Halloween Hoaxes and Heart Pitter-Patterings...

Dang-nab-it, if this weren't the strangest Halloween Weekend yet!

If you hadn't heard the latest, anywhere in the Northeast was not safe this past Saturday. Of all the crazy notions, it SNOWED here, and other nearby parts, before Halloween.
Yes, Sirree, it's downright witchcrafted--either a hex or a hoax-- but plumb unbelievable, in any case!

What ended up happening, though, was that it put a damper on my longstanding Halloween Weekend rule, which is: Halloween gets an entire weekend to itself. No self-respective vagabond would have it any other way. So, whether Halloween falls early or late, it gets a weekend before or after of celebrations. In this case, Jack Frost put a literal and figurative damper on any mischief-making schemes I had up my sleeves...but here's to hoping that maybe TODAY might yield some spooky shenanigans!

While we're on the subject of Halloween, I guess it should be known that there is more than one reason that this Autumn holiday is special to me. All holy hijinx aside, this is also the date that The Sweetheart and I had our first date. And yes, I am indeed one of those females who makes a note of the...err..date...of the FIRST date. Trust me, I strongly suspect I wouldn't hold it to as much esteem if it WEREN'T on Halloween.

It's been quite awhile since that first  outing--we've gotten to the age where you tell people to stop asking your age--and it's been quite the sojourn. As with so many things, the path has sometimes been murky, or the compass pointed in a false direction but, all in all, it's been an amazing jaunt!

So, in a little moment of unorthodox moxie (which IS different than my average daily moxie!), I wanted to write The Sweetheart a little love letter here.

Is this a mad idea? Maybe...or maybe this bit of wording is not so much a direct note but instead a means to say out loud what I guess is what we all might say? After all, love (or Love, or LOVE) is such a strange thing. By all technicality, it is a NON tangible, and therefore non-existent, made-up, make-believe, thing. It is but an emotion, and yet, it's the stuff of poetry, anthems, movies, dreams  (insert your own meaning) are made of. With it, or without it, we are made to do very specific actions. It spurs us on, inspires us, enrages us, drives us mad, drives us to new heights, and so on and so on...it is a timeless theme, and yet so little understood in some ways.

Having said (or, rather, written) that, I can only come from the point of view of the quirks of my relationship with this one specific human, for no two relationships are ever the same, or are they?

I mean, could The Sweeheart, possibly know I was already googly-eyed over him when I first met him, which was RIDICULOUS because I wasn't taught to be reactionary to men. That I was already far too independent and too old-fashioned to make the first move when asking anyone of the male species out on a date...but here I was trying to finagle my way to a Halloween outing with him.

There are days where I wonder WHY on Earth he would still be here, entangled in this crazy, unpredictable life with me. I mean, what DO you do with a wiry haired-whippersnapper-fly-by-the-seat-of-your pants beekeeper, artist-farmer-radio personality anyway??

Does he know how grateful I am every time he stops what he is doing and helps me? I mean: Every. Single. Time. I ask,  and if he's home, he'll try his best to fix whatever silly problem I bring to him.

He is funny, he brings joy to my face and is TOTALLY responsible for my laugh lines. He knows how to cook exactly TWO dishes, but heck if he doesn't do those amazingly well. Luckily, he loves all my food (and will even try the more exotic ones!)

He will gamely tag along for most new things I am trying. I'll forgive him for bowing out of the beekeeping thing, dang those pesky deadly bee-venom allergies.  And I secretly think he likes horses, much as though he acts like the crazy city boy who thinks horses are as crazy an idea as flying to the Moon for water.

I don't know why he loves me, as I am both TOO dreamy and can be a taskmaster at times, in my own Virgo-ish way, bowing down to a rigid sense of order. We are too-oft different in our approaches to life. So how does a laid-back personality live with a highly-ordered personality? A vegetarian get along with a carnivore? A Dreamer and a Realist cohabitate?  Crazier things have happened.

I figure, if we hold our hands tight--which we do--and respect each other, it couldn't be all that bad, right? I'm the sort that looks to the older generations....there have been couples who have survived crazier times in history, losing everything.

I wonder why it has become such a difficulty staying married anymore? I think it's a tough thing, to compromise, to really WANT to be with a person, and to also be comfortable with their differences, the imperfections in a person (and by this, I mean those things that we consider minor imperfections, I'm not talking a breakdown in morals or character).

So here I am with my Mr. Sweetheart. At the end of the day, he makes my heart go pitter-patter. Which is crazy...because there was a time I couldn't see myself with anyone, and now I feel like I'd sort of be lost without his presence in my life.

Dern LOVE, it's sneaky like that!

For the rest of you, A HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

A Halloween Intermission

 And now, a moment to veer off in a completely different direction....

I know, I know. I'm in the middle of recounting the sweeping Iowa and Illinois saga. So you'll have to forgive me, for being so uncouth as to drop that for the moment but...

Halloween's coming. The big holiday--no, Hallowed Day, for this particular gypsy hearted gal. I've said it before, but it bears repeating. to know me is to know that my little heart secretly beats faster for the Fall Festivities. All of them. Summer is great for ice cream, watermelon, lounging around in wide-open spaces. But Fall is an altogether different beast, colored as fiery as it's autumn leaves, and brisk as it's frost nipped nights. I await everything about it. Once the temperatures dip, and the lore of it's wilder ancestry hits, I'm doing a jig.

Fall, and it's high holiday, Halloween, sparks the older part of myself. The historian in me loves it's old pagan roots, when Halloween was the ancient European Holiday of Samhain, Sowen, Saavin, or Savin, depending on which country you were located in, at the time. An honor or fear of the dead sparked many of the traditions we know now, and it's strange to drag along those proverbial bones to realize that, despite the advent of science AND technology, our advanced civilization bows backwards to celebrate THE DEAD once each year.

Beyond that, its a farmer's holiday, a harvest blessing, when all the crops had come in, a season's worth of work now done and collected. Blood, sweat and tears now found in whatever grainstuffs, crops, or livestock ended up in your cellar, barn, silo, or on your plate.

In olden ages, here was a time to drink cider, bite into root vegetables, taste pies that once came from the squash family. The world of superstition ruled, fortunes told, lines of the hand examined, a gypsy's delight. A separate plate and table was drawn up at the family table on Hallow's Eve, waiting for an ancestor to enter from the spirit realm, respects paid for the dead.  A children's holiday, this was not, but there was indeed, imagination.

Somewhere in my mind's eye, I think about the future Halloweens on some yet-to-be-named farm I have. Even now, I peruse the old seed catalogs for the future pumpkins I grow (oh yes, this farm will have to support some sort of Halloween activities, or what's the point of having a farm, I say!). I can see it now: no ordinary jack-o-lanterns shall grow on that land, no siree! There are Cinderella pumpkins, which are orange, but amongst them would be blue Hubbards and White Casper pumpkins along with their miniature counterparts, Baby Boo pumpkins. And for good measure, why not add Boston Sweet and Sugar Pie, which make a mean pumpkin pie, all meat and no stringy hollow insides. Take that, ye old ordinary carved pumpkin!

And of course, no Halloween would be complete without homemade popcorn balls and hand-dipped caramel apples. And then  I'd hitch up the old skirts, mostly likely some part of a homemade costume as well,  as the old bands would play an familiar dosey with olden instruments. Violins and accordions and harmonicas, banjos and zithers and zydecos and maybe even a hand drum or two. Truth of the matter is, most of those good ole American instruments came far along the path, most of them descended from Africa or the Middle East. How did they get here? By the gypsy road of course!  Which is music to my ears (yes, the pun's intended here, friends)!  But since the talented gypsy music and artist classes made their way to far flung places, as their traveling hearts are wont to do, that is the story of how riqs and nays and lutes became guitars and flutes and many more interesting objects of harmonies and melodies..

But neither here nor there...

This Halloween has been a busy one for me. After FINALLY putting up and selling the last of the honey (though I am STILL eying ONE untouched frame of honey and debating whether to sell that or keep it for our own home use!), I've managed to begin making and selling a few wooden dandies and some little witchen dolls--all of which you can see at my Etsy shoppe.

This sort of creative business, whilst wonderful, has left me a bit unraveled in the actual PARTICIPATION of my favorite holiday. By now, there would have been a large and old collection of Halloween paraphernalia strewn artfully about the house, and I could list to you, in detail, the various shenanigans I'd be reveling in for the ENTIRE week of Halloween. But this year, the box of Halloween decor has yet to be opened, and I know that Friday involves either watching some sort of scary movie in the theater or a revamp of that latest zombie series on TV. I have an idea that I might rent a car with the Sweetheart and go into rural PA or New York, but only if we can find the appropriate funds for it. We had a blast two or three years ago traversing Lancaster PA and enjoying their beautiful folk art world.

So, what are your Halloween plans?

Within The Labyrinth

 Sometimes, the love of a place, or a moment, is for the reason as simple and complicated as being able to stop, and take a breath.

Somewhere during my time in Central Iowa, I distinctly remember a conversation that Becky and I had. Clearly, I was recounting my entire Iowa schedule to her, including the first three days which entailed actually ARRIVING to Iowa, cooking for Middle Eastern Hot Pan the next day, teaching TWO beekeeping classes for roughly 6 hours the day AFTER that, and an unscheduled stop to see alpacas, and then getting ready for a full day of selling things at Maggie's Sample Sunday. From there, we were tentatively going all the way to Cathy Linker Lafrenz's house, about 4 hours away.

"Wow, that is some kind of busy," I remember Becky saying. For a split second I had to stop, because I realized two things. First, I was puzzled--I didn't think it was too busy at all; the city lifestyle dictated that at least five or six days of the work week was EXACTLY that busy, if not more so. I also immediately realized that this was clearly a regional divide as to how and what people thought was important. IOWA busy wasn't New York busy, wasn't Atlanta busy wasn't Montana busy....

And this brought about an even bigger thought system into this crazy noggin of mine--the kind that constantly ponders the bigger picture of Life. Why DO we make ourselves busy, and why do some of us value it as such a virtue that we drive ourselves to smithereens, risking our health, sleep, happiness, sanity...in the name of...what, exactly?

Now, I want to point out, I'm talking a certain kind of busy. Clearly, there is a blessed sort of busy--the "I'm doing something I love and so I have to busily go about creating it," sort of busy is clearly not the same as "I want to amass this crazy wealth so I will work for this crazy corporation for 16 hours a day and never see my children until they are college age, and maybe I will get divorced from my wife because I never see her and when I do I am so numb and tired that I'm really NOT there for her or my family, and I will become depressed and lose my health and maybe start drinking and all this for a mansion and a yacht" busy.

And yet, at least in the city where I live, there is clearly a "keeping up with the Joneses" type mentality. There is a certain segment of people trotting around wearing the best clothes, with the most expensive bags and clutches, shoes that probably cost more than my rent, things made by high end designers, simply for the heck of it.  Their children go to private schools, they have nannies, no one talks to each other, and they are running around at jobs that constantly harangue them to no end. I am not saying that all of these people are unhappy, nor that anything they are doing is illegal, but there is a specific proportion of people who have so much on their plate, who need to GET IT DONE YESTERDAY, already(!) that you just end up shaking your head. For all of the money in the world, they are not happy.

Conversely, there are us working lot, tassled to some large girder of looming poverty that keeps us at a skittish pace, trying to outrun a city outrageously overpriced so that you don't lose your shirt. Instead, your social life, time off, and sense of sanity sometimes gets thrown into the shredder, a skewed way to live.

In the end, I'm not sure where it leaves one, so far within the labyrinth, trying to shake whatever phantom monster is around the corner.

I thought about this while I stayed at Becky's--there is a version of busy here, where one doesn't seem to gag or drown in it, losing themselves, their very essence in it. They OWN their busy-ness, and not the other way around. I also realized:  I've probably honestly TALKED to these wonderful people in the country MORE than I've really talked to anyone in New York.

Sad, perhaps, but the stark facts are simply that lots of urbanites  are RUNNING some unseen race to an unknown finish line in New York. They are swamped at work, hopping on the train to the next gig, running to get the kids, trying to pay a bill, off to the museum, out of town, onto one of the plethora of events happening and any number of things that will distract them from having an actual relationship with another person. I won't say that every single person followed this rule, but the stark irony is that in a big town filled with millions of people, the tendencies to spark friendships are rare. There is a disparity of trust, a strange isolation. There is no breathing room.

But in Iowa, there were plenty of moments to do outrageous things like: stop and look at nature. Walk along a desolate path and just talk to people, and learn from each other. Perhaps it's a strange nostalgia speaking, the type that longs for something sunny and picture-perfect. Perhaps that's naive thinking, maybe we all are more difficult, complicated creatures, but deep down, I don't think so.

In any case, Becky and I spent our last day, before she would drive me to the second leg of my Iowa tour, doing walking down paths and being enchanted by simple things, indeed:

Beautiful fields of gold...

 

 Becky lives close to a Canadian goose sanctuary, so much so that you could here them honking their goodbye as they lifted off for the season..here is a frozen moment, geese Southward bound for the winter....

A little frog friend found on the road..held for a moment and then released...

 A blurry picture taken amidst laughter, two friends in a field...

 

While I was the teacher, here, I was also the student. I will miss all of the fearless, fabulous ladies (and gents!) of Woodward, Iowa, this much I knew, even standing out on a country road, in the sunset, with one talented and fun friend.
Yes, the Midwesterners, they  inspire me everyday in my city life;  I will not forget the kindness of that place...maybe the labyrinth would not be so difficult to navigate with friends as guides, maps of the heart, echoes of laughter to lead out of the chaos...

.....and there were more adventures to come, as I was only half way done with my trip!

Country Cow Meets City Cow...

I warn you now: this is a totally separate story within a story about Iowa...

In the middle of the animal and craft shenanigans and Sample Sunday fever during my trip, I was actually scheduled to teach and cook in Iowa to earn my keep, so to speak. Yes, dear friends, don't mistake that I still had to earn my bread and butter; it was in fact the reason I had gone in the first place.

Amongst my agendas of bee wrangling and teaching any number of exotic food dishes, I was given the opportunity to cook a Middle Eastern meal at Maggie's house. I thought it was the least I could do as a round-about "thank you" for even offering to host me to begin with, which set up a whole slew of trips to Iowa, and which opened many doors for me since then.

The dinner was actually held  BEFORE Sample Sunday, and had been squished between my arrival date, the teaching of two beekeeping classes at Maggie's Prairieland Herbs, and then a Sample Sunday celebration, so there was indeed quite a lineup happening. However, I could not be happier to be part of their dinner plans. This would be considered part of their traditional social-food-get-togethers that she and her partner John would host, called Hot Pot. Clearly, my impressions of these get-togethers were not cleverly understood, since I didn't realize they LITERALLY involved a pot, and often were Asian themed affairs that included folks taking a portion of food cooked all in one pot!

As a result, I sheepishly had to rename my Middle Eastern Soiree Hot PAN as, alas, there was no communal pot-dish to be had amongst my menu! Nevertheless, the celebration ran full steam ahead--Maggie had done a herculean job of not only buying all of the ingredients herself, but she started COOKING the food, even though I had volunteered to do it!

In the meantime, several friends that I had come to know and love joined us for the feast. Randi, Dawn, Becky, her husband Brian, and various other friends joined the fray. One of them, Lars, was particularly interesting, not only because of his rampage-wit, but because, as a publisher and one-time New Yorker, he seemed to bridge the small spaces in discussion between city culture and rural culture.

During one hilarious moment (and I can't remember what the point was, exactly now), I made a stylized comment using proper New York slang: "uh-uh, heffa!"

Let me tell you, that comment stopped the room, cold. No one was actually offended at all, I should say, but it was a lesson in how very different each part of the country is;  a funny bit of slang in one place would be so foreign in another place.

What is a "heffa?" I remember Dawn asking.
"You know--heifer--it's slang for a female cow."
I don't remember who said it, but the response from around the table, good-naturedly, seemed to be: "I don't know, I think that might be considered an actual insult to cows, here in Iowa."

I had to explain that it an urban take on what was an unfortunate insult to a woman, not unlike the British calling a woman "cow." This, in turn, was taken (as New Yorkers are wont to do) and use it as an insult not only women, but frankly, anyone who annoyed them. It was not uncommon for some of the hip, younger folk to call people they disliked (or imagine they disliked) "heffas" on any given day.

This invited peals of laughter from the table. It didn't help that I had to show them the "Bronx" version of this, which was rolling your eyes and holding up a hand to "block" out a person that you were talking to, if you were offended by them. The typical monologue that accompanies this: "Nuh-uh, heffa." or "Oh no you didn't, heffa!"

This was enough to send everyone at the party into fits of laughter, and the conversations that followed included a welcome peppering of "heffa" at the end of certain sentences or, "nuh-uh-heffa" after a few others.

Now would proably be a good time to point out  that this CLEARLY and obviously is not how most New Yorkers speak, and is very stereotypical, to a point, about certain New Yorkers. It's no more, and no better than assuming that  all Southerners say "ya'll," but it  IS done tongue-in-cheek.

At the same time, I will say it was funny to think:  "could I actually be starting some sort of language/slang trend here in Iowa?"--I somehow doubted that once I left,  such silliness would continue...or could it?

I say this because, two days later, I would encounter many of the same amazing people at Maggie's Sample Sunday. Becky was selling her amazing pots, Dawn was working her henna, jewelry, etc, Randi was there with her super-tasty baked goods--and so on and so forth.

And I was there, setting up my own little table of goods (which, by the way I happened to forget spotlighting in the original Sample Sunday post, and so now reveal it here):

....which looks even better with cute Prairieland Herbs kitten asleep across it:

And speaking of which, here is my smart Sample Sunday attire for that day!

But wait, I digress!

Anyhow...just as I finished getting together the old kit-and-kaboodle, Dawn seemed to appear out of nowhere, and with a gleam in her eye, and a playfully authoritative voice, she instructed me to close my eyes.
"Why?"
"Just close them, Zan, and no peeking."

So close my eyes, I did, and the next thing I knew, I felt hands tying something around my wrist. When I was finally allowed to open them...well, you can see what I was wearing in the above picture!

For a better demonstration, here it is another "glamor shot" of the piece! 

Yes, that is "HEFFA" in sparkly little wristlet!

DAWN, I love it! And I love you funny, silly, nonsensical, sentimental folks in Iowa.

Does it make me weird if I confess I haven't taken it off since I received it?
Yeah. I thought so.....

Sample Sunday Madness

Handmade items from Iowa: the pie dish and beehive shaped candlelight holder is from Becky. The jams are 100% handmade--and tasty--from Sally, the fingerless gloves are from Cathy, and the blue and white frilly apron is a beauty from Traci. I am lucky to own them!

When last I left you, I had spoken about another sojourn to Iowa, and fellow Virgo-animal-lover-creative type Becky.

To say she was unique in this level of earthy shininess would not be quite accurate, however. Now, don't mistake me: Becky IS a unique, highly thoughtful, funny soul in her own way, but what I love--and miss--about Iowa is the unfettered UNIQUENESS lots of folks seem to have.

By this I mean: people simply ARE--I never got the sense, once, that anyone was trying to follow the latest fashion trend, that people were swept up in "showing up" or "one upping" each other--those were city values, the idea of besting a person via their appearance, the objects they owned, the things they participated in, or did NOT participate in.  But in the Mid-west, there was a straight-forward BEING of oneself. You did and said things because--dear revolutionary thought!--you actually WANTED to. You were pleased to do a thing, or not, based on your OWN opinion of it, not due to any outside influences. I never felt that one of the folks I dealt with had an underhanded agenda, and I think this sort of simple freedom also fostered a wonderful level of creativity.

Yes, as I mentioned before, the last time I went, the community that encompassed Becky and Maggie Howe at Prairieland Herbs, is a large boisterous loud tribe of intensely and ingeniously creative folks that come up with wonderful ways to make a living. I was eager to see them again,  and a few days after my arrival, I would have such a chance, at the Prairieland Herbs once a month event known as Sample Sunday.

Now, while I'm still not sure on the logistics of the beginnings of Sample Sunday, I roughly am aware that this is an event that happens on farms and businesses in certain parts of Iowa, which basically showcases each farm's/business's wares. In Maggie's case, she invites other friends and creative types to vend at her largely popular herb store, and in this way, helps showcase each vendor's business, too. To mix things up, it seems every Sample Sunday at PLH has a fun dress up theme. This time around, it was a sort of Witchy Halloweeny fall theme! It was also the (magical) 13 year anniversary of Prairieland Herbs Opening! Huzzah! But that would mean Maggie was ten when she started that business, right??

Anyhow, with so many things to celebrate, you know what that meant! High merriment all around!

 The gang's all here! From L-R: Maggie's mama Donna (she sent me these antiques awhile back, so you KNOW I love her to bits!), myself, Becky, and Maggie!

When we got in, we immediately went to check out everyone's booth, including super hooping/dancing/henna tattoo artist/massage therapist/all around hilarious chica Dawn! She was a riot and a super-sweet person to boot!

 After that, Becky settled in and got her hair pixie braided by Maggie. She also acquired Pixie Wings. I'm not sure how she felt about  a complete pixie outfit, but she looked great!

 Old friend Randi was there--I never did ask, but I think this is her little girl! Randi was back again selling super tasty cookies and goodies!

 Sitting at a booth next to me was author A R Miller. She has a new book out called "Disenchanted," which got a whole bunch of people coming out to see her. She was a riot! And the book is great!

In the meantime, other bedlam ensued:

 Tillie the cat helps shoppers check out their purchases....

While costumed friends, vendors and customers added color and charm to the event!

There were elegant ladies...

And little princesses!

And fairies galore!

This is definitely the cat's meow!

Even the animals got in on the act!

   Meet cute chicken dog, and Pixie!

Most importantly, everyone had fun, and really seemed content in buying handmade, quality goods and art from local artisans!

Which brings up another point: there was SO much amazing, quality work from each individual person and so MUCH support. In Iowa, if you couldn't buy a think, several people were willing to TRADE with you for it. This seemed universal amongst the people I'd met, both back in April, and during this last visit.  You can see the quality of work in the wonderful objects at the top of the page! Just beautiful!

Aside from that, there would be more funny and poignant stories to come, not least of which was MAKING BUTTER IN A MASON JAR WITH BECKY (see here), a tale of heifers and heffas (that one's next), and the ever-enchanted world of my friend Cathy Linker Lafrenz....

So stay tuned!

Places In The Heart...

The Road To Becky's House

There are places in the heart, encompassing no particular time or space. They may be poignant, sorrowful, joyful, memorable. All are special.

You may know that for a song or a pocketful of stars, I'd trade you my life for the life of a farmer. They are the stuff that legends and anthems preoccupy themselves with, the bucolic subjects that painters never seem to tire of.  And however difficult, tarnished or tattered farmers seem (or are SEEN as), I know few people who would trade their farm life for anything.

Such is it in the MidWest. Last April, I was taken into the fold of women in Iowa. Wild and woolly, these women at once upheld hallmarks of bygone farm-woman traditions, while wholeheartedly redefining them. What neon-haired, loud-laughing, quilted skirt wearing, humming a tune while you worked, do it your own way, hula-hooping type wasn't in Iowa? And while these women were not all such electronic prairie-nymphs, I think I was more buoyed at the fact that the ones that weren't, didn't pass any judgment on the ones that WERE.

I won't tell you fables here; I might be biased...but I couldn't help it. I had swaggartly considered myself "the cool urbanite from New York." I'd sworn I'd seen it all, but even with eyes wide open, I had to admit: my  Midwestern counterparts were more tolerant of any circumstance, more so than fellow Gotham City dwellers, and they seemed..well...HAPPY. 

Yep. Probably less pocket-money rich and most likely full of as many problems as any city folk, on thing I didn't seem to hear were complaints. Or worry. Which is not to say that worry and fret don't exist, but that this seemed trumped by a no-nonsense attitude and general "get 'er done" perspective, and that was something to admire. 

And it was no different this time around. I'd returned to Iowa with the superficial reason of returning to continue teaching beekeeping to those who might be interested, and those who asked for continuing education in my organic methods. But let's face it, this kid was going back to see old friends...which are what my hosts and their friends had become for me.  And in that way, it was a great reunion.

And let's be clear: the fact that I could return to a place that holds no familial ties, and be successful at this twice--is beyond luck. It's really a testament to the kindness and extraordinary caring the folks both in Iowa AND Illinois, this time around, had ladled out for me. Because, pretending aside, these folks were busy, they clearly had better things to do. I mean, who the heck bothers a Midwesterner during HARVEST SEASON, to stop what they're doing, and host a high falutin' city gal?  I might as well be a fox in the hen house.

But no, what I found were the same kind people, who showed me the same extreme generosity that would have me telling tales that seemed like tall fishing stories to New Yorkers. What IS this fabled land where people would not take your money and fed you for free, and cooked for you, and cared?


But it's true. Somewhere amidst a million golden drenched corn-fields are hard working folks that leave their soul somewhere in fields of dirt, the same sort of dirt that will host them when they are buried, the same soil that they literally and figuratively bleed over. This is the life of the farmer. It's a simple thing, really.

This time around, I think--though one can never call themselves an expert in a thing which was partaken during a two week stint--I found the meaning of this sort of quiet strength. There were old and new friends to learn from, a million facets of a million wonderful conversations and a million scenes along the countryside.

Here, the story starts with fellow artist, bee lover, and Virgo extraordinaire, Becky Brandow. I may not have mentioned Becky as I should have during my first recounting of Iowa. I had learned, then,  that she was a talented potter, and a beginning beekeeper who took my class that April, long ago. This time around, she and her husband were kind enough to host me at their house, and so learned more about this talented and genuine person. Becky had stepped in and volunteered to host me while my original host and continuing class host, Maggie Howe was entertaining family and friends over the Summer.

If you haven't yet heard of Rebecca Brandow, it's probably because she isn't the sort that would toot her horn in any blazing fashion, though she really SHOULD. Tucked away in her farmette is her Willow Avenue  Pottery studio, the result of pottery work and study done since she was a young girl. She makes exquisite fired and glazed pieces of all sorts, with a very distinctive look.... but she's also the sort who keeps her nose clean, puts the pedal to the metal, and doesn't expect parades to be raised in her honor. But the work speaks for itself; I'm not a great admirer of pottery, I'll admit (instead, antiques are the cat's pajamas!) but I LOVE her work, and now am lucky to own THREE of her pieces .

Nay, watching her work in her large basement studio, my sense is that she simply enjoys the physical DOING of the work, with it's hushed, meditative mechanics. The creating of form out of clay, and the quiet time glazing and painting buttons, which I witnessed her finishing while I was there, was neither pomp nor circumstance. It was straight forward, practical and imaginative. Sort of like Becky herself.

Clay pots finished and waiting for firing....

Becky glazing buttons....

I soon learned that a slightly more excited response could be gotten from Becky from one source: farming. Or, rather, farm ANIMALS. While I can't remember exactly how long she had been on her property, she had already set up a coop with a few chickens and two ducks, owned two cats and two dogs, and the beehive that had been the direct reason I had even MET her---but she clearly had land in the rough; the potential for her to have more animals ideal, and during my stay, she definitely capitalized on these aspirations.

By the time I got there, I understood that she was actively looking for a heifer (that's a female cow, my urban friends!) sheep, goats, alpacas and llamas. Yes, it was a veritable ark, but I couldn't blame her. If I had land, I most certainly want animals, and I suppose that love of animals is where the Virgo-isms can be seen in both Becky and I (she's two days and a few years younger than I, in the month of September).

Neither here nor there...

Because of her animal fever, I went on a few extra adventures I never thought I would. Going to the local dairy for actual milk products takes on a whole new meaning when there are actual cows, and BABY cows in the vicinity. Yes, there are no pics of those adorable animals, probably because I had to practically  peel Becky off of the small calf huts that housed the cow infants.  I won't lie, though: should these wee bovines fold neatly in a suitcase, I would've smuggled one back on the plane!

Eventually, we also made our rounds to other farms that hosted more cute and furry creatures.

Alpacas:

We visted an alpaca farm. If these creatures look a bit wet, it's because it was raining. Now, the devilish gleam in the eye--while some might call it "red eye"--is another story!

 I can't say I appreciated the alpacas as much as Becky, though they make great fiber for spinning. Of course this white gal--the most expensive of the lot--WOULD be the one who took a special liking to Becky!

Once it was determined that a budget for alpacas would be worked on, we moved on to the next round of fiber cuddliness...

Sheep:

 If these guys look familiar, it's probably because these are Corinne Chapdelaine Rasso's sheep. Affectionately known as "Sheepie Neighbor," she's Cathy Linker Lafrenz's neighbor and the subject of my post the LAST time I went to Iowa, HERE and scroll waaaaay down.

Since Corinnes' sheep are prize winners (and she apparently is about as no-nonsense as Becky in that she wasn't flaunting that fact either--but that the amazing condition and quality of the sheep spoke volumes), Becky wanted to see her quality stock. 

We had gone to see Corinne along the way, as Becky was dropping me off to Cathy's for the second portion of my trip. In between, there was much hilarity, and fun times....

Much of which will be covered TOMORROW, as I tell you about making butter (as done by a bona-fide farm person: no problem. As done by a city dweller: mayhem!), finally meeting old friends, including Maggie, Sample Sunday madness, and bee wrangling.

In the middle of all of it? The realization that the path to learning about new friends is also a realization about yourself, in both the similarities and differences, the humor and the difficult times, and the knowledge that "hey, no matter where we're from, we're all in this together."  And for these wonderful journeys and friends, I am very grateful.

Far-Fetched

There is so much story to tell....but today, a bit of a diversion in the path.

Yes, there is still that grand epic tale about the MidWest that I promised to recount, and I most certainly spin that yarn very shortly, but there is actually SO much other news happening,  upon my return home, that I felt the need to diverge onto that path first.

In a way, this is not unlike the BACKWARDS narrative I had told you about some time ago. But now, now this-end-at-the beginning narrative is much happier...and so it goes...

Happy was I, coming back from Iowa and Illinois, and when I got home and hugged The Sweetheart, that luck of the Iow-ish (nix the bad pun!) remained:
I returned just in time for Fall, my favorite season--the air is crisp, the woolens come out of the closet and the High Holy Holiday of Halloween is upon us. And while that sounds like a jaunty remark, trust me, I can confidently say that there are quite a few of us out there who find the Halloween season to rank alongside Wintertide festivities. After all, when I think of October, I think Harvest, cider pressing, mountain-time music, fiery leaves on haunted trees, stoking up the fireplace or stove, baking and eating pies, ghost stories, and so many more distinct activities and ideas.  It's as darn close to religion as one can get.

Color me sacrilegious if you must, but I can find no more respectful time than an homage to The Farmer's Harvest, and the ancient recognition of one's dead loved ones....and I suppose I could spend a fortnight going on and on about the matter but let's just leave it at  I LOVE OCTOBER, shall we?

Happy Autumn aside, I walked into my house and upon checking the requisite heap of mail that had mountained on the table whilst I was away, I spotted this beauty!

PRIMS Magazine is a premiere magazine for old fashioned dolls and art. The fact that it was on the table meant only one thing!

I AM A PUBLISHED doll-maker!
Here are my two little beauties!

And yes, feel free to count me a befuddled fool; only so many folks would find my jumping up and down at doll making something noteworthy. In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if someone speed-dialed the nearest padded cell facility to take me away, it's such a far-fetched notion. But far-fetched is the least you could expect from a life like mine.


Strangely enough, the dolls come with a band mechanism that actually allows the larger kitten to hold the teensy one...like so:

....but then I don't know how the package may have ended up in the hands of the photographer that they ended up being detailed separately, but such is life.


Regardless,I am so happy that these two were chosen amongst a HUGE bevvy of notable art doll makers (surprise, surprise, there is a grand lot of us far-fetched folks!) including artist friends and heroes such as Pam Gracia , Nancy Malay, Robin Armstrong Seeber, and so many more craftily clever creative souls.
You will not be disappointed in picking up a copy of PRIMS at your local Barnes and Noble, if you fancy old fashioned dolls!

This little bit of excitement coupled with the Halloween buzz inspired me to finish a bit of artwork this week. It helps to note that a few of these lovelies have been sitting on my workbench since LAST Halloween, so it was a bit of incentive to finish these up so they might hopefully find homes by THIS Halloween!

Here are two actually, shockingly, DONE and going into the Etsy shoppe this evening! THEY ARE DOUBLE sided Halloweeny ornaments and done up in a vintage fashion...using tons of glitter, ribboning, and they are EACH stuffed with lavender!! Pretty to look at and pretty to smell!

(click to enlargify)

ORNAMENT 1: Vintage Cat/Owl Inspired DOUBLE SIDED ORNAMENT

ORNAMENT 2: Halloween Moons DOUBLE SIDED ORNAMENT

~*~*~Magical and Sparkly ~*~*~

Find them at my Etsy Shoppe later tonight!

Meanwhile, this is the culprit who managed to remain in an unfinished state for a year! It's actually an art QUILT that has been dark stained, and painted in pieces, stitched together, and will be stitched to backing, with quilt batting. Yes, indeed, it REALLY is meant to be a wall quilt. I need to paint the bottom portion, add some cute bat and star buttons, and then add the backing.

A bit of work in progress (click pic to enlargify):

And here we currently are:

I've no real name for this piece, though for some reason I've humorously been calling it "The Cat In The Hat," (with all due respect to Theodor Seuss Geisel!). 


In any case, this lovely HOPEFULLY will be done by Saturday, unless the Time Gremlins once again win the clock showdown, so anyone who might be interested in owning this bit of whimsy, let me know.


In OTHER news--because clearly, I have SO LITTLE to do-- I've revamped The Renegade Farmer site, which is a chronicle of all things farm and, for all intensive purposes, got me "into this mess" in the first place! That site is now up, and if you like farming or anything related to it, feel free to follow that site; we love meeting new people there!


And, because THAT apparently wasn't enough, I decided to hop aboard my Iowa friends' blog site over at the Hippie Homesteaders. I'll be contributing a few articles, as best as I can, about my very unconventional (nay, Hippie!) life.

Now, it seems I want to expend ALL of my energy in the next few years, doing it ALL. Because if you can't HAVE it all, you should at least try to DO it all. Which is not a motto I actively advocate, but for some reason, it's something I tend to do, whether I like it or not. But when the news is THIS good, why not try to grab hold of the reins and head off into the wonderful sunset with it?