Stories Inside Stories: Death, Birth, Transitions

I am thinking about changes and transitions-- about the unexpected and even the surprise within the expected. .. Thinking about life on the homestead and about life's bigger picture --about what went down out at Standing Rock this past week and about reversals to human and environmental protections that are jarring and significant. I am thinking about all of you, getting weary, and I'm sending you some love from the homestead. 

miss you Solita. . . 

Here in a week's span we lost a pig-- a friend-- so unexpectedly.  She was a great cuddler. Our friendliest farm buddy. In the early morning, before we realized she was gone, I woke in the dark, startled by a pig outside my window.  Rousing from deep sleep, I wondered why a pig was loose in the early cold.  Seeing nothing,  I drifted back to sleep. Later, finding her still soft body, and definitely no signs of loose pigs,   I guessed she just floated through to say goodbye,  on her way down her road, on her journey.


And yesterday, after being woken in the night by a pacing,  irritated goat-- I looked to the frozen ground- the coldest in Maine's ongoing vacation from winter,  and thought, of course they'll come today. And surely, they did. Shivery, we dried them and quickly cut up little sweaters to keep them cozy. Of course, life-school took over and the babes had no shortage of warm bodies to hold them until they steadied to this new world.

The death and birth within the few days are meaningful,  reflective of the little stories within bigger stories.  We are on a journey, as change makers and creators, as activists and builders-- and we are seeing setbacks; really awful setbacks-- for our clean and free water, for our wild places, for our citizens, for our democracy. 

And yet, the story isn't finished.  We are writing it still, and when it's ended, there's sure to have been struggle and tragedy but also a great uprising of inner strength,  transformation,  and a deepening, widening love that has found its power in its sadnesses. It won't be a story about that one time we took a stand, lost, and gave up. It will be a resilient story; a healing story. We will see to the birth of a new way-- it will come through the stresses of labor and into the cold dark,  but we will be ready,  waiting for ourselves.

Thanks to the Bangor Daily News for capturing the last picture of Solita alive (first photo, of Shawn feeding pigs-- Solita is the black and white Kune Kune)-- it was a nice surprise to see her looking well just last week, and to get that delivered to my inbox via friends yesterday. 

Read the full article here: 

https://bangordailynews.com/2017/02/27/homestead/happytown-road-community-brings-rural-mainers-together/

Mother's Day is for the Goats. . .

 

 

 

 

 

Another busy beautiful day here on the homestead: 

 

 

 

 

Last days of June

The garlic is neatly planted in raised beds with lettuces, radishes, & carrots coming
 up in between the rows.  

The garlic gives twice: here's a scape that we make lots of pesto  out of.
Removing the scape encourages better bulb growth .

Peas!

After re-shaping terraces this year, many garden spots were left without good soil. Without the horses  & cows here, compost was in a shorter supply than usual and was carefully rationed-- meaning we didn't spread it where there were no roots. Laura had lots of potatoes and so did a little experiment using mostly the poor soil for these potatoes. They haven't seemed to mind a bit!  It will be interesting to compare harvests between the potatoes planted in poor soil, rich compost, & a mix of mulch and good compost. 

Sweet Fern was out of her stall when we came home the other day.
She was helping herself to our weeds and grasses. 

Pictured here near the compost bins on the South side of our barn.

Two of our Muscovy hens returned to us from a friend's farm, where they wintered last year. We are very fond of  Muscovies for their flying abilities, gentle habits, and friendly personalities. Laura and Rocky purchased the drake (pictured here in white) to add a little life to the farm. 

Here the other hen has laid her eggs, following the arrival of the drake, of course, and is already setting. Soon little ducklings will be part of the farm again. 

Here is little Birch (or is it Balsam?) near the funky feeder that  Rocky made to reduce hay waste. The little boys are  nearly weaned and will be sold soon. Sweet Fern can expect another doe to keep her company soon. 

Mowing the lawn with the chicken tractor. 

The dreaded cucumber beetle. . .they destroyed Laura's prize zuchinnis in about 2 days. With careful attention and some fertilizer, many of them are rebounding. I wished we'd posted pictures of the destruction and then you'd realize what a miracle this is. 

The new flock of hens

sinking in

If winter is the time for sinking in, for relishing the creations of summer and fall, for resting our roots and replenishing our spiritual depths, then winter hasn't hit the Nancy Place Farm yet. Our little farm, nestled in a wooded hillside in rural Maine-- is always busy. I've been thinking about the way we are always pursuing some new endeavor or trying on a "new hat" to see if it fits right. Maybe 2010 will bring a sort of focus to our many adventures.

The last few months have time warped to the present in some sort of spiraling blur. To try to detail the level of activity that moved us through time would probably give some clarity to why it felt like a "time warp" but to do that would be dizzying.

Briefly, October brought our first community cider pressing, the sweetest baby goats, more terraces, a hoop house, and 2 ponds! We were barely through harvest in mid-November-- literally still collecting tomatoes from the little unheated greenhouse, finding stray squash and other random veggies and carving out time to collect the tons of apples (free!) from the local orchard. Gratefully, Thanksgiving sent us off to Ireland for a quick visit to Dublin and the green hillsides, then back and still needing to ready for the sad task of animal 'harvest', begin a frenzy of making Christmas gifts, bottle lots of wine, get the sap evaporator ready for its first use. . . and now, to here.

January 2010 already! This is the time to ready the seed supply, plan the gardens, check the supplies for the maple sap run, and maybe, just maybe, begin this sinking in thing. I'm trying to remember what that felt like. Like laying in cold snow on a bright sunny day, after a satisfying ski. Like sledding with a laughing child. Like yoga, apple pie, and snow forts. Like a good book, a cup of tea, and a quiet (very quiet) (and maybe already cleaned too) house.

Blessings for you and for this world as we begin this circle round the sun, here's hoping we all find more time to "sink in".