing graham crackers to an old pig or pirate turkey, you can visit the Apifera Wish List.

View this post on Instagram

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

House dream surrounded by ocean

 

I worked a bit on this yesterday...but there is something so simple about it and I'm not going to alter anything. 

 

I call it "House dream surrounded by ocean". It was first inspired by the 100+ year old hydrangea outside our house, but I think it is also inspired by my innate pipe dream of someday having a shack on the ocean. I do not think that will happen. But who knows? 

 

Anyway, it's up on the shop-maybe there is someone else out there with this same dream.

Wisdom of the Old Donkey {latest from from Tails & Tales}

 “No!!!” I heard a little voice screaming.

What on Earth, I thought.

As I entered the barn, Earnest the pig had his arm around little Hannah the goat, who was crying. This is a very common scene, as Hannah is very sensitive and not very savvy at her young age. She is easily fooled by the pranksters of the group-you know, Pickles and Puddles.

“They ate my pumpkin, Mrs. Dunn! They killed her and ate her!” Hannah cried into my overhauls.

I could see shadowy figures in the not so distant corner of the barn, pretending not to be there.

“Pickles! Puddles! Hop to it, over here, right now!” I said.

“I know nothing!” said Pickles.

“You do too!” said Puddles.

“But Mrs. Dunn, the pumpkin was already mushy and dead because the squash bugs got it first,” pleaded Pickles.

Hannah screamed some more into my overhauls.

“It’s true, Mrs. Dunn. I saw the little pumpkin yesterday. The bugs were on her and eating her up," said Earnest the pig.

More screaming from Hannah.

“Hannah, this is all part of Nature’s way. Nature gives us bounties, and other parts of Nature take it away,” I said.

Ollie the goat, always cheerful no matter what the occasion, came running up to little Hannah. “It’s just like when you eat your hay, Hannah. Nature turns it into something else in your stomach and then you poop and the worms eats it!”

“You mean the bugs are going to poop my pumpkin out?” Hannah cried.

“Well, I guess in a way they are,” said Earnest the pig.

Hannah went running off to her favorite tree, crying, “I will never eat or drink again in honor of my pumpkin.”

“Let her be,” I said. And we all went about our morning.

Around mid day, Earnest and I wandered out to see Hannah, who was still under her tree.

“Hannah, that is a nice little pumpkin you’re holding,” said Earnest the pig.

“It’s my pumpkin’s sister. I’ll never let her die,” said Hannah, still sniffling.

“Death is like a moon that doesn’t see the sun come up, that’s all,” said a slow talking voice. It was Peso, the new arrival. He was a very, very old donkey, the oldest donkey that had ever lived on the farm.

Peso came closer to Hannah. “Hannah, your little pumpkin got to live her life in her field, unencumbered by the man made world. Nobody carved her up and stuck candles in her, or slung her from a cannon, she just got to be a simple, beautiful, humble fruit breathing in the sun on her Earth,” Peso said. Hannah stopped crying.

Just then, Poetry the eldest of the old goats called out, “The Queen is dead!” and everyone rushed to the rabbit ear television I’d finally put in the barn for them.

“She was my favorite Queen!” cried Hannah.

“Mine too, Hannah,” I said. “Were’t we lucky to have had her though?” I asked.

Hannah shook her head, yes, pressing into my overhauls again. “She would have liked my pumpkin, I’m sure of it.”

The truth about my summer-I had a scare but I'm back on top

I want to share some reality of my summer. I haven't posted about it, but I'm going to, because it ties into why I'm so excited about the Love Mobile. Last June, on a Saturday morning, I did not have my usual yogurt breakfast, I had a toasted scone, and instead of only eating 1/2 of one [my norm] I ate an entire scone. Half hour later, doing chores, I had the most intense heartburn. Now I've had heartburn in the past from food, and from stress-I know how it goes. But this felt a bit different. I alerted Martyn, it felt that weird.

I had also been coughing for months from the fact I work in granite dust that has silica. And, I had Jabbed my elbow into my under sternum so hard that it knocked me backwards and I lost my breath for a minute [I was giving llama shots and Harry shoved me which is what llamas do]. I'd also had a sever bronchial cough for over a month.

At the same time, I had been searching for a new GP and it is hard to find one taking new patients. I finally found one, and signed up but it would be two months before I could get it.

The heartburn subsided, but it also kind of lingered in my sternum for a week or so. I was mentioning it to a friend, and how it would be two months to see my new doctor, and she suggested I go to the ER and they could give me  a blood test that can detect heart attacks. I wasn't so sure about that, but decided to go in. It was a very naive decision. I explained the situation, that I did not have chest pain, etc, and just wanted to have this blood test [again, that was naive!] but they whisked me in for an EKG, blood tests, chest XRAYS...strapped me to a bed and wouldn't let me out. My blood pressure was very high-which is the norm for me at a doctor. In fact, I'd been taking my BP daily for a few weeks because I knew I'd be going to a new GP soon and wanted them to see my BP since it is always high at the doctor [any doctor that denies white coat syndrome is wrong].

Well, all the tests were fine. The ER doctor was someone I hope I never see again. He would not listen to my symptoms, he would not look at my BP diary, he would not listen to the stress that was going on all month-how that very day old Matilda was cast, she could not get up without my help, and I knew her time was coming. He did not care that heartburn over my adult years nearly always came from stress. There had been multiple deaths of people I knew that month too. We'd lost some other animals too. But he was hell bent on making me think I was about to have a heart attack and had to stay in the hospital. He said even though I was in the lowest part of the lowest percentile for dying of a heart attack in a year, I still could. I refused to stay based on my tests.

I did not have a heart attack, and my tests were good. But I did agree to go on BP medicine. I just wanted to get out of there. Within days, I became groggy. I was taking two hour naps. I was very angry too. Short temper. And I was having sternum sensations I'd never had. My BP was so low it seemed unreal. I began researching the medicine and saw I was not alone. By the time I got into my new doctor, I felt like I had slept walked the entire summer. I was unmotivated, even depressed. I could not focus. I could not create. The new doctor switched me to another med, and the first couple days were ok, but then the night terrors and hallucinations began-like lying in bed at night and seeing a man come in and cut Martyn's throat and then killing all the animals. They were not night mares, they were sheer terror. One night I looked over at Martyn and his body was see through. It was hard on him too to have me go through these things.

I told my doctor that was it, I would not live like that. I asked her why I was even on these meds. She agreed the ER doc had done what many docs do-throw you on a pill, and he did it just becasue of a high reading at the ER.  She agreed I should wean off of this med, and see if my BP is as normal as my diary says it is. So far, it is. {By the way, I like my new doc a lot, she LISTENS].

The day I went off that med, I was myself again. It made me realize how out of it I was, out of it as in my creativity and soul were being drugged. There were mornings I didn't want to get up. During my summer daze, I began seeing my life as almost finished. I am 64, I began to feel sort of...old. I always figured 78-80 was a good life. And I thought, man, that's only 14 more years. Is this how it's going to be, drugged up on some doctor's idea of good medicine? I want to be me again. I need to be me to write and paint and create and help people.

The day I went off the drugs, every symptom I'd had disappeared and has not returned. I hope they don't. And within a couple days, my ideas started coming back to me, as did my energy. I bought a Nordic Track so I can make sure my heart gets exercise [my work on the farm is more upper body strength],  I made some slight changes to daily eating even though I eat well, and I bought a new dress!

And that is when the idea of Love Mobile came to me again. And I went online for vintage trailers, and came upon the Happier Campers. And just like I had felt this enormous feeling back west that we had to move, not later but ASAP, I felt this enormous push to invest in this little camper. Moving to Maine was the greatest thing for us, and me, and I feel my little Love Mobile will bring great things to me, and others.

Announcing! FInally, a real Love Mobile is coming!

View this post on Instagram

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

I had this idea before we moved to Maine. We were going to try to build a traveling Love Mobile where I could sell my books, and have one of the animals with me to share healing and love. But we moved to Maine and it was put away in my heart.

Ideas have a way of being birthed when they are truly ready. And looking back, it was not the right time. Now in Maine since 2016, we are a non profit sanctuary taking in elder/needy animals [and some young, crazy ones] but we also share the animals on visits to elder people's homes. Harry the llama is one of our main love ambassadors, but there are others.

But I still make my living as an artist/writer [since 1996]. Since Apifera Farm became a non profit, my art has merged with the farm and animals even more. I sell my art and books online globally through my online shop , and through Sundance.

The Love Mobile, I've been calling her Lovey at this point, will allow me to get my art/books, and the animals out to a wider audience in the wonderful region we now live, Mid Coast Maine. It will expand my creative ideas-the mobile comes with two fold up windows, perfect for pop up shops. I have so many ideas-perhaps puppet shows!

Over the years, I've searched for the right vintage trailer. Most needed tons of work, and none are cheap. Most were in southern states. And they were not the right weight or size. Building our own was something we considered. Martyn has enough on his plate, and to keep a trailer vintage, lightweight, electrified and more was not something we could do.

When I found the Happier Camper company I was thrilled. Finally! Just what I wanted. Vintage looking, but safe, and incredibly adaptable to my whims. It is a very lightweight double wrapped fiberglass trailer, complete with heat, and 120 and 220 electricity. It is designed in a modular system, so seats [with storage] can be removed to use outside, or moved around. The entire inside can be hosed down and has a drain. It comes with electric brake and breakaway safety measures [many small trailers don't. It is the only small trailer with a back large hatch-perfect for llamas, goats, Goofballs, and a pop up shop. {I will post the specs soon in an update].

This is a leap forward for me-a way to continue to blend my work with animals, art, writing, creation and people. It's like the next chapter. In some ways, it might be my final chapter as I enter my mid 60's.

The entire package costs $34,000. It is an investment. If you have looked at any vintage trailers you know the price. So this one is well worth it for me and my business-it is SAFE, completely road ready, and adorable.

And while this Love Mobile is dual purpose [selling my art, and also promoting and sharing our non profit healing animals] I will be paying for it out of my art business. It is a huge step to do this-but I know this is a good step [just like I knew moving from Oregon to Maine was what we had to do].

I'm so excited to get her this late fall and to see all the travels and experiences we will have. It has ignited a flame inside of me! 

 

 

Her Royal Highness arrives

We picked up the elder pig today. With a bit of pig patience, and luck, and 'encouragement' at some point from yours truly, we were able to load Hannah up in the trailer in about 30 minutes. Loading pigs is always problematic and we were all pleased it went as swimmingly as it did.

Her name is Hannah and she is about 12 years old. She and Peso lived side by side for years but her owners have fallen on difficult times and have to sell their property and move. They found us through the help of another farm person who knew about us. It worked out well for all involved.

Hannah is settling in and is living like a queen in the same spot that Rosie The World's Grumpiest But I'm Fine As I Am Pig lived after her arrival from Oregon. Peso does not like her much we are told and so Hannah will be where she can see llamas, which she is used to. I think she will spend her final days resting, and eating, then resting, and eating some more. She needs some weight and her toes have not been kept up. Her owners loved her but were physically limited  due to illness. I was happy that Hanna already lay down for me for a belly rub, and while giving Her Royalty a rub down she had no problem with me touching her feet so I hope to get them trimmed soon.

It's the end of an era for her owners. All their original animals are gone now and they will move when the house sells. I know they are grateful they found us, and that is a wonderful feeling that we could help them, and their elder animals. The alternatives were upsetting, so we saved that heart ache for them.

I just hope pig and donkey can have some years here, for my sake. I'm already fond of them and both are quite elderly, so we have no control on that, but...I'm just asking, "Universe, can they stick around awhile?"

Never dull with these Goofballs

 

View this post on Instagram

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

In the blink of an eye...it can happen to any of us

So much has gone on in a week, one right after the other. I keep it all up to date on social media so it gets daunting to relive it here too. But the one thought I had this past  week is the phrase in the blink of an eye.

 Bear got very sick last Saturday morning and threw up a couple small rocks. I surmised [wrongly] he had eaten the rocks to try to throw up something else he had eaten-which on a farm can be a myriad of things. He wouldn't eat and was morose and clearly uncomfortable. I knew it would be 24 hours to pass something so we watched him closely all Saturday into Sunday. On Monday he tried to poop but nothing came out, so I called the vet and got him right in. The x-rays showed he had rocks in his large intestine and once into the surgery the vet had to take out a large portion of his small intestine that was dead. We knew one scenario was he might not come our of surgery if the intestine could not be repaired. His section that was damaged died so fast. In the blink of an eye. Bear had a long 4 hour surgery in which two parts of his intestine were sewn together. Then he went to spend that first night under supervision at the emergency clinic. Then he went back to spend the entire day at the vet for observation and drugs, and then I got to take him home even though he wasn't eating. He made it this far and is now just starting to get an appetite. Once seven days have passed we will be a bit more relaxed. But we wonder if he is a changed dog. Of course he is still uncomfortable and on 4 different drugs so is not himself, but he seems very intent to be close to me. 

The vet said if I had waited on more day he would have died of septic. In the blink of an eye. I've had labs eat weird stuff, and other dogs eat weird stuff and never had this happen so was not that well versed on it. I always saw things pass out of the dog so was not that worried but after 24 hours plus, and with his demeanor, I knew something was blocked. He might have chronic issues for his entire life now. I never saw him eat the rocks. We will most likely muzzle him when we aren't with him outside.

Somewhere in that emergency, I was saying good bye to Marta, my little pirate chicken. She is one of my favorite little Bantie hens, fiercely independent and no fool to anyone. She had seemed to get weak on one side, suddenly, and she is old. She was living in a private suite with the two chicks I allowed her to hatch. I knew when I said good night on Monday she'd be gone the next day, and she was, the little chicks were sitting on her body. I was so glad I let her set on some eggs, it was something she felt she had to do and was programmed to do and she watched over the chicks fiercely, keeping them safe from rats until they feathered out. I will miss her though. I cried over her like a baby since I needed a good cry after the Bear scare. 

One day she was fine, the next not so much. In the blink of an eye.

Then yesterday I went to meet a local couple who have fallen on hard times and need to move. They have a 34 year old donkey and an elder pig and I will be bringing them home to Apifera. The donkey is the sweetest thing, I'm so glad I can help the animals, as well as the couple. They love the animals but can not take them to the city they have to move and they two have health issues and limitations. But they are sad. it is a challenging transition for them to leave the little farm they've lived on for so long. We talked about all the work they had done over the years and all the ways they had struggled to keep the place going. But they couldn't. In the blink of an eye...things can change. I look forward to getting the old donkey on Saturday, but I feel for them and I just hope it helps them some how to know he will be loved and cared for. Their other options were not palatable so somehow I am once again able to help both old animals and older people. I'll share more when they get here.

The time and love we have put into our farm and home is no different than what this couple put into theirs. We might have done it in different ways, but we work hard and love our home...and one day very soon we too will be older and things aren't always in our control. One day you look back and you say...in the blink of an eye...here we are.

Blue Pond in the Morning

 This canvas is now available at the online shop.

 

 

Old goat's view of death...in honor of Dorphy

I heard the voice of Earnest the pig, talking to me through a cracked window in the living room.

“Mrs. Dunn, you are needed in the barn...now. Dorphy has to talk to you,” said Earnest.

When I got to the barn, I could tell something was off. It was silent, but then I heard a bleat from a goat–it was Dorphy, one of the elders.

“Mrs. Dunn, today is my day,” the old goat said.

Dorphy was lying in one of the smaller rooms of the barn, a normal gathering spot for the animals in the front barn. The Goose was close by. I had noticed The Goose was staying close to Dorphy in the last months and I knew what that usually means–an animal is ill or transitioning. I had seen it over and over-he gravitates to the needy, and watches over them if needed. He did this with Birdie the llama, the old pig, the cancer ridden dogs and many goats. I learned right away that The Goose was a very good  hospice caretaker. The night before, I noticed Dorphy walking very slowly to the barn, with The Goose walking slwoly with her.

“It’s a good die to go,” said the old goat Poetry.

“I think so,” said Dorphy.

Hannah came running over to Dorphy.

“Where are you going?” the little youngster asked.

“I am dying today,” Dorphy said.

“Mrs. Dunn, Dorphy is dying!” Hannah cried.

“Child, do not cry for me, smile for me. I have all I need here, and I will have all I need there,” said the old goat.

“You mean...you’re going to Here There Everywhere?” asked Hannah.

“That’s right,” said Dorphy.

“Well that’s different. That’s were White Dog is,” said Hannah.

“And Birdie the llama! And my mama!” said Ollie the goat.

“Are you scared?” asked Puddles the goat.

“Well, it is the unknown. But it feels more like a trip, an adventure...” said the old goat.

“I think of death thay way too, Dorphy,” I said. “I guess the only thing is I can’t share it with anyone left behind. I can’t wite a story about it, or paint a picture.”

“But isn’t that the beauty of it?” asked Earnest the pig. “It is all yours, and yours alone.”

I spent the morning in the barn, finding little chores to do so I could look in on Dorphy every so often. She was in and out of sleep, and in time, the sleep was taking over. Earnest the pig was nearby, writing in his journal, Pickles and Puddles were chasing flies, the rooster was crowing and Henneth the blind chicken was sitting on her nest attempting to lay an egg. Life was all around us.

Dorphy suddenly perked up out of sleep and said, “It’s like falling asleep while your family and friends are still laughing and talking in the living room. It’s like a lullabye. It’s like leaving the party first, that’s all.” And she lay her head down, and died.
 

A real honor to hear that quack just for me

View this post on Instagram

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

Last week one of the Pekin ducks was clearly transitioning. He had been separating out, not eating, falling asleep while the others ate...all signs. It was during the hot days last week and he was getting picked on by the other non Pekin ducks, they can be real bullies. SO I brought him into a private stall, where he could hear the barnyard but he was at peace. The next day I knew he was dying. So I brought him out in the breeze and shade and I laid him on a dog bed and I sat with him while he went through death, about an hour and a half. 

Death is active. It takes time for the organs to shut down. I was touched that close to the end he quacked…caught on video here. At the very end…I knew he was close, I walked away for a minute to check delivery box…and he was gone. I know taking care of him and giving him a safe spot was helpful to him…he wanted peace from the other ducks, and walking away for seconds let him go on the final leap. Death is after all a journey we take alone, at least at that final breath. Imagine if we could all day in the breeze in a garden. It was really beautiful to be with him and have him respond to me, and watch him look out at the garden, and then fade back into his death journey.

A State of Mind

 A State of Mind

The wind still blows, the sea is near–I can feel it on my skin, I smell it.
I can see the cove from my garden.
I had two stable, loving parents that gave me security and an education–not everyone has that.
I am still healthy. Not everyone has that.
I am graced by an imagination that allows me to paint and draw and write.
I have puppets. I am not afraid of puppets, but some people are.
I am not afraid to walk down a street. Not everyone can say that.
My skin has not been a disadvantage. Not everyone can say that.

I get to live with animals and help them and they return the favor by percolating my art and stories.
I'm not rich, but I have a house and firewood, and a best friend in my husband. He makes me laugh, a lot.

I can walk, and move, and lift, and see.
My arms are still strong even though less firm. My hands have age spots but they lift animals and paint and touch.
I am not in a wheelchair. I can get up from a chair. I have a chair, several.
I smell food cooking. I have food.

I am not afraid of old people. This makes my life richer. Not everyone can say that.
I get to work with old people. This makes my life richer. Not everyone can say that.
I get to take my llama to visit old people. It makes our life richer. Not everyone can say that.

I have people I've never met that understand my intentions and support both my work and farm.
I've been my own boss for 26 years and self sustained.
I've bought many houses on my own. Not everyone can say that.
I have friends that lift me up.
I've learned boundaries. I recognize boundary impaired people much more quickly now.
I don't deal with people who specialize in disguises, especially the ones who constantly smile.
I'm self entertaining, a very handy skill I acquired as a child.

When someone makes a suggestion, I am much better at silently asking myself, "Who says?"

I miss my pugs. But I had pugs. Not everyone can say that.
I still have hope to have a pug again, in time. Not everyone can feel that.

I live within my means. I don't feel comfortable with people that don't.

I have donkeys, and horses, and ponies and llamas and pigs and chickens and dogs and cats. I have a bunny.
There are many goats who make me laugh.
I have well made barns and fences.
I have a turkey who is a companion.

My body got larger but it is still able to climb fences and ride horses.
My belly is flabby. Once I realized it was like my child belly, I began to feel empathy for it.
I am not my face. I am not my appearance.

For now, I'm still here. Not everyone can say that.
 

~Katherine Dunn/Apifera Farm~

For anyone who has lost someone

 

This was what White Dog wrote about his death, for me. I've seen so many friends lose mates and others in the past summer, guess it happens more and more as we get up to the autumn of life. So maybe this will help someone.

 

"When you miss my earthly body,

and you need to feel my fur, touch the snow.

When you need to hear me, listen to the wind.

When you crave to see my eyes one more time,

Look at all the other eyes around you.

When you hear a coyote,

it is me guiding them away from the farm.

There is no place I won't be,

so there is no place you can't find me.

I am Here There Everywhere.

In the coming days, rest by the old apple

where my body will be buried in my return to the womb.

It will comfort you,

until you fully embrace my new way of being

in the Here There Everywhere."

~White Dog~

Baby elephant

I'm working on a new doll, a baby elephant...a crooked baby elephant. She was stepped on by accident at birth and is crooked. The quilt hanging behind her is one she was helping her mother make, but her mother died, and so it sat unfinished–so I told Baby Elephant I'd help finish it somehow. [The quilt part of this story is inspired by my own mother, age 8, who was helping her mother make a quilt but her mother died suddenly...the quilt sat for years in pieces. I remember seeing the squares as a girl tucked into a sewing chest. I have the quilt now.]

At some point Baby E. will go on the online shop. Contact me if you want to be notified of that. It will be a few weeks. I'm moving slowly.

Hannah sees an...alien?

{My latest for Tails & Tales column}

 

 “Mrs. Dunnnnnn! Come now, come now!” Pickles screamed through the window.

I dropped everything and ran out the door, and Pickles was rushing back to the barn.

“Hurry, Mrs. Dunn! It’s Marta!” she screamed.

Marta is one of the hens. She is a very special hen and we refer to her as the Pirate Hen, because even though she is a tiny Bantie breed, she doesn’t let anybody, even the rooster, push her around. She stays to herself, foraging far from the flock.

As I got to the barn, all the goats were huddled in one of the side rooms where the hens lay their eggs. From the look of some of their faces, it appears they had just seen a ghost.

“Are they aliens?” asked Ollie.

“Aliens?!” said little Hannah, and she went running to stand near Earnest the pig for comfort.

“Oh, little Hannah, those aren’t aliens, they are baby chicks,” said Earnest the pig.

“They must have been slimed!” Ollie said.

“They just came out of the egg,” I said. “Marta will get them all dry and fluffy, don’t worry.”

About 3 weeks ago, Marta got broody–she started sitting on any eggs that were laid and she clearly wanted to hatch some babies. I knew Marta would be a fierce mother and protector, so I allowed her to keep 4 eggs, and marked them. Every day, I picked up the fresh, unmarked eggs, and Marta sat and incubated the nest.

“How did they get in the egg?” asked Hannah, still a novice about life and death.

“We’ve been through this, Hannah,” I said. “The rooster fertilizes the eggs while the eggs are still in the hen’s body, and then they turn into chickens.”

Hannah looked confused.

“In other words, Hannah, the rooster–without asking permission–has mad, passionate love with the hen in order to show them he is in charge and wants to continue creating children he won’t care for,” said Henneth the blind hen.

Paulo Steadman, the rooster, strutted by, cackling. “That’s rather harsh,” he said, “but it’s true, I have no interest in rearing them.”

“So the baby is in the egg, inside the hen, and then what happens?” Hannah asked.

“Then the egg comes out her bottom!” said Pickles.

“Well, it’s not her real bottom, it’s just...down there,” said Earnest the pig.

Marta stood up to stretch, and sure enough, the little slimy chicks were now dry and fluffy.
“I would appreciate some quiet, I have three more eggs to keep warm and safe, so please
give us some privacy,” said Marta.

“Why don’t I have eggs?” Hannah asked.

“You do,” said Earnest the pig.

Hannah started crying. “I don’t want any chickens coming out down below!”

“You can’t have chickens, Hannah, you’re a goat,” I said. “And you need a boy goat to make baby goats inside you,” I said.

“Ollie’s a boy!” said Hannah.

“He’s a special boy, he can’t make babies,” I said.

“Can you make baby people, Mrs. Dunn?” Pickles asked.

“Not any more,” I said.

“You’re special too!” said Hannah.

Eleanor has died

Eleanor died last night. 

 

I knew this was coming and so did Eleanor. Eleanor was nine and this is a long life for a retired sow. a few weeks ago there were physical signs she was ill. When the vet was here this week for rabies shots, we made a pallative care plan for Eleanor and unless there was positive change we would help her on her way. I much prefer my animals go on their own but that is not always what is best for them. Vets are uncomfortable with it too, I find, even though I feel my vet trusts my judgement. In this case, Eleanor was basically sleeping all day and was not showing signs of distress. Last night, I knew she was close to going due to some physical signs. This morning it appeared she went sometime last night. There was no sign of a struggle.

 

When we lived in Oregon, and first moved to the farm, we decided if we were going to eat meat [I had been a vegetarian for years, Martyn was in his 20's but it wasn't good for his health or body] we would raise what little meat we ate, or supplement from other farms. It was a  big deal for me to raise and then eat animals. It was never comfortable. But I thought a lot about it, and the food chain, and living more in Nature molded my eventual decision. Some have never forgiven me for that [I don't care, although it was painful at the time]. Some don't understand it. It was a process for me. But I'm grateful I got to live that life, and I do not regret it, nor do I need to convince anyone of anything. I'm just so grateful for all the good mothers I had on the farm, and what it taught me. I also am past the point where I feel obligated to tell anyone what it taught me. But it taught me a lot.

 

Eleanor got to die in her own hut with Little Lonely and Uno with her, on a beautiful summer night. Uno and Little Lonely have moved on and were eager for breakfast. This photo shows Little Lonely with his grandmother, Eleanor. Uno is Eleanor's son.

 

I'm relieved for her, and me. We will bury her near the pumpkin patch. 

 

Thank you for all you gave us, Eleanor.

Beware of Intruders

"Beware of Intruders" now up for sale >

This piece was inspired by events Apifera when an eagle flew into take one of our ducks. I did this piece back in about 2015, out West, and for some reason hung onto it. Sometimes you hold onto a piece until you are ready to let go, sometimes you let go the minute you finish them. When I look at this piece, I realize the title has a couple of meanings. While an eagle can intrude my space and take an animal, there are worse intruders in one's life. My face half covered keeps out the intruders- I perceive are all around me, or online, or lurking behind anonymous names. Sometimes they are strangers and sometimes you know them. I've been talking to more and more people lately that are feeling this sense of intrusion, and not wanting to be bothered by other people. So I thought it was time someone else take this piece home if it resonates. And take note, the nest of eggs holding new life sits in the hut, unscathed.

12" acrylic, protective varnish, on kiln dried pine board, ready to hang. Signed on back.

Someone else deserves her love now

{PS She found a new home}

I made this doll in honor of our beautiful old Matilda, who died this past month. It was a hard goodbye and making the doll was a way to grieve–and I got to hold her as I sewed her dress and stitched her polk-a-dots.

Matilda came to us a young elder and for over 10 years we cared for her after she had been taken out of a neglect situation. She was in rough shape after being used as a brood jenny for years but without proper care or feed. Her feet were horrible and her back swayed, and she was weak and worn out. In time, we put weight on and helped her. She died at 30. That is a good long life for a donkey and especially after her start.

But I miss her.

Dolls and art are a wonderful way to grieve and say good bye, again. People wonder why I don't keep a grief doll, and there are some I keep. But it is the process that is important to me.

I had over ten years with the real Matilda, so I want someone else to enjoy her as a doll. I made a linen dress for her with polk-a-dots of silk and wool. The dress linen is from my family collection of old Swedish linen napkins. Her face includes natural mohair and hand stitching [raggedy style]. On Matilda's last day I spent a lot of time brushing her, and found her hair in the brush-I'd forgotten about it-but it was bittersweet to find it. So I put it in on the doll's head.

I will also enclose a copy of 'Misfits of Love" because there is a dialogue and story of Matilda in it. 

Visit the online shop now >

Old Matilda has died

View this post on Instagram

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

 She was thirty years old. She came to us out west, from a neglect case where she was being bred at age 19 without hay or supplements. Her feed were curled and back swayed, the latter never recovered from being bred year after year.

I'm so grateful we found each other. She had a wonderful life with us, and her little herd of minis. She and Paco were bonded. A week or so ago I noticed matilda had started separating out from her mini herd, which is not normal. I took note of it one night and said to Martyn, "The fact the donkeys aren't braying for her or joining her is telling."

In about four days after noticing that, it was farrier day, and Matilda was lying in the field and I had to try to get her up, She could still sit up like a dog, but my farrier had to push and i pulled. It was not a one person job. That was eighth days ago. Within another few days, she could no longer sit like a dog so we had to use the tractor to get her hind up with a strap, and I pulled and steadied her. I could not do it alone. 

It became clear this was not a temporary thing. What was most upsetting for me was she had just had her annual checkup and bloodwork done for her Cushings, and her blood looked good. And she came out of winter so good, after a bad year last winter-we altered her meds and she improved so well. So we were all excited how good she looked. Within a couple of weeks after her checkup is when she declined.

I had an urgent call for the vet-knowing this was not an emergency since she wasn't in utter pain, but I knew if the vet came it was most likely the end of the road. I couldn't imagine they would have any other solutions, at her age. We talked about altering pain management that might help her get up. But even one day of her not able to get up was a problem. And Martyn can't keep coming home to help me. We also knew there are dangers to hoisting her up with the aid of the tractor. A downed equine is a hurting equine both physically and mentally. They are a flight animal. I could not leave her in the open field in case she went down in sun, and horse flies. She was beginning to get bed sores.

It was a beautiful day. The vet was due at 2:45. I spent the last hour with her grooming her, and just sitting. I cleaned stalls. She had her morning with the donkeys. It was a beautiful, clear, 65 degree day. The daisies were out. Martyn had stayed home and dug the grave. We anesthetized her, then led her to the grave-after a lengthy discussion about options, if any, and the right thing for her. There was the possibility she'd fight it. But she didn't. She was gone before she hit the ground.

I let the all the animals in to see her body and grave when it was over, as is our routine in burials. I was most interested and concerned for Paco. But he came over, sniffed, and ran off into his field. Like I said, I think the fact she had separated out of the herd, and they were not alarmed, showed they knew and had said their good byes. Donkeys are very loyal and protective of each other.

I awoke with relief -for her, and me. It is no fun knowing she would most likely be down, and unable to get up, and I was unable to get her up alone. I had hoped we could have summer together. But we couldn't.

I'm sad. I miss her big ears already. But I spent every day with her for so many years. I helped her and she gave me so much just by being her. She got to see America when we drove from Oregon to Maine. She had her mates and a nice barn. She was never hungry. She was safe. She had people come and visit and fall in love with her and her eyes. They loved her eyes because she wore her soul in them.

She was a very special Apiferian, never to be replaced, or forgotten.

My beautiful, beautiful, Matilda. 

The Great Porta Potty Scheme

 “It’s here!” Pickles screamed.

All the animals were gathered by the front privacy fence. Hannah, the smallest of the goats, was on her knees, her head positioned under the gate so she could see the driveway.

“What’s it look like, Hannah?” asked Pickles.

“It’s a big ugly box,” Hannah said.

“Why would anyone want to poop in an ugly box?” asked Ollie the goat.

I entered the discussion, “I assume the porta potty arrived?”

“Mrs. Dunn, might I be able to see the inside of it?” asked Earnest the pig.

I sighed, “Alright, Earnest, go investigate, we’ll wait here for you.”

With that, the pig wandered over to the big box. You could have heard a pin drop amongst the animals as they watched from the fence.

“I’m going in,” said Earnest.

The animals’ eyes grew wide with wonder.

Minutes passed, and the pig slowly backed out of the big box. Before he spoke, everyone had gathered tightly around him, as if he was going to tell a really good ghost story.

“There is a seat with a large hole in it,” Earnest said.

They all looked bewildered.

“That is where the people sit down,” I explained. “It’s like a chair, with a hole in it.”

“But how does the poop get out of their pants?” asked Pickles.

“They drop their pants,” I said.

Everyone gasped again.

“Good grief,” said Poetry, one of the elder goats, “Is it too much to squat over some nice grass?”

“Our elder guests that come visit need a safe place to sit and...”

“Poop?” asked Pickles.

“Exactly,” I said.

“How big is the inside of the box, Earnest?” asked Puddles, one of the youngster goats.

“Well I’m not good with mathematical dimensions, but I’d say I could get about ten of me in there,” said the pig.

As I started back to the house, I noticed Pickles and Puddles deep in thought.

Oh no, I thought, I know that look.

Sometime that evening as I did dishes, I noticed what I thought was a very large firefly out the window. It was moving about near the porta potty. I cracked the window and heard a little voice say, in a whisper,

“That’s ten, keep going!”

As I arrived at the porta potty, I could hear muffled giggles.

“You’re on my head,” said little Hannah.

As I opened the door, a flashlight shone in my face, and I felt like I’d stepped into an old Hayley Mills movie. There before me were a bunch of little goats stacked into the porta potty, and Pickles was front and center, Puddles at her side.

I thought everyone had made it out and back to the barn, but Puddles was missing. I found him still in the porta potty, dropping rocks into the big hole.

“Mrs. Dunn, it makes a big kerplunk sound!” said Puddles.

“Yes it does, Puddles,” I said.

“Does the poop kerplunk too, Mrs. Dunn?” he asked.

“Yes, yes it does,” I said.