Summertime and the living is easy... or not

Summertime and the living is easy...

Whoever wrote that didn't have a farm or ranch in the summer. I don't think there is an easy time for those who raise livestock. Every season has something different and ignoring any of the needs puts you out of the business.

Because we had a hard spring, very odd, much colder than usual, we didn't get around to shearing until July. The sheep didn't complain. They forget how much better it can be with that wool off. From experience, I know the lambs will hate it because it takes them a day (sometimes more) to figure out who is mama with the wool gone. Sometimes they nuzzle the wool pile-- mama?

The shearer arrived this week. It's not my job this shearing, but I do take some photos. Our neighbors had two granddaughters visiting and they enjoyed coming down to watch how it's done. Especially interesting to them might be that our shearer is a girl.

Other than fences, we are moving irrigation lines pretty much every morning which has both Farm Boss and me complaining about sore muscles as it uses those we don't regularly exercise that much. We are ahead of the game this time though with getting the water on before the grass dried up.

We've had the usual fence problems. One night lying in bed, I kept hearing a lamb crying. Farm Boss groggily told me to go back to sleep as it wasn't outside the fence. I finally could not stand it and told him I was going out. This is not my usual thing as when it's dark, nearsighted people don't see all that well, but I could not stand hearing that baby bawling any longer. As soon as he knew I was going, he said he'd go and I could stay in bed.

No way was that happening as he had been sleeping really soundly, had been very tired from fence work, and I knew I had to see for myself what was going on. I carried the rifle and he carried a flashlight but was not out there as soon as I was. I think it's the mama gene that was motivating me as I simply do NOT go out there when it's dark.

It was a lamb who had gamed the system and was on the wrong side of the fence from its mama-- definitely in coyote country. You'd think they could remember where they went out, but they are sheep. You'd think they'd not sneak out again the next time remembering this panic. They won't because they are sheep...

Finally we got it back in, and then it was quiet... well other than Farm Boss's snoring. That man can fall asleep a minute or less from his head hitting the pillow. Me, it takes a lot longer-- okay a lot longer...

Painting in the mountains

When we go somewhere with Parapluie, she pretty much always is painting or sketching. It is part of the fun of such trips to see the day through her art. On our second hike to the high Cascades, I told her ahead of time that I planned to bring my oils. On our earlier trip, I had seen a place that I felt I could sit and paint while others hiked.

Although I have done plein air painting, I haven't done a lot of it. There are a mix of reasons for that. One is I am not that gifted as a painter. I got a lot better at sculpture (Sculpture Gallery); but there is something in me that very much likes the idea of being a painter more than a sculptor. Maybe it's the color or the freedom of expression which I feel is more limited with clay especially since I only did the human form (well a few animals mixed in).

When I am painting, I enjoy it but I often have a hard time thinking of subjects to paint. For awhile all I painted was people but eventually that wore out since my people were all imaginary or mostly anyway. Where Parapluie sees possible paintings everywhere, I don't. I know what she says is true-- start and the ideas will come. I know that but...

I like the smell of oil paint especially the water based where I don't have to use turpentine and linseed oil for cleaning and thinning. There is something about the feel of lush color on a brush that is sensually pleasing. Sometimes I mix the colors right on the canvas and that's satisfying too. What spoils it for me is worrying about the 'product..'  I have a hard time accepting that it's the process that matters. I keep wanting a product that turns out as I visualized it.

Now if I painted as often as Parapluie (settling herself below where I had chosen to paint), which is pretty much every day, I'd be better than I am, but am not convinced I'd be gifted. But is being gifted what painting is about? Can't it just be an enjoyable time with paint and canvas without worrying about what comes out? You can tell I am trying to convince myself.

So, taking that attitude as my mantra, with a small bottle of water (which used to hold creamer for my coffee), my water based oils, a few brushes, a small canvas, and another  bottle of water for me to drink, I settled myself under a big fir and looked at the scene in front of me. Actually the photo at the beginning of this blog is not that scene but it was the same type of flowers, the same energy with beyond it a patch of red earth and tall trees.

I didn't photograph what I decided to paint for several reasons. One was that Farm Boss had gone for a hike with Fisherman and taken the camera. But when he got back, I could have photographed the setting. I didn't. I wanted no visual left to compare to my painting. I wasn't really painting what I specifically saw anyway.

For me, it was about painting the energy of the whole day, not of one specific place, not with a center of interest. When it was finished, I named it 'Mountain Kaleidoscope' because like a kaleidoscope, it's full of many colors that are constantly changing. When I look at it, it will always remind me of that day; so it's more about that then whether it came out great. It did come out as I had visualized which is a step up for me.

The oil is 8"x10" which is a pretty nice size when painting in the woods and hoping to finish something rather than take it home to complete.

(I will be offline the next few days as we are heading to Klamath Lake for some family time. I have blogs set to post every other day as usual but put the blog on moderation to avoid spam building up. Please comment if you are so inclined with your own thoughts on whatever is posted. I will get back to it.)

A hike with friends

For many many years, we have enjoyed outings with Parapluie and Fisherman. We began our friendship early in our marriages, actually before them, have traveled together many times especially in places like the High Cascades. Such friendships are treasures all of their own. The following are some photos of us all from Saturday because although the flowers were spectacular, it's also spectacular to share such an outing with good friends. The photos are in no special order (mainly because the new blogger system makes ordering them nigh unto impossible if words aren't between them, but they are at least that day).

Return to the High Cascades

Because we had enjoyed ourselves so much when we were in the Cascades, we went back on Saturday for another hike with our friends Parapluie and Fisherman. The hike we made wasn't too long, the day not too hot, and we enjoyed eating our lunch under the shade of a big tree between short hikes.

Although it was the same walk, the scenes had changed as different flowers bloomed, some had grown more impressive.

The walk basically follows a ridge and dips between deep forest, open flower-filled meadows on steep slopes, and interesting rock formations. If someone is so ambitious as to climb to the top, they get a spectacular view-- so I have been told. I have yet to go to the top; and this time, since I had twisted my knee in Arizona and again in our pasture, I wasn't about to risk it as coming down could have sent it back to where it had been. Definitely not on my agenda for a fun summer.

It made me think how much fun it would be to start doing this hike say the first of July and repeating it every week for a month as each time there would doubtless be different vignettes to enjoy.

The birds and insects make the most of this glorious feast also although their motives are more about their own survival than appreciating the beauty although who knows. Maybe they do both.

When I am there I always think how wonderful it is, all of this in one place, the show these flowers put on for themselves, for their survival, but that people built a safe, easy trail to allow someone like me to see it all. The beauty, wonderful array of flowers and colors warrant a poem. Too bad I am not a poet.

The flowers range from those that love the sunshine to those that bloom in the shade. Their colors are everything in the rainbow.

More photos have been added to my Picasa site for those who are fans of mountain wildflowers.

High Cascade Wildflowers

dragonflies

As long as I am writing about art additions to our home and I just was, I thought I'd post pictures of two more that came recently.

My daughter gave me the above dragonfly for no reason other than that she had seen it and knew I liked them. Then when our grandchildren came to spend a week, we were in a little shop where our grandson bought the second dragonfly which perches on a refrigerator. He surprised me by saying he wanted it for here at the farm.

I love them both as well as a copper dragonfly that I was given one Christmas by our daughter-in-law and son.

There is something very spiritual about dragonflies. I think it is because they undergo a complete change in their form at a certain point in their lives. They go from living under water as a swimming insect to emerging with a new form that flies in the sky. Perhaps it's not only about the many resurrection stories in mankind's mythology but also our own desire to emerge into what seems to be our truest form through our life experiences.

This summer I have yet to photograph any on the farm, but think I will now that we have gotten the irrigation going as that provides the water to draw them. While out watching the sheep to avoid coyote attacks, I can do a lot of waiting patiently for dragonflies to show up

Primal Pebble

Last week we bought one of Parapluie's paintings, Primal Pebble. I had actually coveted it for some time ever since she did it a year and a half ago when they spent winter months in Arizona. She and I had discussed our buying it, but for a time I let it go. Then I saw it again when we took two of our grandchildren over to their home for a watercolor lesson from her. After that I really wanted it and we worked out a price satisfactory to us both.

After Primal Pebble was home here, we had to decide where to hang it and that is always a process for me as I have a lot of art in this house with limited walls on which to hang anything. Bookcases take up way too much space but what to do since I love books.

Finally after rearranging this or that, I have it where I am happy and enjoying it every time I walk into the living room. I especially wanted it there as I feel it is very spiritual and that room has been taking on an increasing spiritual tone to its art. The painting beside it was bought in Wyoming at an art fair.

Parapluie, who creates (Umbrella Painting Journal), wrote a poem to go with Primal Pebble and sent it along with the certificate of authenticity. I think it's worth sharing since it is what the painting is about. One of my friends had looked at the photo I had taken of the painting and said, it looks violent. Well our earth's history is one of violence; and although I don't really see it in the painting, I wouldn't mind if I did.

Parapluie had given me one of the small, smooth rocks that the painting and poem are about. I have it beneath my monitor here as inspiration along with other items sacred to me.

Primal Pebble

I picked up a cool pebble at our Cebolia camp.

If she could see and speak, she could tell us an epic story.

Rounded and polished in the Colorado's ancient glacial floods,

then her skin was blackened by air and sunlight.

The shiny black conceals a heart of hot iron colors from a fiery birth.

Ages ago  big sister rocks were visited by native hunters

who carved through her blackened skin to warm life colors.

Prayerfully on the rocks imaging their memories, 

maps and dreams the hunters made

the blackened rock a character in our history.

Because of the interest in what the pebble might be, I photographed mine. The second photo has my finger alongside to illustrate size. The stone is perfectly round and flat, very smooth to the touch. It feels a lot like stones we know as Moqui Marbles (sometimes called shaman's stones) except they are usually hollow and come from northern Arizona or southern Utah.  They, like the one she brought back for me from Arizona, are very good when meditating.

So relaxing here

I have a very close friend, actually a dear friend, who lives a lot of miles from here and as we were chatting the other night on MSN Messenger, she said, it must be so relaxing where you live. I could only laugh as I related to her what my evening had been like just ahead of my having a chance to touch bases with her.

Farm Boss had come into the house and said, get on your tennis shoes. I need you out here.  I didn't like any part of that idea. Need doesn't sound good. For what?

A cow has a calf's foot sticking out her vulva. It's pretty obvious the calf is dead but I can't get her in the barn by myself.

Ugh. I do not normally do work involving the cattle. I have told him many times that when it comes to herding them, if they come running at me, unlike him, I am stepping out of the way and not trying to turn them by batting them with a big stick.

He had zero sympathy while he handed me the cattle prod which I have never used and had no exact idea how it worked. My mind raced ahead, as I tried to avoid holes in the pasture that might retwist my knee, to ways to prevent this from happening again-- my end of that is. IF he had that ATV I had been suggesting he buy, would I not have to go? If he had built the corral we had discussed, would that have helped? Well it was an emergency and I had no choice.

It had been an anything but relaxing day even before this as I had gone out many times, carrying a gun, to keep an eye on the sheep in the main pasture and to discourage any coyote from having lamb for dinner. I had been anticipating a nice hot bath and a quiet evening. So much for that.

Of course, the cows were clear to the back. As it turned out, the cow in question already had his rope around her neck as he had been able to rope her but not hold her. You try stopping a thousand pound plus animal when they want to go somewhere else. As we herded her back, separating her from the other cattle, I kept seeing that little hoof, and it hurt just thinking about what she was going through.

I won't go through the rest of this story but between trees and eventually being able to secure her to them, then a tractor to pull the legs, he got the dead calf out but not without screaming from the cow. I hate hearing an animal cry in pain like that. Well, who wouldn't.

The cattle were also upset by it as they clearly thought about racing over to save her but using better judgment stayed back as they didn't want whatever was happening to her to happen to them. With the calf out, her relief was immediate, and it's looking good that she will survive as so far she has not prolapsed. If she does, it will all be for nothing and she will have to be killed.

Farm Boss left the calf's carcass out in the pasture without time to bury it before he left for work. About nine, I decided to take the gun out and see if the coyote was going to come around for veal. I first saw it coming up from the creek and began to walk a lot more carefully to avoid it seeing me. Finally I did get a shot at it but with the cows below where I was standing, I was a little apprehensive; and as it turned to run I missed. Curses-- although I don't actually curse and at least I didn't shoot a cow.

There is some compensation.  It probably won't be back immediately. I do not think this was the same one I shot at last time. It looked younger, a bit naive about the dangers it faced coming into our field. It knows a little better now.

Yes, it's so relaxing here.

For what is relaxing to me, the photos are all from Oregon's High Cascades and from a lovely time there with our friends, Parapluie and Fisherman.

 Link to more photos of mountain wildflowers:  
High Cascades

Sunday was a perfect day to be in the mountains, the hike not too far, the air not too hot, my knee held up well, and although the flowers were not as impressive as last year due to an unusual spring and early summer, they were still very soul inspiring. If all goes well, we are going back on Friday and I am maybe taking my oils.

Now THAT'S a dilemma

Like most people who enjoy putting out birdseed, we struggle with squirrel predations. I know we could just stop the seed; but I so enjoy seeing all the birds; so what to do?

We have a live trap which we use to catch squirrels and then release them about a mile from our house, up the hill at a burned out house where nobody has lived for years. That barely touches the numbers we have at the farm. Once in awhile Farm Boss sights in his rifle and kills a lot of them down at the barns, but I have felt the house should not have that happen here.

It would not be so bad if squirrels were only taking what they need to survive, but as everyone knows, they store their seed. There is no end to how much they can steal which is proving to be a tad costly as well as leaving the bird feeder empty more than full.

Our daughter in law mentioned using a tall post with a hook on it to avoid the squirrels being able to reach the seed. Seemed like a great possibility since we had such a post that she and our son had given us with a candle on it. It easily accepted the smaller of the bird feeders. Can't climb that. What I had not thought was that next to the post was a wooden frame to highlight our Buddha and its little pool.

So the squirrel climbed on that and jumped to the metal pole from where it had no idea what to do next.

After we stopped laughing at the squirrel's dilemma, after taking a few photos,

we walked toward it which caused it to choose the lesser of the evils and jump to the ground. We then moved the tall metal post and feeder to a site farther from the wood support. The first such move did not work as the automatic sprinkler went on reminding me of a similar goof I had this week when I had set one of the little pasture sprinklers where it was hitting our new bird box which has or maybe that might be had swallows interested in building a nest inside what was for awhile looking like it was threatened by a storm.

Hopefully the next site will be more successful for seed, birds and no squirrels. They can still enter the live trap anytime they wish and join their buddies up the hill...

Invictus

Is there any film maker today, who has put out more consistently quality films with strong values, films that look at life issues, than Clint Eastwood?  Whenever I see something he has had a part in putting together, I am always appreciative of his body of work. (well actually I have never seen the Dirty Harry series as I am not often into violence as entertainment). Overall he has chosen, especially in his elder years, to make enjoyable movies that are also teaching moments. I could go down the list of how many but this is about one of them.

I had expected Invictus to be good. I knew it was about Nelson Mandela, his difficult transition from prisoner to president of his country at a time where South Africa was going through the kind of transition many nations must but where the outcome is uncertain. It is also about the sport of rugby (of which I knew almost nothing more than the name) and those who play it. Is about racism which can be on both sides of a racial divide.

Since our country is going through something very similar--  but I don't think so much about race as values-- this film seemed especially apropos for the times. It's enjoyable, great characters. Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon as always delivered outstanding performances. Eastwood kept the story moving along, never losing sight of the message and never forcing it.

It made me wonder though is there something today that our country could come together around? Something that would cut through the anger and hate and let us see that we are all people who want the same basic things in life.

Oh I know, we can get sidetracked into thinking we don't want the same things but don't we all want to be respected, to find love? Don't we want to have a purpose that seems to matter? Is there anyone who doesn't desire security and good health? Everything beyond those basics is frills and frosting, nice but not at the heart of what we need as humans. Sometimes we lose track of those basics but a film like Invictus reminds us.

The inspiration for Mandela's life and what he gave to the Rugby team to inspire them came from a poem by William Ernest Henley. The last lines say a lot for all of us.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

I really recommend this film if you have not yet seen it. I got it from Netflix.

Green Spirit

The following is a guest post by Marian Van Eyk McCain who is having a virtual tour to inform readers of her newest book. Although I have not read the book, I do read her blog quite frequently and feel she has much to say that is of interest and in particular at this time when we are rethinking many of our values.


If you have questions regarding the book or her work, she will check to answer in comments.

 Do You Like Butter?

Guest Post by Marian Van Eyk McCain

In this corner of the English countryside where I live there are buttercups absolutely everywhere I look, at the moment. Millions upon millions of them, filling the fields with their golden glow, lining the sides of the road, lifting their yellow faces to a sun that turns them golden.

As children, we would pick a buttercup and hold it close to a friend’s chin, asking “Do you like butter?” When a patch of gold appeared on their skin, as though melted butter had dripped from their lips, “There you are” we would say, delighting in this simple piece of childhood magic. “I proved it. You DO like butter.”

As I turn these long-ago memories slowly in my mind I am thinking that our chins are not the only part of us to reflect Nature. The water in our bodies mirrors the tides. We sleep and wake with the cycle of the days and nights and our energies rise and fall with the seasons and the sap in the trees. We stock our pantries and open bank accounts out of the same instinct that drives a squirrel or a blue jay to hoard or bury nuts.

Nature lives in us, breathes through us. Nature IS us. We are all made of the same ‘stuff’ and the raw materials of which we are constructed are infinitely and indefinitely interchangeable and everlasting. The atoms that make up a molecule of me today may go to form a frog two hundred years from now. Today’s starfish may build the body of my great, great, great-grandchildren.

This is the reality of ecosystems. Everything is connected to—and dependent upon—everything else, and humans are but a part of that. We are not Nature’s lords and masters. We are not in charge of it. Its laws bind us as surely as they bind every other living organism. And every decision we make—practical, social, economic, or political—should be based on that. We call it ‘ecocentric’ thinking. And it is the only attitude that gives any hope for a future on this planet.

The new book GreenSpirit: Path to a New Consciousness, a collection of writings on the green spirituality of the 21^st Century, is my attempt to show how the ecocentric principle upon which all life depends may be—and hopefully will be—consciously applied to every aspect of human life.

If we can do that, and create a sustainable way of life for humans on this Earth, then I can dare to hope that the buttercups will continue to bloom and my great, great, great-grandchildren, too, will one day be able to hold them to each other’s chins and ask “Do you like butter?”

Marian Van Eyk McCain is the author of three non-fiction books, including ‘The Lilypad List: 7 steps to the simple life’ (Findhorn Press, 2004), a primer for living simply and lightly on the planet. She is Co-Editor of the GreenSpirit Journal and Editor of 'GreenSpirit: Path to a New Consciousness' (O Books, 2010), a new anthology with a Foreword by Satish Kumar and contributions from Brian Swimme, Matthew Fox, David Korten, Stephan Harding, Cormac Cullinan, Chris Clarke and nineteen other writers. Her main website, which reflects her keen interest in ‘green and conscious aging’ is www.elderwoman.org

Seagull Mama

Last week when we were eating lunch at old Newport with our daughter-in-law and four grandchildren, we got what was for us a rare treat. For the first time ever, we saw seagull babies. Someone had nailed old tires to tall pilings out from the docks, with water all around them, likely as a good nesting place. There might be more enjoyable things to watch while you eat seafood, but offhand, I cannot think of any.

Happy Fourth of July

When a day comes along like Fourth of July, I never know what to do with it. Actually any holiday is always a question mark for me whether to comment on it or recognize that many who read blogs don't celebrate the same events. Well actually I don't celebrate many 'holidays' myself. Still everybody has a fourth of July whether it has special significance or not.

We do fly our American flag ahead of our American Fourth of July and usually a few days after it. We also fly it on other days that are symbolic and where a flag says yes, we agree this is a time to remember or be grateful. Our flag is getting faded and soon will start to fray. I am not eager to replace it as my mother gave it to me because she thought we should be flying flags and so we did and do.

When I was a child, Fourth of July was a big deal with fireworks. Most of the cousins would come out to our farm where we would light off the firecrackers, swirl around the sparklers, and for many years take something called a roman candle and let one cousin or another hold it as it went off. Then the adults read that was dangerous, children were losing fingers or hands doing it; so they set it on the ground the next year, the year when one blew up.

Now, with it being just Farm Boss and me, with cows that aren't fond of big bangs, we aren't doing anything for the Fourth. We actually will be recuperating from a week with our grandchildren here. It was a great week with good weather and a lot of activity. I was running my dishwasher every day while trying to think of what to cook that the kids would like.

Friday, the last full day of grandkid activity, they shot up the toy rockets which is what the above picture is of, kind of anyway as they move pretty fast and some of the photos are just smoke. The cows, of course, had an opinion on this as they came running each time to see what the heck was going on.

The smallest rocket didn't deploy its parachute properly which led to it burying itself in the ground. Farm boss convinced me that when it came down, the wind would take it a certain direction. The next time it came down on the opposite side of where we were all standing (forget wind when something is small and traveling fast with no parachute) and again went straight into the pasture. I have never been that sure the going down part is safe with those things and might take an umbrella next time to watch. The cows requested there be no next time.

Exploring the Unknown

When I saw the book, The Lost City of Z by David Grann, at Costco, I couldn't resist it. A true story of an explorer, Percy Fawcett, who disappeared in the Amazon in 1925 which has led to a mystery as to exactly what happened to him. It is an Amazon mystery that still leaves one questioning several things and it's not just the lost explorer.

The book is a good read as it incorporates the story of Fawcett along with the writer's own adventure in tracking down what happened. It kept my attention all the way and made me sorry when it ended.

As long as I can remember I have found such stories of explorers to be of interest. I have zero interest in being an explorer myself but I like hearing about those who have dared to brave the unknown. They have left behind a record of a world that often today is gone and except for their daring the unknown, there would be no stories left of those people. Not all who go into the wilderness go with good intentions. Generally explorers do.

I would check such books out of the library and sometimes buy one like "In Search of the Primitive" by Lewis Cotlow (which is still in my bookshelf) where the authors would tell of how they got where they went, why they went as best they know it, and information on those who lived there.  Generally they liked the people they were meeting and their respect showed in their stories.

Fawcett was such a man and one who became obsessed with the jungle, with the Amazon and the possibility of a lost city that he named Z. The story is about him, about those who tried to find him, and finally the author as he, not an explorer by nature but more an explorer of human motivations who could not let a story go once he began to track it down. It's a very good read. Oh wait, I already said that.