Beauregards Farm

Loved writing this blog for several years now...with farming and photography and other dreams I have not mastered yet, I have certainly and finally decided to let True Calling rest.  Visit me at Beauregards Farm on the web and see what's new, what's up and what's what.  Thank you for your consideration and kindnesses through the years...therapy came from nowhere I could see but everywhere, from you- I could feel love and concern;  it made all the difference.  Semper Fi.

The dumpster dive, the tuna salad, the story...

(originally published 02/02/09)

A retelling of a tale... about a Big Fish.

Big Fish hooked!

The lunch room was empty, he had forgotten to bring along a companion to his tuna salad sandwich- a reading companion. And the remnants from the lunch crowd earlier produced no magazines, or even a snippet of the sports page. So he took to digging in the trash...for reading material. He was desperate, bored- tuna salad made too blandly could only be savored by reading material- taking one's mind off not enough mustard and too much mayo. His dumpster dive produced a Sunday edition of the Bangor Daily News- and even it was only a segment- the sappy kind that women read or sissy boys get all emotional over. An AP article caught his eye because of the gardening byline- he loved to garden. The tuna salad experience was looking up. He read and ate...finished up his lunch and threw the BDN back into the bin. And worked his way through till the end of his day- punched the time clock and headed home. That's it. End of story?! 

Man goes to work, has tuna salad for lunch, reads sissy segment in paper only because there was nothing else more he-man like to entertain him, tosses paper into garbage and finishes out his day.

Except- something he had read in that article tugged at him as he pulled into his driveway, some 20 odd miles away from his work place. Something weird, mysterious- so alluring, he turned his Toyota around and drove back, willingly- to the place of hard work for some 30 plus years- parked his truck, nodded to the guard (who probably thought it was pretty odd to see the man back at work after only clocking out some 40 minutes ago...) made a beeline (well, maybe not a beeline- more like a pilgrimage...OK, this part I'm trying to make sound more interesting) for the lunch room. To go dumpster diving again. Only- this time, there was no tuna salad, no need for passing the time with a good read...this time- the need was- truly, he didn't know. He only knew that something made him silly enough to waste time and a gallon of gas. So- for the second time that day, the man dug through the trash- this time more excited, more deliberate, more...nuts.

The dumpster dive, the tuna salad, the story... for whatever reasons, these strange combinations drove the man right out of his mind...and into his heart. He picked up a pen and paper and wrote to the subject of the story on gardening...just to say hello. Just to say I'm thinking about you, just to say-

"I've never done anything like this, I hope you don't think I'm odd- I just felt compelled to write to you and tell you I think you're a beautiful person. I just wanted to get in touch, hoped it would mean something to you, to let you know you should keep doing what you're doing..."

That's what Big Fish do...out of the ordinary, extraordinarily kind, wondrous things. They send an envelope to the Community Center in the local nearest little town, with a note explaining-" Please put this lady's address on this envelope if you would, and forward it to her. I'm from Maine and just needed to get this message to her. Thanks."

As of September 2007, this Mainiac and I have been pen pals. He didn't even own a computer or cell phone- he preferred going to the ocean, gardening , walking in the woods, listening to the radio. The Radio!!! I have since transformed him just a little bit- now there's a CD player, a computer (he hates it), and he did own a cell phone for a little while, but chucked it somewhere, probably into the deep Atlantic off some rocky shore.

He flew out here last March...and the rest, as they say- is history. He now commutes infrequently, meeting folks from all over the globe in his travels. He doesn't know a stranger, gives his seat up in busy airports to little old ladies and women with children. Tips his hat, and says stuff like-"Hey Bud!" and "Wat an Aushol!" and "Deah-could I have a drink of watah?" On his first ever trip here, he was a bit nervous- so the guy next to him, naturally charmed I'm sure- gave him a red key pass. (Apparently, there are secret little wonderful club rooms in certain airports where, with one of these keys- you get treated like Mick Jagger.) And now the guy(from Seattle) visits Maine to see the Big Fish and they've formed a friendship. Every time my BF flies, he meets, or better word- connects to other folks through his friendly, Maine-bear hug-like charm.

(So many times I get- "Why'd you come to Maine?!!  How did you meet The Big Fish?"...well, this story is how and partially why.

 And, our story continues...I am now a Mrs. Big Fish as of 12/21/12 and could never have conceived of this particular happiness.  We grow together.)

Fifty One

Wonder is my religion and love is the only answer to most of the questions.

 There are more questions than answers.

 Question answers.

Think for your self and you'll always have the answer to your own problems.

Thinking for your self is extremely difficult made especially more so if you're overtly concerned of what others think of you.

Spontaneously letting go in dance, laughter,  blowing milkweed seeds, trudging through the woods hoping to encounter some unknown, going left instead of right- is truly living.

Hugging someone when all others seem repelled by their extreme vulnerability is kindness, is compassion.

Express your self, it's what you're here for.  With pen or brush, camera or sewing needle, wood or plant material- build it, create it.  Should you enjoy this, I promise at the end of your work- the piece will speak to you of you.  And you will know it and smile, without a care if anyone else gets it.

I am weird.  I have always been weird.  I hope I continue to be weird.  Being weird is a big way to live,  I cannot live marginally...I tried, but I couldn't do it.

I started writing a blog in 2007, I don't know why.  Contrary to popular belief, I hardly know anything- I hope that people will turn to the outdoors for wisdom.

You cannot know just how truly resilient and strong you are until you test your self.  TV, internet, newspapers test your patience not your resolve- get out and move something, anything- just go.

Few books have affected me since my son died like John O'Donohue's writings...his words bring peace of a different sort and I cannot say for sure just what sort, I only know there is recognition for me in his writing- I owe him the same effort so that others might feel comforted too.

It is true when something is lovingly created, you can feel it, taste it- see it.  Not so when something is manufactured to be "natural", not even close.

Cross country skiing in a silent pace is a lovely experience- hearing only your own breath, your dog's breath, the  muffled poke and pop in the snow of the poles and the gentle gliding swish of the skis upon a white fluffed insulated earth.

I love the outdoors every day- more...and am always elated to find that is ever true with each passing experience.

I find I say "I don't know..."  more often than I ever did.

My favorite color is still green, green, green!!!!

I love homemade wool socks and mittens, and cherish each pair I have.

I have a little statue by my laptop, an auction find "The Thinker"...just looking at him studying the unknown with his hand upon his chin reminds me to assume nothing and yes, here we go again- ask questions! (This is especially helpful when using the internet...data overload makes one dumb!)

Above the desk is a bulletin board where all things interesting to me, have been messily saved- like words from a newspaper stated in a particular way-"Beau tugs at heartstrings from a distance.", or tea bag  encouragement- "You must live for something higher, bigger and better than you." or "You must know that you can swim through every change of tide." (That's a really good one...if you know that, you know all you need to know.)

I still love my Levis!

Forgiving is harder than giving birth, getting stitches, breaking a bone, getting smacked- it's a real zinger to all stations of your psyche because at issue is trust.  Once trust has been abused, it's really hard to forget that and you shouldn't...forgiving is one of those gentle strength issues, when one can master that balance, one can learn to forgive.  But do remember where the infliction came from, that is being aware and being aware saves trust before it is completely lost.

I have learned not to waste my time on folks who are mean spirited.  That's a deep meanness and it serves no purpose trying to reach them- they are lost and like being so.(But it doesn't hurt to check in every now and again...)

I used to think if you smiled at the world, it would smile back at you.  I don't find that to be so true anymore although it used to be more common.

I told my Dad once that I do gather information from others much brighter than me, but in the end- I use all that information and make my own decision regardless of another's belief.  Dad had said I would have to be careful with that kind of thinking since I was a girl. Yep.  Us girls can't be trusted to think our own thoughts and act accordingly....HA! (This was a loooong time ago, he might have changed his tune a bit...)

The older you get, the more you lose- friends, family, time.  It's hard to reconcile one's feelings towards losing what once was so commonplace to you, what was once so comforting.

I find something to be grateful for every day.  I suppose ten years ago I might have said "tried", but it is so- one can find something to be grateful for every single day.  On your pillow, say the thing or things that brought unexpected joy that day...your dreams that follow will be rich in meaning.

I pray every day for all.  Love, joy, peace and beauty to bless each and every one of us.  I do not forget to pray...I hope some day we will know what we pray for.

In the garden, if one looks deep enough- is an answer to any life question.  See how a seed germinates in the cold dark, soil.  See the little plant struggle to survive as it finds itself growing in the shadow of a too tall sunflower.  Watch the way it turns toward the source of light from which it came, spindling, stretching bending and sometimes simply going to seed so that it's offspring might outgrow the shadows.

This saying is true- love isn't love until you give it away.

I used to think "so and so" didn't love me because they didn't say so...I learned to look for their love instead of waiting for an announcement that most probably would never come.  People often show what they fear to say, and that is good enough for me.

I still love the Ozark Mountain Daredevils.  Their music and lyrics are a rare mix of youth, delight, nature, wisdom and laughter...they have been my favorite band since 1977.

I think consumerism is man's way of inadequate living.  He knows something is missing but instead of  feeling, dreaming, becoming...he buys his way towards a fulfillment of stuff.  And realizes some day- how empty he still is.

I feel there is a source of all life in all creation, the clouds do form to inform us- the stars mark the darkness with an eternal light source, the sun brightens more than the shadows, the moon guides the tide and forces change in us too.  There is not a flower that blooms without a message of hope.

 When a child loses their way, we should be there to guide- not to condemn.

We should not provide for the capable, it renders them incapable.  There are far too many folks with two good hands out and we fill them.  Why should they try and test their own capabilities when we max out our own in order to "help" them?

I have been preaching sustainable living long before it was cool and trendy.  My children used to be embarrassed by their "hippy" mom.  Now- they think hippy mom was on to something.

Used to be the Hippie couldn't be trusted and the government could be.  Now, it's the other way around...thank goodness for old hippies.

It's time people quit listening to donkeys and elephants and started listening to each other- farmers in particular.  And women.  But most definitely, themselves.


So much of what I have learned has come after many, many too many trials and errors...I have no regrets* with the exception of hurting someone other than myself, for that I am deeply sorry and hope my actions speak of my sincere regard for changing what I am sorry for.  Too many people go on making mistakes in life that affect everyone around them while they come out smelling like a rose.  If you make a mistake and there are a hundred people in line paying for that mistake while you go on unscathed, then perhaps it is not love in your heart but something else.  One should feel shame if others pay for your mistakes.  If you feel no shame, you will continue to hurt the ones you  love, over and over.  I think feeling shame and feeling guilt are two separate things.  Guilt comes from another making you aware and perhaps, then you'll change- this is the way of the world and not the right way as far as I'm concerned, guilt is a fear tactic and is used like a weapon- keeping everyone in line yet out of love's reach.  Shame is something deeply felt by the offender and makes one want to change for the sake of all concerned because love is at the helm and desires more love.

Am I wiser?  In many ways, yes.  In other ways, no... perhaps when I am 99, I will still be wondering.

(*Selling my old 1972 gangrene Ford Pickup truck.  I regret this every day.)

A New and Now Time

Heck if I know...might have to spend the rest of my life wondering.  To wonder, to ask questions as to the why and the how, scratching my head a bit and then finally go on with the love of living.  Good as answer as any, I suppose.

I know it's been awhile since I've been on here.  Who needs to write a blog anyway?  Similar question to the photo above.  Heck if I know, I just do.  It helps in some ways not to think too much, because I am riddled and rifled with that process.  Writing is like a spitting it out, exercising the brain, squeezing my mind muscle that produces an energy that builds thoughts into words and out...splerrrrt!  Here it is.  Oh my.  It's been too long since I have written, so a spittoon may be in order here.  

Looking back over the last year, much had caught up with me.  Or, had weighed me down, I'm not sure- feels the same either way.  I got too far away from me and my particular spark and tried to light the way for so many others...exhausting.  See, I can't do that. See, that's not what this True Calling is about.  Our true calling is to ourselves, to what lies within us.  And it is here, now and only here, now.  Not there- not back.  Right here, right now is the truest calling I know.  And I'm it.  Rather- I'm in it, up to my eyeballs and seeing what it's like to truly see things as they are.

On the wall, a clock is ticking.  I don't care much to mark time on days like this, I just like to hear that sound.    Behind me the blower of the fan on the woodstove whirs on and on, encouraging the orange flame to glow and heat the place up;  this is sure a peaceful way to start a day.  I've already got a pot of soup going in the crockpot.  Swiss Chard, Italian Sausage, homemade Turkey Broth, garlic from the garden (oh I hope my supply holds out...!)

The beginnings of a good day.  A new and now time.  Every moment.  Thanks for visiting,

Take care-

5:10 In the Deep A.M

The thoughts that occupy my mind these days are mainly on seeds, growing, transplanting and mowing.  There seems to be little to no time for any sort of non-productive recreation, the time to plant is now and seedlings- much like infants, demand full care and attention.  Thankfully, I arise very early.  My coffee break begins then around 5:10 in the deep A.M, just as the sun peeks over the Pocomoonshine knoll.  I travel to a spot in the yard where I might sit in the finest first sunspot, out by the chicken coop- near the Wysteria yet nearer to the Oak tree.  It is so early that the owl in the west woods still calls and the chickens barely whisper as they must hear too, an early warning of mealtime talk from a great predator’s beak to her babes-

“We are not only nocturnal, little ones.  In this first luster of light, many new and bright young things wander out into the sunrise glow and welcome the new day with songs that announce their position.  Breakfast time chicks, I’ll be back soon…”

The old hens stay put, but the young carefree rooster flies up to crow on a fence post…just like his brothers did and I can’t help but wonder if he wonders where did they go?  One morning, they were here too- the next, POOF- out of the thin air something plucked them up in mid-crow.  This farm does not much need a rooster so if he crows and goes,  I’ll heed to nature’s way and not make a big deal out of it. Although that fine cocksure Bantam is sure a welcome sight with his glistening black long tail feathers and white though dappled plumage.  Truly, I would hate to seem him go but what can you do when there are hungry babies in the woods with a sharp-eyed mama owl always on the prowl, vigilantly feeding her young?

Sip my coffee, listen to the birds- breathe deep and long and never shallow for the work of the day waits patiently as a keen eyed owl and can overwhelm just as quick as her swooping nature- one must be fit mentally, physically and perhaps most importantly to this wide eyed grower- spiritually attuned here by this light, this new day sun to take in each grateful breath and exhale just as thankfully for the opportunity to work with the earth. 

I am one year older- true, but my back is stronger and holds up better or perhaps I move slower and surer- maybe it’s the fluid way I work into the day, no longer rushing head on in but first, adjusting my heart to the love of the doing.  Every day I wonder still…and am filled with just being.

 Here…now.

Take care-

slushy, mushy love...

It's cryin' time again, as the old song goes.  The filling station will more than likely be known as the dripping station if the price of gas increases much more.  With that in mind, I'll share a laugh or two- get your mind off the serious and onto the absurd.  Wait...no, we've had enough as that as well...hmmmmm.  How about onto the medicine of laughter?!

The Fish and I (don't have much time this morning so, we'll go with shortened names to protect the hurried...)

went to town yesterday.  He needed bird house makings and I needed to shop for a birthday present.  I suggested the man take me to lunch.  Appalled he was-  Sunday is the big day for the big meal...WITH dessert.  Never mind him- Chinese food seemed about right so we headed that a way.  One look at the parking lot and he said "they're packed, let's not go there."  I readjusted his chronic-crowd-phobia-attitude and pointed to a much available parking space.  This did not sit well with Big.

The man slammed some food on a plate from the available smorgasbord while I dithered here and dallied there, as I was fixing to find our seat I noticed a seemingly confused white headed stranger to my right.  I smiled at her, she sweetly smiled back.  "I do not know where I am supposed to be..." she said just as natural as if I were the tour guide for a cruise ship.  I surmised that miss sunshine probably got out as about as often as I did and got lost dallying and dithering too.  "Did you come with someone?"  "Yes", she said- "my husband."  "Oh, OK...what does he look like?"  She was so sweet, even when she looked as though she might flick my head with her fork.  "He's a man." 

 "Gotcha..." 

 I've been around seniors enough to know when Sometimers or Alzheimers has a person in it's sights.  I looked around the restaurant, hoping that I might help and not cause her any alarm or embarrassment.  I spied a single gentleman, 80ish..."Oh look, is that him?!"  She looked the way of my finger pointing and again met my gaze with the fork flicking attitude of a woman who was getting mighty tired of someone as dull and ignorant as me.

She let out a long sigh and proclaimed loudly for all the sweet and sour crowd to hear-

"No, my husband has hair!"

Surely there's a special place in heaven for people like me who only try to shield others from adversity in buffet lines.  My face turned red, a soon to be hot flash took notice and flared right then.  All eyes were on me while the white haired angel glared and thrust her fork in the air ready to jab when suddenly out of the corner of my eye in booth 22, I saw an old hairy man.

"Look!  Is that him?  He has hair and a beard and looks to be your age and...."

"Well, thank you honey." 

 And just like that, she walked away, leaving me with a plate half full at a buffet.  Such is life...

Take care-

(Need another laugh this morning since you're probably catching on to the fact that everything other than locally produced items now too have mighty hard to swallow fuel surcharges attached to the price?  Well then go here, giggle a little and 

snort through your tears...)

The Truth About Squirrels

morning offering

Here comes the sun...

Brrrr....so cold in here, stumble down the steps bleary eyed-
Feel for the light switch, fingers numb- ahhhh, wait...  Here comes the sun
such a delicate glow 

Or is the glow from the inside fearlessly showing itself in this gentle light...?

Granny's rag balls, now high and blissful art in shine, in shadow, in morning.

Out my back door- see how the feathering white finery settles;
visible for just this occasion... for you Mom.

Too soon, long gone- beauty, magic in moments...
take care-

current

Often in the evenings, I go outside to the woodshed to fetch a few logs for the fire.  The Big Fish wonders why I don't stock the rack inside or allow him to do so, obviously this would make keeping the fire roaring an easier venture.  Well, I've been doing alot of figuring on that kind of thing...easier, convenient.  Seems to me, the more convenient this modern life gets, the less I see or take notice of;  the less I see or take notice of then becomes backdrops, secondary or somewhat invisible...as do any current thoughts.

I am misguided then by the newspaper or the Facebook, and too oftentimes in the winter- television.  The news-feed clouds the future with grave concerns, the past that deserves a look in hindsight becomes more of a focal point and once again, I lose sight of the moon.  Of the stars.  The magnificent sun and the tiny sparrows at my feeders.

So I'll keep my log racks empty but the woodshed full.  I'll not fill the hopper with birdseed just so I can become inconvenienced by dragging out the forty pound bag of sunflower seeds once again in the frosty, frigid mornings- even if it means tromping through iced paved snow banks in my jammies.  My backstepping kind of discipline is probably not gonna fly with the experts- but, this sort of habit keeps me sane and thankful- otherwise, I'd forget to look for the wondrous, the fragile and the current...

I will wait on the moon then, and read the stars...I'm not certain what they say, but all in all- the verse up there is current and freely open to interpretation.  I think they say, as best as I can tell- shine on and on...

Back To The Circle

With growing interest in growing one's own food, I'll share a bit of my second year on New England soil.  From the Midwest I came with little remnants left of my former farm.  I felt shame in uprooting plants and didn't want seeds tainted with whatever might have been floating around the fields bordering my well missed old farm possibly tainting my new pristine environment here.  And so, I pretty much started from scratch...again.

With that mindset, why not follow through then, in all ways in my it's-a-new-day life? Starting from scratch isn't truly the beginning of a beginning when you're just this side of 50, no- it's more like taking life as a huge compost pile and using the best of the steaming hot mess you're left with.

Kale and garlic scapes, lovely neighbors.

This year, the Big Fish and I started our whole garden from seed, with the exception of Kale seedlings from a local organic grower as the slugs and deer combined devoured my tiny starts again and again.  And some local, though with deep regrets as the man brought these suspect seedlings home- canning cukes.  If I don't give the man a little leeway in the garden, his pride and feelings seem to get a little sore, so of course- comprises were made.  The Big Fish never thinks I plant enough cucumbers, (although I must have set out close to 40 plants) well, not enough to thoroughly wet his appetite for pickles.  I wonder if I would have entered into this relationship so heavily if I had only known of his pickle obsession?  Too late now, I'm in deep with canners, ball jars and a highly sought after prized recipe for Russian Bear pickles with a flavor such as I had never encountered before- sweet, spicy and fruity.  If it were up to him, I suppose several thousand jars of these pickles would be as good as money in the bank, trouble is- he'd never let anyone else withdraw.  He is by far one of the most giving guys I know, except when it comes to pickles...a chink in the armor, my prince has fallen from grace, he is seriously deeply pickled.
.

Winter rations

Oh there I go again, off the subject...I intended to write this post as a welcome to new and old lovers of food and gardening;  of nostalgic stuff with a touch of sentimental craziness.  When you start a new venture from scratch or leftovers- in the beginning,  it is exciting!  My seed shack in the hoopcoop started just this way- spruced up and everything in it's place.  Labels- got it.  Water source- got it.  Organized set up with stereo to boot- got it.  Photo albums full of used seed packs, with hand written linear notes included! Got it!  It looked really swell and I sure enjoyed my late winter days out there with the seeds and smells of compost mixed with unhibernating dirt;  a soily earth perfume wafted all around and kept me romantically in tune with my surroundings.  (Including my chicken and guinea neighbors as they shared  the next compartment over in a Florida like winter home- their music of soft clucks and scratching was as fine as any melody.)

March lingered a little longer than need be, April sure as heck didn't kick up her heels hardly at all, but May whispered first with Raven's call, when I hear and see more of those big birds- to me, they are the harbinger of Spring. ( A well written observation of a Raven's nature Ravens In Winter- I highly recommend.) I could go into a whole interesting to me tirade on my neighboring Ravens, but I won't...yet.  Like the Ravens and every other bird, lizard and bug around this farm- I got down to the business of Spring. Earnestly and gleefully, composing the garden seed by seed and row by row.  Every day, something else half haphazardly compiled in the seed-shack while little transplants exited out into the protected cool air of a hardening off room and then finally out into the great big world of wonder.

Disarray in the seed-shack.

Chaos consumed the formerly tidy seed-shack, and like life- there is now little order to be found in it.  My winter gardening plans include a much needed clearing of that chaos, I plan to spend many a hard winter day occupying that room, trying to make some sense again of the clutter.

Gardening, growing your own food is a circle, not semi or partial-  but full.  It takes you through all seasons if you are truly sincere in your occupation of it.  In my experience, it is best to not become dismayed by all the troubling chaos of any aspect of life.  In the fullness of time it takes to tend to any endeavor- the moment will come and it will feel and be right, you will recognize it if you but learn to trust your self and your surroundings.

 I always come back to the circle, not where it started or ended- that is invisible as it should be;  I come to the center and try to see it all.  It was a good year I can clearly see now;  of trying new things, experimenting with new ideas and expanding old ones.  That my friends, is what growing anything- is all about.  It's a well thought out plan turned upside down by the experience of actually doing it.  Sometimes you trust your self and other times you simply just have to trust the moment and work with it as best you can with your two good hands and brain muscle. Two quotes I am left with and may be worth pondering to others-

Weather plays havoc with organized plans, but loosely made ones stand to reason with a stormy day.

Leaps of faith are not reasonable or well planned after all- their opportunities often come unannounced.  I don't think you can be too prepared, but it helps to be open and ready to rise to the occasion.  

Little chick lifts off towards some high oats.

An essay of a post by golly, I need to write more often...see you then.  Take care-

word singing vale ringing

It is August, wet and wilder than usual.  I will not be able for a time to attend this blog as other matters prevail.
I bring a snippet of news of a wonderful journey taken by my youngest son who is hiking the Appalachian Trail.  I had every intention of posting his just short of miraculous hike and the reasons behind it, but that will just have to hold for awhile.  His name is Mathew and I could not be more proud of this young man who has hiked so many difficult mountains in his life and is now applying all that discord and turning it into the trip of his life.  Maybe it will be he in time coming on here, to say just what it was that inspired him to let magic come into his life and what he has discovered, what keeps him going even though he has taken a tumble down a ridge, winding up with some broken toes that he vows- "will not keep him from finishing the trail." God or whoever you deem Him to be and all the magic and goodness of kind thoughts of whoever reads this, be with Mathew.

I'll leave you with this for a time as it speaks so well of a creed that holds faith, hope and communion with each other in the highest form of compassion by simply singing out to each and everyone.

A Good Creed

If any little word of ours

Can make one life the brighter,

If any little song of ours

Can make one heart the lighter,

God help us speak that little word

And take our bit of singing

And drop it in some lonely vale

To set the echoes ringing.

Take care-

the unlearning

There is a scripture in the trees,

I have read it.

There is a heaven here, and there...

From what I've seen and haven't seen

From what I've learned and unlearned-

 the unseen is too far

and

The unlearning is the hardest.

T.L. Starks copyright  2011

Another chicken analogy..

Good morning.  The weather seems to be aligning with farming today, I have half the gardens planted although the peppers and tomatoes are none too happy as the night time temperatures went back into the lower 40's, quite steadily...  We started all of our transplants this year from seed, so I'm especially protective of these plants.  (I have had need to replace Kale with seedlings from local organic farm as something found all my starts delectable.  I think slugs...they got almost all of my broccoli and cabbage too.  I sprinkled wood ash all around the perimeter of these rows and now, no more problems.)

We found out the hard way- chickens don't like their coop all lit up.  When we moved the "snow birds"  back to their winter home from their Florida-like Hoop/Coop, egg production dropped a bit and then we kept finding half eaten eggs in the nests.  I've never had this problem before and couldn't figure out exactly who the culprit(s) were and why- (given that they are extremely well fed with yummy greens to boot), they would eat their eggs!  When they entered their summer home, I thought it best to do some spring cleaning and open up all the doors and windows to the fresh sunshine and breeze!  I took down window and door coverings, turned their laying boxes to face the doors and loaded the cubby holes with extra sweet smelling hay- nice, dry and sunshine!  The stress from the move, their dark hay-bale shelter from the hoop coop was no more, and they proceeded to be like cannibals and eat their own eggs.  (I have noticed as well that it is the chickens who are not laying, the ones with the bright yellow legs, as opposed to the hens with the bleached-out ones, who are the culprits a/k/a soon-to be-Sunday-dinner...)
So, quite by accident the Big Fish was inside the coop, turned the boxes to the wall so he could set a trap and catch the egg eaters one at a time with the only available laying box to the other gals.
Low and behold...a funny thing happened.  When I went to check for eggs, which became a very frequent endeavor as I didn't want to leave free lunches laying around...I heard a fuss coming from the boxes.  My head said don't stick your hand in there, weasel or snake or worse?????!  Like a fool who smells the milk carton even though it expired a month ago- I wiggled my hand down in there anyway.  Two hens were sitting on top of each other with six or so eggs underneath them!
There was only enough room to barely slip a fat hen through between the wall and the box, but by golly- my Houdini hens did it and we have had no more problems.

Egg production is up and consistent, egg eaters are blind in the dark and I have learned a most important lesson-

It is not always in sunshine that we do our best production.  Sometimes it is the dark places we find ourselves in that bring about the restorative balance most needed for a fresh new start.

Another chicken analogy brought to you by a true wonder...and a happy ecstatic egg collector! Take care-

that eternal bubbling

A heavy crop of snow.
Once again the blog is the last thing on my mind, but I do want you to know that as I wander and work, my camera is always with me.  I capture this and that with the good intention of turning it into a blog post.  For instance, this pic is from my walk on Saturday morning- after Mother Nature thought it would be cute to dump 14 inches of snow on us as an April Fool's joke.  This poor little guy wasn't laughing-

A mighty little force of nature.

He was on my trail, in a rut as deep as a railroad tie- how something so fragile, so tiny could survive a snow storm in Maine and remain intact is another great mystery I hope I never solve.  I picked him up quite gingerly, my heart sank as I figured he was as good as dead- but apparently the warmth of my hand was all he needed to revive.  I placed him inside my coat and turned around early from my walk- I needed to get this little fellow into my warm seed shack until Spring really came for him.  Just as I rounded the bend on the lane, up and out he fluttered- to an old dead Birch tree near my mailbox- maybe the loosened bark on that tree would serve a cocoon like purpose.  It still amazed me, the whole small experience of finding a butterfly in April in Maine in a foot of snow....

Raised beds in the hoop house- snow bank outside.

And those seeds started in the seed shack in March in Maine are now doing quite well.  We have 31 flats started and are fixing to start about 20 more if I can make more room.  The Asian greens are already to be put into a colder climate as well as some turnips I started- I know, I know but I can't help my self.  I'm a Midwesterner by birth and now is the time to plant this stuff!  Last year at a market I sell at, some folks thought I was a witch or something- bringing greens and radishes to fruit too early for mere mortals- nah, I just don't know any better.   What's a little snow or frost- that's what they make plastic blankets and straw for.                                                                                                                                                           

I haven't had the best of luck recently- on a beautiful perfect day I wrecked my truck.  Blueberry pie went flying, accelerator had a mind of it's own and frost heaves in the road set it all in motion.  I hurt my pride and my shoulder but all else worked out.  Although- take this to heart and heed it from someone who wished they had.- 

If you get a recall on your vehicle- do as it says.  I just received mine in the mail two days prior to the accident- it encouraged me to remove the floor mat- this encouragement I did not read until after the wreck.  If only...

Well, that's just about it in a nutshell- seeds are started, more work to do there.  Snow is covering this lovely land but surely will recede soon when the temps hit the 50 mark, as they are rumored to do come midweek.

Guineas do not like the white stuff.

I hope your Spring is bringing that eternal bubbling about in your veins, may you feel looser, may you be free to wander and wonder at the small things bursting through the earth just at your feet.  Something in that tiny stem excavates a person's soul from the deep, cold trenches of winter- the thaw begins as light reaches in and all is made anew once more.  

Take care-

Made To Shine

In the heavens among clouds, stars are being born,

Nearby in a neighboring land, children are being lost. 

Deep in the darkest corners of space, suns become bound together.

And in sad cities, childhood itself becomes lost.

 by Yosl Kurland from Prayer For Bosnia copyright 1995

They were arguing, the two young men blocking my path to the escalators.  It was not apparent at first, that they were even friends.

"Excuse me...."

"OH, sorry lady, sorry..."

They immediately moved aside as I began my upward climb with a very heavy green case, a half empty water bottle fixing to fall out of a way too cumbersome bag filled with camera, books and a lighter than I started with, wallet.   The escalator rose with me, the young men and several other nondescript travelers.  It was late.  I should have gotten into the Boston station from Chicago by 9:30 PM, instead- eleven.  Great.  I missed my connection and no more buses or trains would be leaving out towards Portland Maine until the early AM.  This is where the young men and their argument came into play.  They had a ticket they needed to sell, as Portland was not where they intended to go together.  One guy was heading in the opposite direction of his buddy and due to circumstances- they decided it best for the broken hearted one- not to be left alone.  

The ticket seller would not adjust the ticket, refund the money or listen whatsoever to the two young men.  I had nothing more to go on, so I opted not to buy their ticket- matter of fact, it was time I estimated- to just sit and gather my self and the information at hand before I decided to buy any ticket anywhere.

The broken hearted guy was tearful.  But he was very tough so it was exceptionally hard on him to cry or not cry- no emotional in bursts or outbursts no sirree- be tough.  Be a man.  Learn from your friend that you just met at the station- "Your sister won't be here to collect you, man....  I don't know how to tell you this...I'm so sorry.  Your baby died."

That was the argument early on, in front of the escalators, remember?  The heart breaker was giving a message that the heart broken could not, would not bear.   Apparently he had just come out of rehab after several months.  Seems he had a choice back then- jail or get your self dried up.  He chose the latter, but before he left- he hugged his new infant son, made promises to him that his own father never kept in all of his life and went away to get better.   He came home to Boston.  To a new life.  To a cold new beginning.  

I learned that his mother was homeless, raised him mainly homeless, she was a heroine addict or whatever she could get and yet, he loved her and respected her.  

She had no choice.  The father early on made a waste out of her and the son just hung on as the Dad eventually took his own life after inflicting much pain and homelessness on his little follower family.

Yeah...this is a sad story.  Trouble is, it's true.  The heart broken guy, only 17.  The heart breaker friend, a bit older and loyal as anyone I suppose, the heart broken guy had ever known.  

"I don't care about the ticket, you need to go back to Portland."

"No man...I'm not leaving you now.  My sister said she'll come tomorrow to help us.  I'm staying..."

"Why?  What's the point?  I don't want to live.  Why would I want to live now?  I'd jump in that harbor but it's so fucking cold, and I've been cold all my fucking life and I just don't want to end cold..."  And he sobbed then.  He broke.  And I was there.  And all I could do was not break too.

"I'm so sorry, take my hand..."

"What the fuck lady, get away from me...leave me alone, God dammit!"

"Please, accept my hand, I don't know what to do for you...hold it.  Take it, tell me..."

His friend intervened and that is how we sat with him, in between us- just like that.

So- that's the story of how I spent the last night of my journey home.  In a Boston bus station.  Holding a young guys hand.  For several hours.  That's all I could do and it was all the warmth I guess, he could take.  But he let me.  His friend sat on the other side of him, in silence- sometimes he'd look at me and I'd look at him and we knew between the two of us was heaven and hell battling it out in a young- too too young soul.

Did I mention this heart broken guy was beautiful as I had ever seen?  Raw, yes.  Broken, oh my God...  Capable of moving past the instant sorrow on top of the life ladened with it?  I tell you, I just don't know.  I may never know. He held my hand and I held his and that's just about all any of us can do I suppose, in a bus station, in Boston where the marble floors are made to shine but people, homeless, hopeless people- shine just as much with a whole lot less care and attention.

I should have given that young man my number.  I should have said- "Call me, let me know how your life is going...I want to know."

But instead, I left him with this-

"I don't know what to say, I'm sorry.  You don't deserve it.  Listen to your friend, he cares for you.  Don't be alone..."

"What should I do?  What do I do, tell me...."

"The next right thing,"  I said, " And then the next right thing after that."

As vague as that statement was, I could not say to him in all honesty- I don't know.  He may have been hopeless for much and most and maybe all of his life...but, I am not.  And someone I remembered, once said that to me...it didn't seem at the time a loving thing to hear, or even navigational for that matter- but in times of great despair, the truth is all that one can hear- even in simple terms as "the next right thing."  Basic instinct tells us, for survival sake- what the next right thing is that keeps us alive and moving out of harm's way.  That young man was not open to any blatant fairy tale or triumphant message from me or anyone- but he did hear that low down honest one.  He did. 

The next right thing then for me, was to write this story and tell his side.  So maybe, just maybe some day- someone might read it and remember that being indifferent, blind to suffering while we rail against traffic lights and Charlie Sheen's behavior- is not the next right thing.  It's not even close.

  From where I sit, under my stable roof and blue sky above with a fire burning not eight feet away warming me almost too much to the point of being uncomfortable...well, I truly don't know what that is, uncomfortable.  I know hope and beauty and see no reason beyond this moment to ever cry about anything, but instead be oh so grateful that I did not end up in that middle seat.

His name is Steven- he could use our prayers.

Thank you.  Take care-

*I met  Yosl/Joe Kurland on the train from Boston to Chicago...he sang for me in the great shiny hall of Union Station and taught me a bit of Yiddish and stories that perhaps made me more open to that young man in the Boston station.

He reminded me of a saying I had come upon years back-

“It is not your obligation to complete the work [of perfecting the world], but neither are you free to desist [from doing all you can do]…”.

Yosl Kurland

flustered here on the farm last night

In a few days, I'll be railing across America.  Well, half way...from Boston to Chicago and then on down to more central points in a state that is known for it's half dead politicians and dead voters who vote often enough...
I must admit, I am terrified of those large cities- I find little of myself in concrete places, just not my element.  What I do find are stories and the people behind them, folks I would have never met had I not gone to the outer limits of my huge comfort/freedom zone.  I would be deeply remiss if I did not admit that by traipsing off into what seems from the wild wilderness- dangerous territories, I often do find such goodness and kindness- frequently in every person I meet.  I do.  Truly.  Not just friendly bumps and sharing spaces, often enough- we stay in touch, we email and aaaarrrggghhhhh... Facebook, apt name.  Faces, yes- (surface dwelling) but at least, it is a somewhat common connection picture posting world.  But it's a fast connect- a virtual flash.  Not much for memory storage...which for this truewonder, is like eating pie and never knowing what the flavor of the filling is because it gets left out.  A light snack for this voracious eater just leaves me hungrier...


On with the story then!  Oh yes, that's what you come here for- the story.  I've got one...it's wondrous.  It has to do with Mystery Guests and artificial shelters.  Intriguing, no?!  How about screams in the darkness, fumbling for boots that should be burned, feathers flying and stars penetrating a fertile darkness?  Weapons and shovels, ice and mittens?  Do tell you say?!  Well, since you insist...


I read the book, I loved the book, I read the critiques of those who read the book and loved the book but not so much the movie.  I liked the movie.  I loved the actress and the man she fell in love with, well- who wouldn't?
The author of said book is a real gem and I'll always follow her because she's brilliant.  But the book and the movie and the love parts that left more to the imagination than seeing boobs and never.. well- you know whats...they don't show those near enough in my way of thinking.  Goodness sake, there's enough of 'em hanging around- what's the harm if one should be exposed like the booby flashing?  Same difference- body parts that get us flustered and blushing...well, I do get red in the cheeks and I look around sheepishly to see if anyone else is happily embarrassed by nudity.  There I go again, off the subject...little trips I like to take you on, just to see if you're paying attention...


I was watching the movie- Eat, Pray, Love.  Totally immersed, completely alone and still- no boobs, no one-eyed monsters and it didn't matter if I blushed or not and frankly, the imaginative way the romances went, well- I liked that opening into my own mind of what might have been going on behind those closed doors and pulled curtains.  Made myself blush... and then, speaking of monsters- I heard screaming.  The screen scene showed India so I just assumed for a moment it was a peacock in their garden, just off camera.  But then I began to hear Guinea fowl squawking, my head questioned- "Guineas in India?"  And my brain then reasoned, although it is seldom geographically correct-
"No, Guineas do not live there..."
I jumped up, turned the volume down and the Guineas and something else resumed screaming, ever louder- every second.  I stepped out onto the deck.  I hollered,(like before a few posts back)...
"Hey!  What's going on?! Hey, heyyyyyyyy!!!!!" 
It didn't stop the squawking commotion and I didn't like the eerie screams, the curdling kind- coming from the direction of the hoop-house, which is known in winter time as the HoopCoop.
Because I keep the chickens in there...didn't I never tell you that?  Sorry.  I do keep the poultry out there in a Florida-like room.  Since the owl attacks of last week, I've gotten the Guineas to go in too, of an evening.  At first it was like pulling teeth, but after two more of their members were beheaded- they all figured that the artificial clear cave might be better than being sitting ducks in a tall Spruce just next door.


The Big Fish was sleeping like a hibernating bear- chick flicks do that to him, I didn't want to rouse the bear...yet.  So I fumbled blindly in the dark for those damn boots, and that sweet Carhart coat and green  mittens but did not take the time- for time seemed to be of the essence...not for me so much, I tell you- I was a little afraid, wasn't sure what I might encounter out there, uh-hum...didn't take the time to grab a flashlight as the moon seemed ample to brighten up the yard.  Down the stairs I ran, collecting Gideon and Etta as I went- had to pull their teeth too, it was cold- they were warm and saw no need, voluntarily deaf to boot- to go outdoors after dark.


As I rounded the corner out the back door, I spied a shovel sticking out of the snow pile and grabbed it up and carried it over my head like a villager ready to take on Frankenstein.  Screaming, hollering- so just in case whatever was causing all the ruckus might be made just as scared as I was...helter-skelter I continued on.  In opening the HoopCoop door,  nervous soft cluck clucks and low, continuous whistles echoed amongst the Guineas- that is their way of saying to one another-
"The sky isn't falling yet so no worries, because I'll warn you and you'll warn me and we will scream loudly in unison when the time is right, agreed?!"


So to this talk I added,
"Babies, babies, chick, chick, chick, it's OK, it's OK...everybody here?" 
 Real low like- matching the quality of gentle cautious sounds...this always seems the best kind of communication when dealing with the Don Knotts of farm fowl, the every-ready-to-freak-out Guineas.


I looked up then to their roost and counted- they were all there.  I looked around on the ground beneath them for any sign of a weasel or raccoon.  Nothing.  I checked out the chickens in their hay bale home- they were all but snoring.  No nervousness there- the little black tenacious hen had every one calm and in order.  I looked up one more time- I wondered if the Guineas must have just been able to see a shadow flying overhead- perhaps the owl from nights before was searching still, from great hunger- a midnight snack. 


 I could see the sky as if there were no thin veil of a plastic partition between me and the stars.  All the condensation had melted during the bright sun day so there was nothing to frost or freeze causing an opaque screen usually, to look through.  I was satisfied then with the shadow theory, sweetly I whistled my calm goodwill and goodnight to all and I went back inside to finish my movie and warm fire.  Nary a nude scene left- still, I enjoyed the film to it's finish.  Off to sleep went I, dreaming of far away places and islands with four hundred parrots.


My morning chores began earlier than ever, I had to affirm that all was well and that no unknown carnage came to be while I dreamed of carnal pleasures...which incidentally, amounted to chocolate rocks that you could pick up and nibble- I kid you not, that was my dream symbol from last night.

  Eat+Pray+Love= Chocolate...makes sense to me.

Like the mysteries of nudity and love making scenes left to the imagination- I'll leave you with the same.  And...some glorious frost imprints and really quite amazing hints to go on of just who or what had every one flustered here on the farm last night.

A Surprise Barrier to Hungry Claws and Beating Wings

Close encounters of the winged kind.

A few rips and tears to be mended.


Well then, that should do it.  Happy Valentine's Day...I'll be back after my wandering ways have ended.  I hope this long story keeps you well and again, please- I do request- check back on my last post.  Do give a damn, it is as important as roots to a tree and seeds to a sunflower.
Take care-

Now is not the time

I do not consider myself an activist but a participant.  I do not align with any group or people or product based solely on approval or disapproval, financial situation or affiliation.  I strive to bear my options and opinions by my own research, thoughts, observations, experiences and also due to greater scientists, writers, thinkers than I- past and present.  I aim to ruffle a few feathers again...please listen.

  There is no greater threat to mankind than a non viable seed supply. 

 I will always, until my dying day- speak out against that unimaginable end- a Silent Spring...

Freedom is at stake-  when the fork you lift contains ingredients not of nature but of corporate greed large enough to bypass even the USDA and infiltrate invisibly both the fields of plenty in our great nation as well as the fields of freedom that our votes once allowed us-  when deregualtion of an absolute uncertain modification is allowed to possibly infiltrate our food supply based on research done solely by the corporation itself and our government, from the bottom up says- "that's good enough for us", we certainly must question that government and remind them that this is not a dictatorship but a democracy.

 President Obama is accepting letters, he may not actually read them- but surely the White House might consider the mountain of evidence from concerned citizens who refuse to accept one sided reports that concern everyone's livelihood, freedom of choice in the food we eat, in the seeds we plant. Perhaps if thousands would make just one statement-

"We need absolute proof from ALL SIDES before we ingest anymore of this substance -before we allow it's unknown repercussions to our precious land."

 or simply offer up this question that must be answered fully and without deceit -

 Are genetically modified seeds benign or malignant?

If that question cannot be answered without full disclosure from all studies- now is not the time to allow Roundup Ready Alfalfa to prosper.

Please visit the link below.  I am not asking you to give a dime or a drop of blood.  I am beseeching you to concern your self with what concerns each and every one of us.  There is a direct link to President Obama's office. Thank you.

Four Things You Can Do To Defend Food and Environmental Safety Until the Question is Answered.

February 12, 2011:
The flood gates have opened,  now this too-
Food Safety News-Union of Concerned Scientists 

I hope that soon I will read that the people have spoken- that we care enough to dare say "answer our questions fully or we will continue to question everything"...trust is such a hard thing to earn, it's time our government tried to earn it again and not bypass the citizens that make up what has always been a land fought and won for freedom's sake, not for a corporation's way-over-the-line greed.  

And one more thing, since you've come this far- do treat your self to President Roosevelt's speech that turned the tide for so many, I don't know if it's fear that most needs conquered these days...but I am certain it is greed, and we as a nation must take a stand against it. 

A Rendezvous With Destiny

nothing.all of it.me.grateful.

"....and that is where you found me, at the water's edge.

I could see across the river then and I showed YOU

the other side-

But you, in your boat of reason

sailed smoothly across....

leaving me to swim."

T.L. Starks~Waves 2003

Here it is, the magical thinking day...a new New Year comes to pass.

Magically I will extract all the poison, I say- from the old days and put it on the compost pile.  Hmmmm...maybe magic isn't the word, perhaps mightily is how I proceed this day.

Unforgettable moments to grow on:

And I, you...

True, true wonder...

Might I always leap when overwhelmed!

May I always, always notice such things...

And be humbled by the enormity of beauty, be still when  it gets noisy; deeper still when it gets too quiet.

Walk a ways, every day.

Try on serenity- wear it, share it be aware of it.

What I will forget- nothing.  What will aid me, all of it.  What hurt me most- me.  Lessons earned, lessons learned...and may all of it make me grateful.