The lone turkey...are there lessons?

 

I had just turned to toss some manure and suddenly a turkey flew up and roosted about twenty feet from me. I chatted with her. Within seconds another adult and about 7 youngsters arrived. They began roosting in the fence too. It’s just special to have them visit right now.

The turkey stories have continued all week. One morning I headed out to the driveway to get something in my truck and turned, stopped in my tracks,

“Did I leave a hen out?” I thought. 

There 10 feet from me right under the house window was not a hen but a young turkey. I told the turkey I was friend not foe and I gave it space. The slider gate to the Goofball barnyard was open, the animals were still in the barn, and the roosters were crowing. I had seconds thinking that this was some divine gift and Ruthie or God had sent me a lone turkey to care for. But the turkey flew up into a snag about 20 feet up. It fled to the back wood. All morning I heard it making calls to the flock and when I went to outer barn I began to answer back in my best turkey sounds. It worked for a bit and then went silent. A turkey most likely knows a fake turkey. So now I can’t stop thinking about the lone turkey. I’m hoping he or she finds the flock. I could hear them in the lower field where they often roost. 

Later that same day, I had to go to store and when I came back the turkey was back by the house in the same spot. It (I don’t know the gender) likes the cover of the quince. I got it some chicken pellet and sprinkled it around-thinking to myself this is probably a bad idea-but I did. My last toss sort of spooked it and it fled back to The Wood.

Well…the turkey came back late day. As I walked to barns for chores there it was in the orchard. It must feel some attraction with the sounds and creatures. I had looked for it before I started chores tonight in the front road where it has been coming. And now it entered our sanctum. I refrained from getting all squirrelly and greeted it and sat about 20 feet away to take a photo. It is pretty calm. It flew up and went over into Ruthie’s old field. I hated to see it go down to lower field but maybe it will find its flock. Maybe it’s a male they kicked out but I’m not sure turkeys do that like coyotes. Well I told it that barns are safe and open to it. 

I’m enjoying the delight of the visits but also feel that maybe the real lesson here- for myself- is despite all the loss of the last 20+ years of this work and despite knowing I have no control over this creature’s life or death …that my heart is still open to it.

No matter how brief the interaction, the turkey has or had an impact on me. Not having Ruthie still hurts and seeing the turkey walking about just helped.

Is happiness the same as contentment? I ask the pig.

I was pondering this in recent days, I guess I had read something in a headline that stuck in my head, and as I lay in bed–the place I do a lot of my creative thinking-I thought to myself, What is the difference between contentment and happiness?

So I turned to Nature, as I usually do, for answers. And who else better to go to in Nature than Earnest the Pig?

We sat in his hut later that day, I had brought him some raw eggs-he loves those.

“Earnest would you rather be happy, or content?” I asked, getting right to the point.

He did not hesitate, “Content. Happiness is fleeting,” he said.

Interesting point, I thought.

Paco the Poet was on the other side of the fence, lying about as he often does in morning. Being a donkey poet, he is always interested in discussing language.

“When I’m told at breakfast that I will get graham crackers for a late afternoon snack, it makes me happy. But after I get my crackers and have eaten them, I am content inside for hours and hours,” Paco said.

“Happiness is driven by your brain. Contentment is in your heart,” Earnest said.

We all sat silently, well, except for the loud smacking and chewing as Earnest the pig ate his eggs, mouth open. It is one way he is not very gentlemanly-he eats with his mouth open.

“So, happiness is active, and contentment is quiet?” I asked.

More loud chewing. 

“When you get happy about something, there is always something that can distract you and take it away. But contentment lives deep inside you. Happiness has to come from the outside,” said the pig.

“I feel very content sitting here, in the morning sun, with both of you. But it makes me happy to see your faces too,” I said.

“You can be content, but sad. And you can be happy, and not content,” said Earnest. “Contentment doesn’t come from things. And that’s why nobody can take it away from you.”

“Mrs. Dunn, would you like to share some graham crackers with us?” asked Paco.

And I did. I walked around all day, content. When I went to town to do chores, I looked at all the people walking by and I thought how powerful it felt that nobody could take my contentment from me, because it was in my heart. The happiness I felt as I opened the box of fresh crackers was fleeting, but the contentment I gained from eating them with my two friends was still there.

{My blog is free to all. But anyone can voluntarily show support for my writing and art at this link [you pick what you want to give. I recently tried Patreon and just didn't jive with it.}

Spiritual lessons of the little seed

Nature is my teacher. And as I age it becomes even more of a spiritual teacher.

By looking at the life of a seed, I have learned to have hope when things aren’t working fast enough for me, or it feels like they aren’t. Of course, things are working but at their own speed. So in the vast snowscape of winter, I always think about the little seeds percolating under the ground, lying dormant but always evolving. There is always something percolating out there where we can’t see it. It appears when it is meant to appear.

Going further on looking at seeds as a teacher I began to realize that a seed must destroy itself as it is to become what it will be.

The little sunflower seed is placed in the ground by a bird. It has known one life, to be a seed in a shell.But one day it bursts out of its shell and sprouts. And so it becomes a sprout. And now it knows itself as a sprout. But then it grows into a tall sunflower and it lives its life as a sunflower. And then it begins again.

To think of my own life, I had to let the self I knew or identified with be destroyed–over and over– just like the shell of that seed. I couldn’t imagine what would sprout, but something even bigger and better did. A breakup that had me on my knees but eventually led me to leaving one home for another and that led to Martyn and then the farm. Or when we decided to leave the old farm–a place I had nurtured and loved and identified with–but by leaving it led to something even bigger here in Maine.

I used to have a saying I often incorporated into art: leaves know more than I do. It came to me when I was deep in grief over that break up I mentioned. I was having trouble letting go and I began to feel deep empathy for leaves and admire their ability to just...let go, fall, drift, land, dry up, crumble, and then nurture the soil. They too had to be destroyed to begin another stage of existence.

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~

Ruthie rings in the new year and....

 

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Well, the new year is upon us again. Just like a circle we start and walk around and start again, just like the earth revolving. I usually take the week between Christmas and New Year's Day to reflect, plan, ponder, evaluate...and do taxes. This year that was a bit off due to the kitchen remodel and of course, because of being present as much as possible with White Dog in the final days. 

I'm okay. I'm just really sad, deeply wounded sad. Each little thing I feel and see as I go about my day has lessons about my open wound, or provides a soothing band aid too. 

I am ready to be back in studio but I have to get the kitchen painted and cupboards and it is coming together so I hope to be back in studio in a week. 

So for now, I'm doing as White Dog suggested, when I miss him I turn to see him everywhere in Nature, and I take solace in the energy of all the creatures still here. I have felt him many times. I walk over the grave since it is there in my chores, and I talk to him a bit, or say a greeting like I always did. I still crave to take photos of him and will mourn that too. But I took so many and I am so glad. 

I don't know about this new year. I think we are still in for pandemic issues. I am not allowed to go into Coves with my animals right now. I have to come up with ideas. I will. I want to do more with hospice patients one on one. I want to work more with the blind. 

I want White Dog back. 

I hope you have good health in the new year because without it things get complicated fast. Thank you to everyone who supports Apifera financially and emotionally, and thank you to those who follow along and also buy my art and books. I have a good life and there is not a day I don't think about that.I have Martyn and my art and my farm. I don't take it for granted.

Being spiritual being having a human experience is conflicting-often. No matter what your belief system, we are here in human bodies and we are meant to be in those bodies to learn....and grow. It's the human being of me that is grieved by the absence of a loved one, but it is always the spiritual creature I am that helps me walk through it.

"There are heros in the seaweed", said Leonard

 “Look among the garbage and the flowers, there are heroes in the seaweed...” {L. Cohen}

We have had such warm days, and rain. While I want snow [which supposedly will arrive tomorrow] I have to say the warm weather makes chores easier. And, well, the fowl are extremely happy with their overflowing ponds. I love to look out on the front barn goat paddock at chores and see this scene. To me it is so peaceful. One woman said it looked like one of my paintings and I guess you can say this–they do merge, art and life.

One can see messy mud and mire and leafless trees...or one can revel in the sculpture of the branches and the reflections in earth toned water.

 

How to be amongst the greiving-slip off your needs at the door

I think I've learned a lot about how to be amongst the sad and weary with my elder work, and I guess part of it is also innate, but like any human, I have daily lessons to learn about how to speak...and as importantly, when not to speak. The latter is harder for us humans.

I know for myself, sometimes I want to fill up a sad space with fun words, and I am very good at making people laugh. I'm learning about how my 'pleaser' MO has effected many things in my life - like choosing people I can not please to come on in. But of late I've learned, as this poem so well articulates, that one should not let the moment be about them, it is about letting the grieving or dying person speak [or not]. Or perhaps they just want to sit with you and let you witness their sadness. They aren't seeking advice [unless they ask] they just want a hand to touch their shoulder and make them feel 'I understand you are sad'.

One pattern I see online, a lot, is when someone posts about...let's use a pet as an example....someone posts that their dog has died and they express their feelings about why they are sad. And then a whole bunch of people [not all of them] post their own stories about their dead pets and how sad it made them when they died. There is nothing horrible about this, but I've learned, having done it myself!!, that this is not being present for the grieving person who wrote the post. There is probably a time and place to share stories of our own.

When I post about the death of an animal, or one in hospice, I don't take the messages like that as selfish, I just know they have not learned the skill of being present with the grieving, and it is a skill. And before the skill, one has to be aware they are doing it. It took me awhile! And I still stumble.

I did this recently, not with someone who was dying, but with someone who fell and has a TBI. It was a bad one. Much worse than what I went through. But instead of just encouraging them, or telling them I was their in spirit, I had to add that 'when I had mine, it took a long time to recover blah blah blah'. I was 'thinking' I was sharing a common understanding of how scary TBI's are. But maybe it just was not the right time or place to say it. No harm was done, but when I saw this poem I had saved, it made me realize this being present, and leaving your own bags at the door, can be applied to more than the grieving.

I will continue to hone this skill, and probably slip up here and there.

Focusing on what I can do...I don't need to know everything about you and vice versa

This is not a political post, far from it, it is more a self healing post. I've been sad about our country for some time....and scared for democracy, to be honest. I wondered if it is wrong to simply turn out all news, all of it...is that selfish, is that the right way to handle all the upsetting [for me anyway] news? I think tuning it all out is irresponsible as a citizen and voter, so I am not choosing that path. I do get my news from online reliable papers, not social media and definitely not Facebook. And I find I'm just passing by certain articles-usually becasue the media, no matter which outlet, likes to rehash something over and over, and it becomes numbing, kind of like the last 4 years. I read it, explore what I need to, and step away...until I might yell at the tv a bit before we watch one of our shows.

But I was thinking that we know way too much about everybody, thanks to social media.

If I knew every thought of every elder I love at Cove's Edge....would that change how I feel? Perhaps. I know many people I enjoy running into in my weekly errands have very different thoughts than I do on many things, but it doesn't matter, because we focus on things we share. For example, at the feed store I have no idea what thoughts or beliefs are in most of their heads, I could assume I guess, but I focus on the fact that I can go in there and they know me and what I do and I can ask for advice on a sick chicken.

I get very depressed about our mother ship more than most of the other madness going on-and that includes important stuff like voter suppression, COVID, congress infighting, women's rights, and more. I am very sad for our Earth and I am not that optimistic, and I have always been an optimist. If we can't get along better than we are in one country, and men continue to rule the world with their main desire being power, I just don't see it changing enough that our beautiful Earth will be helped in time.

Still, I want to help people in my area, and people that are hurting, and animals. That is my plan for emotional survival and health. Just keep making art from my heart, keep writing, keep reaching out if I see someone is down, keep sharing my animals with the elders, keep smiling and being there for them in small ways which to them are big ways...keep my head down in the wind. The local paper had an article from the police departments that are suffering from staff shortages, and they pointed out how many more people are being arrested for road rage and anger disturbances–it makes me even more picky about the people I interact with. I prefer my elders and a handful of people, and my animals.

Because of my age, and because I see elders who must leave their homes or lose their mates, I have never been more aware of what I have. Each night, I really mean this, I look forward to being with Martyn by the fire, talking, sharing, his cooking...falling asleep together and his kiss goodbye every morning at 6:30. It can be gone in an instant, and it often is for people.

I have also taken in, soaked in, life more this year than I think I ever have. My time table is mine more than it has ever been and I've earned it-as many of you out there reading have. I've been a self supporting artist/writer since 1996 and I worked my butt off to get to this spot. I'm blessed to live on my farm, and see the sights I see, like this image of old Luci as I opened the door very early this morning-so regal she was in the sun and crisp air and autumnal colors all around her. I've become stingier with my schedule and rarely -unless I have to -make an appointment before 11. That is not laziness, it is practicality. I do not want to rush with my animals and morning chores which take about 2 hours. Not only to I want to move at a pace that will help me not trip and fall, I want to enjoy them. There are so many ways to fall! You don't think about it much in your younger years. But after the concussion, after aging some, I am very aware of it.

I want to see, like the sun lighting up the tippy top of Pino's mane at sunset.

Are you shifting?

 I feel like I am in a shifting period but I can't explain to my conscious self what that shift is. I feel unsettled. I think part of it is I have put my heart and soul into the non profit and I feel out of balance with my art and studio time, and 'me' time. I love my non profit work and it does combine creativity and my soul and spirit so is creative in its own way.

But I've been having trouble for a long time now carving out time for art, and with art, for me anyway, I need chuncks of time to ponder, explore in my head with out thinking of everything else I have to do.

I feel I'm shifting into my art raggedy dolls too, frustratingly. I say frustratingly because they take a lot longer to birth than a painting. I am also limited in certain skills like using methods to make them stand as I want and I fumble along.

Then again, I have written and created four more illustrated books since arriving in Maine and I seem to forget that.

Ack. 

Anyway, autumn is full on now, it's pouring out today and I love it. I am determined to keep my November through April more open for me and the studio. I will not abandon my elders at Cove's Edge but am going to focus on them as far as elder visits. I also take care of the business side of things here, completely–the books, taxes, bills, truck and tractor work, repair scheduling, groceries, feed stores, vets, furnace and fireplace, doctor appointments. It's amazing how much time is eaten away with that. I think of my mother-and all mothers-who had kids to haul around and how they said their day felt like it was in a car. Mine is often at the computer.

Anyway, the shifting thing. I think in my life there are clear, distinct shifts that have happened. They seem to happen overnight but I think I  gather information in my head for months, years even, and then one day wake up and say to myself, "I'm moving to Maine," or "I'm going to make books now." And I feel my spirit guides want me to shift, but I keep false starting into it. Maybe I'm afraid of losing what I have. But if I look back on any shift I've made, it always brought more abundance into my life.

Or maybe I just need more cat naps, something I've started on a rather regular basis.

Wow...ponder this

 

How are you? How am I?

 

I took this photo yesterday and just loved the quiet beauty of it. I had gone out to groom, and deworm, the equines. Spending time without words in the paddock is one of my favorite things. If you sit quietly, they will come. I'm finding besides my visits with the elders at Cove's, I prefer to be alone with my animals even more than ever.

The beginning of September is always a favorite time for me. I always feel like it is a time to take stock on what has been, and what is needed and coming. I liken it to being a flower in the garden, I bloomed all summer full force and now it is time to reflect more and go within as winter comes, a time of creative renewal  once the summer chores of the farm lesson [not that they ever go away].

This summer started out pretty good. We had some equine healing days and Beauty Parlor Days here at the farm with elder residences. But that was cut short quickly with rising Delta cases. We also could not secure a porta potty this year due to the pandemic-go figure! I can't have elders using the house bathroom, it is unsafe due to the old house trip factors, and the many animals wondering inside. It also takes me away from the animals outside and it just isn't practical [we had an incident with someone really needing to go, so we agreed of course, but it wasn't a good situation. I need to be with the animals].

So I was disappointed in the lack of equine healing visits, especially since Biggs really seems like a natural.

But our visits to Cove's Edge have been really special, and to be able to see them in person and not through a window is great. We also have had them come in a visit on their van, and me and some smaller animals go on the van-perfect for hot weather! My Girl Friday there is going to attempt more of these visits with a couple of the wheelchair residents, and one that is blind who loves the animals and touch is so important for her. The heat and humidity made visits a challenge too, and rain!

I have other ideas about how to keep the residents lifted up in winter. I am wondering about a letter writing project where one of the animals writes every week and my Girl Friday can read it out loud. I also am looking into a portable projector where she could put a photo show on the wall.  All of this depends on how the pandemic swings, but I am feeling like things might close up again. We'll see.

I think this year has been even stranger than last year when we were in lock down. Last year, we knew what we had to do-stay home except for the most important tasks. At least that is what much of America did. This year, it felt like starts and stops, more uncertainty, anger everywhere, confusion, misinformation-all lumped in with so many upsetting things in the world like climate change and wild fires, wars, refugees...the list goes on and on.

I feel like I got a bit beat up by it all, as many of you have. I always strive to keep my posts online upbeat, but honest. I'm also more than ever putting on my pink bubble suit to defect many comments that are in my face. I think most people, good people many of them, are on edge. I get it. So I post Pickles leaps and Franklin Muffinpants chats and Harry the llama giving kisses to elder people. And sometimes I slip, and post something a bit more raw, and there's always somebody who calls it out-stop, Katherine, we come here to be uplifted, do not share that side of your feelings!

I'm dancing as fast as I can.

It's hard to be honest right now and upbeat at the same time. Maybe you disagree, but as an empath, and a sensitive soul, I am having many spiritual conflicts...about my fellow humans, and about my feelings toward them. This is a time to really grow spiritually-at some point. When I get there I'll write about it. I was thinking the other day that animals have never angered me-well, except biting flies-and nature has never angered me on the same level...but people do, and I'm working on that through this upheaval of a divided world.

So...goals for the non profit are to keep trying, to keep sharing the animal stories, to keep showing up for our elder people. You know, I don't think they really understand how important the visits are for me too, they feel like family visits to me. 

So, how are you coping in this world these days? Are you isolating more, or are you trying new things?

Memory of the five year old

When I was five we lived in a little house on 5 acres that was part of larger acreage and the old manor house. The manor house was once a home to a barn with horses and their was a riding ring behind our little house. I dreamed of having a horse. I'd go out to the riding ring and skip around it pretending I was a horse.

Nearby teenage girls would ride over on their horses. I still remember their names-Marta rode a palomino named Sky, and Wendy had a bay quarter horse that allowed me to ride double on her. Sky was always bucking Marta off and she'd run back home, and Marta sometimes cried. Who knew years later my first horse would do the same, and I named her Sky and she was a palomino, in honor of Marta.

But I loved it when I'd see them riding to the ring and I'd run out there and watch, hoping Wendy would give me a ride-she usually always did. My mom told me not to be a pest, but I suppose I was. 

When there were days that horses wouldn't come, I'd walk out in the pastures around the riding ring and follow the well made horse trail-a thin path well traveled, sprinkled with manure here and there. All through my life, before I had my own horses, if I was anywhere with a path like that, it would transport me back to being five, and I could feel that dream, that sensation of smelling 'horse' and wanting one so badly.

It took 44 years, but I finally got one of my own. And now some 22 years later, I have eight equines that make paths, and manure, and I still can feel that five year old dreaming. I still will stop during chores some mornings and just put my face into Boone's neck and smell him.

I was walking this morning to get old Matilda and as I walked this little path, I stopped, and could feel that five year old again–best not to forget her.

The reality of weather...one more reason we left the West

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We had a much needed rain this week, two days of it I think and we are grateful We are down about 5" I believe. June has been a really lovely month this year, seventies and not a lot of humidy, the way mid coast has usually been in non climate change days. I grew up with humidity in Minnesota so midcoast was appealing to me. Being on the ocean, storms come and go and often our little cove pocket here makes our temps cooler than someone just a mile away [colder too sometimes].

I feel for the West. It is dangerously hot and I feel for the earth and animals too. Our area in Oregon were seeing wells dry up. We knew it was a matter of time. We had water rights on the river so we could always know our animals could have water. But as time wore on there were more fires and less rain. The heat was always there, for long stretches. Farming in heat is horrible. After we left the fire that struck was really close to where we lived and I knew people and animals affected by it. I felt for them but was also relieved.

People ask me if I miss the West and I really don't. I loved living there though. Part of the reason I don't miss it is I feel strongly, and intuitively knew then and now, that is very spot, this very house in this very town is where we are met to be at this very moment. I loved the big open skies and double rainbows and wide open public, sandy beaches all up and down the Oregon coastline. It was all wonderful. But it evolved and the dream shifted. It was time for change and I felt propelled, viscerally, to leave, as quickly as we could. Originally it was a two+ year plan but it escalated and I just kept getting shoved by some internal and spirit forces to leave, now. It was almost like these guides were predicting something big, something big we did not want to be in, was coming. That's what it felt like.

So we did go quickly and I'm glad - even though I had much grief over many good byes. I'm glad we got here when we did, we never would have found anything now, the market is crazy.

I read an article the other day that the Pacific North West is not ready for ongoing heat and they need to get it together and face reality. Their systems aren't ready. When I moved there in 2002, everyone bragged you never needed air conditioning. I bought one immediately. Just as many people we met here said, "Don't worry, Maine will never run out of water" [wells were starting to go dry in southern Maine our first summer] many people in the Northwest seemed to think nothing would change in their beautiful Garden of Eden. But it did, and it has. And it is not going away.

Our beautiful mother ship...what have we done to you over the centuries here? And do enough people care to help you? I heard a buffoon the other day stating with great certainty that because the dinosaurs died on their own or by Nature, without any men living then, that that shows mankind has little to do with climate change.

Oooof.

My best wishes and prayers for water and rain for the West. And for Maine too, and for the Earth.

"We will be known forever by the tracks we leave."
- Dakota Tribe

My one wish if I were to be granted one

We work hard here, but we enjoy it. I get so uncomfortable when people suggest we need to relax more. Um...I do relax, it's called tv time and bedtime.  We really love to be physically active and have projects. If we didn't like it, we'd stop. I find that people often, with good intentions, project on to other people. When I moved to the old farm out west, I was 43, and a woman who had lived on a small farm for 25 years and was starting to transition out of it, suggested that I should hold back on acquiring lots of animals. I said I was just getting started on something I'd always wanted-a farm, to raise sheep and have a horse. I realized though that she had been-there-and-done-that and was just projecting that on to me.

So when people make similar comments of 'you and Martyn deserve to relax more", I just know it is because they either want to relax more in their lives, or they do relax more in their lives and they have their life confused with mine.

I have a wonderful routine here. I get up and take the dogs with me, and they romp around while I do front barn feedings and chores. Then I put them back in, because I won't leave them alone with fowl, and then I go out to horse barn and feed and do chores. I come back at some point and let the dogs out and I sit and have coffee and watch the animals roam around, I smell the sea, I look at the garden...then I either do studio or office time until lunch, and then it kind of starts all over again. I have gotten way better at not over scheduling myself because I like lots of in between time for just percolating. So you see, I really do sit a lot, and think, and feel.

Since I'm 63 now, I know many people who are well into their 70's or older. Many are downsizing, as they say. I think about what will happen to us. I hope we can live our lives independently, here. It's the kind of farm we could maintain on our own with a few adjustments. I can't imagine -at this writing-leaving. But that too is my current state of mind projecting onto my future state of mind. Big changes in life require a process [unless a change is thrust on us through no fault of our own, say, losing a spouse]. I know I never thought I'd leave the old farm when we did, after 15 years, after putting so much love and sweat into it...but we did, but that decision was made in a series of epiphanies, probably over about two years. But once made, it went fast and here we are in Maine. It was such a good decision on so many levels.

This is our third garden we have created together. I never thought I'd have a garden I loved more than the last two, but here it is. The sea is right across the road [we do not have water property, which has its blessings, but we get to see the cove]. I think of my parents a lot when I'm in this garden, so many flowers here they would love, especially the peonies which we had in Minnesota. We have their old teak garden benches they always had in all their many gardens and they gave them to us when they moved for the last time. I cherish them. How many times did I sit with them on those benches in their rose garden, sipping coffee, sharing gossip or crying over some old boyfriend?

I guess that is one wish I would grant us, if I were able to grant wishes–that Martyn and I live together, in a home, until we die. I put that out to the universe all the time. I pray for it.

 {Garden photos and daily life here at Apifera are posted daily on Instagram}

Don't be afraid to make a big change

Five years ago we landed in Maine. This is still one of my favorite pictures of Martyn. I took it the morning after we arrived. We had arrived the night before at 10pm in the dark so the next morning was like Dorothy stepping out of the house to Oz. The grass was tall and lush. There was one little barn and none of the gardens or fencing you see now in my photos. There was something really vintage about the fact the house looked out on a sea of grass. But we of course had needs with the animals, so Apifera began to take shape with lots of fencing and outbuildings and barns.

I think back to that trip-six days and five nights-driving from Oregon to Maine, to a house we'd only seen online, to a town we did not know or a state we had never ventured too [I was there once in college somewhere]. It was courageous, people said. I guess it was. But it was not the first courageous thing I'd done and I knew that even with moments of fear, even when leaving a wonderful home or life, the next stage opens up even more remarkable encounters, sometimes in ways one can never imagine. 

I remember one person, I hardly knew her, only online through my blog, questioned me when we announced we were moving. "You said you'd never leave your farm, Katherine,"she wrote, and I felt a bit of resentment in her tone [part of the problem of online conversing, there is a lot of room for misinterpreting one's intended thought]. She had always wanted what I had, and here I was leaving it after 15 years of blood, sweat and tears. "I'm leaving here, I'm not leaving Apifera, dreams evolve," I told her.

I was leaving the land though and the friends scattered under the dirt in the land, and Old Barn, the one who had spoken to me when we first looked at the property in 2004. It was all a collaboration then, between me and Martyn and the animals, the land. It was so important, that time in my life. To be a shepherdess and learn good animal husbandry was so helpful to all I do now even though we no longer raise sheep. The zero supply of farm vets here in midcoast-real farm vets, like the ones I had out west who also farmed- I am grateful I had a lot of basic skills before getting to Maine. I was warned there were not vets in my area for livestock, and it is true. Lots of equine vets, many who say they know pigs or ruminant or camelids, but they really don't. I think that is the one thing I miss about the west, my farm vets.

But back to change. I felt compelled to move. I remember when I first knew we would move, and it was something I had not even asked Martyn about, I just knew in my head and heart we were going to, and it would not be down the street. I knew it would be far away but I did not know why or how or where. It took me a couple months to even ask Martyn about it. At that time, the thought of leaving my farm made me sick. but one day, I asked Martyn,

"Would you ever move to Vermont with me? I asked.

"Sure!" he said.

And that was the beginning. At the same time a good friend was moving back to her original homeland of Maine, and said we should check it out, that the prices were much lower than Oregon. And they were, which allowed us to buy our house. 

From the minute Martyn said that one word, Sure! I was on a mission, and it went fast. I had many moments of fear, and heartache-I knew the flock could not come with us, and I had to leave much behind, including my riding buddy and 83 year old friend and mentor. She died a year later.

But every time I got scared, I would get his very strong, positive message, "You have to go, and you have to go now, as soon as possible." I think within 6 months from Martyn's, "Sure", we were on the road.

The first night on the road, sleeping in a tack room at a farm, I think in Idaho, was cold and scary and unsettling. All the animals stayed in the trailer except the three dogs. The next night was more comfortable and a sweet little barn and by the time we got to the next two nights the anticipation of arrival was rabid. Entering the part of the country that felt like New England was just so wonderful we were both meant to be here. We were meant to be back there, and alsom meant to move here.

I had a list of homes as prospects, but many were in slight different areas. They had to have a barn even if it was too small. And the house had to look like Maine-those were my requirements. When our old farm sold, some of the places I had found were already gone and that was a scary moment. But I looked at the realtor sites constantly and had email notifications set up, and one morning, bingo, I saw this house. It had literally gone on the market that morning. I could feel sensations looking at the photos, I knew it was our house, it had to be. The house we found-I had seen it the morning it went online, and called the realtor and put an offer in on the phone-could not have been more perfect for what Apifera was about to become. There were rough spots-the busy road was something that depressed me immensely in the first year, but my mentor pointed out "You need to ask what the road can bring you." She was right. And we have since done lots of privacy upgrades.

It was a lot of creative thinking to get here-how to pack the animals in the trailer, all 33 of them, including 4 surprise piglets born to Eleanor four days before we left. The equines left a month before us, and stayed at a stable until we got here. That was hard, but they got here safely.

I was telling a friend I've known for ever that my life here is like all the things I did in the past 30 years in both my career, and my life, it all came together and was wrapped in a bow when I arrived. The work I wanted to do with elder people out west never happened-we were way too far out in the rural area and there just was a different mindset to what I was trying to do. And where we landed in this part of midcoast is so perfectly entwined with our mission, it is kind of a miracle.

I think I am doing my most creative work, in both art and writing. And while I don't crank out paintings as much as I used to, I feel the work is stronger than most of what I did in the past. I have reached a point in my art career where I can say 'no' and I do say 'no' and mainly paint and create what I want. I have no patience for impatient deadlines, I've been there, done that and I did it well which is why I am able to do what I do now. I paid my dues over and over.

The non profit takes a lot of creativity too, but I like that. I love it all. I love my elders-both human and creature.

So, if you feel a rumble inside of you, a voice saying change is coming, listen to it, don't fear it, just remember change expands things...it can be unsettling and exhausting, and yes, scary, but change will settle and you think, "I never knew I would be doing this, here, and I never knew it would be so good or better than I already had it, but it is."

Did you wake up on January 1st with expectations?

I read in the Times that many people across the world were relieved to see 2020 gone, but had the blues on the first day of 2021. I was that person. I couldn't pin point it. It was gloomy weather. We've had little sun and usually we have sun and snow but it was rainy and the snow was mush and blah blahblahblah blah.

I'm snapping out of it though.

I think part of it was the expectation that everything is going to change this year and the virus will be reduced with vaccines and we'll be gathering in nursing homes again and [for many of us] the current commander will be removed. But I think the first day of the year felt like the last day of the last year.

But, I got back in the studio, worked on a new raggedy creature [it went from being a llama to a goat to now I think it is the Teapot's mother], am percolating ideas for projects, scheduled a Facetime with an elder resident at Cove's Edge who is blue...gotta just keep moving.

Everything is going to keep moving around us. Seeds are percolating under us. All of us. Keep moving, even if it means sitting in your chair and moving your arms. The latter will let you feel the air on your body.

Empathy doesn't mean you have to like someone to try to understand their feelings

 

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

I don't know. I am an optimist and I believe everything is a teaching moment in some way. I use this thought with my animals too, creating little interactive lessons when I'm doing basic chores. 

I think more than anything, I'm just...excited to move on. But I think it might also be a let down because when January 1 rolls in, we are still in this mess of the pandemic. The optimist in me knows it is fluid and it is going to get better, in time. But I have no real words of wisdom, except to always look at sad, bad, good or not so good times as a way to learn something, even if it is a tiny thing. So I guess we all have to do that for ourselves. 

I already know that I love my life, that it took time to build what I have in this life, that I am grateful, that I work hard to maintain what I have...I think all those feelings are intensified because of this year, and because of my work with the elders. Someday, I might be alone in a nursing home. I hope not but I could. A young volunteer will come in and tell me about her farm animals. And the inside of me will think about my animals. It can happen in a breath, to lose what you have. So my love of life, the farm, my art and writing, story telling, my animals, my husband, have all been intensified this year. 

To say, "Happy New Year' this year seems trite. 

My wish for you is health and the hope that your life gets out of neutral. 

My wish for the country is that we wake up and realize we need to learn, or relearn, or practice, active listening. And not listening to another person just so you can answer them, or defend your position, but that we all practice listening so we can begin to understand why that person feels or acts in a way that is different than what we like or believe. That is empathy. Being empathetic does not mean you have to like someone, or be their friend, it means you try to walk in their shoes and think, "Oh, I understand why you feel this way." That is what I tried to practice all year, and the past four of constant barage of noise. I failed a lot. But I'm going to keep trying. Social media is not the place to heal the divide. People need to to partake quietly in active listening, one person at a time. It is a skill to be practiced , we aren't born with it–it takes constant practice, for a lifetime. And it is hard work. Our heads-or mine anyway-is often zooming around thinking of how I want to answer, or it reminds me of something else and I want to bring it up...so it is a challenge. But imagine if we all got better at really listening and trying to understand why a person has the feelings they do-what happened in their life that gave them those feelings?

Nothing is static not even for 103 year olds

I was thinking about the flow of life, how it never stops, even in death. Nothing in Nature or life is static. When we say, "I wish my mother were still here, or I  wish my dog had not died...etc." it defies one universal truth–nothing is static and if we were granted all these wishes, it would mean the space that is about to be empty would not be filled by something that is coming. Even in my darkest days, I have always approached the new week with the inquisitive mind of an optimist,  

What will come to me this week I wonder?

If life were static, and summer never ended, imagine that. The flowers never evolved past blooms, snow never fell and we'd never see spring blooms. There'd be no dusk, or dawn or night because everything would be static.

So, lots of loss here this year. And this week we learned that our 103 year old friend, David, has died. His daughter was kind enough to let me know. Of course one knows that a 103 year old might be in his final months, but still it is a loss. More than any wish, I wished we would be having that parade, outside, for David and family, with Harry the llama wearing the bells David gifted us. That was really my biggest wish of the year. But we are not there yet. I was comforted to know his daughters were able to be with him at some point since he was in hospice his final days.

There are creatures and people that make more of an impact on me-just like in your life. I had first met David when he came to our farm, at age 100, and he was like a child touching his first cloud-he touched every inch of every animal so deliberately, taking in each fiber of their body and being. It was a beautiful communing to watch. He came again the next year, and in time he ended up moving into another care facility where Harry and I could visit through the windows due to Covid.

It's not like he and I shared deep conversations, in fact he said little. He talked more with his eyes and smile. As I said on another post, if you are old and think you can't have an impact on another's life because of your advanced age, you are wrong.

As I look at all the faces we have lost this year on the farm, do I wish they had not died? Some of course were soul animals-Muddy, Birdie, Hughie, Mister Mosely, Noritsue-and I would love to have them still with me. But the space is always filled, not replaced, but filled by the flow....what will come next? Who will touch me next? What person will keep my heart open next? What cat or dog or pug will fall into my arms next? Nobody will replace David, he was one of a kind like we all are...but his energy is not static and it will generate other energy to move towards us when it is ready.

Nothing is static. Imagine if the river sat motionless.

Maybe Birdie has found him.

Anti anxiety tips...you don't even need donkeys

To those who do not want to talk politics, that is not what this post is about. It is about normal everyday life anxiety compounded by extreme situation our country, and world, is in. And how to take teeny steps to combat it.

Just becasue I'm hanging out with the sensitive donkeys who are experts at slowing down the pace of life, doesn't mean I'm not human with a full set of raging anxiety right now. I'm blessed to be outside, not locked up, and to be able to do chores around my farm and animals. And I still have an income as does Martyn. We are healthy and trying to stay that way [please, wear the mask, or stay in].

The last time I felt this feeling, my father was in home hospice back in 2008. I would get a tightnss in my chest, and fluttering. Of course I thought I was having heart issues, which I wasn't. I began to realize a few weeks ago that the anxiety was building in me. So I began to confront it. I was waking up each morning and realizing my body was sort of lightly vibrating. I get plenty of sleep but this was sort of like the feeling of being anxious about the first day of school.

I cut back on my morning coffee to two full cups. Cut back a tish on the wine at night. That sort of helped, but I realized I was letting stuff live in my head too much. I needed to tweek my daily encounters.

Like many Americans, I have been finding my anxiety levels are ebbing and flowing. There is so much going on in our country, with the pandemic, that comes with so many depressing things to deal with-separation from family, illness, fear, death, lack of income...on and on. And of course there is the chaos in the country right now, and our divisive political world. I've tried really diligently to understand other people's reasons for supporting one person over another. As someone who has lived in Yamhill County out west, a very red area, I got to know a lot of people that had very different views than I did. But it was different then. It was not as divisive, or fear driven. But I learned to understand why many people did not like certain political views, or candidates, or parties. It was very renegade there, and it is similar in many ways to Maine, even though where we live in Mid Coast it is very blue.

I always read the news in the morning. I go to the Times first and read it more thoroughly, then see what other papers are reporting, including even Fox News-just to keep track of that other perspective that feeds many Americans. But I started to not read anything that had not happened. In other words, if an article headline was, "What will happen if a candidate refuses to leave office"...I don't read it. I did months ago. But now, I realize reading 'what if's' is not healthy, and until it happens, there is no reason to have it compound my head and heart. This is of course a Buddhist teaching, but it is also very donkey. Be more donkey.

I only read polls on Five Thirty Eight, that are averaged and ranked. I never read an article about one breaking poll [whether they are good or bad for my candidate].

 Find something you like to do with your hands and do it daily.

I look for one tiny morsal of common ground when I feel my hair on my neck bristling. I heard a Trump supporter, an earnest sounding man in the midwest, state that he was really, really scared what would happen to the country if Biden wins. I mean, he was genuinely scared, and cared about his country. And I thought, okay, we have something in common-I know what that fear feels like because I too have it, it's just that I feel that about his candidate winning.

We have to find common ground when this is over. And it will start in our communities if it has not already.

And speaking of communities, the signs are going up all around. More than 4 years ago. We never put them up-this year especially I fear someone might throw something into the animal pastures...it's that crazy out there. I know of people that are voting for Trump here. With one in particular, I was really surprised, and yes, I was disappointed to see the sign go up in their yard. I thought about asking to just have a fireside chat together, because I was trying to understand. But I decided hat is very pompous of me. She has her reasons. I don't know what they are, and at this stage I don't need or want to know. Maine NPR has been doing a wonderful segment every week or so where three Americans come on, and without being labeled as liberal or right, or this or that, they talk. And at the end of the show, they say who they are voting for. And it wasn't always obvious. But they were discussions, and it helped show them as people with their own brains and thoughts and opinions.

Anyway, the anxiety. Limit the news more. Don't worry about something if it hasn't happened yet. And take time to be freaked out, but when you feel it, breath in. And out. Move your head side to side. Free dance in your chair. And don't look at single polls. 

We will vote on Tuesday at our small town hall, there are 600 residents in our village and I like the feeling of voting in person. I am a bundle of nerves and fear and excitement. But I'm also focusing on what i'm doing here at the farm, with the animals and people. I'm sure many of the elders I visit are on another side than I am, and I could not even think of not wantitng to share Harry and love and empathy with them.

Seek the common ground.

I also suggest watching the movie "The Trouble With Angels".

And of course, if you can find a nearby donkey, just follow their lead.

Buckle up, America.