3 days without Martyn...not so sure I would be good at this

I spent the last three days alone, without Martyn. He went to a family outing 4 hours away, and I could not get farm care. That is one of the realities that comes with what I do-the responsibility of care taking never ends. And since we haven't been here that long I have not found farm sitters. I was really glad Martyn got to go, he went fishing at his family's old summer stomping ground, and got to see family too. He needed that. In some ways, I told him, I think maybe I was meant not to go, I would have created a different dynamic, and this way, he could fish all day.

We have not been apart for...I can't even remember the last time, I guess it would have been 2008 when my father died. When he was packing up his truck to leave and I was helping carry stuff to the car, I had this overwhelming sense of...this just doesn't feel good. As I stood by his truck and it was time to say goodbye, my throat started to swell up and I had to hold back my emotions.

Good grief! It wasn't like he was getting on the Titanic.

But it was interesting to be alone again after so many years. Keep in mind before Martyn, I was single until I was 42. I lived alone, except for one year when I hooked up with a moron who happened to be a very good liar, and liars and open-hearted souls often collide, leaving one bruised and battered and leaving the liar to leave, and lie some more. I liked living alone. I really did. I have always been, since a young child, a self entertaining unit. I always had my own room, since it was just me and my brother, and I found multiple ways to amuse and engage myself all day. When I was about ten, I would go to bed really early sometimes, like 8, and my mom wanted to know why I was going to bed so early-it was because I loved lying in bed with the lights out and listening to the stories in my head.

Being alone isn't the same as being lonely, and being lonely can happen even though you are surrounded by people. While I like being alone, I am not lonely. In fact I relish being alone. With Martyn I have found the perfect match, we work well together, but we also work separately-together. We come together at dusk and break bread, share, laugh, yell at the Apple TV, and sleep.

So after he drove away, I went in the house and...I cried, like a little baby. I was sort of caught off guard by that. But they were good tears and then I started on with my day. What was so interesting to me was the energy shift in the house. Everywhere there were marks of Martyn, things he'd built or fixed, his garden, the empty spot out front where his truck should have been, his cap hanging on a chair. That first day, I realized how accustomed living with someone I had become. I knew this, but the physical void was so palpable. By night time I made some pesto and watched a movie and went to bed. When I awoke, I had to remember he was gone. And when I got up to start the day, again, I noticed how the energy was different....it was as if I could feel the energy more.

I thought of my friend, my age, who three months ago lost her way-too-young husband in his fifties, suddenly. He got up to make breakfast, had a seizure which he had experienced his entire life, fell down the stairs, and was dead. She is forging on in her life, not cowering from the pain, but living in it, and she says it is a physical pain right now, it hurts every where. I empathize with her. I often wonder if I could stand this, if Martyn died now. Some people like to shower me with nice comments, based on my good deeds and what they see me doing on the blog, telling me I am 'brave' and 'strong'....hmmm, I am not sure of that. I am not sure I would have the strength to go one, or want to go on without him. I'm not sure I would choose to have the strength..maybe I would just, breathe out, and let go of the earth somehow.

Anyway, it was interesting to be silent for three days and not really have conversation. I sat out in the garden for a cocktail and I do love just sitting...I have always loved just sitting for a spell. But when I got up this morning, I baked a pie for Martyn's homecoming, and some bread so he can have sandwiches for work tomorrow. I'm glad he is coming home. It's the same excitement in my heart as when a new Misfit is arriving!

But I guess it is this decade of the sixties....you do know what you have more clearly, because all around you there is more loss. One can't dwell on 'what if', one must focus on 'the glory of what is here right now'. But then I think of my friend, and what she has right now is a big hole in her life. She doesn't get to have baked pie tonight with her best friend...

Here's to all the brave warriors out there, warriors of love as my friend calls herself, who get up and face the energy shift in the house.

As summer fades...we smile

It has been a humid August this year, and humidity is not my friend, or too many other's either. Since we never had humid summers in Oregon, I've never had to deal with certain things rotting in the garden. On the other hand certain things seemed to thrive this summer-the Queen Anne's Lace for example. But the rains we had, with humid days after, did seem to do some things to certain roots.

I could have an entire yard of The Queens, perhaps with sunflowers too, and pumpkins. Martyn has been patient with my Queen love, letting me keep large plantings of it in both the front garden and back private garden. We kind of have this unspoken rule that the front garden is more his, except for my hollyhock patch-step away from my hollyhock patch-and the back garden is more my garden. It's one of those couple speak things. We obviously are very united on how we take care of Earth.

And the cone flowers this year are phenomenal too.

I talk to all my flowers, how can I not? They are so full of personality.

But, as you can tell by this lackluster post, it is still August, and I am really no different than the plants, or leaves that are crumbling. I really feel this is what happens to me in August, I am no different than every other piece of Earth, I am ready to shed parts of myself, decaying skin and bits of dirt and hair, and start afresh in September. Fall for me is a revitalization, even though it is a time when Nature is prepping for winter. Winter for me is a long, caccoon of creativity and silence.

Fall always has a melancholy too. I think for me it is because it reminds me of days gone by-memories of being a kid and sitting in my leaf huts back in Minnesota, my mom in the house making a good dinner, my dog at my side. Back to school has that same revitalization for me-new pencils, the smell of the new books, who was my homeroom teacher going to be.

But for now, I do try to look at each flower head, marvel, and revel in it all-this setting, how we got here, and what will happen next. If I think of people now gone, or animals, it is not really in a depressed way, it is an acknowledgement that without them I would not be here in this exact spot and time...and that they live in my head.

The blessing of daily faces

It's a blessing to live amongst such a diversity of souls with faces that express their own peace each day, because they just get to be.

White Dog: the new book keeps unfolding

I have been working on the upcoming book about the story of White Dog, the creature that mysteriously appeared in our field one day...the same large livestock guardian breed [Maremma] as our Marcella who at the time was about 8 months old as I recall. Many scenarios were tossed around by readers, and me, and while we did seek answers to where he came from for a return, I'm grateful he is with us. He was thin, long toed and his collar had what looked like an old rope knotted and torn, indicating he might have been tied ups at some point. He was not a chaser of sheep or animals, was calm around all the various Misfits walking around...and he was intact. He also had a fear on arrival if anyone picked up a broom or rake and he would cower.

The mystery of where he came from was juxtaposed by his demeanor, which had a knowing and calm exterior, his inner thoughts seemed to ooze mystical qualities-for me any away. He was a magnet for anyone who arrived at the farm, or anyone that got to know him online too. His eyes are deep wells of story...and I have been trying to start this book for a few years. I realize now that coming to Maine was part of what had to happen, for both me and White Dog, to figure the book out.

One of the beauties of self publishing [a curse too at times] is I am my own boss, and I can share what I want with you when I want. I will be posting snippets as I go along, of art and prose. This book is going to be something substantial to hold in your hands-I am estimating over 250 pages, at about 6.5" square. There will be lots of prose-I have not written a wordy book for while and am ready for that and enjoying it. There will be art and photos. Another nice thing about being independent is when 'experts' tell me you should only have art in the book, no photos, I can just think,

Meh.

But I have some tricks up my idea hat for this one. It will not be a cheap book to produce, none of them are. And I am not going to worry about that right now, I want the book to be complete by late year, or early spring and then the thought is to do a Kickstarter for it. I know when I get it done, the book itself is going to get people excited, as I know some already are. It's hard to know what will resonate with people, but this is a book I feel compelled to write, and as soon as I can, I don't know why I am feeling compelled this way.

The book shares White Dog's journey, but it also reminds us we can never really go back 'home'- that home no longer exists, only in our memory and it probably wasn't exactly as the memory is in our current brain anyway. The book also will not be for pragmatists, I don't think. I truly believe humans have the ability to hone their innate abilities, to recognize that 'sixth sense's all possess, but most people don't bother, can't see it, or are too busy being human. I have always recognized certain creatures that come to Apifera seem more intuitive than others, and while they all think instinctively, in order to survive in the herd or pack, some animals are just able to tap into people's inner worlds more readily. I think we all can work on our intuition, I know I am always questioning my abilities-and sometimes I stop and think,

Just listen, to your inside.

I refuse to make the bed for good reason

My routine is to get up, do my morning stuff in the bathroom, then make the bed before I have breakfast and do barn chores. Around this place, one of the few vestiges of order is that the bed gets made. But of late, I can't bring myself to disturb these two. I mean, they are still in their we've been through a lot and need extra attention in order to fully relax in our new surrounding.

And so, the bed didn't get made. And life went on just as it does each day.

Omar and Oscar, I am glad life is nor hard for you.

In which we survive a lightening strike

Taken the early evening, right before the storm hit

I thought it was odd that yesterday morning when I went to the front barn to start feedings, the stall where Earnest and the White Dogs sleep was...sort of in disarray. I couldn't put my finger on it, but Marcella was also muddy and wet which was suspect. But I went about my chores, and then returned to the studio to work.

The night before, we had one heck of a lightening storm about 7 PM. I was really scared. The strikes were very close, it felt like it was right in the back yard. We have 30 acres of woods behind us, and there are many properties with the same. We are near the coast, not on the water ourselves but the properties across the front road are, and we see the cove. The humidity and heat coupled with our setting by the sea made for a perfect lightening storm.

Martyn was cooking dinner and I was on couch [as it should be] with Muddy when it all began. Now I love a good storm, but ever since I lived through a straight line wind storm in Minneapolis in my then little house, and went outside to see the devastation after 20 minutes, I have been very anxious in storms. And I grew up with tornadoes. So when the strikes started hitting all around the area, and they were close, I was really...well, squealing. Poor Muddy knew something was a foul and he started shaking since his fearless leader, me, was not so fearless.

The strikes just kept hitting nearby, and then, POPPOPOPOP! and it sounded like it was in the house, and we saw a flash. I lifted my feet off the ground [like that would have helped] and was terrified. Nothing turned off, no circuits had popped, we could not figure out where it had hit, but it hit somewhere on the house or close.

Within about 15 minutes the storm passed after torrential down pours and we heard the thunder leaving. But the mystery of what happened had us perplexed.

Now let's make it clear that we have grounding rods. We also have one out by the new barn. We thought maybe it struck at the copper top chimney. But we couldn't figure it out, which was unsettling.

So, back to yesterday, the day after the storm. When I did night feedings, I noticed it–The electric fence box is attached to the barn wall and it feeds the electric wire that sits atop the pasture fence on the property. We use a top wire to prevent the equines from reaching over the fence for grass on the other side-without it, they destroy the fences, and worse, can get themselves in trouble quickly by getting ensnared in fence. And yes, I've witnessed it many a time, including two weeks ago when Boone got his shoe caught this way because the wire had been turned off while we worked on the new barn. While getting him out of the fence, something happened, I still don't know what, but he reared back -even though he had been standing calmly for me for many minutes while I retrieved a wire clipper–and started cutting the fence around his shoe. I went backwards on my butt but first hit the back of my head very hard, not good after having had a serious concussion a year ago. We both were ok, but not having a hot wire really creates dangerous situations, and it protects your fence.

That electric box was right outside the stall where the dogs and Earnest were taking cover from the storm. The sound must have been really loud, judging by how loud it was in the house. I'm sure now that Marcella was super worried and probably went out in the storm at some point to figure out what was happening. Fortunately, the wire there is wrapped, so there was no fire danger per se, but it did make me very upset, and relieved that nothing worse took place.

We are going to look at getting lightening rods for the barns, but it still could have happened. The lightening came down -we surmise-close to where the box was, hit the top electric wire, went zooming back to the box, and bam, blew it to bits. Electricity is so strong, it is hard to fathom it. I'm so grateful nobody was outside in that paddock.

We are melting but we carry on..and the bunny gets her own AC unit

Freddy the Dream, aka Little Lonely, cools off in his mud hole

I won't write a post about how hard a month August is, I think I did that on August first. But it is very hot, and worse, humid. Out West the summers grew hotter, longer, drier and full of fires every one of my fourteen years there.. People's wells were and are drying up in Oregon, it happened to many people I knew. We had a horrible well, and were blessed with water rights from the rivers for our animals, gardens and vegetables/plants, otherwise, we could not have made it. And digging a new well is expensive, and does not always bring results. It is the risk you take buying land anywhere, but especially out west.

I'm glad to be out of that aspect of The West. It was brutal and just felt like the entire coast was burning up...and it is.

So here, the beast is humidity. Eighty five to ninety in dry air is hot, but yesterday and today the humidity is something like 80 or more percent. Kill me now. It is not as horrible as I remember the Minneapolis summers. Here we have the sea right by us, we do not own seaside land, but we see the cove, and the entire area of Mid Coast is on the sea. So when it is humid, it blows off usually by night, and we rarely have a horrible night. But when the humidity does come, it's like a slap of a huge wet blanket on my head. I can't think. My routine is simple, get up, do the chores, and get back in the house where we have one AC unit that keeps us sane in the living area. Fortunately our house is small. I finally broke down last week and bought another AC unit for the studio in the upstairs, I had too. Not only could I not get any work done, I could barely function, and...there is the bunny factor. Poor Isabelle Noir, aka Bunny, is not good in heat, no rabbit is. I was wetting down her ears about four times a day, and finally I had to bring her downstairs at night. Martyn got a kick out of this,

"Leave it to you to wait to get another AC unit for two years for the studio, but you finally did it...for a rabbit."

Yep, and Bunny and I are now very content. And I got work done.

So, we carry on. I have nothing of interest to tell you today because that is what the heat does to me, it flattens me out. Physically, I am also finding that humidity-when it is really hot and high humidity-is giving me a pressure feeling in my front head, just like I felt after the concussion. I suppose the heat makes blood different and vessels different, and from what I understand, my brain is different after that severe concussion. So, another reason to lay low inside with Bunny,

The animals are fine, they are more stoic than we humans in heat. They know to lay low. I feel sorry for my sheep, I hate to see the wool sheep in heat. Out West we had hair sheep, and it was hard on them, but these poor guys carrying around a load of wool. They do pant, since sheep don't sweat, and I will hose off their legs-not their backs or bodies because you can actually heat them up that way due to the wool. Same thing with the llama, don't wet the wool, just the legs [and she loves it].

I am working on my new book, about White Dog. I will share more about that soon.