Apifera Farm: where animals and art collide. Home to Katherine Dunn/artist

Paco's Party

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 23:37:00 +0000

Our dear little Paco turns seven on Saturday. Unlike many of the adoptees here at the farm, Paco actually had a papers. He has willingly and happily participated in all the Pino Pie Days - in fact he is quite the lush with guests - and he never complains about Pino's social platform.

So I thought this little poet needed his own special party. I told him just this morning, and by noon he was picking dress attire. I hear he wants to read a new poem.

Paco came to Apifera right after Pino and his suitcase had a very bossy bad attitude packed inside. But it was all exterior gruff covering up the heart underneath. He lived in a home with many jacks in one small area, all forest with no grass. There were many goats, peacocks, sheep and lots of testosterone. He was at the bottom of the ranking, so imagine what he had to do to keep up with getting food. So when he arrived here and met Pino, well, he just decided he was going to be in charge....with everyone, including me, the farrier and the vet. It took two years, but Paco has matured and settled into a wonderful fellow and friend. He still likes to scout and let others know he is - sort of- in charge, but he is very loved.

I kicked a gate and cried with the pig

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 22:27:00 +0000

The Head Troll, aka Frankie I'm Not a Boy, turns nine or ten this year. She shows here that one doesn't need a velvet cushion to rest on. But we all need to stop and listens to our light bulb moments.

Before you read this post, know this: I am not going anywhere. And my work has just begun, it's just shifting to my misfit aspirations.

I have been journeying along and have come to a small stream, much like the one that runs through the donkey pasture. I will get to the other side without problem, but I do need to acknowledge that I'm at a crossing over point and I need to make the steps.

This week I put together the beginnings of a will. I am not planning on dying, but I suppose I must someday and I want to know the farm and any animals will be taken care of. To be honest, it is daunting thing to consider - being killed suddenly with the animals all here waiting for their night feedings, Itty Bitty scratching at the door, Paco worried when my car doesn't drive up the road, Rosie asleep in her hay bed unknowing and my flock waiting, and waiting, and waiting at the gate. Even if Martyn was here, he would have to find homes for most of the creatures that have been under my watch.

I thought it would be a simple office task - write down an emergency list of vets, friends and sanctuaries and leave it at that. But if my animals had to be re homed, how would they know that Itty Bitty likes BW, and Peach should go to a house with dogs but no cats, Rosie and Stevie need to be together, and the minis must stay with Matilda. Will they know mama Kitty is bonded with the porch cats, and that Bradshaw wonders off and might come home to every vanished. They don't know Boone hates squishy mud and will buck in it. Would they know what to do with Old Man Guinnias? If I said on paper, "Please keep Daisy with her daughters and John John should stay with Lilly, his mother" - how would they know who was who. Will they realize Priscilla the goose is 19 and needs to be kept with her ducks, all related? And will they care? Even Martyn doesn't really know my sheep or some of these things. Mug shots of all animals? For now the list sits in a folder, "In case of my death", without mug shots and I hope it never is read. But it got me to thinking.

One could say this is me trying to control an outcome, I guess. But caring for an animal, especially old and neglected ones, is a responsibility I will die with.

For eight years, I've been going full steam ahead - raising sheep and all that entails, blogging, evolving, transitioning from illustration to gallery work to a book and then more books and then out of illustration but back to books with illustration, digging graves, catching rams, flipping rams, mending fences, soothing old goats and donkeys, learning, making mistakes but always admitting it and learning more, rushing, thinking, creating.

I think I hit a tiny wall this week. Okay, I hit a gate, with my boot, make that three gates. After I got the funding for my Kickstarter project, I was so thrilled, and still am, but there was so much to do elsewhere, and I just wanted to stop and think. But there was no time to think, because I tried to think I looked out the window and the ram got out, again. And I yelled at him. And I called him "Damn Ram". Many a shepherd has called their ram such so I don't hold this against myself. Besides, he didn't care, he never listens to me. Little Walter does, but not Mr. T.

I sat down in a lump in the barn and had a good cry. Rosie came over. Little grumpy Rosie came over to me and this really touched me. My tears and vulnerability moved that grumpy little pig to come over... maybe her first intention was to snort out a cookie, but she stopped and stood by my side and I cried with her. That was sort of this huge turning point for me. Crying with a pig at your side better be a turning point of some kind. I realized right then I wanted - and needed - to make some tweaks in my daily time and how it's spent. I want to spend less time breeding sheep and more time with my old animals and misfits. I'm tired of flipping rams. If someone is going to jump a fence, I'd rather it be Stella - who is also turning 8 this year. It won't happen overnight, but I want my flock to evolve into my girls, and one little runt named John John.

I just want to be with my misfits, and if I am introduced to another misfit - old, gnarly, three legged or one eyed and they accept my silent invitation, I'll care for them as best as I can.

So, that is why I am at one side of a small stream, and I'll get to the other side. I just need to adjust my footing. There are lots of old creatures on the other side, waiting for me.

And the old goat will speak

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 18:21:00 +0000

We did it. I say 'we' because the fact that my Kickstarter project, "Misfits of Love", funded over the weekend was a collaborative effort. The combination of my heart mixed with the old souls in the barnyard all these years simmered and baked into wonderful stories and art...and some lessons.

Once born, these stories evolved and matured like any child and eventually found the right time to fly off, to be what they were going to be. They interacted with readers all over and many of those readers reciprocated with pledges. Like old geese returning to a needy mate, these stories will journey without me, landing where needed most.

Now the real work and fun begins. I am still reveling in a bath of light. I'm very proud! I have so many ideas. There are still 8 days so you can still pledge - I won't be pitching to you any more - but if you do pledge, the money would be used for more editorial/design help and would also offset any Paypal/host fees. I also am interested in making Podcasts and having the stories narrated. I will be in touch with pledgers in spring with any rewards they are owed.

I am going to think outside the box, which should come easy for me. While I do want to see a publisher pick this book up, I am weary of the slow grinding wheels and trepidation of many publishing houses. I got very depressed watching my memoir "Raggedy Love" sitting at houses and being turned down for being "lovely, but too quirky" or hearing, "It's just not a big enough platform". Perhaps that is another reason it has been very good for me to raise $8,750 in 48 days - I did that. While I will pitch the book to publishers, I also plan to move forward in any way I can to let the stories come alive to the public, via podcast, radio, articles, photo shows and more. So stay tuned. This is an evolution.

I held Old Man Guinnias extra close last night. He is becoming more crippled from his past neglect. His back foot, turned even more and weehttp://tinyurl.com/7c45h2ykend from overcompensating for his front shoulder [or vice versa] has begun to collapse more. But he still stands when I come for morning feedings, he still greets the sun and eats like a logger. One of my goals is to take as many photos of him as I can- my dream is he will see his story evolve and maybe I can sit with a book in my lap and read it back to him. He is nineteen now, as near as we can tell.

Heartburn of the artist and a plea to the silent ones

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 21:10:00 +0000

I am working on ideas and sketches for "Misfits of Love". I am finding the fund raising is sucking my creative energy and many ideas are in left swirling and percolating in my head. I am so very close to getting funded. But I can't stop the chatter in my head until we reach 100% - so please put me out of my madness and pledge. We need only $1,130 to get there.

While I underestimated the stress of raising this much money - for me, and not a sick animal this time - I also was surprised at how proud I felt nearing the end. I didn't realize what a feeling of accomplishment I'd have watching the amount grow. I'm so touched by the many project backers that have raised the amount of their pledges.

So I'm asking the many people that read this blog - especially the anonymous ones - to make a pledge. I've spilled open my heart to all of you for seven years, sharing old goat stories, puppet ponderings, chicken underpants and donkeys poets. Where else can you get all that...for free? It is not comfortable for me to ask for money for myself - I underestimated the heartburn I'd have from 60 days of doing it - but I am now asking.

Pledge here, as little or as much as you can at any reward level.

I gave my love a red bouncy thing

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 20:51:00 +0000

Through torrential rains or fog or sleet, he never ceases to lose exuberance for life. What a role model he can be to us all - the ever joyful, willing, chocolate velvet eared Muddy Waters.

Memory on a sheep's back

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 20:53:00 +0000

Little individual snows, clustered in their own herds on the backs of my sheep let me drift back in memory to a walk I took with my father. He wore a big coat, wool, and as we walked under snow clothed pines, one waved to greet us, snow flakes falling. I walked behind him on the path watching the clumps of shiny flakes herding on his wool coat, clinging to life, then melting one by one, falling to earth. They weren't sad in the end, it didn't appear.

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 21:31:00 +0000

There are 14 days left to fund "Misfits of Love" a book of illustrated narratives about the old creatures of Apifera. I believe these stories, photos and art will inspire readers to look at old creatures in a different way, and that in some way it will also translate how they look at old people or old objects. The world has become fast paced tweets with products are made to only be cost effective if they are tossed rather than refurbished. This quiet little book will take you into the realm of old souls who have wisdom and dignity despite their histories. Rather than pushing them aside as last year's models, I feel one of my roles in this life is to care for them, cherish them and share them through story, art and photographs.

If you have pledged, thank you. If you have shared the link, more thank yous. If you can keep sharing, tweeting or writing one person who might pledge, please do it. If you can up your pledge, please do so. All of these efforts are meaningful.

Here again is the link to the Kickstarter page for "Misfits of Love".
http://tinyurl.com/7c45h2y

Visit my Kickstarter page now to pledge >

Floating to heal

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 20:14:00 +0000

It seems so many have lost their way from nature and earth. One does not need to live in the country either to be connected to the natural world on a daily basis. Having said that, just because one lives in the country doesn't mean they act in partnership with nature.

While I have never lost touch with nature, I have felt internal urgings of late to place myself in very specific places here on my farm. One place that keeps coming into my internal movie - commonly called my head or inner vision - is the large Savannah Oak on top of Donkey Hill. This is a magical, powerful place for me. From it's vantage point, the farm floats. I rarely come right out and tell people the farm floats, but it does. It's not a secret, it's just an experience I savor for myself and translate only in color layers in paintings.

I too have been known to float, another experience I have shared with only a few close, understanding people. I have been doing it since I was a child. My first memory of floating off was when I would take a bath, and even though my body was still there, I was somewhere else, just...floating. Not flying, not doing anything, just resonating and floating. I never told anyone for years about floating, and sensed it was not "normal". But I liked it, a lot.

But I began to understand through fellow floaters that I am here on Earth, now, to be a a spirit in a human body, not the other way around. My time here has meaning, and if I am going to float, it should be put to good use. Floating to regain composure in angst or sadness is positive. But to float away to escape is not something I aspire to anymore.

You would think that on a farm, 100% of my interactions are with nature. But like all of you, I am faced with finding balance as a farmer-artist-writer-wife-daughter-friend-worker bee-blogger-marketer...and soul.

I spend a lot of time laying my hands on my animals. What a beautiful, meaningful life I am living. But I am having real urges to spend more time with the Savannah Oak this year. I want to press my back on her waist, letting her arms wrap me and her leaf hands lay on me, healing me.

Chicken intersection

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 01:44:00 +0000

When old and blind hospice the young

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 19:38:00 +0000

There are twenty one days left to fund my Kickstarter project, "Misfits of Love". I'm very proud I have almost reached 50% and am over $4,000 in pledges to help my stories of the old and adopted animals of Apifera enjoy a wider audience. There is still a long way to go, so please pledge now, or share with as many as you can. And thank you to all who have helped! One of the stories in "Misfits" is "Hospice of a Lamb", shared in this post.

Introduction to story:
Death cannot be avoided if you’re going to live and The Cycle of Life is always the main character on the farm. Early on in my shepherding, I learned a simple truth from a fellow sheep farmer, “You can’t save them all.” But you try. When Daisy had triplets one year, her weakest was a little girl. I have learned not to name lambs right away – for many reasons- but this lamb had the same striking white cap on her coco colored head, just like her mother. In my heart, I named her “Little Daisy”, and while I never said it out loud, she knew. She felt my intent of compassion, that’s what a name is. There was a feeling in my bones something wasn’t right with her and she failed very fast over hours. I made my best effort to save her, but it was clear she was dying. Rescue turned to hospice and I placed her near the warm fire in my studio, knowing she had hours to live, not days. The group that gathered around her to hospice were the old one-eyed pug – nearing the end of his life too- and Itty Bitty Etta, the one-pound kitten I found on a highway, and the soul of the house, the chocolate lab named Huck who carries his heart in his eyes. They were not fighting the death; they were simply present with it. It was so quiet. I stopped to get my camera, but then wondered if that was a selfish act- to photograph this deathbed. But I felt compelled to document it, and to this day, the photographs from this day move me to my core. I can only hope such creatures are present when I lay dying.

The story:

I felt myself leaving the warm water, my legs were suddenly weighted down to hardness below me and I was cold.

My mother licked me over and over and over.

I tried to breathe this realm’s air, but the cold filled me.

I weighed four pounds. I was dying.

My two brothers stood near by but felt far away. My mother said a silent goodbye and I was half floating in the clouds above. Floating in, floating out, and down.

She had secretly named me Little Daisy, the woman from the house. It felt significant to be named, to have a word that represented my brief mass of minutes, even if they were breathless.

The woman found me lying listless in the hay and I was rushed away. Her actions were confusing to me but I sensed no real threat. I could hear her voice, but I just wanted her warmth, her warmth, and her warmth.

I was laid out on softness near a strong heat and I saw close up bits of creatures huddled with me. I was warm again, on my outsides. They licked me as my mother had for that brief moment when I felt the earth and left the water.  

Barnyard traffic

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 17:54:00 +0000

Unencumbered bottoms

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 18:55:00 +0000

Sometimes when mingling in the barnyard, I have great epiphanies. Just yesterday I mused that humans have bottoms once tailed but now tailless and when clothed we can not admire the individuality of each bottom.

But in the barnyard, all bottoms are free, unique and unencumbered from cloth.

Distracted normality

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 23:52:00 +0000

I gave myself the task today to get one bit of art down on paper. I also gave myself the freedom to just do it fast and not care where it would end up - in a print, online somewhere, or in a pile of other art - or tossed.

I have been doing a lot of writing and creating art for my book ideas, which keeps me on the keyboard, not the drawing board. The fluid motion of making a line when drawing or painting does not exist while typing. I was feeling stuck, heavy footed, heavy worded. This piece is just a small step back to fluidity.

I've spent a lot of energy this year care taking animals that I know are most likely not going to make it. It affects my flow. After 8 years, I can now say that. And this too makes me want to paint, to free my body up. It also makes me want to walk up to Old Oak and sit with her, my head pressed into her skin. Soak in me, Old Oak, I'll take you places, I'll draw your lines someday.

I yearn to take one animal on a long walk, and document it only in photos. No words. But which animal? Picking one means leaving so many behind. My tendrils are connected to so much, might it be time to snip something in a spring pruning?

I suppose many could look at this piece and decipher many meanings. I know what I feel in it. But while lying in bed this morning I was thinking of myself as a little girl, and how that girl came along on all my art journeys and transitions - my art is full of both child and woman. But I feel my writing is talking more to the woman, not the child. That's not a problem, I just woke up thinking about the child - the one that never felt heard, but learned to entertain herself in nature or where ever she was taken in adult land. I remember someone once told me, "Be nice to her, that little one," and it was those words I awoke too.

I feel huge transitions might be coming. I feel a need to put bigger canvases on the wall and mark them with large strokes. I haven't worked on a large piece for many months. Sometimes I think these yearnings are a panic, where the artist or woman retreats back to a former medium, style or product that feels safer because she did it once and survived or gained some kind of satisfaction from it - either emotional or financial. But other times, like today, I feel a small voice urging me to let go, let go, let go, and go forward - to what will be.

Morning has broken

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 01:29:00 +0000

Morning has broken on Apifera in this new year. The stream in the donkey pasture is on its way to the river at full force, my ewes bellies are filling with life, the promise of "What will come to me and us?" was rampant in my brain as I cleaned the paddocks.

It's so much better not knowing what is to come. No fretting about unknown angst and pain and no reveling in the joys - but the expectations of days full of living is what gets my heart pumped up. It gets me out of bed.

I don't make resolutions since each day I act out my intentions through my work and activities. When I fall or falter, or stagnate on a path I thought I was supposed to be on, I try to figure out what I need to do to either accept a new course, or get back on the path I fell off of. It's a constant dance for all of us.

An author I admire who has been a mentor to me recently sent me an email in which she called me "intrepid". I thought this was a wonderful word for my new year.

The countdown to stories unleashed

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 18:57:00 +0000

The stories from "Misfits of Love" will have a life of their own. The words of each story, printed on paper and then bound in a book, will be yours to mingle with, ponder, and retain meaning or inspiration of your own.

There are 32 days left to gather more pledges, with 29% being funded. Thank you to everyone who has pledged. There is a lot of legwork to do to get more pledges but I feel very strongly that I want these stories out there, in print, to be held.

It's easy to pledge. Your money is held [your credit card is not charged[ and only if the project is fully funded by the deadline will you be billed. Gift levels are spelled out at my page on Kickstarter where you can also read more on the project and see a movie.

But for now, I am posting one story [click "Read More" below] from the proposed book. It's an important one, as it is about the first old creature of Apifera, Old Man Guinnias. He is over eighteen now, and every year I hope for another, if it is meant to be.

"Old Man Guinnias"
a story from "Misfits of Love"
by Katherine Dunn © K.Dunn art/text
no duplication without permission

[intro page]
The first senior creature to be adopted by Apifera Farm, Guinnias has acquired a loyal national following that keeps him supplied in animal crackers for his own personal consumption. Arriving at Apifera at the age of 15, his original family had sent him off to a goat rescue in his old age, bothered by his daily trips to their front porch. His feet had been badly neglected which slowly crippled him over the years. Old Man holds a very special place in the barnyard hierarchy and in the farmer’s heart. While she recognizes that no creature lasts in body forever, the idea he will move on to other realms seems hard to grasp. With the old goat entering his 18th year, she has been known to say only to herself, “Maybe he won’t ever die.”

“The complexities of another’s life are what led me here, “ the old goat said to me.

He was thinking of the young boy that had raised him for 4-H over some 15 years ago.

“He adored me, but adoration is much more fickle than love,” he paused, “and fleeting.”

Conversing with a goat can be a brief encounter, a passing by of “Leave a few apples on the tree for me, please,” or it can be an ongoing dialogue where information is extracted slowly, over time, days even.

The morning sun had soaked into the cement retaining wall by the old barn for at least an hour. The old goat hobbled to the wall and pressed one side of his body against the warm grey stone. His front shoulder is bent from crippling and his feet are turned on their sides from neglected feet of his former life. Any movement requires a shifting of good legs to bad, creating imbalance, but quick head bobbing always seems to get him steady again.

Guinnias’ 4H boy quickly learned that a bike got him farther than a goat, and the bike eventually was replaced with a car. The car took the boy to new places, places where he could fish, or dance, drink beer or be a boy without a goat.

“I would have traveled with him, but he never asked,” the old goat said.

I sat in silence with him, he chewed some cud and I watched the wind dance with the chicken feathers, first slowly spinning them, then with a quick box step or a dramatic tango dip.

Arriving at Apifera Farm at the age of fifteen, Old Man Guinnias was the first elderly creature to be adopted into the barnyard and was welcomed by the century old arms of the barn. He spent his first day under the watch of the Apifera sky, surrounded by chickens, donkeys and a horse in the near distance.

“I remember my first night here,” he said. “I felt shoreless, a boat without land.”

He slept that first night in his own semi private suite - with fencing separating him from younger goats for safety, but allowing nose sniffing for comfort.

Even though crippled, he held himself with dignity, like any elder statesman with a past of accomplishments and personal experiences to fill a book. Like any keeper of secrets, the feelings and memories he had tucked away deep into his own skin and heart could bring him acute moments of loneliness.

“They usually come to me in the morning, after dreams have left,” he told me.

His boy had left home for college and the parents eventually drove the now old goat of to an goat shelter and left him there, saying to the management, “We just got tired of him coming up on the front porch.”

“If they’d asked, I might have considered sunning elsewhere,” the old goat said to me.

Old Man sat with his sagging eyes looking off into the tree line, stoic but with a sense of melancholy. His expression reminded me of something my father said nearing the end of his life,

“You get overly sentimental when you’re an old man because …” but he couldn’t finish the sentence.

The old goat’s given name was Guinnes, like the beer, but when he arrived at Apifera it was apparent he was much too dignified to be named after hops.

“Most people don’t take time to commune with the creature and hear the name inside them,” he told me as I announced I had altered is name for him.

“Guinnias”, his slightly revamped named, pronounced “Guinn – ee – us”, conjured up an image of him walking the hillside in a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches, carrying a walking stick and going ever so slowly, stopping only occasionally to watch birds through binoculars.

“He never came by again after he went off to college,” Guinnias said, speaking once again of the boy that reared him up from birth. “He must have had reasons why he didn't return for me."

Abandoned in old age, his main crime, besides being old, was for frequenting the front porch to seek out sun, and perhaps companionship of any kind, be it cat or human.

From a distance, the wind chimes on the front porch tingle and sing in the wind, making the old goat’s ears prick forward.

“There were sounds like that in my old home. Such a light, gentle sound, I like it,” the old goat mused.

He now had everything he needed in his barnyard - food, and shelter, and earth soaking up the sun to be his warm cushion. He had companionship when desired but also had a private retreat for naps or deep thinking during cud chewing. He partook in the daily and nightly barnyard routines and in time he gained confidence that this daily routine was now his world, it was how he would live out his years.

“I fall more now, it’s those rocks that get me sometimes,” he says with an uncomfortable glance. “Getting old is not for sissies,” he summed up.

He’s an old goat, but he’s a lot like any elderly person left behind, or shuffled off to live with a distant Auntie without being asked.

Old Man Guinnias has outlived many of the younger elders of Apifera. Certain creatures, both human and animal take on larger than life proportions – Gandhi, Buddha, Kennedy, Secretariat – and it’s shocking when they really die, no matter what their age. Each year as a new winter emerges, I wonder if this will be the winter his body will finally fail him. But each year, he plods on like an old vet and reminds me I’m not in charge of anything. Could it be, he won’t die? It just seems so strange to know he will.

When one of his barnyard mates is ill or breathes a final gasp, he‘s in the background, taking note of the procedures, smells and sounds. He stumbles through the vines of the pumpkin patch where someday he too will lay along side comrades of goat abandonments.

“Please face me toward the sun, and place my ear tips in a way so I can hear the sing song of the barnyard,” he said calmly one day as we harvested pumpkins.

The wind chimes rang in the distance again, perhaps reminding him of the warmth of a front porch of yesteryear, but he did not look wistful. He had everything he needed on this side of the barnyard gate.

----
If you'd like to help this and the other stories of "Misfits for Love" closer to being published, please pledge at the the Kickstarter page. Thank you to all who have helped so far!

Natural hat of hen

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Mon, 26 Dec 2011 20:00:00 +0000

They rush about in businesslike manner seeking, investigating, conquering tiny pebbles of grit that many would not notice. Their natural red hats might flop when they scurry off the compost pile but they always right themselves without my intervention.

Pino's Christmas Pageant

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 21:04:00 +0000

He's just a little donkey and he had such a dream. Alas, he found out how difficult it can be to direct-produce-act-and-sing in a production. So turn off your tweets, disengage from your face or his face or myface or facebook and give the little guy 7 minutes of your time. It's full of song, philosophy and more...right through the credits.

You can watch the video on our movie channel too, it might load faster.

The Tale of The Christmas Garland

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 18:48:00 +0000

One day Apifera received a big box from a kind woman who makes lovely hand made items. She had met many of the barnyard creatures while attending last fall's Art Workshop and inside the box were lots of animal crackers to be shared by them. But what caught the eye first was a beautiful garland of felt and wool she had made. Little did she know it would become a piece of great admiration by so many diverse characters. After last week's sadness, it was good to have such care free joy.

I heard whispers and snippets from the hen house later that day. Florence can never keep anything to herself, and after wearing the Garland, immediately dashed off to her coop to gossip.

"You put it on, and your tail feathers light up and when you close your eyes...well, you'll just have to try it," she explained calmly to the hens, not wanting to seem like it was a big deal.

You might be wondering where Pino, Paco and Lucia are? Or Itty Bitty? The One Eyed Pug? The puppet? Well, I explained that we must spread out the joy of the Christmas Garland...so they are all anticipating their turn to wear the magical creation. And let's not forget I am helping the Puppet with his pageant, which so far is not going so well - he has such vision but we are both lacking in crafting and set building.

Aunt Bea has gone on

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 02:32:00 +0000

Thank you to everyone who partook in Aunt Bea's Celebration of Life to help pay her medical and vet fees.It was greatly needed and appreciated.

She fought so hard, and so did I.

She started here with the cards stacked against her, after being rescued by New Moon out of a starvation situation. Her blood work showed the havoc malnutrition had on her little body.

But one of my three wonderful vets and I fought hard to help her, and I have never had such a brave little patient. Shots and drenches every day, wrapped in old sweaters for warmth, she hung on and on, always eager to eat, but unable to get up or walk. Her walking was worsened when her right front leg suffered some kind of nerve damage making her unable to put pressure on it. I was getting her up at least four times a day to move her, and pat her sides to help her rumen and the water in her lungs. I had even looked into buying a wheelchair for her.

Her treatments were nearly over after 18 days so the vet came to do a blood test on her today. We had hoped to see any kind of improvement in her Pac Cell count. Instead it was worse. We discussed an option of more injections for three weeks to see if we could stimulate the bone marrow - a treatment that has helped dogs and cats. But with the blood work in, we both felt it was time to help her over. It was a hard decision - because I had fought so hard too.

But you have to stand back and ask what you are fighting for - you, or the comfort of the animal. She had become more uncomfortable in the last few days - constant groaning - which could have meant so many other things were going wrong in her.

I held her little head, and she fell off to sleep, sweet slumber, and then she was gone. To not see her teeny little head sticking out of the hay bed tomorrow morning might just kill me. But the vet said it best - she had more attention in the last month than her whole life. I know this.

It was dark when I left the barn. I looked up to the sky but there were no stars. Just like her little blanket had kept her warm all these days at Apifera, the sky now offered her a blanket of fog to keep her warm on her journey.

Thank you to all who helped.

Matilda's window

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 20:15:00 +0000

Matilda will have her own chapter in "Misfits of Love". Please consider pledging for this project. We are 20% funded but time is running out. Help me share stories of old and neglected creatures who have a purpose.

She is the first to dine on hay, which is presented to her through her own window. Too high up for the mini crew to reach through, I show her the hay, she grabs a bite and looks at me with, "That will do, thank you."

I don't ever have to search for Matilda, her ears and eyes are always there for me in the morning and evening as I enter Old Barn. I say her name, and the tips salute towards me in acknowledgment.

We have an understanding that no matter what, it will be a new day.

Barnyard harbor

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 18:55:00 +0000

I rarely go to the barn after dark. If I do find myself there after sundown, it is usually because of an emergency or helping a sick or needy animal, including my shepherdly duties each March.

After our Spring of Death in '09, going to the barn at night brought up great trauma inside me since I spent so many hours there trying to help my sheep, but failing, only to succeed at hospicing them onward, something I take comfort in.

But the other night I was behind in my schedule and got to the barn late. The moon was very beautiful and I took my camera. But what I captured was the fable like quality around the old barn and how night allows this living creature to radiate from the inside out. Her doorway is a harbor for me, and many others.

Walk with Professor Otis Littleberry

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 22:13:00 +0000

Much attention has been spent, out of necessity, on helping Aunt Bea, but little Professor Otis Littleberry can not be forgotten.

Such a likable chap, he is very charming. Yesterday I took him on a special walk, and Miss Elberta Peach tagged along.

He has to be separated right now since he cold push Aunt Bea, and the Wilbur has been a bit tough on him. But he gets much love and encouragement and I tell him how all transitions have their learning curves and a tish of loneliness. So I shower him with kisses, which he tolerates.

Christmas for Aunt Bea

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 18:51:00 +0000

Yesterday I intended to finally sit down and spend the day writing. But instead, I was physically and emotionally pulled to paint.

I know when a muse speaks internally like this it is no use fighting it. I painted this for Aunt Bea, or for me, or for both of us. She was outside the studio in the paddock, soaking up the earth and sun, and I painted quickly, with abandon. I had an internal sensation that I had to get it done 'in time' for her, and even had hesitated to look out the window when I was done because I thought somehow my finishing the piece was tied to her time on Earth.

But she was still hanging in there. I showed her the piece and she looked at me in an expression I have grown to know well - little head with little eyes, "Are you really taking care of me? No one has cared for me for so long, when will you leave me?"

I felt Aunt Bea deserved a Christmas, not a holiday, a Christmas. So I painted her in one. No matter how long she is with us, I will know I gave her that.

Aunt Bea we are with you

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 18:39:00 +0000

Sweet little Aunt Bea is struggling to survive. The malnourishment has wreaked havoc on her little system and we are doing all we can do to give her a chance to live more days in the sun.

[Note: People have asked, and yes, you are free to donate to help with the $400 vet bill. Just go to the sponsor page and scroll to Paypal gift option levels. And of course I greatly appreciate it.]

Aunt Bea was rescued by New Moon Goat Farm and we brought her, along with Professor Otis Littleberry, to Apifera in late November. While everyone has had a chuckle about her very wide load, she is very malnourished after living in a place that had no feed for her, none. The blood work came back on Friday night and she is loaded with liver fluke [she arrived at New Moon loaded with lice too]. Her liver is borderline,her glucose was low and her PacCell count was very bad. We are giving her daily injections and drenches, probiotics and sugar water. She was basically a bone under her skin, and in lay person's terms, was starving and being sucked dry by parasites both internal and external. It's been chilly, so I wrapped her in old sweaters and lamb jackets, and then bury her in hay at night.

Every morning as I walk to the barn, I say my mantra, "Come on Aunt Bea, come on Aunt Bea." I hold my breath as I peak in the stall. She is on Day 4 of treatment and I noticed a tiny bit of improvement today. She can't stand on her own, or get up on her own, so I make her stand. Then I get her in a little wagon and take her to the sunny paddock - I'm a firm believer in the healing of mother earth and sun. She stands, doesn't move, but she is eating and drinking.

I know New Moon - who we have worked with for years now and have adopted 8 needy goats from- felt badly about this. But I really believe this was meant to be. I can give her one-on-one attention here since my little misfit herd is small. If New Moon hadn't taken her and the 7 others in, they would have died for sure [4 of the original herd did die wile in the former home]. I'm sure she and Professor are getting more attention than they have in the past year when they lived at the neglectful home they had been sent to [the first owner died, and had cared for them very well. I hope she is looking down on Bea].

I don't want to partake in over zealous name calling that can happen in animal neglect cases. I see it all the time on Facebook - people throwing insults and judgments out at total strangers for neglecting an animal, when they don't know anything about the circumstances. There are some really good people that get in life changing situations where the animals end up suffering, but it is not because the owners were bad people [some are, I agree, but you don't know the situations]. So I will leave the mud slinging to the masses, and won't allow it on this blog in the comment section.

What I do know is this. When I can care for an animal like this, even if she doesn't make it, she will go out loved. That makes me human, and humane. And I am reminded with each shot I give her, each caress and kind word I whisper in her ear, that I can always choose the humane path, even in a small way like helping a little, starving goat.

I tell her every night, "Aunt Bea, there is a lot to live for her here. I will fight as long as you do."

Help me share the stories of old creatures

noreply@blogger.com (Apifera Farm) — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 20:52:00 +0000

I have had this project in my heart and mind ever since the first old goat arrived at Apifera. I guess there was a reason 8 years ago why the universe kept me from doing it - how did I know so many more old, crippled or challenged creatures would wander here, with some floating away to rest above the tree line when there final day had come? Each one is special, with a voice, and a story. We can learn from those stories.

So, I have created a Kickstarter campaign in order to raise funds to make "Misfits of Love" a book of short narratives, photography and art. The funds will get the manuscript professionally edited and prepped for publishing and will allow me to market it to publishers - or go the self publishing route if necessary. Making books is a long process. The campaign page tells how I will use the money.

This is a labor of love, people. While I have lots of book projects out there looking for publishers [with my wonderful new agent- more on that later] and I love all of them and believe in each one - this project is one that obviously makes me sing and cry all at once.

Kickstarter works like this: You pledge an amount [from $15 to $1,000] and I in turn pledge to send you a gift in return [you can opt out of the gift]. Your credit card is not charged but your money is held in escrow by Amazon when you pledge Only when the entire goal is reached will your amount be charged. If I don't meet my goal, you don't pay a dime. I have until Jan 30 to make my goal, and if I do, your card will be charged. Visit my campaign to see more including a video.