A new book...White Dog as conduit...and not falling into the trap of the blog writer

White Dog sits alone in the morning
before the animals have been let out to the fields.

Back in 2015, before we decided to relocate the farm from Oregon to Maine, I had a pile of stories I was working on, and I kept going back and forth on working on them, not finishing any of them. When I look back now, it is clear there was a reason for that. All of those stories, as I wrote the words, and the images were in my head as I wrote, had the Oregon farm as backdrops. I couldn't finish them because they were stories that had not formed yet, had no where to go really, because my subconscious knew we weren't going to be there.

But I have kept going back to the story of White Dog, the creature that mysteriously appeared out of thin air, breaching our fences-the first animal to do that. Oddly, he was a Maremma, the same breed as the dog we had brought home six months earlier, Marcella. Maremma's are not a breed you see walking around everywhere, they are expensive if you want good breeding, and they are a dog that requires a job, as they are innately programmed to guard livestock, or whatever is in their domain that needs guarding. The fact he showed up out of nowhere, in bad condition–thin, curled toenails-made us surmise someone might have been following the blog, and dumped him there. The idea he would find our farm in a rural area, out of all the farms he could have gone, but this one also had a White Dog...it was a mystery, and it was magic. Nobody will ever really know, I guess. But the book will explore a them, that I won't share just yet, but it is a theme that I had scribble down some years ago, and when I saw it as I started reworking the White Dog story, I thought,

Man, he knew all along, I think, that this idea was important to me, and he somehow was part of that-a conduit for the story.

For the past couple months, since "Little Tulip" is finished [it will be arriving here Monday, and will be shipped out to all who have pre-ordered by mid month], I immediately began pondering my next book. I had the idea of doing three little books, that would slip inside a case, much like the Nutshell Library stories we had as children, I still have mine-Lyle the Crocodile, Pierre, and others. I got a bid on printing and the slip case is so expensive, and I worked on some ideas, but then White Dog just kept appearing in my head. I like to lay in bed in the morning-Martyn gets up at 5:30 and I usually linger for a good hour and a half-but I get a lot of creative things done in that time. So in the last month, I've been working on the White Dog book in bed, in my head.

And this week, I revisited the story I wrote, the beginning chapters, and I was spellbound. Okay, maybe that is egotistical, but I really felt drawn into it.

One thing I've started realizing-when you write a blog, and you are also sharing art, photos, brief snippets of pondering on social media, your best writing can get...taken over. I've seen this happen to some semi known blog writers with mid sized followings online who also have books-the writing becomes repetitive, and if they do have a book out, it feels more like a poorly edited [or not edited] blog. Don't get me wrong, blog writing is a craft, it is worthy and a wonderful medium for many, including myself, but there is a huge difference in writing a daily blog, and creating a book. A book has a rhythm, a flow from beginning to end. A blog is caught up in the immediate topic at hand, in 500+ words, with a catchy headline. Anyone who writes a regular blog knows, just like CNN or or any online magazine, that people respond to certain headlines and topics. I myself know I can pour my heart out into a well written piece on something that garners few comments online, but if I post about an animal dying the hits go way up. People seem to be attracted to stories of despair, shock, death...and baby donkey pictures. So blog writers can fall into the trap of unconsciously [or not] writing for the reaction, versus honing the writing.

I think I'm also entering a time of my life where, after 10+ years of writing, my goals as an online presence are shifting. My audience that is still following me has shifted too-in age and things they respond to. There is no better time for me to work on this book. A blog is sort of like a cocktail party, a book is much more like an intimate weekend at the sea.

White Dog knows this too. He is my main conduit right now, to the higher ideas in my head and heart.

Misfit faces...for you

We are $1138 away from making up for the cost of the hay we brought in that will get us through next spring. Hay is probably our most important thing, besides love...and water...and care...and loyalty....and time....and pasture maintenance....and fence maintenance...and hoof and feet trims....vacinations....did I mention time?

But it is time well spent.

This morning I sat in the barn, a light misty rain falling, sitting with Old Sophie, and the pig nearby covered in hay and snoring. It was so peaceful. I have found I am really settling in with the barns and land here, and I am taking more ten minute moments like this. I am scheduling myself so that, well, I don't have to rush, or rarely have to rush. I've done my rushing and am still capable of it if I have to be, but when you are rushed with animals, it always leads to chaos-because, well, they are not rushed.

I hope these images might bring you a momentary smile, and sense of peace, to help you along in your day.

I'll be giving away another print in the coming week-so anyone donating at least $20 will have their name put in a hat.

The Puppet pulls a name out of the hat

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Jul 24, 2018 at 10:12am PDT

And the person taking home the art print is....Val King!

The Puppet gets a little long winded! Thank you to all who have helped replenish our fund by donating -we have raised $1812 of the $3000-that means we only need $1188 more-this money was used to bring in hay to get us through next spring-will be doing another print soon-Thank from all of us! You can still donate at the hay fund page, or here on the blog [or by check]. Anyone donating today and through next week might take home an art print, which I will pick soon.

When I'm old put me in the garden...please

I do not take my gardens for granted. I am graced by them, helped and soothed by them, delighted, surprised and never disappointed in them. And they are a requirement for my soul, I believe. What would happen if I could not have Nature and gardens meshed in my day? I don't want to dwell on that. I do think too many have become distracted to the point of not even noticing one flower in their daily life, or a the intricate details of a tree branch.

The elder visits I've been doing make me keenly aware of 'what might come". I also know many, including my parents, who lived their entire lives in their own homes, surrounded by things that gave them comfort, grounding and purpose. I don't have the answers for the aging population, not everyone can do that. It is a depressing thought to me to think of living in a place without Nature, without the ability to bend and touch Earth, and smell rain as the sky turns grey. Next week, weather permitting, Opie and I will travel an hour and a half to visit a small dementia home, on the sea, where Nature is a key point to how the residents live. They understand and value the actual past lives, and thoughts that go on in these people's heads, and they do not 'lock up the house'...rather, residents are allowed to go out when ever they want, and roam, with an attendant. The staff-to-patient ratio is set up so this can happen. They also allow pets, and have kept the pets on after residents die. Children were also raised in the house, mixing with the elders. I do not know the cost of the residence, but I assume it is pricey, and not all of us can afford this if our time comes to this. But it is heartening places like this exist.

If only the masses of elders and special needs could have facilities like this all over, at affordable prices, where they are treated as creatures versus patients put in a holding tank. Does it all come down to money? Or does it come down to the breakdown of the family system where multi-generations lived together and cared for one another. When someone was sick, or dying, the person was in the house. Children learned that grandpa had great stories and knew how to do a lot of cool things. My mother talked of this a lot, and told me many stories of the relative in the back room on their death bed-still listening to the sounds of the youngsters running about the house, smelling the scents wafting from the kitchen, hearing a familiar sound as simple as the screen door, the rooster, the dog, the mail truck.

I have always looked at my farm that way, a multi-generational community, sometimes birth is going on, sometimes death. How many times did I sit quietly with a dying matriarch of the sheep flock, while little lambs milked right near by? Those were spiritual moments, and I wish human death could always be like that–surrounded by the clan, familiar sounds and smells.

Gardens allow those of us prone to floating off [not always a bad thing] to stay grounded, right here on this realm where for now, we are supposed to be until we are not. When I die, I don't know what or where I will go, I think it will be something that meshes all the beauty of garden, animals, acceptance, safety and a feeling of worth into a skin of some kind, and maybe we won't even 'see' things, we will just be them and become of them, of their essence.

That is the privilege of having a garden, and land to work on-it allows you to become of it, without judgement. And when you do become of it, you reach your higher, calmer, less angry, less judgmental self-your higher being so to speak.

A love story: tall blind lady and a short man

I can't make this stuff up.

There seems to be a new couple in the barnyard. On Thursday, I brought home two cats, as well as, a Bantie rooster who had been left at the shelter. Banties are a small type of chicken, and we had many out West, including Papa Roo, our very first rooster who lived well past ten.

But Seabrights are really small, about 1# each full grown. I decided to give him a home here, as our old rooster, a beautiful Barred Rock, was so aggressive with the hens, and me, that he had to be culled [and many of you know the lengths I went to to try to make it work out]. I felt a Bantie would not be as aggressive, and actually I worried the hens might beat him up because he is so small.

Well, it appears that Misfits find each other. On his first night, I had him secure in a hutch, amongst the hens so they could meet each other, but safe from overzealous introductions. The next morning, I let him out, and when I checked on the hens later that morning, I found him shadowing Henneth, the blind chicken. I thought that was sweet, but each time I check on the hens, there he is with Henneth. They eat together, and spend their days together. I suppose this might change, but for now, I think it is a wonderful love story, and a story of friendship.

"Don't let those other hens bug you, they are a bit full of themselves," Henneth told the new rooster.

"Yes, that one is very sassy," the rooster said. "I think you are beautiful."

"Thank you, are my feathers looking in order?" she asked.

"Very much so," he said.

One of the Buff Orpingtons saw the odd couple conversing.

"You'll need a ladder with her," she laughed.

Henneth walked away from them, and the little roo followed.

"They know not what they speak," she said.

"My intentions are honorable," the rooster said.

I was minding my own business...and this happened

You know the routine...I was minding my own business yesterday morning...really. And then I saw some roosters had been sent to the shelter, the same shelter all the elder cats we have adopted come from. After we had to cull the last rooster for his very aggressive behavior, I told Martyn that my next rooster would be a Bantie. My first rooster, Papa Roo, was a Bantie and I just loved him. The last roo ripped the girl's backs up, they are still recuperating a month later, and he was attacking me, from behind, and despite all my rooster training and whispering–pinning him to the ground, acting like a rooster, not letting him get away with it–he continued to get worse.

So, there were these little Seabright roosters, very different than any roos I'd had, they are really small, about a pound! I figured there would be less possibility for him to mount the girls, or bug them much-if anything I worried the hens would gang up on him.

Well, I got to the shelter, saw the roos, and went into the front office where they know me now-it was very busy-so I waited in one of the cat rooms.

And two blue silver boys came walking over to me immediately. They were super friendly, a 13 year old father and his 1 year old son. Martyn and I haven't had a cat in the house since Big Tony died. I have been keeping my eyes open for the right cat to live in the house. And it was sort of instantaneous. These two just...well, I felt certain they would be a good fit. I didn't even mull it, it just felt very instinctively the right thing to do.

They were relinquished to the vet when their owners, retired, felt they could not afford all the cats, so kept a couple and kept the father and son together and sent them to the shelter. The two are very bonded, which I find sort of unusual for a father cat, but they really are buddies. And even though he is 13, he plays a lot. They are both on special food, for life. I like having a senior and a kid, it is very Apifera.

So I went in for a rooster, and came home with a rooster and two cats. I got out of there before I took home the depressed and sassy white bird.

The little rooster spent the night in a crate near the hens, and this morning I let him out, he is doing just fine so far. And the two cats came into the house and I secured them in the bathroom, thinking they'd spend the night there to settle a bit. I had texted Martyn and told him to be careful if he came home to not open the bathroom door quickly, giving him no further details. When he got home, he went in to the bathroom, and saw a cat, who came instantly to him...and then another cat came to him. He immediately was cooing love words to them.

That went well.

We decided to just let them explore, it had to happen sooner or later. Muddy was fine with them. He knows to just stay out of the way of cats, although he preens them and in time I know that will be the case. Hughie, blind, tends to bark a bit when he needs help or is uncertain about something. So he knows the cats are here, he just hasn't quite figured them out yet, but really doesn't care.

About three in the morning the cats were up, playing "Run like crazy all around the bedroom and slide under the bed on the wood floors"...so I guess they were having a grand time, and I took it as a compliment. Things were pretty calm this morning, and as you can see, they now own the house pretty much.

They are of course, enamored with the large floor to ceiling bird cage of the Zebra Finches. I tied all the doors shut and am trying to teach them not to bat at the sides of the cage. That is my only concern–they will stress my Little Apiferians out...but I think it will be okay.

I guess the biggest surprise for me last night was...just how happy it made me to have not one, but two cats roaming in the house again. We have always had multiple house cats coming and going, and I didn't realize just how much I missed it. These two will not be going outside.

So much for minding my own business.

Hay Update - halfway there!

We are halfway there to recouping our out of pocket expense to buy the hay that will feed The Misfits through late spring of 2019. We upped our number of bales by 100 in case we have as cold a winter as last year, and feel we will have enough. The barns are filled to the seams!

I want to thank so many of you that give everywhere from $5 and on up to triple digits. It takes a village of Misfits to feed a village of Misfits, so thanks to all you Misfit Lovers out there!

There are many ways to donate, here on the blog, at the Go Fund Hay site, or by check [let me know it's coming]. I also have posts up on FB, and anytime anyone donates ANYWHERE it is being added to the total on the GoFund site. I do this because everyone has their preferred method and location of payment.

Also, as promised, someone will take home the print "The Seeds Percolating Underground During Winter", if you donate at least $20 this week [I'm including anyone who donated all this month to the hay fund], a Misfit might pull your name out of the bucket and you can take this archive print home.