Just a Quick Update

Over the past few months, things have changed a bit on the home front.

Starting in late August, Peter began traveling for work.  In this economy, it's almost impossible for an older person to find full time professional work; even with a practical career like his (he's a mechanical engineer with a biomedical focus), Peter was striking out until he decided to begin looking at the short-term, remote jobs his head-hunters were sending him.  This style of work agrees with him; he enjoys the variety and the travel. To date, his jobs have taken him to Dallas, LA, and now Ann Arbor, Michigan.  I've seen him a few times since then, but his brief stays at home aren't the same as our previous team approach used to be.  It's an adjustment for us both.  I'm expecting him home in a day or two (hurray!) before he begins the Michigan job. I look forward to curling up around him, and falling asleep feeling his warmth again.  There's nothing more comforting to me. Except foot rubs.  Love those foot rubs.

It's been an awakening, in many ways.  While I'm perfectly capable of living a solitary life, I'm reminded of why I searched for him in the first place.  It's awfully nice to have someone to share things with on a daily basis (both the good and bad).  Someone like him.

The week before Thanksgiving, I had a much needed joint replacement in the base of my right thumb.  This rendered me left-handed (not my usual dominant hand) for a few months.  It was impossible to lift heavy objects, do buttons, put on certain clothes items, open cans; you get the drift.  And teaching art was interesting; I believe it made me more sensitive to the challenges faced by beginning artists.  Using my left hand instead of my right to draw, paint, and sculpt put us all on a level playing field in terms of skills.  It was good for me to feel that again.  I managed to get through those months, and have emerged one small bone lighter, and immensely more comfortable than I was just a few months ago.  My thumb joint was so deteriorated that it had been giving me constant pain.  That's gone now, and I'm ready for spring kidding season at the farm.  Just in the nick of time, as the does are scheduled to drop their kids in about 2 weeks. I LOVE this time of year!

My mother, who is 85, has accepted my invitation to come and live with us.  To make our little home more functional for her, I had a full bathroom built on the first floor.  The construction took about two weeks, which happened right at the end of the first semester, and into the first day or two of the second semester.  Life was chaos for awhile, but it paid off: the bathroom is beautiful.  I want to live in it.  Just around that time, my administrator let me know that I'll be moving to a different classroom next year, which means boxing and moving17 years worth of art materials and examples.  It also means losing a grant I won to develop the outdoor area by my current classroom.  We have lost one art position because of retirement; I won't go on about all of this, as it contradicts my self-imposed ban of blogging about school, but you can imagine the consternation this is causing me when compounded by the disturbances on the home front. (Just these few sentences have made my heart pound).  I've actually considered seeking a counselor to get me over this bump.

Goats make good counselors. They're good listeners.

I try to turn my thoughts to the spring when I'm feeling helpless.  I've purchased several packets of seeds, and hope to start some carrots and lettuces today.  There's nothing like a tender, newly growing vegetable to give you hope for the future; that is, nothing except a tender, newly born goat kid!  And they'll be coming soon. I'm holding on to that thought.

Lettuce give thanks for Spring.

And so, we move on.  Some things change, and some stay the same.  It's a dance, this life I'm living.  The tempo has changed slightly, but I'll pick up the beat.  It's just a matter of time.

Before the Breath

There is a moment...

right between; between...being unborn, and born.  I've experienced it often this year.

There's the reveal; she's ready, showing the signs, doing the little nesting dance, making a circles or meditating.  She hears something no one else can hear.

She begins to talk to her belly.  Little lowing sounds, unlike her normal voice.  Gentle.  Consistent.

She focuses harder, and may cry out.  Or may just put her head down and push.  This can go on for awhile...or not.  Soon, you'll see more water, and more tissue...and...

feet.  Followed by a nose.  If everything is right.  You pray for the nose. Sometimes you have to find it, turn it, set things straight.  Scary times.  You close your eyes, and visualize.  Sometimes you pray.  Sometimes you cry.  Sometimes you laugh. You work hard.

Then things can happen.  They happen fast, or slow, and can be wonderful, or terrible.  If they're normal, they're excruciatingly passionate.  There is a point at which you forget to worry about getting dirty, or putting your hands where they've never been, or doing what needs to be done.  You do it. You help, because it's right.  You put your back into it.  It's why you were there.  And there's a life coming...

So you sometimes pull, and you always get wet, and you wipe away mucous, and you hold that new life in your hands, and in that excruciating moment between being and not being, that moment when you're holding the most perfect, still and silent creature on the earth in your hands, on your lap, you're holding your breath too.  You've done everything you can. You know now's the time...and you swipe with your fingers, and touch your lips to the moist nose, and...blow. 

What was still and perfect, not quite alive, not a living soul, stirs.  An eye opens, a head turns, and you catch your breath too, and your life has changed.  There's another soul in the world, and your breath was the first it felt in its still-wet, brand new lungs.  You wipe it clean, rub it hard, check its sex, and hand it over to its mother to be licked...and loved...and taught to live in the world, taught to take nourishment, taught to be a goat, or a cow, or whatever it was meant to be.  You let go, step back. And it's beautiful. You quiver with the miracle still in your bones, in your tired arms, in your heart.

And for a day, or a night, or a week, you remember what you were witness to; what old voices whispered in your ears.  And the circle is complete until you begin to step away from it...until the next time.

When you'll be there again...and share the magic, the blessing of that moment...that longest second...before the first breath.

Goschenhoppen Part 1: Women's Work

What have we traded for the long days of hard labor required for survival, just a century ago? I've been thinking about that lately; most of us don't spend entire days preparing a meal or putting up seasonal foods anymore.  Most of us don't spend our evening hours or our winter days stitching, sewing, and weaving. Most of us have more lofty things to do.  We have careers, we have places to go, we have movies to watch, social obligations, networking to do...

Alice (on the right), her sister and daughter; more about her (Alice) later.

We don't spend entire days weeks months lifetimes elbow to elbow with our daughters and sisters. We don't know each other as firmly and deeply as we once did. One might argue that the advances made in our industrialized world have freed us from domestic slavery.  One might argue that the drudgery of "womens' work" has been lifted from us, and we've been liberated of that burden. I understand those arguments, having lived a relatively independent and productive life.

That being said, I wonder what understandings were met over the open mouth of a steaming canner. I wonder how many soul-searching conversations occurred when the biscuits were being cut, how many family stories were passed to younger generations along with the apple peels, how many moments of compassion fed our hearts as we were making butter from fresh, raw milk. How much familial intimacy was put aside in favor of a quicker, "easier" life?

I don't know.  I've primarily spent my domestic times alone; those brief interludes accompanied by friends or lovers are the exception, and I've found them to be either heart-warming or annoying, depending upon the grace of the person sharing my space.  But what if it wasn't MY space?  If the kitchen (the heart of the home) was the place where the collective women of the family shared THEIR hearts and hopes, wouldn't it be a place of comfort, rather than drudgery?

Working with flax; that's a smile I see, and a younger woman learning from one with experience.

 How precious each item we created must have been; ours wasn't a throw-away culture when a week went into the creation of a shirt, or a month into a table.  That rough-hewn table was as precious as a Chippendale sideboard to the family that made it and used it daily.  Every bit of cloth was used and reused until it was all used up; every bit of cut wood became something useful: furniture, tools, fuel.  Recycling was the norm, rather than a choice to make.

Now, I understand that life was harder; we toiled under the sun, we died in childbirth, we suffered from medical conditions that are now curable.  Advances were made as our society freed us to do the intellectual work that was necessary to advance in the arts and sciences; but there's always a price to be paid, a trade-off. In my nostalgic moments, I still long for a simpler life; a life of connection and meaning. Of simple, honest hard work.

Every child is precious.

 What price, a large family?  In those days, the children were contributing members of the family as soon as they could walk.  They were taught the skills that held the family together: animal husbandry, food preparation, domestic arts, farming, building.  They were born into a tightly knit group that functioned (ideally) as a cohesive whole, each participating in the well-being of the other.  There were familial norms and expectations, and I'm sure there were times that were less than perfect, but everyone was a part of something (the family) that was vital and alive.  To leave a family must have been a very difficult thing, regardless of the circumstances, in those days. I consider my own flight from home at 18 years old, and what little difference it made in the daily function of my family; I'm sure it would have meant more if I had been milking the cow, canning, gardening and tending the chickens as part of my daily contribution. Perhaps, with all of those responsibilities, a young person might have more of a sense of belonging, more of a sense of "duty", and not desire so much to be "on their own". "On your own" would be difficult, if not impossible, without the technological advances we enjoy. 

Making pockets; ladies' garments didn't have pockets built in.  These were worn under the apron.

I long for a simpler life.  I'll admit it. I could happily live in more humble digs, and occupy my days with constant creation, whether that meant pickling or painting.  At this point in my life, I'm just about calm enough to enjoy the change of the seasons, and the warmth of a fire as much as I enjoyed a trip to New York or a Broadway show a decade ago. I'm sure my concept of earlier times is romantic; I'm sure there were desperate, difficult times.  But from where I sit, the smell of a cooking fire and a freshly baked pie would be wonderful.  The hours spent sewing a quilt, wonderful.  And the deep, healing sleep after a long day of honest work...wonderful.

Goschenhoppen brings me a taste of that, each year.  Goschenhoppen time-travel magic.  More tomorrow; a story of not-so-distant time travel, and a story of the ripples that one small kindness can create over time.

Lame

I haven't posted for a day or two because , as my mother (as EVERYONE'S mother) once said: "If you can't say something nice..."; you remember the rest, I'm sure.

I had patellar debridement done on my left knee on Monday.  In plain English, the doctor placed a small instrument behind my kneecap, and smoothed out what he charmingly called "potholes", trimmed away some debris, then drilled some "micro fractures" into the remaining bone to stimulate stem cell production and hopefully promote healthy healing. 

Simply said: OUCH. Monday was a blur.  Yesterday was agony.  Today, I'm beginning to feel more hopeful, having discovered that I can actually put my weight on the offended limb without having it break off.

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I am so blessed to have Peter with me; I have never had such help before.  I've endured a few physical setbacks in my long life, and I can honestly say that with the exception of my mother's help, I've never had such a loving caretaker. 

I cannot imagine having to do this if I was solely responsible for a working farm. In the past, my physical limitations only affected me and my immediate household, and were easier to handle.  Now, with the farm in my heart, it's something altogether different.

As it is, they have a capable young man (Cory) doing the milking at Flint Hill in my absence. Though the goats there aren't my own (except for Faith, who isn't lactating), I do feel a responsibility toward them.  How do farmers do it by themselves?   I'm beginning to better understand the need for large, extended families in agrarian societies, and how those groups of people build community. The goats and cows need to be milked, the chickens fed, the crops watered, whether or not one person can walk that day.  Those critters don't care if Gramma has arthritis.  They're hungry and their teats are full! Buck up! Ask Junior to do it, or do it yourself, gimpy knee or not!

Physical labor, especially labor closely associated with our own personal well-being (aka FOOD), promotes a communal dependency and compassion sorely lacking in the modern world of interpersonal isolation. We can telecommute, take a sick day, get a sub; no one will go hungry or risk mastitis. On a farm, my potential week of lameness might have meant losing the garden, especially during this heatwave, without help.  Without help, the horses would either be left out to fend for themselves, or stand in stalls. I hate to even think what would happen to the lactating animals; I would have had to get out there somehow, most likely to my own detriment. Farmers need family and friends. It's that community, that interdependence that is so lacking in our contemporary lifestyles.

I am not a social person by nature, but I understand the need for compassion and loyalty. Now that I'm on the receiving end, I'm so grateful for it.  How difficult it would be to deal with this alone!  Even something as simple as preparing a meal is impossible right now; thankfully, I was able to plan in advance, and have my loving partner to help me.

I'm humbled by this experience.  When I remarked to Peter how glad I was to have him at home, he said "It's all part of the plan."  What plan, you might ask?  I did.  He smiled rather sheepishly, and said "I needed to be off work to help you.  And here I am."

Life unfurls itself like a banner in the wind.  It's a beautiful thing.

The Plot Thickens

We just returned from a wonderful week away; in our defense, this week was planned 7 months ago, and paid for last year, a "use it or lose it" situation.

Why do we need to defend a vacation, you ask?

I've been holding out on you.  Unless you happen to know me face to face, in the flesh (except for my mom, who I'll have to confess to next time I see her). My apologies if you read this first, mom.

My dear husband, who was (yes WAS) employed by Lehigh University, has become another statistic of the recession.  The grant that funded his position was cut, and we have become a single income family.  Sort-of; he will collect unemployment for awhile, and is eligible for Social Security. This came as something of a shock, and trooper that he is, he vowed to get out there and win that bread, etc., but the fact is, he's 62.  The 28 year old would get the job, if there WAS a job. Time to slow down, regroup, and see where life leads us.

It's been leading ME back to the earth.

It's frightening...and exciting...and a challenge, and liberating, and limiting; kind of like that first step into the world of adulthood, but in reverse.  We know how it works now...we just don't know what our limitations will be.

Our vacation was bittersweet.

Will we stay in this house?  I don't know.  Will he actually, really and truly retire? I don't know.

After a few weeks of stomach churning anxiety, I've decided to give up my fears to the Powers-That-Be. What will be, will be.

I'm still working.  That's what I know.

We've had our moments lately; but we had 10 good years, and we have each other and the skills of our minds and the compassion in our hearts, and we will move on...

to the next phase.

Wherever it leads us.

We have a tentative plan...but that story will have to wait.

I think it might turn out to be a good one.

Springing Up All Over

I stole a few minutes before and after my visit at the farm this evening for a much needed dose of sunshine. While I was soaking up all those rays, I spent a little time looking around, indulging my senses. The sounds, sights, smells and textures were luscious. In my home garden, the rhubarb is just exploding her tart self upward toward the sun; I wanted to divide her this year. I wonder how that will affect this year's production. Last year's mint is sprinting toward the lawn. I'm OK with that, as I consider lawns to be a waste of time; I'm all about biodiversity. The primroses came back, as joyful for spring as I am.

The plugs of sweet woodruff that I moved to the shady side yard have acclimated themselves nicely, and are spreading out toward the little sunny patch where I have my butterfly garden. Infant bee balm hangs on for the ride.

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I was surprised by the pretty little plant below. I spotted it last year at our local reservoir. I've been calling it wintergreen for my entire life. I looked it up in my Peterson Field Guide to Eastern/Central Medicinal Plants and Herbs, and found that it's actually called Partridgeberry, or Squaw Vine. A very pretty plant. I brought home a small sample to photograph, because I didn't have my camera with me at the reservoir. Silly me.

The BIG find of the day was this funny, gelatinous fungus I found while following a deer path. Isn't it dramatic? It's called, appropriately enough, "Orange Jelly", and likes conifers. I found that in Bill Russell's Field Guide to Wild Mushrooms of Pennsylvania and the Mid Atlantic. There were several patches of it there. It's pretty-much useless for human consumption, but I found it interesting to look at, and to poke gently with my finger. The white pine branches all around it (which had fallen in yesterday's wind storm) however, smelled wonderful, and do have traditional medicinal uses. You can look them up in Peterson's as well.

I find my walks in the woods to be so interesting and grounding; it's one of the times that I feel at my most immediate (a "Be Here Now" moment, for those of you who remember such things). I'm gong to try to make more time for them. They heal my winter-weary soul. I found myself laughing with the water, and thanking the skunk cabbage blossoms for being the first vegetable drama of the spring (our goat kids were the first animal drama). There can't be a more optimistic time of year. Is it any wonder we have our spring holidays now? I know I want to celebrate; celebrate new beginnings, the passage from dark into light, new birth, fecundity. Welcome, warm weather! Welcome, spring!

Pebbles' Secret

You may recall a close-up of this picture, which I posted on Wednesday, 3/24. Our girl Pebbles, with much vocalization and gnashing of teeth, delivered this healthy baby boy. Remember? When she was finished, we cleaned up, got the kid nursing, and went off to our various lives. Then there was Thursday. After school, I visited my mother and helped her out a little; I'll discuss that later. On Friday evening, I milked Pebbles because she only had the one kid. Her teats were plugged with some odd material that felt like cheese, so I removed it, and she gave almost a quart of beautiful, creamy milk. Hold that thought; it's more relevant than you know.

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I attended a class with the master gardeners at the farm this morning, then hauled my good friend El and myself to the farmers' market in Gilbertsville, about an hour away. We make occasional pilgrimages there, for local meat and produce (in season), herbs, antiques, etc. We ended up spending the entire afternoon together. There were eggs to be bought, yard sales, thrift stores...I was in search of an old crib to repurpose as vine supports in my garden. El was looking for a certain piece of furniture for her sparsely furnished spare bedroom. We found lots of treasures, good food, and enjoyed an extended afternoon in the country. Upon our return, I dropped her at her car, then went back to Flint Hill to feed the goats. Miss "M", below, was there. She's a budding goat whisperer.

As I fed the goats, they clamored for my attention, as usual. Pebbles was particularly vocal, and I told her to calm down, that I'd get to her in a minute. Miss M asked me about Pebbles' baby, and asked me if she was going to have any more. I told her no, as the kid had been delivered several days before. M said that she thought Pebbles was going to have more babies. I kept feeding and watering the goats. M found something else to do outside.

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Then all hell broke loose.

Pebbles started yelling again, and I glanced over at her; there were two little feet poking out! She had her baby on Wednesday! Today was Saturday! Was I confusing her with someone else? No...Pebbles has a very distinct voice, and she was using it. She was delivering AGAIN! I hollered for Kathy, and checked the position of the baby, who was lined up for the big dive. Pebbles started to push. Kathy came running. The human kids came running. Adult helpers came running. Miss "M", the budding goat whisperer, said "I TOLD YOU!" We delivered the first of THIS day's kids, another big boy, and Kathy checked deep inside and found another one! The final kid, a girl (HOORAY!) was born seconds later. Pebbles held out for three days!

Here's the happy family. Triplets. Baby buck #1, born 3/24. Baby buck #2 and his little sister, born 3/27. WOW.

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Now, back to those teats. Do you suppose Pebbles might have been holding back her colostrum for her remaining kids? Although she nursed #1, she wasn't particularly interested in doing so, and he actually nursed from surrogate mommas in the pen with them. When I unplugged her and took that quart, I was amazed he had been getting anything from her; perhaps he hadn't. He's as healthy and vital a kid as they come, and is beating the two newborns to her udder now, BUT WE HAVE THAT QUART OF COLOSTRUM SAVED. Do you think she, in her infinite goaty wisdom, knew what she was doing? Nature is amazing. What a great day! And, Miss M...we grownups will listen more closely from now on. GOOD JOB!

Guernica

Here's how it's been lately: one minute, the girls are calmly chewing their cuds, gossipping about the younger does, complaining about the noisy new kids and the buck that got them in this situation. The next minute, all hell breaks loose. This is "Guernica", by Pablo Picasso. Do you see that anguished horse in the middle of the painting? That could have been Pebbles. I was in the barn for a good hour, feeding, watering, checking udders, checking , checking, checking...walk away one minute, and I get called back to...GUERNICA. Pebbles was on her side with human attendants; human and goat hearts were racing, Pebbles was yelling, phone calls were being made. Cory located the front hooves and the little nose, so her kid was all lined up for his big dive...but that boy had ONE BIG HEAD. Poor Pebbles needed a little assistance, and assist we did.

And in about 10 minutes, we were rewarded with this big boy. He looks like he's a week old. And she looked like she was carrying triplets!(UPDATE:::SHE WAS!) After his head passed, it took one more contraction to push him into the world, with Cory clearing the way and me pulling (just a little bit). We cleared the mucous from his mouth, opened his airway, and just as I was getting ready to give him a breath, he took one on his own. The people in the barn cheered! Baby boy, born to Pebbles! YAY! He was on his feet in 5 minutes. He'll be reading and writing in an hour or two.

You know, if MY labor had lasted 10 minutes, and if I had delivered a kid who could stand up and go for her own dinner 10 minutes after being born, and if I had gotten applause upon delivery, my daughter might have had siblings. But I digress. He is awfully cute, isn't he? He joins the herd of his half-siblings. Check out some of the cuties we delivered this week, below; they look like their daddy, Elvis. I'll post a picture of him next, to remind you. He's pretty foxy. And he was pretty busy, apparently! What a stud.

That little guy in front with the lop ears just steals my heart. If I didn't live in a city, he'd be my house-goat. Darn city. They should just take a look at these sweethearts! They'd change their minds! And goats are so much tidier than dogs. God, I love my life right now; I'm so lucky to be a part of all this. Thank you, Kathy! Thank you, Nature! Thank you, Spring!

On Balance

My friend Ron said it beautifully: "Some things of beauty just have to have that dark side associated with their natural condition. I suppose nature has the yin yan too!" We are nature. And, as beautiful as she is, she can be lethal. (Winter Aconite, below)

The beautiful Angels' Trumpet is poisonous. And exquisite. So is Datura. O'Keefe painted Angel's Trumpet. She saw the beauty; she also saw the beauty of bones and skyscapes. Certain beauties are both breathtakingly exquisite and literally breath-taking.

So here's my observation; it's obvious. Life is precious. Life is tenuous. For each perfect kid we rub dry and lead to the teat, there is the potential balance of loss; the stillborn kid, the badly positioned birth. As I've rubbed the living babies to vibrant health, I've wrapped a few still, never breathing infants in their soft-cloth shrouds. And sent them back to the cycle of nature with a prayer. I'm glad this doesn't happen often, but it does happen.

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It's the potential for death that makes this life so bittersweet. A human baby is borne to an online friend; my neighbor's elderly mother is dying. I carried a still-wet goat-kid's body away yesterday, then returned to guide his newborn brother's mouth to their mother's udder. Sometimes it's too painful to bear; and sometimes it's bliss. I only know that we're all a part of it, and that life in its infinite wisdom, has a way of going on. Welcome, Vernal Equinox, with your symbolic dichotomy. Welcome, Spring.

Take a Walk on the Wild Side

Last fall, a close friend of mine said that if she was a deer, she'd try to join a goat herd for hunting season. Deer are so similar to goats in form: they're like their more graceful, more photogenic cousins. I can relate. I had a few of them myself. I'm the "goat" to Linda, Margie and Debby's "deer". I'm OK being the goat...but the deer sure are pretty.

Just look at those legs. Those girls are super-models. From space.

You have to admire their tenacity. These deer are within city limits, yet they remain invisible during the day, and find a way to thrive. Such clever creatures. Our graceful cousins.

Four in One, with a Dozen or so Holding.

Is there anything more beautiful than this? Could there be? A perfect, safe and easy birth, two vital, lively little doelings, an attentive mama...and life goes on. I melted when I saw them. Moments later, their male counterparts: two perfect little boys that will grow to be herd-building bucks. Don't they look like tough little guys?

Both mamas and their kids. Claiming turf. Reminds me of West Side Story.

Seriously, this is the best and most passionate time of year. Can't you feel it? The sun on your back, the quickening of pulses, the promise of new life... Babies are being born, and things are stirring underground. Our minds and bodies are shaking off the winter sleep and waking to the new spring sun. We drink the air like a fresh spring tonic. So do these goaty girls, with their new broods and their first tastes of spring paddock. Life is Good.

Valentine's Day / Anniversary

OK, it's sappy. But it's the truth: it's our anniversary. Everyone should be able to celebrate anniversaries. I spent the morning cooking. Nothing new there. Heart shaped omelets were new, though they were a small part of the morning's cooking. The 4 cards that Peter gave me with sweet messages were new. The wine setup he bought for our home brewing hobby was new. The regular kitchen activities, however, were decidedly commonplace. So was Peter's morning nap on the couch, under the crazy quilt. Comfortable. Just like the smell of beef barley soup. We shook things up at about noon, when we headed for Easton.

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This is the view from the end of Julia's street. She had offered us her vintage gas range, and we went to take a look at it. It was sweet: stovetop griddle, rotisserie, ample surface space; too ample, in fact. It won't fit, so we had to turn it down. But Easton was beautiful in the clear light. I miss the river, MY river. I knew every inch of the Lehigh throughout the length of Easton, and I've paddled every inch from the headwaters to the Delaware. I learned how to paddle there in Easton, when I wasn't being taught on more active water up north. Pretty bridge, isn't it? There are more.

After Easton, we went to the Sands casino in Bethlehem. It was a lark...a day of play. We were determined to quit when we were ahead, and we did. We left about $100 ahead of when we arrived, after playing for a couple of hours and having two glasses of wine and lunch. Just so you know: the music there was hypnotic. SCARY hypnotic. The place was beautiful, with an industrial theme and hanging bars of light, but I'd love to see a study of the effect of that music on the patron's inhibitions and ability to think rationally. At any rate, I cut myself off when I began to lose, and Peter followed suit. We ate lunch (I indulged in carbs: pizza), then left for the farm.

I've been missing my girls, and apparently they have been missing me too. I got lots of velvety goat kisses. I got dog kisses, cat kisses, and people kisses. It was a pretty wonderful day.

Hello, (Wolf) Moon

What an awesome full moon! I noticed it on my way home from the farm this evening though I couldn't stop in the traffic for a photograph, so this shot is later from the deck. It's overcast now. It wasn't earlier, and I could barely believe how beautiful she was! Here's an interesting description of the whys and wherefores of the beautiful Wolf Moon.

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In the meantime, I want to comment on serendipity, nostalgia, regret and faith. They don't seem to be related, do they? But they are. I read a quote by Elisabeth Kubler Ross somewhere today, stating her belief that "there are no coincidences". I agree with her, but then I always have. You just have to accept the messages that are placed before you, if you can.

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In the past year, I've been revisited by so many old friends, or messages from old friends, from across the decades. One way or another, via Facebook, email, Classmates.com, sheer coincidence or decades-late third-party communication, I'm suddenly reconnecting with those people that formed my reality. It's shocking, painful, and wonderful. So here's the dilemma: I'm facing an existential crisis. What I believed to be truth was actually my ill-informed, one-sided interpretation of truth. In the real world, how many wars were fought because of this type of miscommunication? How many lives lost? How many loves? Can we ever really know what's true, at the moment the truth that forms our reality occurs? There are so many sides to any given story. People withhold and manipulate the truth for their own (misguided) reasons, which shapes our subjective, individual "realities". Sometimes, they think they're doing what's right; sometimes, not.

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In my life, time has passed, and life has evolved. And here's where I find solace: those things that were devastating and painful have resulted in growth and strength. They've given me my family, my present life, my mindset. What I do regret is my ignorance, and the pain it may have caused others. I will make that right, if I can; but can we ever really know what's true? What's true to everyone...those left behind, those that are present, and ourselves? Life is dynamic; only small parts of our souls get stuck, and those are the parts that we revisit. The parts we need to heal. If only we could know each others' hearts. And cause no harm.

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I've been trying to live in the moment, to savor my experiences as they occur. I've been trying to accept the unraveling of time and the progression of events, and believe that there is direction to them. And you know, I do believe that. Time is so precious. I want to fix those things that have been broken...through life circumstances, through misunderstanding, through inadequacy. I forgive those that hurt me. I do. And I apologize to those that I may have hurt. It was never intentional; we look back, and see through different eyes. If I find you, I'll tell you myself. Don't get stuck there. Fill up on the positive. Move forward.

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In this last year, I've met new people who live on faith. All different forms of faith. One family has a traditional monotheistic faith. They lost everything they own, and give thanks for their lives. They're happy; they move on. Another friend lives on hope and dreams. She asks her higher power for help and accepts the answers she gets, then moves forward, whether they're the answers she expected or not. She lives in service to others. The third friend doesn't speak of any religion or system of faith, but lives without desire or possessions, and serves as a lesson to others through his simplicity. These are the serendipitous friends that have come into my life this year, in the year I've also reconnected with so many older acquaintances; so many old memories.

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There are no coincidences. We're here to learn.

Auguries of Innocence

"To see the world in a grain of sand

and heaven in a wildflower

hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

and eternity in one hour."

-William Blake

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Of course, if you go on to read the rest of this poem, you'll experience a cascade of emotions and be left with an ache in your heart. That's not where I want you to be, so don't do it! Just enjoy the wonder of these first 4 lines. Save the agony of the rest of Blake's philosophy for another day.

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The above phrase, which I find incredibly beautiful, came to mind today. I've been thinking of two very different things today: the horrors being experienced by the Haitians in the wake of the earthquake they experienced last night, and the fulfillment I'm experiencing, having made contact with a few significant friends from my past. The unifying theme however, is the compression and expansion of time. For Haiti, the long, everyday, day-to day existence has abruptly stopped. This is the moment that the survivors will remember forever. Some will remember it with gratitude; some will remember it with emotional agony; but it will be a crystalline moment frozen in time, a clear vignette of where their hearts were on that fateful day. They'll remember. Those that survive will always remember. Time stopped for them. Time stopped for everyone there.

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On the other hand, time has gotten away from me. I've lived my days, months, years and decades as foggily as they revealed themselves, leaving behind some peak experiences and memories as we all do. Closed some books. Those books remained on my mental shelves like dusty memories; easily ignored, sometimes not entirely forgotten, no longer relevant. But I've opened a few today. And I feel like I'm picking up a favorite read, a favorite line in a poem (like Blake's) that may not have panned out exactly as I intended, but had just a moment or two of exquisite beauty for me. I'll hold on to the memory of that beauty. The rest of the poem be damned.

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I have found friends I haven't seen or heard from for 35 years. Through the Internet, through technology, through social networking, blogging, whatever means available, I've managed to reconnect with a few friends from my childhood and just beyond; how lucky are we to live in this time?? It makes me remember, in less abstract terms, who I am. It gives a more linear presence to my memory. I have gaps...long periods of time full of emotional trauma that no longer live in my mind; these remembered moments were the best of those difficult times, and I'm so grateful to have reclaimed them. Thank you, friends, for finding me. This has been a year of "coming home".

Resolutions

Peter, Rebecca and Kathy after dinner, New Year's Day

Boeuf A La Bourguignonne (thank you Julia Child)

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Are you making New Year's resolutions this year? I propose we do it here, for the world to see...which will require some good thinking. I'm going to try it tonight, during a little dinner party I'm throwing, when I'll update this blog with pictures and a list. You're welcome to join the cyber-party and add your resolutions to the list. I'll check in occasionally to see how you're doing. Put your thinking caps on! I'll start: MY Resolutions:

1. I am going to sort/organize/ donate/discard the contents of the equivalent of at least one box of “stuff” a day until the upper levels of the house are in order.
2. I’m going to begin the task of formalizing my masters degree so I can retire at a decent pay scale in a few years.
3. I’m going to learn how to make better home-brewed wine and better home made cheese.
4. I’m going to continue to watch my food and drink consumption so I can get my cholesterol and triglycerides in order (and lose weight doing it).
5. I’m going to grow my garden with a better eye on freezing and preserving for the winter.

Peter's Resolutions/Goals:

1. He's going to stay in the financial "black".
2. Clean the basement (this is NO SMALL TASK), and inventory items for Craig's list.
3. Invest 1/2 hour 2 - 3 times a week archiving his father's artwork (Pierre Bourdelle).
4. Work on the kitchen counters
5. Fix the Flint Hill generator
6. Sell the Chevy truck.
7. Lose 20 pounds.

WooHoo! We're going to be fit as a fiddle!

The Year in Review Questionnaire

I snitched this questionnaire from The Farmers Daughter who snitched it from Laura. You'll have to follow the links (and you'll be glad you did...good stuff out there in blog-land).

1. What did you do in 2009 that you’d never done before? I learned how to trim goat hooves, and how to do fancy braids with horsehair. I grew kohlrabi and liked it.
2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I didn't make any last year.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth? A few faculty members gave birth; so did my daughter's best friend.
4. Did anyone close to you die? Not this year.
5. What countries did you visit? We stayed in the USA this year. But I'm game if anyone needs a travel partner!
6. What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009? A more orderly household
7. What dates from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? August 29, the day the calf was born
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? Hmmm, I'd have to say that getting involved in the non-profits that I work with now feel like the best things I have done.
9. What was your biggest failure? I don't feel like I've really failed at anything. Maybe that one nasty pot of seafood chowder that went amok.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury? I had a torn meniscus in my left knee from carrying that calf and developed carpal tunnel, but I've got a few thousand miles on these bones, and they're bound to need a tune up.
11. What was the best thing you bought? When the truck had its coronary the week before school resumed, we bought a 1999 Mazda Miata. A very impractical car, but boy, is it fun!
12. Whose behavior merited celebration? My daughter...she is patient, hardworking, and always keeps her kids first. I'm proud of the woman she has become.
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? I have some issues with local politics. 'Nuff said.
14. Where did most of your money go? Bills and supplies
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? The Farm: http://www.flinthill-farm.org/, and our little goatie girl, Faith
16. What song will always remind you of 2009? I'm not really tuned that way.
17. Compared to this time last year, are you: a) happier or sadder? happier b) thinner or fatter? thinner c) richer or poorer? the same
18. What do you wish you’d done more of? traveling
19. What do you wish you’d done less of? procrastinating
20. How did you spend Christmas? Christmas eve with our family, Christmas day together, and with our friends at the farm, and our friend El.
21. Did you fall in love in 2009? I'll always be in love with my sweetie. But I fell in love with a little goat...
22. What was your favorite TV program? I have to say House...and Gardening by the Yard on PBS
23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? I don't hate anyone. It's a useless emotion.
24. What was the best book you read? Sleeping Naked is Green was good.
25. What was your greatest musical discovery? We heard David Jacob Strain at Godfrey Daniels. He was really good. And our friends Angela and Kendra Lupinacci are doing some awesome things on You Tube.
26. What did you want and get? I wanted a goat and got Faith, and her whole new herd to spend time with.
27. What did you want and not get? A farm, hahaha...though I DID get to help out on one regularly, so I sort-of got one.
28. What was your favorite film of this year? I enjoyed Julie and Julia.
29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? Let's see...not sure what we did (I think it involved dinner), but I turned 52.
30. What’s the one thing that made your year immeasurably more satisfying? Working on the farm
31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009? Sal's Boutique (Thrift-store...Salvation Army... not-so-chic)
32. What kept you sane? The animals and the land.
33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? Not real big on celebrity fan-dom.
34. What political issue stirred you the most? Health Care and Global Warming initiatives
35. Who did you miss? John
36. Who was the best new person you met? Kathy Fields
37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2009. I didn't learn this, but it was often reinforced: We're all part of the same energy; the more you give back, the better you feel.
38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year. "To everything, turn, turn, turn...there is a season, turn, turn, turn..."

Got Change?

1983

Parents, how do you tell time? "When my daughter was 5...when my son was 12"...sound familiar? This was when my daughter was 5. I was 25. So many things have changed since then.

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Change isn't always easy, and we don't always understand it. Our circumstances change, and we adjust. Our bodies change, but our souls remain the same. We learn from the changes we experience. Sometimes the changes come with tears. Often.

Then we find a new way.

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We each have cycles of change. They're not necessarily in sync with our beloved's. We learn and grow. We learn to accept the fluid nature of our lives. Our babies grow up, and have changes of their own; our patterns change. We adapt. Some of us change more than others. Some of us don't tell each other that we've changed, and it remains a private matter. Some of us sing our changes out loud.

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The one thing I know is this: we are here to learn. And change is a part of that. Love endures; love grows. We are each a work in progress, and change is the catalyst for growth. The part of us that remains constant is our integral nature, though even that is moulded, if ever so slightly, by the things we learn.

Change is good.

2008: Change can be beautiful.

Lives of Quiet Desperation

Chickens Roasting at Goschenhoppen

Last Summer

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What do we really need? As I'm watching TV tonight with our friend Earl, I'm struck by the dichotomy of our worlds. Earl lives with very little by his own choice, but this morning he asked to come in for the weekend because of the impending blizzard. You can read about him HERE. On Saturdays, I visit Earl with soup and a sandwich. This morning, as I was handing him his breakfast, he said "Maybe I'll come in for the weekend. It's up to you.", and I was happy he did, because this snowstorm is supposed to be a whopper. Peter and Earl have been watching old movies all day, and I've been feeding them warm soup and muffins and coffee. But that's not what I've been thinking about.

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I'm watching TV as I make my weekly soup in the kitchen today. While I stand at the stove, I'm seeing ads about fashion and decorating, the perfect way to fillet a shrimp for that extra-fabulous appetizer, the latest exercise programs being touted by an amazingly well-preserved 45 year old Christie Brinkley, fiction about vampires and princes, and the repetitive dire weather warnings that precede a blizzard. I'm hearing about automobile accidents and car insurance, the stock market and Tiger Wood's conquests and shame. And I'm watching an elderly man who has lived outdoors for 25 years kiss my cat and laugh at the joke he just told my husband. He's watching two men fence in an old movie called "Scaramouche"; he told me he likes James Bond and cowboy movies. What does it mean to him? What do we really need?

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We need food, certainly. We need to be able to protect our bodies so they don't freeze or become diseased. We need companionship, whether from people or animals; sometimes we need more, sometimes less. We need wonderment; whether the fascination of the intricacies of a snowflake or the plot of a good book or movie. And we need peace in our souls; whether from the simplicity of our natures, from finding our centers, or from faith. I think that peace is the most important thing of all. With it, we can put away the desires that are filling the pathogenic void that many of us feel. How often have you felt uneasy, then decided to redecorate, or buy new shoes, or travel to the Bahamas? Did the unrest go away when the object of your desire was obtained, or did it just change its face? Maybe you had a drink to quiet it. Or maybe you cleaned your house, or jogged a mile or two to dispel the energy. Maybe you picked a fight with someone you live with. Maybe you had an affair. If you felt comfortable in your own skin, at peace in your soul, I believe those energies and desires might not be so intense. What do we really need?

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I'm not suggesting that we all take up a nomadic life like Earl did, or take vows of poverty. I think that the key to finding that quiet place inside is to live honestly, a difficult task in the world we live in. We all live lives of compromise for so many reasons; political correctness, professional obligation, social or religious expectations. Some of us were brought up to be selfless; some of us were brought up to be social climbers. Most of us, in one way or another, chafe at the confines of our civilized lives when confronted with situations that are in conflict with our true selves. What to do? Thoreau said that "Most men live lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them." I think the answer is this: Let your soul sing it's own peculiar song, if just a little; then let it sing more loudly when it can, whether that happens on the weekends or the evenings, during your retirement or (if you're lucky) every day. Because living an inauthentic life is the worst kind of hell there is. We all know that our time is precious. Ask yourself: What do I REALLY need? I'm certainly thinking about that tonight.

Things Could Be Worse...

The birds felt it coming. They were perched in the tree tops and on the street lamps, just waiting for the snow.

There was nearly a white out when we arrived at the farm. Flint Hill has a climate of its own. If it's raining in the valley, it's snowing on the hill. Snowing in the valley: blizzard on the hill. You get the drift (pun intended). It's really quite beautiful, though I do anticipate a difficult winter if I'm able to keep milking. Kathy has begun to dry out the herd to prepare for the new kids, so we're down to one milking a day; this is timely, as I was diagnosed with advanced carpal tunnel in my right hand two days ago, and may need a little down time to have it fixed. Upsetting news.

Things could be worse. I could be this poor guy.

These boys know how to spend a snowy day. That's my new farm vest they're sleeping on ($6.96 at the local thrift store for an L.L. Bean down vest. Score!) I didn't have the heart to make them move; I wore something else! Next time I'll make sure to hang it up!

Sweet Fruit

Gris-Gris contemplating his navel.

"So that's your prompt for today- what do you believe in? what's your dream? what do you know for sure?" (From "What Kate Did Next", an inspiring blog on the writing process by Kate Lord Brown.)

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I believe that by living simply, I can better understand the larger truths. For me, it takes a certain inner peace and order to allow me mental clarity, and my life as an artist and teacher is anything but orderly. If I compound the clutter of my physical environment with a cluttered and stressful schedule, my mind gets lost in the fallout; I spend my time fixing and restoring rather than creating and dreaming.

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Since meeting and falling in love with Peter, who is equally creative and cluttered, I have walked a thin line, balancing the excesses of our combined imaginations with the excesses of our combined households. We do not like to do monotonous, repetitive tasks. This includes simple household tasks, though we do them (of course) out of necessity.

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It seems to me that by living a more rural life, combining interesting, non-repetitive labor with our "creative" work, we can lessen our need for physical objects or our psychological dependence upon our "things". We can focus and utilize our skills, be stimulated by the world we live in, and lead a more positive and satisfying life.

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I keep saying "we"; I wouldn't impose my desires upon Peter, though I would certainly share my ideas. Just sayin'.

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So, MY dream is to have a simpler life, and to work on a farm. I'm living that dream, bringing it closer to fruition each day as I simplify my life and my environment. It's a process, not an epiphany. This is the fruit of my accumulating years; as I ease into my 50's and begin to have an eye on retiring from my teaching profession, which has been my professional backbone for 23 years, I feel the need to reinvent myself...gradually. And to do it with honest, self actualized vigor.

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My UBER-dream is to own a small farm, though at this point I'm struggling with the dream vs. the reality of my own aging body and our combined meager bank accounts. If some miracle occurred and we were able to buy a little farm with a few goats and chickens, I'd try it in a heartbeat. Arthritis and carpal tunnel be damned...I'd work through the pain to achieve that goal. Would I still have time to dream and paint? I don't know, but I suspect I would if I got the balance right. Not too many animals, not too much maintenance, not too many outside distractions.

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What do I know for sure? I know I am infinitely creative. I know I have a loving and supportive husband and a few excellent friends. I know that I want to have a meaningful life that contributes to a better world and helps others. I know that I want to have more time for my extended family. I know that I don't have the energy I had in my teens, when I tried this life before, though my coping skills, financial base, life experiences and self-actualization skills have improved tremendously. Funny how those attributes have grown in inverse proportion to my physical beauty! We ripen. Maybe the best grapes are actually raisins. Or at least over-ripe, sun-sweet fruit!

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I have a little prayer that I composed, which I recite internally in times of need or change. This is it: "Dear God, Goddess, Powers-That-Be: Please center me. Through the nurturing of the earth, the directionality of the air, the transformative properties of fire, and the power of water, guide me, strengthen me, and make me whole. Bring me home." I haven't said it to myself in awhile, but I often did, before I found the farm where I tend the goat herd now (which feels so natural and good to me). It helps me still my mind and listen to my inner voices, which are always honest. It brings me peace.

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Thanks, Kate. Good prompt.