Beyond Vagabond

An Ode To The Sweetheart

2012-02-01T06:59:00.000-08:00

This is the story of my other half. The Sweetheart. I will try to make this short; he'd say that my writings were too long and winding, and who reads that far, anyway? Ahh, but most journeys are one ever-lasting labyrinth, I'd counter..so here is my short and not-so-short post....

Because, by all accounts, I am almost certifiably a tree-hugger, this stark picture online caught my attention, the other day:

It is, indeed, a tree grown round a bike. A friend eventually pointed out that this tree was found on an Island in Washington State, and the story goes that a boy left the bike against the tree in 1914 to go to war, and never returned. The tree then grew around it.

This led to another friend to volunteer more pictures, from Iowa, where a farmer, because of war, left his plow against a tree and it, too, grew around the plow. Those pics are HERE.

While I can't be sure if these stories are literally or just figuratively war stories (did they both really leave for war?), there is no doubt these images are startling. And deeply meaningful, at least for a lost poet like myself. That each plant, for all intensive purposes, decided--with audacity-- to grow around, and despite, its foreign companion, and make it a part of itself, is but one interpretation. That the trees have taken these items into their souls is another....these are the sorts of stories that have powered a good bit of my life, but it leaves others scratching their heads....

You might laugh, knowing that there are still people who hold onto their dreams just a bit more than reality, and this has driven the Sweetheart mad, a time or two. How does any man hold onto to such an untamed bramble such as myself? While I don't eschew reality altogether (I am possibly the most responsible, pay-the -bills, schedule-to-within-an-inch-of- my-life type person I know), it is not what gets me out of bed in the morning. And to the naysayer of Dreamers I simply say, "reality" is an ever changing, unguaranteed thing as well. We are all vulnerable to its changing tides. If your foundation is within, there is no place you cannot go.

However, I won't fib: my foundation is a bit ramshod at the moment. Somewhere back on the trail I lost the little dreams of stability. A farm , planting seeds, the ideas of chickens and EGGS. Quilts, hammocks, pies on Sundays. A fun wedding. And even with these picture perfect ideas, I wouldn't have minded the hard work. I revel in it. I feel useful then. I suppose these things are frivolous, but I'm so far into my blinders with these goals that I sometimes don't see the forest for the trees.

So I suppose instead of mourning, I simply moved along...all jangled-like.Which I do often, this moving forward thing. And when you're the Sweetheart to a person like me--all vim and vinegar-- it's a tough beating to go side saddle. So this note, really, is an open letter, an Ode To Sweetheart and the men like him.

It's funny, because every time I talk about my adventures, and speak of the man who has made it possible, people stare at me WIDE eyed. Who IS this SUPERMAN who lets you be yourself? Conversely, I've heard stories of other lucky lasses and their Superhero men. Oh, they seem to be rare, indeed. A man of good humor that deals with my antique obsession, my performance penchant, and every little insecurity, worry, dancing in the halls and singing out of tune... do these people really exist? And fool's heart: he thinks I'm pretty! He's stood out in the snow (because I love it. He does not), for the trifling idea to make me happy. I think it is hard for him, at times, to know the extent of my hard fought dreams and crazy adventures (and perhaps subsequent letdowns), this reluctant mountain-man to my crazy pioneer/mountain woman.

In many ways, we are opposites. But like a man-made thing of metal encompassed by a giant thing of nature, perhaps these opposites will encompass each other, healing and growing together.
And that, my friends, is my best short-and-not-so-short post...

Like Tides

2012-01-31T07:09:00.000-08:00

They may shake their heads, some people of more conventional thought, when you say "my Life is like tides." They will not understand.

I will say my Life is like tides, with no more dramatic example than the last week, of the near-unnatural ebb and flow of circumstances. One moment I was frozen, a near year's worth of hoping, working, and attempting to manifest something gone in a flash. Next thing I know, I couldn't have more to do and yes, indeed, I am grateful for the workings of it.

To catch you up, the past tale involved waiting on a farm with baited breath: there was a job, a farm, a wedding planned neatly together...but that did not happen. But there was also this rather unusual project floating about in my head, the type some would shake their heads at as pure poppycock. I have this crazy animal/art/adventure proclivity, you see, and it's gotten me into trouble before. Because I've spent a good part of life creating reality out of dreams as a performing artist, I know near-impossible things are possible. Or, I'd like to hope so. And so it is that I decided to truly chase--or make my craziest attempt at it--the Beyond Vagabond Project. And so, off it went!

And truly, I couldn't have guessed how quickly the mossy stone would roll into action once I announced--and took heart in--the idea of doing this uncommon journey: it's been quite a steeple chase. I could not roll any faster past hedgerows and hills, trying to catch up to myself.

To reiterate: this project involves the process of one city person conquering the logistics of working with a horse drawn wagon adventure. This involves a huge background skill set and a deep respect for horses. To that end please note:

This adventure may or may not go forward with horses. It has been suggested that I might be able to do this part-way with horses, and another with a wagon/gypsy wagon(vardo) being towed by truck. Which I would indeed consider, to keep the animal in question safe. The safety of the animal is my utmost concern.

However, I would like this idea to continue. To that end, I am hoping to work "smarter," in this way.

Because I have a huge and varied "bag of tricks" (so to speak), the gist of this trek is:
*To go across some part of the Americas via wagon. In each place I stop I hope to find
1. lodging amongst friends
2. Film some sort of old fashioned folklore of the place, interesting people, someone reviving an old-fashioned skill, etc
3. Teach classes...I am fully aware that I will need to continue funding this project (and be able to pay for a cup of joe, should I need!) as the project continues, and I am to be a self sufficient as possible. However...

This project WILL need some help from friends and friends-to-be? To be fair (and to give you full updates!)...I've been more than lucky to have a few friends--the very ones who introduced my to my Florida horse training!--making great strides in progressing the adventures. Kira, my dance/photography friend, has me coming back down to Florida, possibly, to participate in a historic mule expedition from that state to Alabama. Hundreds of mule teams are participating and we are invited if only to see what it is like to work wagons going for quite some distance. This is happening March 3rd, so quite soon I may or may not be amongst a mad caravan of beasts and men and dazzling them with my wit and weird hair!

There are other points: we have a camera. We have some sort of modern transport. I have yet to find a horse--and that's more a question of logistics than not having a few pennies squirreled away. I have get to figure out a wagon situation as well, though Kira has an idea about one in Florida. Several other friends have tracked down folks who have apparently undertaken some sort of long distance drive with a horse.

In the interim, I would be buoyed by any additional help or advice! So, I have redecorated this little cobweb-y site somewhat. You can now find information about the project above, and various ways you can help. I am possibly the most hopeful about hosting classes and paying my way, and you shall get yourself some wonderful information in the deal, creative learning that you can take away for yourself. Please be aware that if you click the "Classes and Workshop" section it is both still being completed and LONG. And for that, I apologize, but I did want to get a complete list in for everyone.

I am hoping a few of you might be interested in hosting. We already have a few olden friends in Iowa and Illinois interested, and it is a question of logistics whether to go there via horse, or not. I am truly open to any sort of interest, with March or early April being the cut-off point for scheduling, as this will allow me the notion of how to schedule a viable tour route.

Other ways you can help are simple...perhaps word of mouth. I will also have items for sale here soon. Or perhaps you don't mind donating via the donate button here, with many thanks involved. You can find a few other ideas on THIS PAGE. I would also very much like to hear any advice from horse people, people interested in the project, and more. What can I or should I be doing? How would you make this project better? What are your thoughts!

Many thanks, friends, and more details soon!

All Who Wander Are Not Lost...

2012-01-27T06:37:00.000-08:00

Every year, for some time now, I'd buy a daily planner, and scrawl these words at the top: I'd Start A Revolution, If I Could Get Up In The Morning.

To me, it simply means that you can (and maybe should) attack life, while you have time, though ironically, the phrase is based on Aimee Allen's song of the same name, which implies lost opportunities through living a life of excess.

My life is too precious for that sort of time-frittering (or maybe I'm just so old that I've now reached "uncool" status) . And yet, for the past six months, here it was: the waiting game....one that still has no resolution. I am no good at this sort of limbo...the wandering aimlessness, lost in purpose.

So, much of last year was then spent divesting into other adventures. And that, my friends, was the silver lining. In the between small fits of worry, I traveled across the country, met new people, taught people to cook, dance, and keep bees, enveloped myself into the world of art, learned about horses, learned about myself. Each experience was bone crushing in its beauty and meaningfulness. It was a whirlwind of goodness.

But the fact still remained--I was rootless. And there were no immediate answers to the situation the Sweetheart and I found ourselves in. It's hard to attack life when you have nothing solid to aim at....as you know, from my last post.

That post! What a shocking and kind outpouring of comments! I still shake my head in disbelief that people think this is a good place to stop and READ. Who bothers to take the time to offer sage advice, when all the world might be sent to bits, in this day and age? You have no idea what each little word meant, each piece of advice and thought. And that got me to thinking...

I realize, now, that I'm sort of living a double life. On the one hand, I was waiting for some other element to help me along in creating the sort of life I wanted. On the other, I was already creating these projects, anyway. Here I was, traversing states, teaching, and reveling in the magic, a horseless gypsy traveling project, subconsciously doing the very thing I was dreaming of.

I forgot I knew how to do these things. The training for this was etched into my bones already, and I have to laugh, as the whole idea reminds me of the ancient Chinese story of the maiden, sold from one owner to another as a slave, picking up a new skill at each household--sewing, crafting with wood, map-making--until she is able to create her own sailboat and sail back to her family. So a woman with a background working with animals, events planning, advertising, farming, and with interviewing skills can take a horse expedition idea and do something similar, right?

So I am done waiting, a treacherous thing to do to one with a fidgety predilection. My sluggish teenage self would be mortified at my caged twitching now. Give me a project, a challenging project or two, and I'm home free. Life is short and precious; I marvel at people who even dare to be bored.

And to that end, here is what I plan to do:
The Beyond Vagabond Project is still happening.

Please understand, I am not saying this idly. This IS an OFFICIAL announcement.

There has been much legwork behind the scenes; I am hoping to do this thing, finally, this year. However, a project of this size will need help, so I am asking for your HELP, Friends. Any and all good fellowship is humbly appreciated!

Right now, here is the idea: I am looking to journey across SOME part of the country. Whether this involves horses fully or not will depend on circumstances; I think it might be unduly harsh to have an equine move clear across this big country, at least not without the aid of a horse trailer for transport, at some point. I am still working out the journey route. The journey will be FILMED, if only for some sort of posterity, but I'd also LOVE to interview the various wonderful people I meet. Since I love the old fashioned life, I might just interview farmers, people with old fashioned skills? But I don't know, I'm open to documenting really authentic people across the country, as well.

At the same time, to offset costs, I will also be offering a host of "gypsy" (I need a better name for this) classes--this simply means, a big menagerie of all of the odds and ends of various skills that I've learned across the span of my three-ring life.

These include:
Organic Beekeeping
Eastern Dance/Flamenco/Indian Dance
Woodworking and Wood Burning
Doll Making/Old Wood Painting/Painting/Art Quilts/Jewelry making
Cooking classes (I make great exotic foods, and a mean strawberry pie)
Farm Advocacy
And any sort of speaking....
I'll add more as I think of them.....

If anyone is interested in HOSTING these sorts of classes, or attending any of them, please let me know. If you are interested in hosting a minimum of 5 people, I will give you incentives for hosting and advertising the classes, including the possibility of being filmed, should you have a studio, farm, or business you'd like to advertise. The whole idea is to get people to your place to advertise you a bit, and for me to make a few pennies along the road to be able to keep going. Just please email me and let me know.

If you are an artist who wants to perhaps team up to create a workshop type situation, I would love to team up with you! Please let me know!

I also might be selling some bits and pieces of art, jars of honey, and more. An old style peddling cart of sorts, which should be interesting....

In the meantime, Here are some updates:

* I am already booked in Iowa and Illinois for beekeeping and cooking. These start in late April. Anything immediately before or after would be a great jump off for hosting classes. I will have to see what to do with the horses, should we get that far. If you know someone willing to board a horse or two for a night or two on our journey, please forward this information.

*I have a contact for someone who has trekked from Florida to Tennessee. I hope to reach him as to how he did it, and what roads would be safest to travel on. Please note, I cannot and will not proceed with an equine if I find that any of the roadways carry dangers for them. I will keep you posted on what I find!

*I have a friend who is willing to jump into the journey and film, and who's an equine person to boot!

* Ahh, the horse. I've yet to find one. I have allocated funds, and I may beg, borrow, or buy one. I have an idea of where to train and board the lovely creature, but I will need some help with this one? Do you know of a horse--preferably draft--older, sound, broke, and relatively immune to spooking (I am aware there are no bomb-proof horses, but I'm hoping to find an animal that's been around people, and various situations).

*Now the cart bit....this is tricky. I worry the cart/wagon/sheepwagon will add weight to the horse(s), is an added expense, and may be an added danger. Carts may not be able to pass on narrow road shoulders or other obstacles, no matter how little traveled the road may be. I'm still investigating. We may just have to revamp this into a horse RIDING expedition--all packs on the back of a saddle (thus why I'd prefer a larger animal able to carry more weight), and go.

*I've no idea whether to add some sort of "donate" or fundraising request out there. This project will most likely need money, that is clear, but I first want to investigate how difficult this might be on an animal, and the logistics. There will be food requirements, horse shoeing, water supplies to think about. There is the idea of film equipment, stops to map, back roads to literally and figuratively explore....

So please: any kind word, advice, recommendations, thoughts...and perhaps a word or two about this little project to others you might know? I would be deeply grateful.

Also, if you wish, you can follow these adventures more fully on Facebook via the little badges on the left. I think it might be easier to perhaps update daily, there, especially what might prove to be the logistics of scheduling, state by state, the classes and journeys.

We will be working a bit more over the weekend on all of these elements. I hope to have more concrete ideas on Monday or Tuesday, and a better roster here on the blog...so please stay tuned.

Thank you very much for your support!

Holding On With Both Hands

2012-01-25T06:41:00.000-08:00

Guinea feathers from Marcy Grant's farm. Magnolia seed pods from a forest nearby her property

There is a saying amongst the ancestors in my family: "To see the soul of an animal, look into it's eyes. To see the soul of a man, look into his eyes.... and his hands."

This, my friends, has proven to be true. You will see what people not only through their hands (the Gypsies knew the story of human lives in reading the lines of the palms of their hands), but what they have done with them.

My own hands are well worn and practical. There is nothing particularly lovely or well manicured about them. Their lines will speak to you about mundane things, such as household chores. There is a scratch, a nick: the dangerous work animals I've done in the past. There are grooves on the edges of some fingers: where a never ending serious of drawing pencils and paintbrushes have perched, creating art. For all of this, my hands are small and, lately, their work feels inconsequential....

It's hard to know what to write in this space, this public spot where, similarly, so many people write about their lives. This world, this little blogging realm, is a modern phenomenon: so many people put so many interested, enchanting, enlightening posts up into the electronic atmosphere...a dizzying array of words about existences. Starting THIS blog, about a whole new adventure that might be the craziest and most unknown thing in my life, I wanted to stay honest, and at times, that means bursting a certain bubble of perception about myself, or this funny life I'm living.

Right now, I am trying to hold onto everything I have with both hands. While the world looks dreamy up front (and it is!), the business of being an artist is not easy. You may snicker at this, but there it is, the constant haggling to keep something most people consider at least a lifestyle choice (true enough) and at most, a convenient excuse to ditch working, paying bills, and other doldrums some people would rather skip out on, themselves.

I want to simply say: it's a fun time, truly, but I am no different than you. I have HAD a job or rather, various "regular" jobs for over 10 years, working with animals. But these weren't easy jobs, and what eventually, fully, drove me away was the realization--then--of what's come to pass now.

See, it's easy to look at an artist and say: "why would I live my life with uncertainty?" To be an artist might be foolish, best get oneself a practical degree and then a secure job. Friends, at least in this country, ALL JOBS--with a few exceptions (politics, anyone?), are rarely secured anymore. I've known folks with Master's Degrees, Ph.D's even, who are out of work. I've seen folks tenured for thirty or forty years suddenly booted out of a job because a previously successful business has suddenly gotten the trap door sprung from underneath it. The truth of the matter is that security, truly, lies in the heart of each person; the knowledge that in any storm, there is within oneself the ability to find footing somewhere.

I would need this more than ever.

All around me, I see people groan and grumble under their breath as loyalties to the companies crumble. As they lose jobs (jobs they barely liked, mind you, but which "paid benefits"), assurances AND insurances, family benefits, hours, or any number of things--I, meanwhile, would change my full-time job to part time status
And eventually leave the madness of office life altogether. This was no attempt to ditch responsibilities; I should hardly think that one would rest on their laurels while creating and running a freelance animal care business, LEADING a dance troupe, LEADING a Farm writing group, running a little art business, and more.

Slowly, surely, my involvement with the handmade, creative life would wend me towards the ideas of laying roots but, of course, this being me, I was not content with the archetypal picket fence suburb-ed life, no siree. My active personality wanted more than convenience shopping (which never is convenient, mind you), and the normal four walls.

There was no doubt that I wanted a farm...I've wanted one now for how long, I don't know. I wanted to use muscle and mind to create my life. I was tired of the pricey food, the expensive and cheaply made items I was forced to buy in the city, and the grind of urban life. It was too much, too fast, very impersonal.

For a long time, I'd searched for jobs around the countryside. There were silly little plans with what to do with this phantom of future property, the least of which was to stretch the bones; the urban life will crush you into it's own particular mental and physical submission, at times. Even the idea of putting up a hammock, outside, was something I'd throw a parade about. I wanted to learn how to grow and preserve food or, heck, at least plant this cache of seeds I'd been saving for the last year or so. Maybe it's mad to be curious to recreate the life your grandmother had, but I had a hankering for just that. I wanted to ride a horse, and card wool and get ridiculously dirty and not care. Stupid little dreams...and yet, as unreachable as if I asked to become the queen of a country.

Finally, last year, it looked like our little crooked path had straightened. Perhaps it was a mixture of hoping, manifesting, networking, and general good fellowship, but I was meeting new people, going to other parts of the country I could not have wildly imagined, and exchanged kindnesses with souls along the way. There were prospective jobs and an actual, possible, farm to live on. This would change our situation in the city, which was deteriorating as our client bases were drying up, as are much of the jobs in the city now.

I had big ideas for this farm, as well as the horse drawn wagon tour.....

But now... now that seems uncertain. While I won't go into the details, it would seem that our previous plans will probably not come to pass. To be fair, there is no finger-pointing about the situation: there is no one to blame and at best, I can only say that the shape of the events were tossed about by the fates and the economics of the time.

This news, of course, came right when I got back to the city. After a month of being away, of being fully able to meet even more wonderful people, work with animals, and get so many projects done, I returned to a sterile, stifling place. There are no vast expanses here, no eager or knowledgeable friends wishing me onward with my crazy projects. There are obviously no horses with which to train--and with dwindling job prospects and no new projects to learn or do, there's a feeling of..well...community discord,stagnation and...uselessness.

So, the best laid plans are on the lurch. I am trying to stay focused on other ideas to get us better footing but--honest to goodness--I've no idea right now what that is. I have some ideas, but my bigger worry lies not in failure--but in the uncertainty of it. I don't mind the wolf at the door, but I dread staring out into the darkness, not knowing if there is a fact a wolf nearby, an even darker and more danger beast, or if my mind is working overtime creating a monster that doesn't even exist. This should be a cake walk: I KNOW this isn't as bad as it could be, and I am humbled--besides, in my life, I've literally and figuratively tackled large unruly animals, even more violently unruly people, and any plethora of obscene scenarios. But uncertainty? That will sink me as if I were thrown into the rapids wearing cement shoes.

There are either now very few options, or too many options, moving forward. Right now, farms, jobs, wedding plans...all seem to be so far away. All these hands want to do is hammer a life out of jagged rock, but they now seem tied. What the next step is seems continually, perpetually, a mystery. I have a few ideas of regrouping, but I feel like I'm in a never ending magic trick: I reveal the prestige of making a wall disappear to expose...yet another wall!

So what do you do with a beekeeper/artist/organizer/writer/dancer/somewhat-horse driving expert with no foothold anywhere to speak of?

Dancing Queen...

2012-01-23T07:38:00.000-08:00

By Day: Mild Mannered Farmy type. By Night: Mistress of the Dance...

Lest you start thinking that this place is nothing more than a den for fledgling animal activism ("call my father!"), I'm here to tell you that, no, that alone would not classify one into the category of vagabond-ism (which is slightly less crazy than James Bond-ism, but that's another tale for another time) for which this blog was named....

No, my Friends--life around here is one topsy-turvy stew of many types of adventures, a veritable circus of near-useless--but very fun-- talent (which some would call art) of all sorts. This type of multi-talent would be quite handy, especially during my holiday break, while I was training with horses big and small.

Somewhere in the midst of all of the equine cornucopia, there would be dance. Yes, you are reading that true: I would be dancing...actually, teaching dance, on my vacation. How did I manage to swing that, you might ask? Pull up a chair and grab yourself a tea, for I shall tell you...

Oddly, I wasn't a dancer to begin with, I was too busy drawing or acting or doing all sorts of creative things.Just not dancing. I was not one of those spindly-toed lassies, not a baby ballerina, nor a prodigy of movement in my teens....I never had a dance lesson to my name in my youth. After I had finished University in the big city--with the big, fancy Film and Television degree, my father became sick (or rather, sicker, as he was always sickly), and so I decided to go home and help my parents for a few months.

Well, a few months became FOUR years. And so what's a girl to do? If you're like me, you plunge headlong into ANY type of creative job you can find. Apparently, in a small town, a big fancy degree will get you places....even if that degree has NOTHING to do with the jobs you are applying for. Thus it was that I became a RADIO DJ and a newspaper reporter. Granted, the newspaper thing was temporary, but still--it would be the start of, apparently, a whole lotta scribbling I would be doing in the future.

But neither here nor there...

One of my first assignments at the local paper was to cover a human interest story. Huh? This was a small, beach-side town whose claim to fame was its ridiculous Spring Break destination for young people....and I frankly wanted to stay away from that kind of trouble. I knew there was a small arts scene...but, it had been covered extensively in local print and T.V. Finally, one of my friends mentioned this: there was a local ethnic dance troupe in the area. They taught all manners of Eastern dance, and maybe even gypsy dance.

I was intrigued. I got the phone number of the local teacher, and a date was set to interview her. We met. Immediately, I was impressed with her. She was not an exotic beauty, but a beauty of another sort: she was an "older lady" (I say this because the automatic assumption is that the only "legitimate" types of dancers are young, good looking girls), well kept--I dare say she was impossibly good looking for her age, and extremely funny.

I talked with her for a good hour. It was clear she was passionate about what she did, passionate about teaching this little class each week. She also knew well the history of the dance, and proceeded to pull out brochures and write ups about the dance form, along with all sorts of sparkly scarves and costume items. She then asked me to come to a first class, to "experience the dance firsthand," and I did. I was hooked...but...

..it was all a bit overwhelming. Not because this was new information. Exactly because it wasn't new. See, to some degree, my people came from this background. The Roma (gypsies) had influenced the European aspects and Eastern aspects of both my parents homelands. I grew up typically around it: we knew the music, but we didn't dance.

Why? Because, true to those cultures, dancing was taboo. Dancing was to be around people of the same sex, if at all. You didn't dare dance publicly (on-stage was out of the question), and you were considered nothing short of possessed to declare dance as a career.

Even now, traveling to many upland regions along the Baltics and into North Africa, there are clear insinuations that if a woman is a dancer, even should she be successful, it was because she HAD to be one; she must have been too poor to be able to properly educate herself or marry into some sort of money/security or--far worse--that she was seeking attention, even sexual attention, and that was her motive to do such scandalous thing. Heaven forbid if she was just inspired to do it.

In this country, too, there are remnant notions about these same ideas. I mean, when was the last time you looked at a dancer--even a Baryshnikov type--and thought: "wow, he's smart." Indeed, because a dancer uses his body, that's what most people see...a strong, agile, even sexy creature. Since most non-dancers don't have the time or access to ply those in dance with actual discussions, they'll never know that person's personality or intelligence level; they are left to deal with the image of dance, and nothing more.

Even now, I've sort of had to wrestle with this, even wondering if I should post about this at all because..well, people look at you funny, think of you differently, when you tell them such things. As I've mentioned before, people have a way of already loophole-ing me because of my interesting "look," and life. But mention I'm a dancer? Indeed, it's always fun watching as people's eyes suddenly glaze over after I've offered that bit of information up, as if all of the intelligent things I've just said is now null and void.

Worse still are the strange "admirers" who I, and my female troupe, always seemed to need to placate, even though we were doing serious work. Since the sorts of dance we did were historically done by WOMEN, we created a theatrical dance troupe that modernized the form, and we were doing serious womens issues through the dance. That wouldn't stop a gaggle of men who thought we should be giggly Marilyn Monroe types in front of them.

Ahh, I can go on and on about the many woes of dance life, but suffice it to say, I slowly, eventually would leave that scene after about a decade of seriously working with it. I loved my time there..but let's just say that teaching is probably about as far as I would go, at the moment. I will always love the art of dance...the business of dance...ahh, that's another story.

And speaking of teaching...here are a few fun photos. My friend Kira--the ever multi-talented videographer of some of my horse adventures, is also a dance friend (yes, apparently she also is a many-faceted vagabond type!) and took some photos of the dance class:

Pre-class hijinx (yes, that is me at the front, left side)...

More serious class teachings...

In case you are interested in gypsy history or music, I highly recommend checking out "Latcho Drom" on Youtube. It is a beautiful film about the journey of gypsy music as it goes around the world. It starts in India (yes, the Roma are of ancient Indian descent), and moves along through North Africa and then Europe. You will see different montages of singing, music, and dancing in this film...which I found fascinating.

Here is the opening, which starts with the desert Gypsies of India (Rajastan and the Thaar Desert):

Words For Friends: Katherine Dunn

2012-01-20T13:36:00.000-08:00

Art logo by Katherine Dunn, used by permission of the artist

So I've been thinking: this year I wanted to reach out a bit more, give a bit more, and do a bit more. There are so many compelling people, and stories-- and interesting people trying to do good and create delight, so why not try to help, or at least highlight them here?

I'm not sure how, or if, this humble idea will work in the long run, but you can only start at the beginning, right? I'm not sure what to call this sort of thing: Words For Friends? Let's just use that for now, and see where it goes...

So here it is, today's post features a fellow Dreamer, and a braver soul than I; she is, in fact, someone I want to be when I grow up. No, seriously: Katherine Dunn is one of the few people who has gotten me into the predicament I'm in. Because a few years ago, I stumbled onto her amazing blog, and what I found had affirmed all of the notions I was told was too crazy. She is an ARTIST, A FARMER, and A WRITER. All of the very things I had hoped to combine, but was told that it was useless trying to pursue ANY of them, much less try to juggle ALL THREE.

But here was a woman doing it. Spectacularly. Confidently. Even heart-breakingly. Each word told a real story, a poetic her-story, but there it was, warts and all. I can't fully speak for Katherine, of course, but her art is magical, of an otherworldly quality, but also quite still and simple, as are her words. There is something frank, lovable, and stark about her whole life, and I think she has been very candid about her love of nature and her animals, and her respect for life and death.

I get the feeling her life is as lucid and as complicated as yours or mine. Her worries about being an artist, being taken seriously, being able to make money, being able to negotiate the lives of her animals only made me want to do the same thing even more.

You can find her art, words, and photography almost daily HERE
And you can view more of her art HERE

She is an accomplished artist and writer, and what I find particularly endearing is that she is a rescuer of animals, particularly those that are elderly and sick, the kind that would be easily overlooked. She takes in senior barnyard animals, campaigns for animal rescues that care for older, or abandoned animals. She has a particular affection for donkeys, it's true, but it doesn't end there. She has made it a mission to host a Pie Day on her farm, annually, to help animals and senior humans, and in general, she makes it her business to care for creatures of all shapes and sizes, and document these adventures in her own unique way.

Currently, Katherine is trying to create and publish a book about these animals she has come to know, and this life on her farm, called Misfits of Love. Publishing a book is downright difficult (I can say this to some degree, as I have friends in publishing and--oh, my stars--is it ever a crazy thing to do, getting a book published), so Katherine could use your help.

She currently has a Kickstarter campaign, to try to fund the publishing of what promises to be an enchanting book...

If you are interested in the project, or would like to help a fellow farmer and dreamer get to her goals, HERE IS THE LINK.
You can peruse the site and learn more about the project itself, or view the video.....

In any case, if you'd like to make a donation, there are about 9 days of the Kickstarter campaign still left to go. It is a small, but kind gesture on one artist's hope to bring the interesting and impactful stories of animals to light. Or, perhaps, you can pass along this info so that others might know of it, too...

If nothing else, you can also visit her site and say "hello." Just tell her "Zan sent me!"

They Shoot Horses, Don't They

2012-01-19T05:52:00.000-08:00

Soldier and horse during the Civil War. From ancient times, the horse was placed into battle.

If you've been reading this far, you'll know that I was knee deep in horse training over the holidays and, since one illustrious film about horses happened to be opening at that very same time, it would be inevitable that I would have to and see it.

This is a story about War Horses. I should probably preface this by saying that I am not a horse person. I was not raised around horses since I was knee high. I didn't show them, or win ribbons with them, nor did I understand those girls my age who dreamed about doing such things. In fact, I knew no such little girls, and was so far away from that life that I didn't know to be envious of the privileged lives they lead. Indeed, horses have become a thing of luxury.

You, most likely, are not a horse person. In fact, many people have never been on, or around horses in their lifetimes. The ever progressing world has made true horse power a thing of rarity, replaced by its wheeled successors. We are not horse people. But we should be.

I've written on this before, this idea of the Ode to the Horse. Because of my freakish curiosity about history and animals, I'd long known that, if you went back far enough, the horse--like farming--was part of everyone's family. So, no matter how "far" you think you've gotten, at one time, everyone and I mean, EVERYONE, owed something to the horse (and farmers, too).Without cars, horses pulled, carried, delivered, and saved countless things, and people.

I come from a long line of people who respected the horse from afar; those animals were first on the list of noble creatures, with a grand lot of lore and superstition surrounding them. My grandfather, perhaps best prepped for a horse lifestyle in the countryside of Europe, and whose main job was threshing on OTHER people's farms, did not work the beasts, and I remember a story in which he said the horses "were too good for the drudgery work of machines."

For a long time, because of my curiosity for all things old, I knew something of the history of the horses of WWI, and while I won't give away the story in the film, it shouldn't be too hard to figure out: folks, this is about war, and Mr. Spielberg, the director, has done a fine job of showing the brutality of the event on both men and beasts.

However, because of that dogged history fever of mine, I had to research it more myself. What I found was that war, itself was far more horrific than even the film portrayed.

People, that war eventually used 10 MILLION horses and mules from all sides involved in the war, with some estimates being that less than half returned. The example that floored me was Australia's record: that country sent roughly 120,000 horses towards the war effort. Only ONE returned home. In most cases, the pitiful beasts died of gunfire, disease and sheer exhaustion from pulling and carrying artillery and tanks for untold hours, on little food and rest.

If you're hot under the collar reading that, then this should raise your temperature as well: the number of dead animals are not ONLY due to war losses--those that survived the war were often then taken to SLAUGHTER in France and Italy; most horses were long missed from being identified by their rightful owners, and usually auctioned or sent off to the butcher. This, a fine way to treat animal heroes.

I could go on and on about so many parts of this story that are heartbreaking, and angering (and if you're shaking your head about my reaction to this, perhaps you should "call my father."), not the least of which is how this sort of history is so easily forgotten (but then, what am I talking about? The actual WWI monument was the last approved monument at Washington's Great Lawn, finally created long after most of it's veterans died).

Mostly, I just want to close my eyes and ears to the whole thing. I have NO IDEA why people treat animals this way (and for the record, millions of homing pigeons and dogs were also used during that conflict), and continue to do so. I have heard every story in the book as to why people can, and even should, discard animals....with horses it seems particularly so, as they have become nothing but pasture ornaments; indeed, the end of the Great War would signal the end of the Golden Age for horses--cars and automechanation would soon make them obsolete. You would never find as many horses as in the Edwardian Age, which preceded WWI.

I occurs to me, too, that most horses you will ever see are descendants, in some way, of those original battle equestrians of the First World War. Every horse is a war horse. They are made to do, and are in fact valued, when they do what we ask them to do, even if we force them into something so odious as war, a human thing no animal knows or should know.

And even now, when these animal lose their value, things like horse slaughter (yes, it exists and has now been reintroduced into the country), are perceived as necessary, or good. I have heard people tell me that they'd rather take their precious pet horse to slaughter, than have to pay the very expensive price to humanely euthanize it.

Oh horse people, how I envy you! How I envy your giant steeds, and how I even envy the day to day concerns you have for keeping your animals. Your same horse that came from a long line of horses who have probably suffered in some great way. Do we have other answers for them? Is it about more responsible breeding, more work for horses? Could these sort of answers be part of a dialogue we have for all domestic animals? If we are indeed the smartest creatures on the whole planet, can we find some better solutions for our animals then to simply send them away in trucks, lock stock and barrel?

Yes, these are complicated and frustrating issues, or maybe my mind is turning this over far too much. But I firmly hope the answer to much of the plight of equines isn't answered with the age-old, infamous question: "They shoot horses, don't they?"

Please note the below are pictures and videos of WWI horses. They are graphic in nature, so please use your own discretion in viewing

Call My Father....

2012-01-17T07:24:00.000-08:00

You may have seen this fluffy mug in a few posts before.

If she seems to wear the cute tongue in cheek (or in this case, tongue out of cheek), expression in every picture, there's a reason. This is Polly, our rescue Pyranees, and her jaw is permanently twisted. She is one of a long line of beneficiaries of my animal love--her story involves being abused and found at only half her weight--before we loved her back to normal. She inherits this throne as part of my animal lovemongering...and if you ask me where THAT affliction came from, I will say to you: "call my father."

People, I am an unabashed animal lover. Some might call me a fluffy-bunny hugger, and that's okay. I mean, what can you do when your WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE has been set up to love animals. That is not an exaggeration. What do I mean by this? My father holds the key to this sort of mania.

See, when I was a baby, way back in the old country from which my father hailed, he decided--whether for knowledge's sake, or because he thought children and animals were a good mix--to take me to the zoo. Now, this was not any old zoo, but the Capital's Zoo and it was (and still is) one of the larger zoos in that whole continent. Folks, this was on par with the Bronx Zoo--it stretched for acres and housed untold numbers of animals. Having visited it again, a few years ago, I dare say it's one of the most comprehensive zoos on the planet.

But neither here nor there...

So my father took me to this zoo. Every weekend. For two years. Every single weekend, folks, and then he'd buy me books on animals, which I would gape at when I wasn't at the zoo. And so submersed was I in this world of animals, that there are stories still circulating, via various family members, that by the time I was two years old, I knew both the common name AND the LATIN name of most common zoo animals. That's a whole lotta beastly knowledge.

The man with the animal plan...my father and I....

There are other rumors out there, mostly from a time I can't even remember: I was told that when I was three, my parents were holding a party for their friends and, since where we were living was rife with reptiles and amphibians, a salamander crawled into the house......

Now, I should explain here that the irony in my father's grand animal escapades is that he himself had a dual relationship with animals. Like most folks raised in his era, he both respected them, but found them a commodity at times. Further, because he was trained as a pathologist, much of his opinion of animals was skewed by his learning: animals were just dirty, walking hosts for parasites and worms. Got that? Ok...

So please don't be surprised when I tell you that when my father saw this salamander on the wall, he promptly got a shoe and started hitting it. Yes, I'm sorry to say, that was how he remedied that particular situation. And then, the story goes, I SAW him do this and started SCREAMING in horror. Screaming loudly enough to stop the party. And I continued to scream and cry long after the incident. Mind you, I can't remember a smidge of this now. But the vision of my three year old self doing this isn't hard for me to grasp...I often feel that way about animals and their suffering, even now.

There are people who will understand this, and there are people who might click past this post, even whisper an annoyed "animal activist" under their breath, and I understand that. Oddly, I am probably the most logical animal lover you will ever meet, and that might qualify me as a hypocrite to some. I'm a vegetarian, but I don't demand that anyone else practice it, simply because it's foolish to think one has the right to police others. Further, it occurs to me that millions of cows, goats, chicken, and sheep are not meant to be pets, the resources of the planet won't support it...and finally, NATURE already is set up as a place of suffering; animals must die for others to live. I don't know why these rules are in place, they just are, and must be respected; you can't force a lion to become a vegetarian...long before you or I came to be, something in the Universe has set this sort of equilibrium up, for it's own reason. So I understand this, and understand that all animals cannot be saved in the name of salvation...

I only draw the line in the name of compassion. I find it ironic that some of my carnivore friends have no idea-- or could care less-- that the very food that keeps them ALIVE, has been so disrespected in the name of a dollar. Most meat in America is farmed in a most unnatural way, with animals so abused, it would make your eyes swim. Many of you know this, many of you are outraged, but many have no idea, or worse, they know and yet they turn away. It is no secret that we do horrible things to animals in the name of "progress." Horses and dogs are possibly the biggest animal assets we have (most wars up until the middle of the last century were fought using both animals extensively), and yet the most cruelly treated and disposed of.

I know this. I have worked with animals at a day job for almost twenty years of my life. It's such a second skin for me that I often don't list it in the long hyphenated laundry list of things that I do. When people ask me how in the world I've managed to work with animals so long and so exclusively, I say: "Call my father." He's the one responsible for this animal fever, a quagmire I'm still trying to escape.

Ironically, we had no animals when I was a child. My father was still convinced that animals were harbingers of disease, although he respected them as their own noble entities. Just not in our house. That didn't stop me from sneaking stray kittens into the house and begging for anything that even remotely looked like an animal. My poor mother--who was raised around many animals on her family's farm--had to gently tell me that, no darling, there'd be no parakeet/guinea pig, cockatiel, puppy, or anything else coming.

This all changed once I moved out of my parents house. I managed to work with animals, and I finally got my own dog--Gypsy the wonder-border collie (wow, this gypsy theme figures into everything around here!), a whip smart creature fully trained, and destined to die at the kill shelter in three days. There was no question that I would adopt her on the spot.

We never did know how she ended up at the shelter. She never barked in the house, never jumped up on people, never destroyed furniture or shoes, never did a THING out of place. She would scratch the back door when she wanted to go out for a bathroom excursion in the yard. She waited patiently for her food, and when I moved back to the family house for a short time because my father was sick, she ended up staying--it simply made more sense, since I have yet to meet a border collie type who would prefer to be a leashed up city dog over a huge yard in the country. And when my father accidentally fell out of his chair late one night, and couldn't get up, she went and lay by his side all night.

After that, everything changed. We officially became a dog loving family, a full on, real paramour of animals. We added another dog, Maverick, this one rescued from Columbia University behavioral labs. He didn't know how to bark, he'd never been outside before I rescued him. We loved our little canine menagerie, we laughed with them, and we wept horribly when they both died in their later years.

But we still love animals. And Polly the Pyranees is our latest animal orphan. She is a jester and a blue-ribbon hole digger of rose bushes, which drives my mother to tear her hair out, but she is a class-A snuggler as well. And her jaw is only slightly deformed...for reasons that are a mystery to us, but she can eat and do everything else normally, despite this handicap. She is part of the large net of love, and it's all my father's fault...

And I'd do it all over again, championing the largest animal to the saddest three legged pup. Why? Call my father...

And when my landlord looks at me skew-eyed because I'm taking so long harvesting the honey from our bee hives., because I'm trying to avoid possibly crushing bees, I say: "call my father."

When a few of those same bees end accidentally end up flying into the house, and I choose to gather them slowly, one by one, in a glass to let them harmlessly outside instead of crushing them, my poor, deathly allergic Sweetheart gives me a mind-boggled stare. And my response, by way of explanation: "call my father."

And when you wonder why a girl would choose to go cross country with HORSES instead of, say, a van...I say....darn it, you should have my father on speed dial by now!

Vagabond Chronicles 6: The Middle Of Nowhere

2012-01-13T08:28:00.000-08:00

Photos by Kira Burdeshaw

Ask most people from my part of New York City, and "the middle of nowhere" was the last place they wanted to be. "Don't go to that part of town," they'd say, "it's in the middle of nowhere." In other words, those sort of areas denoted places where trouble was lurking. In the country, the Middle of Nowhere seemed to me to hold another sort of danger: horse people tended to live in those little tucked away places, places in the middle of nowhere...and that's where I wanted to be.

My friend Kira was going to take me to her farrier friend, Keely, who lived not quite in, but close enough to, the middle of nowhere. And that was fine by me. We whizzed past the thoroughfare of the little town my family lives in and then skirted down a few turns where the trees hung lazily, and then everything suddenly became bucolic. In the span of 20 minutes, we seemed to completely drop out of the bottom of civilization altogether; quaint houses peaked from behind thick trees and bushes, and livestock gates of all sorts held precious goats, chickens, and of course, horses. Wildness was everywhere.

Keely's property was a facade: from the front, coming up the gravel driveway, you saw the nicely kept lawn, where you parked your car...a few requisite trees, and a nice house. Nothing fancy, it could have been anything from modern suburbia. But walking out the back door, it was all horse business, literally--we were suddenly in the thick of horsedom.

The barn was a straight shot back from the house, we could walk to it in less than 2 minutes. It was a beautiful place, newer, airy, well-constructed. Whereas Mr. Pete's place saw horses on various parts of his property, Keely kept her four horses together in a huge paddock. They were Sonja, a draft cross, Bunny, Keely's retired paint police horse, Tui, the paint horse Keely's son rode, and the daintiest of them all...Zoe, who would be my teacher (what is it about small horses teaching me driving??)....

Zoe is a Paso Fino cross, though for the life of me, I can't remember the other part of the mixture. Whatever the case, her heritage imbued her with possibly the most fairy-tale look of a small horse that I have ever seen. True, Paso Finos are considered lovely and gaited horses in the Latin countries from which they hail, although I'd read that their physique varied wildly from pixie to powerful. In Zoe's case, she was Tinkerbellish with her fine legs and face, and the pastel painted patterns on her hide.

Keely had worked with horses since she was 8, and it showed. She was quiet, yet firm in her workings with the horses, and this sort of stoic love worked well with them. After she introduced me to her herd, we took Zoe into the barn to ready her for the wagon. I was dying of curiosity; Keely owned a four wheel wagon and I was interested in knowing the difference in it's movement, since I had just come from the two-wheeled forecart type wagon at Mr. Pete's.

Prepping for this ride would bear little difference than my earlier cart prep with Mr. Pete's Princess. The horse must still be brushed to remove irritants from it's coat:

Brushing Zoe

The driving lines and harnessing are then applied to the horse, and then finally the wagon is attached to the harnessing (and vice versa). I will say, as a special treat, the fine, shiny harnessing equipment included bells along the driving saddle..so we literally had all the bells and whistles!

Then, we were off. There was a distinct, nostalgic feeling about the whole thing--a bonny horse bedecked with bells, the cart, a charming old fashioned thing, and because it was cold, we were wearing gloves. Kira had graciously decided to be our camera-person, and she'd hopped into the back of the cart, a blanket draped over her, while Keely and I rode the front seats.

Off we galavanted, along the slower streets, around quiet neighborhoods, past the nearby park, and even down a dirt road. All the while, Kira filmed, and I asked questions, and Keely calmly answered them, using Zoe to demonstrate what she meant. Zoe was an intelligent creature, and illustriously trained--even the smallest pressure and combination on the driving lines would tell her what, and how fast, to move. Conversely, Keely sensed her horse's body language, reading along each muscle, each ear twitch, what Zoe wanted to do. This human/equine communication would be crucial for the safety, and mission, of the driving to get done, that much was clearly apparent. I also learned about proper shoeing, proper line pressure, and what to do for problem situations. Mostly, it was a fun, up-close-and personal view of how the horse and wagon operated, especially in real life road conditions. We worked in traffic, past people and other roadside machinery. It was interesting to anticipate what Zoe would do, and learn the proper way to handle each situation.

Funnier aspects of our little jaunt didn't necessarily even focus on the horse. First, as we turned out of Keely's driveway at the beginning of our excursion, I suddenly noticed a black blur out of the corner of my eye. I suddenly realized it was a DOG, and he was running alongside the wagon. I quickly deduced I'd seen this same terrier type dynamo when I first pulled into visit Keely; this was the neighbor's dog. The little rascal, as per Keely and Kira, was either named Willy, or Wheatus, or any number of things, because no one liked his real name (the rumor was that the neighbor's children named him DONKEY, of all things). Anyhow, Wheatus ran behind us for the ENTIRE journey. Yes...through the streets--where he tried to get himself run over by vehicles, despite our attempts to call him over to us--and the park, all along the dirt road, and then back home. That little codger didn't quit! He reminded me of the old Dalmations, the firedogs that ran alongside the draft horses with the hoses that fought fires during the Victorian era. Heaven bless Wheatus, that crazy little bugger.

The next crazy incident involved a duck. You read that correctly. Keely was explaining what to do should a horse spook, with Kira taping the whole explanation. At the time, we were going past an area that would be extremely irritating, even frightening, for some horses: we passed a worker removing Christmas decor using a cherry picker on his truck, the trucks engine was puttering loudly, the area was cordoned off with orange street cones, and two nearby park users were walking their dogs. All of this was foreign to Zoe, and distracting. However, since she was well trained, her best attempt to avoid the situation was to veer off slightly (as opposed to out-and-out bolting). After successfully explaining the situation and going past the obstacles, Keely moved us onward, and Kira turned off the camera.

BAM! Just was we passed the concrete walled entranceway to the park, one of the ducks in the park's nearby pond, hidden behind the wall, shot straight out in front of us, flying away. There was no way to see it and we were all started, Zoe included. She have a sudden, startled hop, but Keely had a good grip on her. Now THAT, folks, was a classic instance for spooking. But training and planning kept it from being a four alarm situation.

Once we winded our way home, it was simply a question of removing the traces, buckles, and bits, and Zoe was allowed out of her servitude. She's a spritely endearing thing...and like Princess, I knew I'd miss her.

While there were other fun surprises in store, I'll probably leave the story here, for now, with the idea of good horsemanship and fellowship...all this, in the "middle of nowhere."

In the meantime, though, enjoy this video of the first part of our riding (excuse the noise of the bells in the video!), and the moment I first realized that Wheatus, our little canine friend, was along for the trip....

Newsy Intermission...

2012-01-12T08:34:00.000-08:00

In between all of these horse activities, there's been the underlying thought about what to DO with all of the horse activities.

While you have been reading about some of these adventures at this very spot, I've been thinking more and more about what to do with this strange little goal I've set for myself, as it seems to have burrowed further and further into my life....

Used to be, I could kind of get away with blogging once a week or so here, but I find that those stories become long in length, and oft times, I miss lots of details that happened days or weeks ago. I also found that there were lots of little side links and stories I would love to put up, but they made no sense with the chronological stories I was already telling....

Meanwhile---on more than one occasion people have mentioned--you know, when they weren't saying how unusual/strange/outrageous/awesome/crazy the idea of learning to drive horses around the country is--that they would love to see video documentation about the story.

After some time and thoughts on both counts, here is what I've decided...while not Earth-shattering by any means, I think it's a nice and significant change to the blog and the project, and I hope you'll join in?

First--because I have some sort of inkslinging fever (people, I write for four blogs!)-- I will be blogging here more often. If you've noticed, there are a few more posts than usual this week. I took those on as an experiment to make sure I didn't get faint, dizzy, a nosebleed, or spasm from the added writing....sure enough, extra postings have not killed me, so starting next week, this Beyond Vagabond thing gets a bit more busy! Expect to read more on the project, old fashioned lore, music, cooking, general farm longing, musing and...who knows?

Now, the bigger news is that the Vagabond Project Filming project will be going forward-- yes, folks, I might have a videographer and partner for the journey but, truthfully, this needs to be done appropriately and with funding. So stay tuned, there are people who might be getting involved in this project in a bigger way (crossing fingers!) and because I am money poor (but in excess of ambition!), maybe someone will be interested in tossing a few coins in the hat in the near future?

In the meantime, what footage I have from all of my little journeys so far will soon be edited, and coming straight to YOU! Speaking of which: Beyond Vagabond has a NEW Youtube Channel! So if you'd like to subscribe, just type beyondvagabond into your Youtube browser (I needn't tell you that this will only work if you already have a Youtube account) and click the "subscribe" button. This will keep you up to date on all of the videographed mayhem and more.

Up next...more horsing around, of course!

Vagabond Chronicles 5: Six Degrees of Separation..

2012-01-11T07:27:00.000-08:00

Once I started working with horses during my Southern stay, it seemed like everyone I knew had them, and that everyone who had horses knew each other, as well.

The whole driving lesson shenanigans started with Bonnie, who knows my family. For years, I heard she had horses, so I sheepishly approached her for a recommendation for horse driving or riding. Imagine if I hadn't! She's the one who recommended Mr. Pete. Mr. Pete knew my friend Kira, a friend of mine from the dance world, who has a horse and a mule. Kira knew Marcy, with the black Percheron. They also knew Keely, a horse farrier and trainer, who I would also be meeting. And so it went, on and on....

Suddenly, it seemed like it was six degrees of separation from one horse person to the next and yes, indeedy, there suddenly were horses, horses, everywhere. I'd seen more horseflesh in the span of that month than I did in my entire life. Not that I minded, but it kinda makes you think about how much easier this little project of mine would be if--say, I LIVED around here. I mean, this much equine presence would not be happening in the concrete jungle of the city.

In the meantime, there were horses to enjoy one's company with....

Here is Excalibur. He is Bonnie's behemoth Draft/Thoroughbred cross. He's also a PMU baby that was shipped to safety from Canada.

Here is Bonnie's newest addition, Dixie:

Bonnie's mare Star is fine mother of this pixie legged trouble-maker. Don't let that sweet face fool you, she's all mischief!

Besides general horsing-around, there were still lessons to be had, and before I left Florida, I was treated to not one, but TWO days in a row of horse driving curriculum.

The first would actually be the last--I was to meet with Miss Charley, Mr. Pete's wife, for the last in a series of our horse driving lessons. I had grown fond of my teachers, and respected their no-nonsense way of horsemanship. By now, I had experienced some of the pitfalls, and triumphs or riding in this little chariot, and while I knew I was far from being a pro at driving a horse and buggy, I felt more proficient, and definitely more comfortable at that stint.

With each lesson, I was given a little more to do by Charley, and the last lesson proved that rule: she placed a few orange street cones out as a sort of obstacle course for myself and my little charger, Princess the mini-horse (*note: I have been thoroughly corrected by Charley in that I called Princess a pony in my previous post on this story. She would be correct; there are enough differences in the species to classify horses and ponies as different. In other words, Princess IS a very small horse, and that post has been corrected to clarify this).

By now, Princess seemed more used to working with us. For my part, I had gone from someone basically contorting their upper body to get any sort of response from the horse when turning or stopping was required, to a slightly better, slight-of-hand and wrist action. This were the appropriate measures one SHOULD take when attempting to use the lines to communicate with the horse, but I was still raw, still learning.

The cones were not TOO difficult, though at times Princess was basically sidestepping to get around the tight formations that Charley had us do. It was good to be aware to not only angle the horse so that it cleared the obstacle, but also the CART, as this was wider than the horse. We also went around the property a few times, at various paces, so I could become more and more familiar with various driving conditions, and what to do when it all didn't go well (although it did for this round). Overall, I feel like I become a more confident, more aware driver, though I know this is an ongoing story that I must revisit...which I would be doing the very next day, when I would meet Keely Bass, a farrier and friend of Kira's, who was a friend of mine...who was a friend of Mr. Pete, and Charley...well, you get the picture.

In the meantime, Marcy and Bob Grant, had come by and were kind enough to video tape and photograph some of the horse lessons, and so I'll share one with you! Enjoy!

Up next...more of the story, and an update on the Beyond Vagabond Project!

And Now A Word From Your Friendly Vagabond...

2012-01-10T07:21:00.000-08:00

A girl with wild hair and an animal predilection. Who knew it was the right combination for trouble?

Have I ever mentioned how Beyond Vagabond got it's name? If I somehow missed this chapter, My Lovelies, here is the quick rundown....

A vagabond (as you may or may not know) is the word for wanderer, a nomadic person and--I guess you could say--it's is a word that's been used on par with terms like "gypsy." I suppose the whole thing denotes a carefree, happy feeling and of course, it refers to my many jobs and experiences in life, and my love of travel. But there's another meaning here, too, one I was quite conscious of when I took on the terminology.

See, in some places, the word takes on a negative intention. As with the closely associated word "gypsy," vagabond at best means "misfit" or "outcast," and in some cultures, it is considered a high insult. Heck, in some places, being a gypsy or vagabond might get you killed.

Why am I telling you any of this? Because I am fully aware that in many ways, I am the round peg in a world full of square holes. Now, let me clarify that my life on the Misfit List IS NOT, in any way, to be compared to the long and horrible suffering of the actual Roma people, better known as Gypsies. I am also not telling you any of this for any sort of pity; I've long held my particular brand of unconventional living as a big badge of..well, just being me, for a very long time.....

Baby Zan, ready to take on the world...

However, there are times when I'm made acutely aware that what I'm doing actually bothers someone, or rather, that they've placed me into a certain "box" because of the way I look or act. It occurs to me that some of the stuff that I am talking about here might be seen as charming, or at least entertaining (if goofy). It also occurs to me that others might see me as outright crazy, obnoxious, or weird.

I knew what I wanted early on. Here I am, trying to cut my first birthday cake by myself, and apparently trying to send my mother to the first in a long line of coronary fits.
This was in Italy--apparently this traveling bug started early, too!

I'm telling you this flat out in the middle of my horse training stories to be chronologically accurate: on two separate occasions, during this time, I was made aware of, well, who I am--scratch that--who people think I am. And the problem with much of life is that there is the truth, and then there is perception. And half the time (at least in my experience) you are always working against perceptions--your own, and other people's.

While I won't go into the particulars of what happened (and to be fair, I think one instance involved someone unknowingly putting their foot in their mouth), it got me to thinking--how many of us do this, and why?

Why do we feel the need to box each other into cute, compartmentalized classifications before we know the whole story about a person? And conversely, why do so many of us allow ourselves to get boxed in? I say this not as a person who is afraid of being boxed in (I mean, have you seen me, lately? We are long past the "fear of being called crazy" stage!), but as someone who once WAS, and who sees this all the time in other people (particularly women, I must add). I've seen people give up on even entertaining the thought doing something they really loved because their parents or their co-workers might not approve, they might get ridiculed by friends, or disappoint people they care about or want to impress. Folks, the people that matter will not care what you do, if you really love doing it.

I am not saying it's easy--both doing what you love, and getting yourself UNboxed (blazes, my parents were pretty "boxy" when I first told them I wanted a career in the Arts!), but one should not spend a lifetime not even trying for a little bit of their dreams.

Sassy from the get-go. I still don't know how my parents didn't realize I wanted a career in performing arts...

Conversely, we need to give each other more credit than the fleeting drive-by judgement scenario. What does it mean when people have tattoos? Weird hair? What about skin color, religion, sex, age? Ok, I should probably get off my high horse now (see, I can get a horse into this post, as well!) and it occurs to me that I am probably preaching to the choir here...but hopefully this might make a small difference in ideas to someone who never thought about it?

The origins of the "weird hair": created for a performance, as dance troupe director...

In my case, the fastest way to get my goat (and farm animals are in the post, too, by golly!) is to insult my intelligence...I fully understand that I am a city girl with funny hair, but that doesn't mean I can't wrangle with the best of country folk or that I have bad morals. But the same folk that probably think that would have no idea that I'm probably more versed in a ridiculous variety of subjects, and also still searching for answers to many, which is why my curiosity keeps yanking me down these various roads...

I like danger...and the environment, apparently. I work with bees in the city--just call me an outlaw!

And I will say, before this sounds like high ego, that I'm no rocket scientist, and I still couldn't tell you when two trains will meet at Grand Junction if one is coming from Alaska at 20 miles an hour and one is coming from Minnesota at 40 miles per hour....uhh, the answer is....green??

My point is, give us "outsiders" a chance--after all, we (and by this I mean, all humans) each and every one of us have a bit of something eccentric about us--and we might just surprise you in a good way. In the meantime, there also shouldn't be a worry about being boxed in, either, because the box is YOURS.
Own The Box.

Vagabond Chronicles 4: Tales of an Urban Milk-Maid

2012-01-06T07:11:00.000-08:00

Your favorite wild-haired city slicker, on the business end of a milk goat. Yes, trouble's a'brewing, folks!
Photo by Marcy Grant

It's the first time, in a long time, that I was up before the sun. And I wasn't a bit tired--nope, not me. Instead, I was as excited as a mutt whose masters have just walked through the door. Energy coursed through my veins as I hustled to get myself showered, brushed up, and out the door. Why, oh why should a city girl be excited to be up and about at some obscene time, in the middle of the rural South? Because I was going to a farm, of course.

Funny how simple roads diverge into totally unexpected places, how journeys can become wild, unexpected, and surprising expeditions, if only we open ourselves to the opportunities. I had already been presently surprised--blessed--to be able to go home to my parents for a whole month, and then luckier still to be able to finally, amazingly, learn a LOT about horses. So when one of my horse (and mule!) riding friends introduced me to Marcy Grant..well, I was getting myself into a different heap o' trouble all together.

See, Marcy and her husband Bob have a 40 acre farm, only 5 minutes away from my trainer, Mister Pete's horse farm. A horse farm less than five minutes from a working farm sounded like Divine Providence to me!

The farm, indeed, was a sprawling, rambling thing, a huge amount of production and ingenuity realized in just three years. There was tons of fencing and housing for what seemed like an endless amount of goats and, even better, baby goats. There were chickens, big and small, easily underfoot. There were even guinea hens, that seemed panicky, shouting their "buck-WHEATS" all the while. There was Lucy, the stunning black Percheron, gazing adoringly at Marcy, and lazily at me. There was Buttercup, the hilariously funny, if bossy, Jersey cow, that seemed annoyed when I petted her head, and who manhandled her way past the goats to get to the best bits of grain.

There were also tons of innovations on the Grant's farm, not least of all growing PINEAPPLES and bananas in their large and well built greenhouse. That building also held their Tilapia operation, a feat of environmental engineering that allowed them to heat these fish (originally hailing from South Africa) all year round. It was interesting to learn about the water recycling, food and space requirements that made it possible to raise, and potentially sell, these fish, and I remembered that this model was now used in urban farming as part of aquaculture and hydroponics.

Inside, Marcy was also a marvel at sustainability in the kitchen: her blueberries and tangerines went into her jams and marmalades, and her goats provided the milk for her chevre cheeses and yogurts. She was also one mean baker; I ended up with some some serious sweets that would ruin my figure for sure, and it didn't help that she handed me jars of jams and a container of cheese. Who Nelly, a feast made by humble hands, and no preservatives, to boot!

I was glad to be able to ask Marcy some questions about animal feeding and care while I was there, and exchange information about various techniques in urban/rural farming. I have to admit, it was both thrilling and strange to be able to talk to someone and get the same thrilled response back, instead of blank stares and open mouths. Yeah, city folks usually aren't as enthusiastic, on the whole, talking about goat breeding and milking, or horse shoeing. I still have hope for them though...

Best of all, there was plenty of animal snuggling and learning. There was the requisite and obvious scheming on my part in regards to stealing every baby animal in the joint. Two particularly cute SPOTTED Nubian kids that I was bottle feeding were the best candidates for stealing, and folding into my suitcase, but I realized it would be hard to get them past the TSA on my plane trip back to the city. Curses, foiled again!
They were still cute enough to bottle feed though....see the super-cuteness here:

My shining moment, however, was DEFINITELY when I learned to milk one of Marcy's goats. Her goats, like most caprines, were intelligent and inquisitive, and also very patient with me. The poor doe that would be used in my milking instruction did very well while I did all the wrong things with her sensitive body parts. I'm sure she would have laughed--if she could--along with everyone else when I ended up squirting milk everywhere but IN the milking pot! In other words, it was another typical session of teaching a rank urbanite how to milk. I will say I DID finally manage to get the hang (literally and figuratively!) of milking, but it ain't for the faint of heart, Sweethearts!

To top it off, my super-duper friend Kira got it all on film so--cross your fingers--we might have an adventurous episode or two up for you soon!
A big thanks to Kira, Marcy and Bob for a fun day of frolic on the farm. Would I get up that early again for more farming? You betcha!

Vagabond Chronicles 3: Human-Training

2012-01-04T07:44:00.000-08:00

Charley, my trainer, and Billy, her son, flanked by their cattle dog and Princess, the Amazing Wonder-Mini Horse!

If you've been hanging around here long enough, you might know that amongst the hyphenated laundry list of things I've done, animals have played a large part of my life. And after working with them for more than half my life, I know this much is true: you don't train animals, they train you.

It's no different with horses. The workings of a horse are formed over centuries of evolution, their thoughts trump ours by ages. While all of this would sound grandiose, you'd chuckle to know that a dainty munchkin sized horse would be my wizened teacher.

As I mentioned before in THIS POST, I had the luck of finding a local horse training couple on my holiday visit with my parents in Florida. On their rural piece of heaven, they catered to a small bevvy of horses, and horse-lovers, and between them, Mr. Pete and his wife Charley had about half a century of horse experience. Yep, these were the folks to go to for just about everything equine. It helped that they had their own particular Southern charm; it had been awhile since I've seen a couple comfortable and quaint enough to call each other "Mama" and "Papa," but I loved watching them talk to each other, and me, in their Ante Bellum way.

Young colts on Mr. Pete's Farm...

Princess was the miniature pony who would guide me past the difficulties of harnessing equipment, driving lines, horse etiquette, and much more. I quickly learned that driving a horse is a bit more complex than driving a car. While I understood that these were intelligent creatures, it never occurred to me that even a wee horse could be wily enough to bob and weave; this definitely was not about auto-piloting in a straight line. Princess was as all creatures tend to be: she had her own mind and will, and despite ten years of driving training, this half pint horse needed my full attention each time we drove.

Our second lesson involved Charley first guiding me through the long and specific way to put on the seemingly endless coiling leviathan of the harness tack, and then hopping onto the two wheeled forecart to teach me the proper way to maneuver the lines so that Princess would know where to go. Even the slightest twist of the wrist would communicate to our little heroine whether she should go straight or turn, when to go quickly or slow to a walk.

While that in itself was a skill, this lesson also involved a few extra insights into controlling the horse's fears (Charley's term for this: "boogering") and unwillingness ("buffaloing") to pull in particular patches of our driving. Princess's particular fears were apparent as we trotted down the quiet street from the horse farm. A few feet down, one of the neighbors had two loud barking dogs blazing through their front lawn. It's probably common sense that excitable dogs can spook a horse (or any other creature, for that matter), and even a fool could sense the stilting gait that our little driver took on as we rounded the neighbor's yard. Charley expertly guided me on techniques on how to tackle the issue and at one point, true to her instruction, she hopped out of the cart, grabbed the horse's head-stall, and led her past those angry mutts, as horses must be paraded past their worst monsters in order to eventually realize that they are something to be ignored.

On the other side of the barking menaces, there was Casper, the paint horse that used to belong Mr. Pete and Charlie. While Princess was acquainted with the young colt, she was not familiar with him, so Charley turned the cart to the opposite side, so that the two could sniff each other, a delicate process. Other obstacles involved the llama at the farm at the opposite end of the road (the horses "boogered" at llamas, which they seem to dislike), and the weird smell of "dead animal" somewhere along the middle of the road. Charley was a great teacher, and quite entertaining, to boot.

I think that I did relatively well with the sudden and new onslaught of information, and it was most definitely an interesting outing. I wasn't ignorant enough to think I was done with lessons---not by a long shot-- and I had planned a follow up to this one. I was, however, pretty proud: had conquered my own worries about my horsemanship and hey, even though I had mastered this work with a teensy horse, it was still a horse, right?

So imagine what fun it was when one of my old-time dance friends, who lived near Mr. Pete's, showed up on her mule, along with a few horse riding friends. Yes, they had RIDDEN there, along the streets, and there was a strange, old-time feeling about their surprise journey. There aren't too many people in my neck of the woods who could say they've used that particular mode of transportation--hooved mounts don't do well on heavy concrete.

Along with Kira was Marcie, a woman farmer who lived about 5 minutes in the opposite direction of Mr. Pete's place. Kira had her come along so I could meet her; her 40 acre farm was on it's way to self sufficiency. It had milk goats, a cow, a greenhouse that housed tilapia, blueberries, tangerine trees, and much more. Best of all, she showed up with her riding Percheron Mare--a draft horse!

Here is Marcy...and her horse Lucy!

Better yet, I'd be visiting Marcy's place...and milking goats!
But that, Friends, is the next tale on the journey!

The Year In Pictures

2012-01-02T04:40:00.000-08:00

Maybe you're like me, ready to climb that mountain and plant the flag stamped "2012" at the very top. As with every human journey, it's a long and sometimes treacherous path we all climb, but the scenic route is the best part.

Last week, a friend of mine asked why I decided to do a horse and wagon tour, of all things. Without hesitation, I said "because I can." I realized later, this probably sounded very flippant. Truth is, it came from a place of gratitude: I had my health, the ability to dream, and either a lack of fear, or just enough stupidity to do this thing. I'd like to think I'd learned that life was short enough to lose just enough fear and embrace just enough chutzpah to follow a dream of mine. If this sounds schmaltzy or crazy to you, you might be right. I figure the worst that could happen is that these plans won't work. But the journey so far has been interesting.

Here's the scenic route from 2011:

Bringing It On

2011-12-30T07:54:00.000-08:00

Polly the Pyranees wishes everyone a Happy New Year!

There are stories to be told, those of horse riding, goat milking, horse shoeing, new farm friends, and other general mayhem. But time travels too fast around here, and we all stand on the edge of another new year.

Away from this quiet place, amidst family and furry friends, the world rumbles. My other home lies in the urban jungle, the original “occupy” site, a place both glorious and desperate. Returning there holds so much uncertainty, as does so much else in the world. What does the New Year hold for all of us, humans sometimes destructive but always so fragile, and capable of so much goodness? And where do I fit into all of it?

This past year has been topsy-turvy: I’ve gotten engaged, had my art and beekeeping work published, run myself ragged at a crazy New York job, became the ultimate worker bee(keeper), gone to Iowa (twice!) to teach beekeeping and to learn a lot more, gone to upstate New York, and created the potential for a farming life and job. Of course, there were horse training lessons and other equine moments. It’s been a tumultuous and exciting time….

I think of these sorts of things often, and my place in this rodeo ride called life. If I were to listen to Mama’s idea of Life, her box of chocolates involves examining your purpose on the planet. Using this map, I hope to continue on this little path I’m already on: art, animals, and adventure always seem to trump all other issues and problems and hey, they keep things interesting.

There are things in this next year that are certain: There is a wedding to plan. There are new jobs to (hopefully) get. There might even be a move out of the city. I also realize this: I love this little horse-drawn-vagabond project and I hope to at least have these adventures documented and online once a month. Cross your fingers, folks, as we are slowly but surely getting the filming together!

Beyond this, there are the requisite dieting resolutions, but there are also plans to help people and animals, increasing self-sustainability skills, and upping the ante on ideas of farming. Hopefully somewhere in there I’ll FINALLY learn to properly knit, and play the violin--err, fiddle. I know it won't save the world, but with a little luck, it might add some sunshine to a small corner of the world, the four walls of the life I call home.

Amidst it all, there are good wishes for current and future friends. My your own path lead you to contentment and dreams fulfilled. I have been blessed to know creative, imaginative, determined and ingenious people.

What are your New Year's wishes? How will you be bringing it in and bring it on?

Keep up your great works and above all….

SHINE ON YOU CRAZY DIAMONDS!

Dream All You Dreamers

2011-12-23T18:12:00.000-08:00

This post is part of The Renegade Farmer Farmhouse Fridays.

See more Farmhouse Fridays HERE

It's not snowing here, but walking a large snow dog around a neighborhood festooned with bright holiday lights and smelling chimney smoke, there is nothing but nostalgic Christmas here.

There is a certain kind of magic at our house, though there won't be any presents given. Instead the gifts are in the humans and animals around here. What gifts are in your life?

This post is for my parents...people from far away, countries that have seen too much strife. My parents are from that Great Generation, who never lived privileged, went through wars and famine, and were still successful beyond their dreams. Every time I think I should throw in the towel, I realize how trivial my problems are: my parents really are the type who could walk through a blizzard for 20 miles with no shoes, and not complain. I could only hope that any part of my life is something to make them proud of.

This post is for my sister, my great friend and conspirator. Which would be hilarious because we are the most diametrically opposed two siblings you'd ever meet. She is clearly the more sensible and practical sister, which I am grateful for, because SOMEONE needs to root this crazy balloon adventure of a sister down! She was always the shy one while I was the one going out on a limb but for some reason, hair pulling level craziness was never achieved between us.

Speaking of which, how did I get so lucky to find a guy who looked at this circus caravan of my life and STILL MANAGED to hang on for dear life. While that might be hyperbole to some degree, I don't know many people who wake up to beekeeping and drawing one day, massive housecleaning, hormones, chocolate on another, and film making and dance on yet another day, and find ANY of this normal.
The Sweetheart in my life looked at this and though "let's give it a shot." Every time I've turned around he's been there, helping me, and wanted me to succeed. I will say he has but one flaw: he's stolen...my heart.

Stealing hearts also belonged to the many pets in my life. To those sweet, kind and whip-smart animals, past and present, I wish love and peace. They have taught me so much, brought so much grace and laughter and more. What would life be without animals, wild, domestic, dramatic or friendly? We are blessed by the Universe for such amazing diversity amongst ourselves.

And this post is for you, dear friends. To ALL of you, creative, funny, amazing folk who are following your own amazing paths. Whether you have encouraged me or even if we have disagreed with me at times, I appreciate all of your challenges, your good wishes and your comraderie. And for those who have been so kind as to buy my little handmade creations or honey...you are simply a blessing! My thanks to you is HERE, but I have no problem saying THANK YOU and I AM AMAZED by your patronage and support of those things I love doing. You are helping my little dreams come true, and I hope your dreams come true, too!

And here's to wishing you a Magical Winter Season and Blessed Holidays full of warmth and wisdom.
As always ~Dream All You Dreamers~

Vagabond Chronicles 2: The Cart AFTER the Horse.....

2011-12-22T10:34:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the biggest dreams come in the smallest packages. This might be true on many levels in this next story.

I have been outwitted by a small horse, one no taller than my waist. And I loved every minute of it. This was part of a small dream, one that doesn't involve awards, accolades, large sums of money, power, or any of the other trappings that people talk about in grandiose terms, when talking big dreams. This isn't walking on the moon, Folks. Nope. This past Friday I FINALLY got to properly drive a horse and cart.

This little dream began a few months and miles away from this Southern locale in Christmas; my Long Island friends Kat and Alyse started this journey by teaching me ground rules and training with horses early this year. I learned ground driving and riding, and longed for more.

Now, I would continue this love affair in a small Florida town with Mr. Pete and his wife, Charley---two dramatically different counterparts to my young city female trainers--so appropriately Southern that it didn't occur to me to use anything other than "Mister" in front of Pete Mack's name, and call Charley anything other than "ma'am."

Mr. Pete was one of those old-fashioned codgers who "talked plain" and "told it straight", an older gentleman who embodied the old South. He was a bit gruff around the edges, with tons of stories about farming, rodeo-ing, and Southern gossip. He'd spent 40 years breaking horses--or rather, having horses break him, literally: he's already broken on leg in five places when a horse fell on him, and when I went to my first lesson, he'd broken that same leg again. Unbelievably, he neither told me he broken the leg, or went to the hospital. And as much as I'd insisted he should go, he refused, saying he "did this all the time" and saying he wanted to meet me. He and his wife had wrapped the leg heavily, saying the doctor wouldn't see him until Monday, anyhow. I was shocked that he didn't seem in pain at all, though he did have Charley, also an experienced horse person for 15 years, lead me through the day's lesson at their farm, a place that housed 10 horses of various sizes, breeds, and colors.

That lesson involved a munchkin horse with a big heart, who taught very big lessons. One could chuckle at her name (Princess) and her small stature (she was a larger sized miniature horse), but boy, was she a handful--not because she was ill-behaved, but due to my lack of experience.

After we brought around the pony to the area where we would dress her for driving, Charley instructed me to groom her down in order to make sure my little charge had no burrs or other items in her coat that might irritate her once all of her trappings were on her. In this way we would avoid any possible spooking should something stick or sting her while driving. This seemed simple enough.

Not so simple, however: checking the feet for stones or other objects. I was given a hoof pick and instructed on how to lift the little horse's legs. Mind you, this pony was maybe 13 hands--her hooves were easy to lift and fit comfortably in my hands. The problem was yours truly--this was my first time actually working with horses feet and I was ackward with it. Princess was good natured about it and gently would sidestep my efforts until I perfected holding each hoof and gently using the pick to remove dirt from each of them, checking for stones and debris.

After this was done, Charley fetched the driving equipment. These were a touchstone for me: I had long been fascinated and frustrated with what seemed like a jumble of lines, fasteners, clips and strips, with no idea of how to make sense of any of it. After a few long moments of slowly applying the harnessing, I can now tell you how to apply the bit, blinders, driving reins, and breast plate, though I will need a few more lessons before I'm comfortable with all the bells and whistles on driving gear.

Once we had attached a two-wheeled forecart to the harness gear, the second part of the adventure began. Charley and I hopped into the cart, where Charley showed me how to hold the lines for the best control. After an initially driving, Charley handed the whole thing over to me. We had gone to the front of their property, a grassy section along their quiet road. I quickly had to learn to adjust the tension and turn as Princess tended to weave instead of consistently staying in a straight line. I also learned how to trot Princess and turn right and left....

Yeah, speaking about that. Turning isn't as easy as it seems. I'm sure I've committed one of many a common student mistake by turning too sharply. This manifested itself in my first attempt in turning right: as we passed a tree... Charley instructed me to turn right, and pass onto the pathway home. I did, but had done it so tightly that we ran right over the tree's overgrown roots, nearly toppling us! I can't help but think that Princess might be laughing at the silly, wild-haired human in the back.

Hey, but there's credit in regaining the situation, right? I managed to whoa the jostled horse and calm the more jostled passengers, and then continued on and driven us back to our original spot, meeting up with Mr. Pete, who was still seated on the porch, broken leg and all, waiting for us. His verdict, after Charley told him about our escapades: "you're alright, but you need more schooling." I couldn't agree more, and was excited for another lesson, which is scheduled in a week.

We unhitched the horse and led her back to the pasture. She was a sweet good-natured horse, a kind a patient teacher. She had a mischievous side, of course, as equines are wont to do, but she was doing a great job teaching this foolish two-legged a thing about horse sense.

I walked away from my first horse-driving lesson with a smile on my face and more knowledge than I knew what to do with....but this much I knew: never underestimate a pint sized horse.
Like all horses, they have huge hearts and, whether they know it or not, they teach people both big and little things, horsemanship being just the beginning..

New Flash!

2011-12-16T06:34:00.000-08:00

This post is part of The Renegade Farmer's Farmhouse Friday.

Lucky Day!

A friend of the family has just referred me to a local horseman who teaches riding AND driving. I'll be going out to him today. Mr. Pete is an old time horseman with eleven horses on his property. I am off to see him about a smart pony and carriage situation and to see if I can figure out how to master it.

Wish me luck. Mr. Pete is old-fashioned and I have no idea how this hippie-haired girl is going to make out...but I'm excited!

More soon!

An Ordinary Day

2011-12-14T06:15:00.000-08:00

It's 80 degrees Fahrenheit. In December. In Florida, of course. It's an ordinary day, as simple and stunning as the others.

I have traversed the East coast, from North to South, for this holiday story. This is a tale as simple as a Wintertide visit to my parents, but it also involves rediscovering so much more.

In this place there is much to see an do. There are the bygone Christmas gestures, probably made more authentic in purpose because this year, we will not be giving any gifts. This is an extension of last year's pledge, at least on my end as the creative daughter, to hand-make all of the presents. With a little prep-work and planning, that little dream did come true. However, what's become clear this year that we simply don't need gifts and, in fact, we have a surplus of goods at our house; my BLOG SALE (they are here and here) is not only one little way for me to fund the farm-and-horse-and-wag

Save Now

on-tour, but one way to help clear the house of "too much of a good thing."

Even without the holiday gift hustling, there is still frenetic energy here, as I've extended my art making to the yearly to do list.

These two go off to visit a publisher:

The Owl and The Pussy-Cat, in wood....

Springtime Art Doll Rabbit....

And this wood burned spoon is the very last creation of the year, and will be up for sale tomorrow:

Does it seem strange that I'm a bit melancholy over the finishing of this last piece of the year? I do enjoy creating these humble art pieces, but this self-imposed deadline will allow me to actually enjoy the holidays in their present moments. This means a high mix of emotions.....

There is sublime splendor, with a certain bit of poignancy. Every year I return, I am awed at how my parents--the giants who took care of me with strong hands--seem more and more impossibly frail. Even now, there is something sobering in dealing with these wizened people in their third act, and realizing we all, young, are destined to follow in the slow footsteps towards elderliness. It is precious, this holiday, a time to hold the flesh-and-blood people who may simply become a memory at any moment.

There is unyeilding kindness, which I think has been rattled out of the world, lately. Call me an idealist, but so much seems rough 'round the edges, the ethics and ethos of people are...well, I don't know, but I find it startling when even Christmas has become controversial.

In this house Christmas and in fact, every day, revolves around and involves much of the world. Our family tree has some long and interesting roots, folks. You can traverse various continents, histories, and stories along them. That long gypsy path meant that somewhere, some one--or many--had to overlook differences in culture, language and customs, and learn to love and work with other people.

Christmas here is no different. Our nostalgia embraces many religions and traditions, the Olde European, the Pagan, Christian, Jewish and "folken" ways. All of them seem as legitimate as the next.

We bake highly sugared foods that my mother and her mother have baked, recipes with a hundred year European pedigree. We watch Christmas fare on television, play old Nat King Cole Christmas tunes. The Christmas tree has been festooned with heirloom ornaments. We will celebrate the season as we have always celebrated; my mother, raised amongst her Roman Catholic brethren, will watch Midnight Mass and we will join her, we will say "Happy Chanukkah" to our Jewish friends, and attend Kwanzaa celebration with our friends who celebrate that fine holiday. We will sing old fashioned carols too loud, and most probably out of pitch. We will help my mother clean the forever dusty house, herding dust bunnies to the best of our abilities. We will go across the street, to the little forest there, and try to procure a Yule log. We will eat and laugh too much. You see, Christmas is for everyone, everywhere, and about many holidays, many traditions, many beliefs, from it's old Pagan Yule,past, to it's German Christmas tree origins, to it's modern versions. As practiced in kindeness, I feel in my heart it is all right....and it is alright.

Somewhere in there, I will find some time aboard a large, kind horse and I will learn to ride in style. I've already sent out a few ads, but I am sad to say not lots of folks are biting: one stable even mentioned they stopped teaching lessons because, due to the economy, most of their students had to give up their horses, and it made no financial sense to continue training when no one was requesting it.

But all is not lost. In the meantime, I'm taking this big fuzzball--Polly, the adopted Pyranees--out on our ritual walks.

She's one of a long line of rescued beauties in our household, and she is walked around our Southern family neighborhood, when either my sister and I are home. We walk past staid houses and manicured lawns. But turn the corner and we pass a pond filled with ducks...a large open field with golden scrubby fauna and then...off to the right, you'll hear it: the lowing of a cow behind a large wood fence, and the wonky sound of a young rooster trying out his new grown up voice. Somewhere, only two blocks away, someone has a mini-farm. I laugh. This definitely ain't New York City, folks. I dream of my own farms, and what amazing things will happen behind fences, fences opened for people and animals, near and far...

It is the magic of my every day, an Ordinary Day....

Leaving On A Jet Plane....

2011-12-05T07:44:00.000-08:00

By the time you read this, I will be gone.

Yes, I'll be launched into the air on some might steel steed with wings, propelling forward to Florida for a month of family holidaying the likes of which I probably haven't known since childhood. Honestly, I can't remember the last time I've been home for an entire 30 days and nights, and I don't know whether to be afraid, or excited.

Knowing Mama, she will make it as old-fashioned as possible, so I'm not quite unnerved. It's actually the "after" part that I dread. There is a whole lot up in the air, I am changing jobs, probably changing addresses and who-knows-what. Again, I don't know whether to be excited, or scared.

In the interim, the Horse Drawn Project, along with so much, moves forward:

I will be having a BLOG sale HERE which includes a bunch of handmade goodies AND old-time goodies that I've been collecting for YEARS. Hop on by DECEMBER 8th for some great items at good prices.

You can also support my little crazy life and ideas by buying from my little Etsy Shoppe. Lots of old fashioned hand made magical items are always looking for good homes...(such as the fellow in the pic at the top of this post).

And, as always, I'll keep you posted on the zany adventures as I fly-by-the-seat of my pants!

Happy Holidays!

It's All On Film!

2011-12-02T07:17:00.000-08:00

I should probably ask for a drum roll, please...

So I mentioned in yesterday's post about the "secret sauce" and this little enigma of mine. You may remember, waaaay back when---which seems archaic now, but was probably a couple of weeks ago---that I was still moving forward with the horse drawn wagon tour, and that I wasn't sure whether to document it or not...

Turns out, I'd sort of been doing it the whole time--the documenting, that is. For some time, I'd been recording my little NON-horseless tour, and all my efforts in prepping for it, for fun and for posterity, sort of like the grandparents pulling out their '85 slideshow pics of the big Vacation in Cancun.

Once I got to downloading it all, a few folks mentioned that it sort of worked with what I was already doing. Add in a mix of a few bits of my already crazy city extra curricular activities and....

Well...you tell me...since I've finally decided to take the plunge..

HERE, now, is the official BEYOND VAGABOND TRAILER (which also kickstarts our actual little project!)

What does this mean? I'm still not 100% sure of the logistics, but I know the next step is selling a few things both to help with moving next year, and generate a few greenbacks in my pocket.

So stay tuned HERE on December 8th as I offer up some interesting things in a BLOG SALE!

The Secret's in The Sauce...

2011-12-01T06:20:00.000-08:00

Home: Where the Heart Is...

Whoa, Nelly!

A week ago, I regaled you with notions that I had a super-duper secret to share with you and that--wonder of wonders--I would do this within days. Of course, knocking on wood would have been the smart choice at that time and, of course, I conveniently forgot to do that very thing...and THAT, I'm sure, led to any number of small misfortunes.... which in turn has made me VERY late in showing you my secret little surprise.

In other words: curses, foiled again!

HOWEVER, I am putting the finishing touches on my little secret, and so PLEASE DO tune in tomorrow...as the secret in the sauce recipe for this little adventure will soon come to light!

In the meantime, how are you preparing for Winter? Here, the Fidgety Season begins, as any number of indoor projects are lined up, the bees on our rooftop are finally wrapped up snuggly against the colder temperatures, art is made, finished and happily sold for the holidays, and the trip to my family's home is finally made. However, it's a matter of pacing, chomping at the bit, to get to the good parts of this frosty season's adventures.

I am looking forward to seriously wild times at my parents' abode--insane things like: learning to knit, helping my mother with our traditional pastry cooking, singing, (finally) learning to play the violin properly (or rather, IMproperly, as I'm actually trying to fiddle), more art, walking the family's Pyranees, sitting and telling stories and--heaven help us!---sleeping in. Maybe even past noon. Yes, someone seriously needs to call the cops on me. I am clearly going to be trouble this holiday season!

From there, hopefully there is news that will lead to big changes. Plans of weddings, houses, and crazy dreams of owning a bit of Earth and cultivating it. Shockingly, there might even be things grown and then EATEN there, animals friends brought, old-time skills learned, and maybe even events that involve friends and friends not yet met. As I said, I'm a fallen woman...I have high-falutin' plans, yes indeedy...apparently, I've eaten too much secret sauce!

See me tomorrow, and you will know more about the secret, too!

A Cupful of Grace...

2011-11-25T11:40:00.000-08:00

I sit here, the Morning After, carrying a food hangover and memories of simple and happy revelries....

That is Thanksgiving here this year, a spectacular show of the everyday and a time to reflect. For the past few years, the Sweetheart and I have been honored and humbled to be invited to homes of friends, but this year we were on our own. I have to laugh and shake my head good-naturedly at the folks who hinted that it was a shame we weren't going somewhere, as if it were a pitiful thing that us two were "roughing it" alone.That somehow, a holiday like Thanksgiving was only appropriately observed amongst huge crowds of people sitting together at the dinner table.

Of course we missed our families, but who could lament that their favorite person in the whole world was sharing a fine feast? Being "stuck" with a guy who holds your hand and helps you clean AND cooks for the holidays? Sign me up!

And a feast it was! First the Sweetheart cooked homemade mac'n'cheese and collard greens, and then I cooked two quiches--spinach, and veggie with garden grown dill--and then baked sweet potato wedges. We finished out the meal with homemade pumpkin cheesecake and apple cider, both made from local farms, and picked up at our farmer's market.

In between good food was good conversation--we lived like kings! Who sits in warm houses with this amount of starch, sugar, good ingredients? Who makes phone calls, on satellite powered phones, to their families to wish them Thanksgiving cheer? The founding members of that first Thanksgiving feast would have never dreamed this sort of luxurious wildness in all their lives!

Beyond that, there is a great time to reflect. It's a farmer's harvest, and every year, this urban farmer takes stock of things to be finished, and those things yet on the horizon.

Right now, I can happily report that the honey harvest of this year is officially over. I literally have one ruddy jar left of all the liquid gold made from 7 hives. That's 45 frames, folks. And ALL hand harvested! Which means a good portion of my Spring and Summer was figuratively, and literally, sticky. I wonder what my beekeeping grandfather would say, at a time like this, but it sure feels mighty fine to close the circle on family history and continue this strange trip amongst my fine apiarist lineage.

Our little city garden? Other than a few random herbs, the whole thing was shot, from the get-go. I'll let you find out why by reading more HERE.

The city job is narrowing down. This is a bit of a concern, but as I've mentioned before, there are other leads happening. And, of course, I'm a bit worried, since I now have to lean a bit more on the success of this my little artistic venture. I will say, people have been either kind, receptive, or crazy in regards to these little bits of cloth, wood and paint that come together as ornaments, toys, signs and what-nots.

In the meantime, this leaves more room for art making, and this makes me heart-happy. I have lately hightailed myself into a frenzy, making new things as ideas inspire me, and have moved in spirited style, hoping to finish a few things for those looking for enchanted things for the holidays. Here are a few looking for good homes....

SNOW OWL

MOON OWL

THE POLAR(BEAR) EXPRESS

STARCATCHER

And More...are HERE

I guess this might be a good time to also mention that I'll be having a sale later today (FRIDAY) and then again on Monday and Tuesday, on both the Etsy Shoppe and The Blog, so if you are interested in these, please visit these throughout the weekend, as there are surprises planned along the way....

Speaking of surprises--join me here on Monday, as this place is hoppin' with a bit of news to share!

And whilst still on the theme of surprises--this could also be the same theme of the next few months. I don't know what unplanned amazement will step out before me, and that idea is bewildering and beguiling. I've not a clue where or what our new jobs will lead us to, when we're moving out of the city, if it's truly all happening, or whether there's too much wishful thinking on my part.

There's also a wedding to plan, this horse-drawn thing I keep harping on, and it all kicks off by visiting my family for an entire Christmas. At the very least, I plan on teaching myself knitting and horseback riding in December. Crazy? Maybe. Simple? Most likely. Yes, it's all up in the air, but maybe the plan's so crazy, it just might work.

What I do know is that this grand cup of mine overflows. Heck, I'm not even sure of the flavor I'm drinking, but it is definitely an elixir of some sort. The Fall flows into Winter, a Cupful Of Grace....

It Keeps On Coming...

2011-11-22T07:19:00.000-08:00

Kansas Field, 2009
The World is Wild and Wonderous

Life, it keeps on coming.

This post was meant to head in another direction entirely, but sometimes you get stopped cold. There was a planned special video to show you, and that still will happen, but right now, there's clearly a punched-in-the-gut thing happening, the type of thing that happens when Life calls your attention.

Two days ago, a woman that I knew died, horribly, tragically, in a car accident. She was 36. To be fair, this is the type of thing that happens every day, but it's not an every day thing. What's worse, is she was like "so many others," a remnant of a past I'd sort of moved past...and then just like that, as the news of her passing spread online, there I was, facing every level of sadness and questioning about The Meaning Of Life.

Mind you, I already question the Meaning of Life on a daily basis. These questions might include: Am I on the right track? Am I being authentic? Am I being good and fair? And of course: Are there cookies involved? And yes, I am joking, but right now a little humor might be needed, don't you think?

But still--the sudden, and shocking events of the past weekend are just another reminder of how how very thin this web of life is. Heck, I know some eighty-year olds who've said that life was darn short; a minute ago they were 20 years old and making moony eyes at some girl and then next thing you know, they have ten grand-kids and can't get out of bed because of arthritis....

But neither here nor there...

My point here is, don't wait for your life to happen. It already is. Don't let things pass you by because you are afraid, because it requires a little work or research. You are good enough that you deserve to try to make as much of the life you envision happen for you.

People either ask me why, or assume, my life is crazy. Non-traditional. Unpredictable. And I say: yes, yes, and yes. Unapologetically yes. And I'm not saying you need to go way out on a limb, but I'm constantly stunned at how many people put up with so much that makes them so miserable, and then complain about how miserable they are--those who CRY before going to horrible jobs, tolerate abusive and dangerous relationships, YEARN to break out of their boxes, but never do it because of some feared judgement from friends, family, or even themselves.

Which I suppose brings me to the flip-side of the coin: at those times in life when you can't get what you want, want what you get. The phrase is oft-spoken, but true. Life is a twisted, coiling thing, not easily tamed by the map in your mind's eye....or perhaps it goes exactly as planned, and one need only make sense of it, hold what pieces they have in their hands, and build something more beautiful and useful with it. Trust me on this...right now, I'm supposed to be a stage actress, with Tony awards on every shelf, which is what my ten-year-old self dreamed of. Ten years later, I was supposed to be a veterinarian. Right now, I'm supposed to be taking the 500 skills I picked up along this journey, and put them to use on a horse drawn wagon trip, or a farm.

Am I unhappy I didn't get to those earlier desired places? I won't lie: sometimes I wonder if I could have done those things, but I am happy where I am. This does not mean Life is a bowl of cherries; it's as easy and as hard as anything else, but there is immense gratitude. I have more than most folks in the world and even many folks in this country. I am a healthy person, who has the ability to live out the most colorful ideas, and with a small art career, to boot. I have many friends and people who love me (on purpose, even!) and if I stop and think of people who have half of their family members savaged by war or disease, then that is a humbling thought, indeed.

Yes, I suppose there is a Thanksgiving tie-in, here, but shouldn't every day be Thanksgiving? Shouldn't we value ourselves as precious gifts with the ability to extol that same awareness of how fleeting, rare, and amazing every single day is? Yes, I know, not every day can be a celebration, but it's a scary, funny, frustrating, amazing treasure that's here for the taking...if you keep on coming...

In Between Farms

2011-11-18T07:14:00.000-08:00

Kansas farm sunset 2009

*Please note: this post is part of The Renegade Farmer's Farmhouse Fridays. You can find more information HERE.*

I am in that place again. Holding my breath. In between too much and too little happening

As a result there is much exhaustion and excitement. At the foreground, it all seems simple: city girl moves to country and starts crazy caravan dream. But in the background, there is a quiet saga going on.

At the moment, there is a perplexingly simple juxtaposition happening: The city, this crazy leviathan that the
Sweetheart and I call home, has managed to squeeze every penny (and much of our enthusiasm) out of us. The obstacle course of multiple jobs, bills, too many people, too little money, and never enough time has accrued to a sort of breaking point.

Conversely, too many interesting, albeit uncertain, things are coming up--wedding, horse projects, new jobs, and The Farm.

The Farm is the main thing. Somewhere on a mountaintop are two very kind people who want us to work with them on a farm. This farm is a small culmination of large dreams. I think I wrongly place too much importance on our salvation via this acreage, but I can say I do dream of growing our own food, making our own food, and leaving dependence from so many money barons in the crazy city we are in. Yes, I will shout about self sufficiency through bugles, mountain-tops, and on this blog, but who can blame a girl if she wants to breathe a bit easier by taking care of herself as fully and independently as possible?

Here, the small and highly detailed dreams persist: heirloom plants growing, heritage livestock, two fine horses and maybe even a hammock to swing from, and a pond with fish and colorful flowers.....

The problem right now, though? Because so much GOOD is happening with my friends' company, they are having to regroup and refigure what to do....so I guess the worry for me is, after my December month with my parents, I'm not sure what January holds. Now, it's about hoping against hope that all our schedules line up. Because after January, I plan to have fully changed paths from this New York City life.

I know, somewhere in my heart this will happen, but it all seems frozen with too-much-and-too-little gridlock. And how does a girl keep planning her horse adventure extravaganza when Life throws up it's little road block? You know, other than with cookies and a few old timey mountain music on the CD?

So cross your fingers for me. The world right now, in my eyes, is hopeful when it lives on a farm. That is where I am most at home, this much I know. With each trip away from New York, into the golden worlds of Iowa, or the ever-greened world of upstate New York---or any acreaged world-- it's always about the farm.

And sometimes that's how I feel: I hold my breath, in between too much and too little happening. In between farms.

The Rookie

2011-11-17T08:10:00.000-08:00

Well, this is a fine mess I've gotten myself into, this horse business. But the more I know of it, the more I fall in love with it. Some people call this old fashioned, and maybe that's partly why, though they couldn't understand that horses are still used to work today.

Some parts of me creak under these ideas of modernity, though I won't shy away from the hypocracy of this thought process either. You can't REALLY talk about leaving the modern world, and then go and type it on a computer for others to see.

But my problem right now: I'm a rookie. I am fully aware of how raw I am, and I guess that awareness is the first best step in moving forward. Since my last post, I wanted to thank the many of you who stepped up and emailed and commented your advice. Please know that I am intently listening and learning.

And for those of you who put forward the sincere and kind counsel to make sure the animals are well trained, therefore safe and that I am well trained, and also safe, know that I am not taking anything for granted; I've worked too long with animals to ever be able to forgive myself if something happened to the horse or horses. Clearly, they are willing to serve their master, but if I put them smack into this project, it was technically not their choice.

At the same time, I'm pretty green. Right now, the whole notion of this project hitting all seems like some destination perched on the highest point of Mount Kilimanjaro and I don't have a proper map. I mean, I have to sheepishly admit that the top picture represents most of my learning: reading, and more reading, videos and a few horse lessons under my belt. It's tough, living in the city, always busy. Access to appropriate training is the needle in the haystack, at the moment.

The challenging part, at the moment, is finding a local or relatively local driving trainer. And some proper funds for the lessons. They aren't cheap, but I figure definitely worth it since most of the teamsters have spent a lifetime perfecting their knowledge, knowledge of the animals, of equipment not commonly in use. So, there's that, but I'll either be persistent or clever, or lucky(!) and it will somehow get done.

Meanwhile--things are on the move:

*As of now, I am with my parents starting December 5th. Looks like I will be participating in a few horse riding lessons while I'm there.

*Unfortunately, I haven't been able to sniff out a proper area in Northwest Florida that teaches driving. Any ideas are welcomed!

*Right now, I am trying to raise a bit of cash for this expenditure. So, forgive the shameless plug, but feel fre to visit my Etsy Shoppe at any time and know your purchases will go to a direct little stipend I've squirreled away for this particular project, and this project ONLY. And many thanks from one wild haired city girl!

*I've sort of figured, along those same lines, that I'll have a big BLOG sale over on my OTHER SITE, on December 1st.
This is in part to raise money, but also since we're moving in a few months, I need some of those lovely items to find new homes!

Please note that these are my own personal treasures, collected over decades! Expect items from India and the Middle East, vintage and antique items, folk art, and some of my own folk art as well. Plenty of good prices and good deals! Nice stuff in time for the holidays!

So, that's the update so far! Stay tuned TOMORROW as there are more stories to follow!

On The Road...Again...

2011-11-11T07:03:00.000-08:00

**Please note: this post is part of The Renegade Farmer's Farmhouse Festival Fridays.
If you're interested in adding YOUR post to the festival NEXT Friday, CLICK HERE for info****

And so it begins...again.

A couple months ago, I received not one, but two inquiries that politely but pointedly questioned my intentions on this space, a blog that spoke about horse-drawn adventure but did, in fact, have little to show for it. I couldn't blame them; I suppose when you talk about something as far-fetched as traveling around via 19th century transport, and you don't give 'em the goods, the effect is like a butter knife cutting rawhide....

At the same time, I couldn't really answer because...well, I had no answers. I was busy traveling the country via NON-horse drawn wagon methods, which is the best that I could do. And, if I do say so myself, it was an equally magical adventure, sans horse or buggy.

So why post on this NOW? Because I can finally say, I DO have some answers.

You see, while I was telling you about the Mid-West, and regaling you with stories about antique underskirts, bee swarms, art projects and various and sundry mis-adventures on my part, the wheels were still turning. The horse project was never far from my mind and heart, but sometimes the fires have to be stoked a little at a time to keep the flames burning longer.

All this time, when you thought you were reading about a crazy city girl modestly traveling about, you wouldn't know the half of it...there were inquiries, emails, phone calls, and other covert plotting the likes of which have me heading off in a totally new direction...

So now I'll tell the whole of it:

It looks like I will be hitting the road, on a horse, in 2012.

Yes.

And in other interesting developments: the fiance and I might also be moving to Upstate New York to finally take up farming, early next year.

How this whirlwind developed is the subject of another post altogether, I think, but for now...here are the plans:

I will be spending the month of December staying in Florida with my family, and this would be a great time to polish up some basic horse-riding lessons. I plan to continue more art there, and to help with a wonderful Christmas for my aging parents.

From there, if all goes well, we will (finally!) move out of the city that's lately become such a yoke to us, and this is where I hope to continue training in driving horses, and where I pray I can find one or two very brave animals that will take a route through some part of America.

I have contacted THESE FOLKS about an actual covered caravan, which would be rebuilt to accommodate a team of fine equines. IF this all goes without a hitch (so to speak!) I can say that this will possibly go from late Summer to early Winter of next year!

Now..some possible complications:

I have to tentatively say I might use a wagon in this fine operation. The more I research this project, the more I worry that the wagon will make for trickier motility....for all I know, I might just RIDE through the country, as a horse and rider can maneuver in far smaller, narrower, and more harrowing places than a hulking wagon and a slowed-down team.

Which brings me to this---the route will depend on the LEAST DANGEROUS aspects to the horse(s) in question. The safety of the horses is my biggest worry about the whole adventure. If I feel adding a wagon here, and forcing the animals onto unsafe or busy roadways will get them hurt, then there's got to be another option.

If you'd noted on the sheepwagon site on the link above, those things don't come cheap. Granted, there's a reason for the price tag, as I've never seen such amazing craftsmanship. I've got funds tallied up for other the horses or the wagon, but not for both. I've had friends suggest asking for donations but...really? Do people really give to such expenditures?

And a final, random thought: I've had folks suggest this be a documentary. Would people really watch this folly? Does anyone want to come along to film these antics?

So, I don't know. Right now, to be fair, this little post is more of a dreamy confession, or a shaky one. Truth is, I can't know how this thing will turn out. If I can't raise the money, then clearly this thing will go into overtime. I can't know if my skills as a wagoneer will be up to par, or whether I get clever and ditch the wagon, and then off we go! So right now, this is sort of the "rough draft" place, an area where it's easy to put a hope and a goal down on paper, but so crazy to see to reality. There are a whole lot of variables that make this one crazy notion....

I worry that this thing might not happen: at the very least it's a load of an embarrassment, put out for public scrutiny. At worst its a failure for me, who'll probably beat myself up quite a bit about it, as Virgos are wont to do. At the same time, parts of me is also excited about the new world of farming next year, so who knows what the future will bring.

So does anyone have thoughts, ideas, suggestions (I'll take any advice other than "you're crazy." We've long passed that stage by decades!), on the project, or even a horse to sell??

STAY TUNED next week, as there will be more mayhem, and more news..and I'll have stuff to sell to fund the moving/horse adventures!

Intersected...

2011-11-10T07:09:00.000-08:00

Putting up fences, Kansas 2009

I'm a chameleon, they will tell you. The ones who know me well.

Usually, people will discover this love of doing TOO MANY THINGS, and respond with incredulity, even mockery. I don't blame them. I'm not one of those people with one title. I'm not a doctor, a lawyer, a plumber. I don't even know what you might call me...a hoarder of jobs?

I didn't start out this way, my life a circus act, juggling any number of occupations. First, I wanted to be an artist. Then I wanted to be an archeologist (that love of old things dies hard, I tell you!), then a vet (because I love animals), then a performing artist (because I loved theater).

It seemed, for the longest time, the animal and performing art thing won out. My day jobs seem to revolve around animal care, and my "alter ego" revolved around a stage. Then the farming bug kicked in, which lead to any number of things....

Why am I telling you this...well, my intersected life seems to hit fast and furious lately. My farm life, my folk art life, and this world take up a good bit of time...three blogs, one radio show, and not a whole heap of money, but it's never boring around here.

I wanted to mention it also, in the off-chance that any one of you reading this (and I'm making a grand assumption that more than four people actually come here to peruse my crazy ramblings!) might be interested in my other lives?

My farming life--which includes some other great writers--is THE RENEGADE FARMER. There, I thought if people wanted to participate in Farmhouse Fridays, it might be nice to cross promote it here (click the previous red link and it will take you directly to the Farmhouse Friday page). We'll be doing another round of Farmhouse Fridays TOMORROW, so if you are interested, I'd love hearing from you!

My folk art is a natural extension of my mother's European folk tales and fables. Vagabond Creations was always meant to be a magical extension of this site, and there are a few interesting folk art toys, dolls, wood burned items and more. To find out more, you can see HERE

On a final note: while my life seems unconventional, it's nice to know that I'm not alone--I've found other energetic types who seem to take in stride a number of jobs, hobbies, interests, and more. In fact, I suppose you could call my life a sort of ornate farming in that farmers, daily, also have to take on various tasks, roll with the punches, and be able to switch gears at any given moment. I won't say I'm quite there, yet, as my rural counterparts but....

Stay tuned TOMORROW--as you'll see how that will change!

Lost and Found

2011-11-08T07:12:00.000-08:00

A small sample of antiques items I purchased in Iowa.
Clockwise: an old doily, a fingertip towel, an emboidered bun warmer, a large cutwork table cloth, various sugar spoons. Who makes stuff like this anymore?

There are things that I fear are lost. Lost knowledge, a lost way of life.

These are things thrown by the wayside in most "civilized countries," trumped in the name of progress and any number of other reasons. While some of these would be welcomed notions, I don't know that it's makes for an overall better world.

Call me an old-fashioned sort, but there are just some time-worn things that can't be replicated by newer, fancier packaging. There is no spin-doctor who will tell me that plastic stuff will outdo the same thing made in wood or another natural material, that cheaply made foreign goods will beat locally made artisanal objects.

Maybe that is why I love antiques. There's something to be said when underwear 100 years old can still be as pristine and beautiful as when it was first sewn, and on the opposite spectrum, some "made in China" wear won't last past it's one year warranty date. More than anything, there is a part of me who wants to hold onto these beautiful and useful items before they too, are lost in the world of newer manufactured goods.

Worse yet, is the fear of losing old wisdom. Not just the general attitude about life, and its pinnings, but actual knowledge. This blog, this little part of my life, after all, was done in the quest for specific knowledge: a horse drawn life. And yes, while one surprising, if obvious, bit of news is that the project still is in the undertaking (which I will soon make you aware of), the bigger bit of news is that it is THE DOING of the thing that interests me, not the NOVELTY of the doing of the thing.

Don't ask me why this is, but I have loved this sort of learning for a long time. I have been fascinated by the lives of people who came before, as were told by the stories from my parents. Old objects were fascinating for their histories, and for the glimpses into a long gone culture. If nothing else, it was a curious peek into the mores of very specific times: why DID women have to have five-million-layers of clothing, each recalling the owner's proper "ladylike" status? Similarly, why were all grand dining affairs glutted with various and sundry pieces of dinnerware, even dishes to put meat bones on, and tiny plates just for butter pats? And what the heck IS a sewing bird, a horse-hair brush, and a dovetail?

And while these took a little while to figure out, I am endlessly amazed at this wide and colorful look at life. More importantly, I am saddened that this sort of life is fast left for shinier things. And I wonder how well served we are by these things, especially in terms of self-sufficiency, and even the way we treat each other. I suppose even manners are something old-fangled, in some parts.

I think of these things, and I think of the journeys I've made this year--so remarkable and eye opening. I can see in places where some people would not think twice about, the grand kindness and understanding of these long forgotten ways. I see in my Iowa friend Cathy Linker Lafrenz, a remarkable generosity and a love of old things which dominates even my antique fever. It helps that her wonderful husband put up with two crazy broads for a couple of weeks.

I see this same sort of kindness in friends like Linnea Crowther, who heads Slow Foods Quad Cities--a love of old-fashioned, slow made food as opposed to fake fast food? Now that's a person I can admire. Plus, she let me teach TWO cooking classes, sight unseen which was unHEARD of in my parts of the world. So I am indebted to her and her trust in my crazy cooking shenanigans.

This is also true of Tamara, Cathy's friend and now mine--a hard work life has made her frank, witty, and hilarious, but you can tell she loves farming....

And this was all begun by one green haired girl (Maggie) who takes modern farming in stride. She and her mother were kind enough to host me, and introduce their big world of Iowa, arms wide open. And her friends helped, too: the potter (Becky), the hooping girl (Dawn), the folks singer (Melanie), the cookie baker(Randi), the animal activist (Kristine), the bird rehabber (Jenni), the dreamer (Tanya), the herbalist (Lynne Marie) and SO MANY others. By the way, while these are cute descriptive labels that help differentiate these colorful folks, don't be fooled: they are all as beautiful, complex, and dynamic as the next person and I felt like I only glimpsed a small part of these compelling souls...

All of the students who came out to all of the classes have made a profound difference, as did everyone in Iowa and Illinois. Because of them, I now know how to bake bread, save my own food, cook better than I have (and laugh at some mistakes!) and barter for things, with a strong sense of community rarely heard of in the big city. There will probably be more MidWestern stories to come--olden stories, as I remember them, and hopefully new stories, as I can't imagine not going back....

I carry some new acumen about those things that seem lost, and a new inspiration to find out more about those things that should never be lost: good manners, a willingness to help your neighbor, a new creativity in using and thinking about money, and more. Thank you, my Midwestern friends. These things I'll pay forward, you will see.

You will know that I have learned: nothing is lost, all is Found.

One Bite At A Time

2011-11-03T22:52:00.000-07:00

The view from the "cornzebo" at Miss Effie's Country Flowers and Garden Stuff

**Please note: this post is also part of The Renegade Farmer's first Farmhouse Festival. CLICK HERE for more wonderful posts!

There was an old saying my European mother had, when my sister and I were little. She would say: "You must still eat the richest cake one bite at a time."

What this meant was that even the largest, grandest thing had to be done one step at a time. Somehow this saying comes to mind, for so many reasons, when writing this post, a story about Iowa, and that journey itself.

Indeed, bit by bit, that journey to farmland, both grand and sweeping, had to be done slowly. Even here, only in little chapters, does the full effect seep into the skin better, get into your bones.

And it isn't lost on me that the woman whose quote I now used is an olden day farm-woman herself, in an era mostly forgotten; yet here I come full circle again, to the same sort of women carrying on the beacon of rural tradition, relaying it forward in the most creative way.

In a final bit of playful irony, I can appreciate the use of food in mama's little saying, because what is farming, if it isn't about food?

Yet, there are some of you who won't know this, how fragile both food and farming are in this country. Some won't care--it's not as cool as the latest technical gadget, or hot as the latest celebrity. It's not sexy and its not easy, the art of making food with just soil, seed, sun, and faith. It's not tidy, ushering animals through birth to their death, at your hands. There is something sacred and profane in the whole thing, but for most people, it comes wrapped in celophane, sterile and price-tagged, with no notion how it came to be.

Before the world became corporatized, before your food became a mass-produced result of debauchery, filled with poisons and pesticides, experimented on, treated in horrible conditions (and most standard supermarket food IS that, don't fool yourself otherwise), Farmer Brown, his wife and family provided your food. And it is a long standing advantage of people who own a bit of Earth, to be free to grow their own fixin's. And yet with it, comes a great responsibility, and a great respect for the growing process, and the eating process.

I know only bits of this as a city beekeeper. Once you work with them, truly, bees are no longer just stinging insects; there is a great worry for a hive when you realize they are a source of honey for you, and they pollinate so much edible food. You will awe at these thumb sized animals that work so hard, are so intelligent. And here, each season, if all goes well, is sweet liquid gold for you. Suddenly, they aren't angry bugs at all, and those of us that care for bees can see the process from beginning to end, and understand that a loss of a hive is a loss of many things.

I can remember stories of my mother as a young girl, as much the same thing. I soft-hearted woman towards animals, she had to adopt a stoic stance as they butchered chickens and pigs on the family farm. This was an era well before one could even send animals to a slaughter house. It was no easy task to kill a living thing, but it must be done, and no part of the animal was wasted.
And to think of how animals are treated now is a sacrilege, my mother won't stand for me telling her stories of the way most farm animals are treated in this country anymore...

Oddly, or perhaps, understandably, this sort of knowledge seemed to permeate most of my stay in the Midwest, because--and I'll say it again--what is farming without food?

What that translates to is lots of farm folks who make most of their food. Even the young-uns, young ladies (and men) in their 20's and 30's that can bang out various types of cheeses, breads, homemade sauces, and know the secret ingredients to great buscuits, gravies, and jellies the way most kids can navigate an Xbox. These farm-folk aren't woosies, people. While you might laugh that people can make a full course meal out of 5 ingredients and a little salt to boot, their food bills are non-existent, while yours could be mistaken for rent money. Farming is cool, folks--I thought enough of it to try to get others involved in it, too.

Such is the world of Cathy Linker LaFrenz. As I mentioned yesterday, she is farm woman, through and through-- creative AND frugal. And by frugal, I simply mean she's clever with how she saves money, not that she's cheap, or that she's not enjoying life. And that, my friends, is the key to self-sufficiency. To live life fully, but not have it live YOU. It does not take much to be happy, healthy, content. You can eat well, dress nicely, and have the life you want if you are willing to work hard, are happy with those things you DO have and be clever with how you spend your time.

Cathy is a dynamo in most aspects of her life, but she really shines in the kitchen. She is a cooking ninja. During my stay with her, she taught me how to make ricotta and mozzarella cheese, no-knead bread, and even pita bread! Meanwhile, I showed her how to make battered fried cauliflower, and the kitchen saw a whole Middle Eastern Cooking Class! I reckon that Cathy's kitchen probably had more action in that 10 days than all year! This love of farming and its hand-in-hand partnership with food would come up, inherently, during my stay with at Cathy's farm.

Such was the case during my stay, when Cathy hosted an an site event that highlighted food and farming beautifully. Created by local Iowa City Chef Chris Grebner, it was known asThe Farmer's Table. It involved Chris creating and serving a professional meal made of ingredients found on local farms, and then serving it as a formal meal on yet another farm, which could then showcase their charm/business/beauty/ you name it. Cathy's farm would be featured in the week I was there, and so it was a delight to help Cathy set up the house and the cornzebo.

What is a cornzebo, you ask? It is a vintage corn-crib that has been outfitted like a gazebo. Did I not mention that Cathy's alter-ego Miss Effie is wicked creative?

Inside of the cornzebo, being outfitted for event-time!

Cathy and her honey, Cliff, decked the place out with long benches and chairs. As Chris and his staff worked Cathy's kitchen, we did our best to beautify the cornzebo for our reserved guests:

It's times like these when it helps to have a flower farm!

Bouquets for the table...picked straight from Miss Eff's and arranged by Cathy, since my paltry attempts to start them were going south fast!

Cathy's enamelware plates and colonial stoneware water dispenser worked beautifully here....

The table settings..lots of beautiful elements coming together...

Miss Effie's and yours truly! Aren't we a pair? By the way, my hat, fingerless gloves, and Miss Eff's shawl were hand knit by Cathy! She is amazingly talented! And I got to keep the gloves!

And here are our food maestros of the evening. R-L: Chris's friend Aaron, Chris's wife DeeAnn, and Chris himself, in Cathy's Kitchen.

A nice crowd showed up for the festivities....

...and food itself was stupendous! I must say, even as a vegetarian, I appreciated the amazing courses. "Luckily" for me, Cathy's husband Cliff sat across from me, and I turned over a nice sausage and braised Boston butt roast. As you can imagine, he was THANKFUL for my non-carnivorous status that night!

Such was the food that the sweet joke came at the expense of Chris's parents, who were also in attendance. More than once, we threatened to kidnap Chris and force him to cook and, when that didn't work, we attempted bribery. Suffice it to say, Chris is a free man, but darn if I'm not trying to find a way to make him my personal chef.

But between the laughs, there was great food, and great friendship, and the renewal about what I'd known best, but had to rediscover in a place far away from home: food is not just the items we stuff in our mouths, not just "fat to chew." We are literally AND figuratively nourished by food: it is the canvas for social gatherings, as cooks, it's an expression of our inner culinary artist, and as any Italian Grandma will tell you, it's an expression of love. If this is just the beginning of what food means, shouldn't we honor those that grow it for us.

I remember Cathy, at the beginning of our meal, introducing the evening events. Feisty as that woman is, she sort of teared up when talking about the importance of honoring those very farms, the cooks who work with the honest food, and the whole system of supporting one another. I won't lie here, I teared up too. Yes, I will openly admit, I'll get emotional about the small meaningful things, now so easily dismissed as "out-of-date," or "uncool." I also recognized how very fragile and precarious this way of life was, how easily we forget that there are so few small farmers fighting the good fight, how little we value these people (I mean, when's the last time you've heard of people getting into farming for the good pay, respect from peers, and worker's benefits?).....but I hope things are changing. I believe it.

While the world focuses on senseless celebrity marriages, too many wars, and any number of static ridden talking heads, somewhere in a field, simple and friendly people united over a simple meal by an earnest young man and his friends. While they might not have been holding hands, their quiet and humble connection was made by eating....one bite at a time.

The Iowa Wonderland

2011-11-02T11:34:00.000-07:00

There are times, around here, where I have to pinch myself: dream lands are as real as the peculiar roads and situations I often find myself in. I can't complain. Strange, crazy, sometimes painful, often amazing, complicated, and frustrating is my life. But never boring. Always magical.

On the second leg of my Iowa tour, I was going to step back into one of the most enchanted of these realms. Literally, and figuratively. Iowa is like that, deceptively so, even. Amongst those corn-fields and corn fed folks, lies a beguilingly charming bunch of people. Oh, sure, the Midwesterners masquerade as a plain and honest folk (and they are), but there is some secret world, a Narnia of sorts, hidden away with wickedly creative, funny folks.

I was about to launch into the equivalent of an Iowa Wonderland on the next part of my tour, in the super-sharp carbon light form known as Cathy Lafrenz. If you can imagine a flower farm carved into the corn-scape of Eastern Iowa, then you are beginning to grasp the beauty and unlikely Neverland that is the home of Cathy's alter-ego, Miss Effie. Miss Effie and I weren't strangers, and once you met her, I doubt you'd ever forget her.

Cathy is definitely a farm-woman who didn't take any guff; I'd never beheld a soul as particularly remarkable as she was. She has jack-rabbit, lightning- in-a-bottle energy, and is hilarious and serious and raucous, without apology. Which meant, of course, I loved her. It only helped that she was an encyclopedia of unconventional and creative ideas and was endearingly helpful to seemingly everyone she met, without reserve! And the kicker? She loves LOVES LOVES antiques! How do I clone her and take her back to the city?!

Cathy's farm is further East in Iowa and borders Illinois. Here I would lay down my knowledge of cooking and beekeeping, learn the art of organic flower keeping, chase and be chased by Miss Eff's famous colored-egg laying chickens, and fall in love with Miss Eff's antique laden house, and Cathy and her honey, Cliff, for their amazing generosity. Indeed, you can see the magic for yourself at Miss Effies.

Cathy's a staunch believer in self-reliance, and a grand supporter in both family farms/small farms, and women's businesses, and she's a gal that puts her money where her mouth is. Her alter ego,has a Summer Kitchen (farm store, for the uninitiated), and it basically features crafts, goods and foodstuffs exclusively from women. I would've said "with the exception of the fresh eggs from her naturally raised chicken," but hey, they ARE females, so I don't have to amend the original statement!

Further, this woman seems to make EVERYTHING from scratch. Everything. I think we maybe went to the store, once, for coconut flakes and dates. I'm guessing if there was a way to grow those in Iowa, she'd have those, too! A delightful proof-in-the-pudding moment came when she taught me how to make cheese and bread. Yes, this might be laughably simple to lots of folks, but it's this sort of thing that is the stuff of life, no gettin' around it. And it's the meat and potato stuff that I LOVE.

But before I get to that, let me just say, Cathy's little farm IS a dreamland. It is a living, breathing entity itself, with it's own personality which, in turn, is an extension of the farming artist owner, herself. I remember reading somewhere that "Farming is an Art." And, indeed, each farmer takes the soul of the land unto themselves to create something truly beautiful, however they interpret it.

And...Miss Effie's IS beautiful!

The sign says it all.....

The grand view of Miss Effie's famous teacup tree and farmyard!

Miss Cathy and a furry friend. Yes, this is an OUTDOOR dream bed. And it does permanently sit under a giant sad willow.

Indeed, while this looks like a manipulated photo, I assure you this IS the flower and fauna world of Cathy's making....

Awe-inspiring beauty was everywhere to be found, not least of which was found in the friendship to come....

Tomorrow! Beauty, food, friendship and one amazing antique hunt!

Halloween Hoaxes and Heart Pitter-Patterings...

2011-10-31T12:34:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-27T07:29:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-26T07:02:00.000-07:00

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...

2011-10-17T07:39:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-13T07:32:00.000-07:00

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...

2011-10-12T07:18:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-06T14:48:00.000-07:00

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?

Middle Of The Road.....

2011-09-30T07:06:00.000-07:00

Here I have been silent, my life back upon the roads beckoning like muses....

Here, the path has taken me to the Middle. The Middle of the Great States, this time Iowa and Illinois. I had to go back, you see: I was teaching beekeeping and cooking, and amidst all of those classes, I have again been the student, learning how to have a full heart. As I had mentioned in my sojourns to Iowa before---there is such a broad sense of community and self sufficiency there, that it should serve as a beacon for how America is, or should be. A fun and friendly spirit of the heart which is harkens back to a safe and inspired place we should all have.

There have been old friends, new friends, and all of them family in some way or another. This journey has been a feast for the soul, and I have left the table full to the brim.

Where to begin? There is too much in the telling, but this tale is too good to pass. Pull up a chair in the next week, I say, and listen to tales about bread baking, butter making, bee swarms, a world of old objects, and other baudy country tales.

For now, I will start at the point BEFORE I left, with this token of gratitude to Maggie and her mother Donna, the two women who began this insanely beautiful journey by reaching out to me last April, and hosting me at their amazing Prairieland Herbs business.

This is my "Thank You" Gift:

This was a long felled tree in Kansas, cut down for me when I went to visit the farm upon which it lay. For long moments, it lay with it's breathren in a box, waiting for me to get up the courage to paint on it.

For long moments, I convinced myself I was too busy or not clever enough to know how to paint on such a medium. But I had an idea, fueled by Donna's love of the Moon (and truly, who doesn't love the Moon?), and so a hot air Moon Balloon carrying my wild haired friend Maggie, and her Mama, sister, and their bevvy of friends carried them away. I hoped this magical little token would suffice to convey my gratitude to this magical group of people......

(A bit of production progress....)

...with more magic to come!

Strings of the Heart

2011-09-14T07:35:00.000-07:00

I am grateful, yes I am.

As complicated as my life might seem, should you have read my last post, it isn't quite a sad violin serenade. No...my life is a winding fiddle tune, both slow and sad at times, then unexpectedly upbeat: the joint is definitely jumping.

An ode to celebration, a pub tune and a hearty bardic ballad can be had of my little journey; I can say I've probably found more profound examples of things to be thankful for this year than in recent memory. I've found kindness and generosity in the faces of strangers--and then friends--in different parts of the country. I've traveled more, seen more, and learned about the differences that truly make us the same.

In fact, I plan to journey back again to the place where much of these observations began..this week, it's back to Iowa to once again teach beekeeping and cooking. The irony is that I'd just returned from my friends' farm in upstate New York to go to yet more farmland....indeed, this is a sweet second helping of a favorite old time tune, long and low, and sounding of forests, fields and old friends....

The truth is, very few things pluck at the heartstrings as true comraderie, and the sense that people truly DO care for you. I have found this amongst the dirt-loving, nature abiding, artisan folk, everywhere. One speaks plainly, knows--and is comfortable--in their own skin, and considers it a duty and privilege to care for others.

It is a crying shame, how quickly people forget these sorts of things. While the world makes war in the name of it's self-centered commercial interests, there are those who quietly pull up a chair for friends, say a small prayer, and share a meal, and other few luxuries they have. Those are my people. Gypsy hearted dreamers who want no big thing, but who do their best, and are themselves, from dawn to dusk. The kind, imaginative, happy folks. Naive as it may seem, I believe we are here to help each other, to pull the strings of the heart, a fine instrument creating a fine tune, indeed!

I'm looking forward to some serious melody making in Iowa these next few weeks. And then? Who knows, but I suspect that while it might be difficult sometimes, it will definitely be INTERESTING!

Farm, art, craft, and dream folk, I HEART you!

Wishes

2011-09-12T03:34:00.000-07:00

I had wanted to post earlier, but given the date, I thought it more prudent to tell tales today.

Of the tragedy's anniversary yesterday, I feel I've nothing to add to the many online voices I'd heard, and read, and it's a tough and tricky subject.

I'll simply offer this quote of Mother Teresa's to hint at my feelings about the incident, and war and violence in general: "If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other."

Yesterday's melancholy mood is a long extension of the week pass'd; returning from last weekend's farm sojourn back to metropolis felt like being thrown in the river to swim. I find this more and more, that there is some sort of caged reaction I have, leaving the wild places, as though I'm pacing, plotting to return to the farms and forests beyond the city's outskirts.

I can't say I've ever remembered feeling quite...so...lost. Which is ironic, considering I live in a place where I couldn't lose myself if I wanted to, in the maddening crowd. So, I suppose the word "ill-fitting" comes to mind lately, as though I never belonged in an urban setting. Or anywhere, really.

This sort of thinking is rather compounded by the passing of my birthdate, which I last told you about, and it's been a long standing tradition of mine to re-evaluate myself on each anniversary of my three week delayed birth (As with everything, my birth was late; and a fortune-teller later said I was bound to do everything late because of this. Yes, he has so far has predicted correctly).

Usually my little ritual involves the following:

Significant events from one birthday to the next. This year, I can say three include getting engaged, being recognized for our humane beekeeping, and moving forward with art.

The tougher question I ask myself: what purpose are you fulfilling? This question is a strict remnant of my childhood. My parents were either blessed or cursed with idealistic principles and, for better or worse, I have inherited notions that encompass a world view. Some people call this The Big Picture. In any case, what that means is, everyday, I move along with purpose: what is my goal, why am I here, am I doing what I need to be doing? And if not, why?

As you guess, this is not always an easy thing to live with because, hey, sometimes one wants to just be RANDOM. Perhaps it's just a day to read the newspaper and have a slice of cheesecake. Or do something heinous, like not wash the dishes. But no, my upbringing and classical Virgo sense of orderliness and higher sense of duty (trust me, ask any Virgo) makes for that pesky voice in the back of my noggin constantly sound the alarm.

Which brings us to this year. Every other year, I could run off an easy list of purpose, usually not ONE, but TWO big things I was all about. Without fail, these would invariably have something to do with either fine art, or performing art. I was running a dance troupe I was sure would be the next big thing, I was planning a show that could eventually go on tour, I had ideas for theater that might make it somewhere on, around, or near Broadway, I was going to act....and on and on it went...

I might have even thought there was something to do with bees, with animals, or any of the lesser things I did.

But no...right now, I am the weary hamster tired of spinning myself cripple on the wheel of fortune, juggling any number of interests, ideas, wants, and needs, in a quietly desperate world in which I am a misfit and, while I try to portray it as a positive and happy online presence, there a small and dire troubles within my life, as simple and as overwhelming as anyone else's.

I can't say there's much more than one dream, which combines my love of animals, art, old fashioned things, and adventure, and I'm not one whit close to doing it:

The Beyond Vagabond Horse Drawn Project.

Anyone who's anyone who knows me will tell you this:
If I say I'll do it, it's sure to happen.

So what do you suppose the outcome of this WISH will be if I WRITE IT down? Plus, the year's not over, yet!

What are your wishes?

Music For Your Gypsy Soul

2011-09-08T08:17:00.000-07:00

Here's a new idea. You may or may not know, I'm a stickler for music. In one of my many previous incarnations, I was a radio DJ, and I have always had a love for old time music, perhaps even ancient sounding. Long ago lullabies on weathered instruments make my heart race. Music that compliments old Southern houses and sweet iced tea, music that works, walking through mystical forests, music from faraway cultures....well, you get the idea.

So I thought, perhaps I'd share some of these with you? I have no idea what to call them, as they encompass various genres. Other than they are so eclectic, that perhaps they are music for the Gypsy Soul, perfect for whatever journey you may be taking. Enjoy:

GoldenRod Years....

2011-09-07T06:52:00.000-07:00

When you are an agrarian, or live close to nature, time is not marked off on calendars, not seen on clock faces.

No.

Instead, they are found in the hallmarks of the world around you, wilderness worlds big and small. The migratory flights of geese, the colors of leaves, the types of plants, birds, and reptiles that make their appearance...or disappearance...

Such is the case of the Goldenrods. Around the NorthEast, the last hurrah of "flowerdom" is the Goldenrod, and just as Spring's wild weedy mistress seems to be Queen Anne's Lace, white and delicate, the Goldenrod signals the last glorious bout of flashy yellow color before Wintertide hits.

This weekend, far away from the concrete city, the Goldenrod grew tall and amazing, a grand golden sea everywhere we went. I might have imagined it, but I'd never SEEN so much goldenrod dotting the hamlets and Villages of the upland countryside.

I've realized there is something wistful about the whole thing, watching this display. One more last flashy journey of something vibrant, before the long winding march toward the twilight of the seasons. Winter is a time of death and desolation, so one must watch the last breaths of Autumn with a sort of reverence. Life is like that too...each moment that we live, animated, we are slowly marching there, much as it all looks so alive, amazing. I've thought about this more than usual lately; it does not help that this weekend marked another year pass'd for me, and I tip scales heavier toward elderliness, than not.

These things will manifest themselves in ways I can't fully predict, right now. While you are reading this, there are secret ideas that are coming to fruition, some of which I have shared, and some which might surprise you (and me)! This weekend's vacation back at the Sparks's farm, is a weekend getaway, a birthday celebration, a wedding planning trip, and so much more. We are all celebrating life here, and attempting to finish our own personal "Life To Do" lists before the literal and figurative GoldenRod Years are over.

Some of the to do lists are small, perhaps even trivial, but important. I helped June Sparks (who might appear to be a mild mannered "farmer's wife" but truly she is secretly "Super Woman) harvest her beautiful organic garden before winter came:

...with the help of farm kitty Sarah.....

...who inspected our work....

Meanwhile, Herbie avoided the sun, amongst the tomato plants:

The Sweetheart and I enjoyed a trip into Ithaca, the heart of Central New York. We returned back to the farmer's market that I visited on my first trip Upstate, and it did not disappoint. Once again, we were greeted by a kaleidescope of fresh food and amazing folk art and wares!

Lovely farmer fresh food...

Wonderful local woven baskets....

A potter's works...

We also saw this horse fellow once again....though this time, we got much more up-close-and-personal...

And we also found another farm animal-gone-metropolitan, this neon chicken!

Whilst the small city was beautiful, my favorite place was still atop one of the mountainside pastures on the Sparks property. We climbed that wild, ancient hill to the field in which the Sweetheart and I will be married. Here, one still feels small, and amazed at everything. The goldenrod grows high here, triumphant in its final days. Perhaps here, amongst nature, we will find our way past the GoldenRod years, begin again and find the next Spring...a whole new journey.

In any case, it is all whimsy and beauty......

Next: A birthday wish......

Traveling Of All Sorts.....

2011-09-02T05:15:00.000-07:00

This weekend marks the journey of many sorts.

I shall be traveling upstate again, to mark another sort of traveling--traveling through time, as I shall reach another year in age, and will be celebrating it in high farm style. I aspire to do nothing more than frolic in greenery, pick blackberries, snuggle with barn animals and probably eat food that would mortify many a health-conscious urbanite. Ahh well, I am not on track with those show style prop ponies. This girl's about the draft horses of the world, anyway.

I figure, since it's my birthday weekend, why not get myself something unique and interesting, and which focuses on my many loves....say, beekeeping?

How about this beauty? This old hive has been cleverly remade into a wee house!

See more HERE...

It's all about the bees, right?

At over $6,000, it might also be about winning the lottery (!!)

In other news, my ETSY Shoppe will still be open.....there are wonderful bargains to be had!
DON'T FORGET, there is a 20% OFF sale UNTIL SEPT 10th!

Expect anything you order this weekend to be sent promptly on Tuesday!

In the meantime, I wish you fun journeys this weekend, wherever you are...

Hurricane Projects...

2011-08-31T08:32:00.000-07:00

When the world is so full of interesting things to do, one needn't worry about hurricane conditions outside.

So what does one wild-haired, beekeeping, dollmaking, writing, artistic person do whilst stuck at home for 48 hours due to adverse weather outdoors?

Why, catch up, of course!

There were eleven frames of honey to harvest....

Sewing and painting to finish....

I started these three Wyrd sisters LAST year! Let's hope I finish them THIS YEAR!

Wood carving and burning....

And other general mayhem!

And now, I actually get to share the finished product with YOU!

First, there is tons MORE honey to be grabbed up! Dark, medium, and light colors of Fall's Organic Raw Honey!

Finally, FINALLY, a few ART DOLLS to sell, freshly costumed and ready for the Hallows Eve Ball!

This lofty character actually started as the Hallows King...

But I wasn't quite impressed with his "scepter"....no matter how hard I tried to get him to "work" with it, it seemed ill-suited.

Instead, I felt a warm and cuddly Halloween friend would do much better!

Ta-da! ~Meet Spooky and Boo!

When in doubt, cuteness rules!

Next: These Two Art Dolls/Halloween Ornaments are ready to celebrate all Hallows!

This little lady will be looking for a new home soon (once she get a bit more put together)....

And so many other good things art things are happening...

AND ** A special announcement!**
To celebrate the Labor Day Holiday (my birthday falls on Labor Day, proper, I will be offering 20% off most of the items in my Etsy Shoppe!
Starts tomorrow and goes through September 10th! I'll be listing all of these lovelies starting tomorrow, so don't miss out!

Stormtossed

2011-08-29T15:23:00.000-07:00

Older cultures all had superstitions surrounding adverse weather: hurricanes are one of many weather improprieties that could be predicted in a folkloric-- lyrical, almost--manner, by observing animals, clouds, stars....

I doubt they might have prepared anyone not used to such weather, and such was the case two days ago. I've lived part of my life in the South. There, the hurricanes had names you would remember. Opal, Hugo, Ike, Katrina; the devastation they left behind would not be forgotten, spoken in both reverence, fear, and incredulity for generations to come. This are the types of hurricanes that don't quit.

And here came Irene, a Southern hurricane, touching down in North Carolina, and not stopping 'til she barreled across the Northern American hemisphere. This particularly set up a strange precedent for New York City, where I live, simply because NYC hadn't had a hurricane in three quarters of a century (though, to be fair, ina as late as 1985, Long Island had seen one in "Gloria").

I kept wondering: how would the locals take this? And, because of my historophilia, there were other questions ogling my brain. What was it like to worry about a hurricane in Gotham City in 1938? Since the buildings couldn't possibly be as tall or as numerous, was it easier or more difficult in the realms of safety? Or perhaps without early detection systems, were our early metro predecessors overwhelmed with no warning?

Little time could be squandered on such thoughts, though; soon enough, our own version of disaster adventures would happen. Sure enough, on Friday, while the sun deceptively created it's tranquil facade, my landlord began part of the huge responsibilities of our organic beekeeping stewardship. As I mentioned before, beekeeping ain't for sissies, and this was put to the test as we LIFTED 7 hives to bring them closer together, so they could be tethered together, then weighted down with heavy rocks. Did I mention that each hive, now full of Fall honey, can weigh about 200 or so pounds? There is a strange sort of irony in trying to wrestle a structure that weighs more than yourself, all created by creatures that each register less than half an ounce!

After THREE hours of sweaty work securing bees, harvesting last minute honey, and saying a secret prayer to some hoped for or imagined bee saint (by the way, the Patron Saint of Bees happens to be St. Bernard, I understand)....there was running to the market for the requisite trifecta of all basic emergency supplies: canned goods, batteries, and bottled water. Check!

Oddly, observing the streets around me, I noticed little concern, even skepticism, about the seriousness of this hurricane. This would all change...somewhat...

Saturday's sky loomed gray and dull as an elderly spinster's face. There had been notices that the New York City transport's buses and trains--basically the heartblood of the city--would shut down. I can't recall, now, if that had been a precedent, but it brought an ominous mood to some of it's residents. Since I had business early in Manhattan, it was interesting to see the city reaction: the streets were oddly less packed, and those in the city seemed to walk with purpose, some packing up cars, and gas stations freakishly last-minute-jammed. Where were they planning to go? Outrun a hurricane? And just now, was it decided?

This last minute dance was seen everywhere--stores were flooded with people, perhaps brought to their senses, or playing cautiously, to be safe rather than sorry. Outside, I heard a small group of men heatedly debating whether the sidewalk on their street was shaped so that it would help reduce flooding, or alternately make it worse. Such is the life of New Yorkers, feverishly concerned about the trivial.

By the time I got home, the wind had picked up. By the time it started raining that night, I knew I had batteries, food, a charged phone and water, plus a ton of projects I could finish, and eleven new frames of honey to put into jars. It was going to be a long night.

Of the details of the storm itself, I can thankfully say there is no more than heavy winds and rain, though my landlord and lady were flooded by the fat driven rain, in their basement apartment. At one point, Sweetheart and myself went down, all akindered in large hooded rain gear, to help them bucket out a huge watery mess. Their patio drain simply failed in the fast water. A huge pool of water bubbled, ankle high, threatening to slosh into their low level apartment. We yelled over high rattling winds and massive blinding rain--I remember a crazy thought in the midst of all of it: this is like a scene from Moby Dick. Except we're not on a ship in the middle of stormy seas. Are we?

Needless to say, we bucketed out the place and eventually the rains gave way to calm, and in the end, for all of the ill weather, only small tree limbs suffered in our neighborhoods. Miraculously, no one's power went out, no trees or powerlines, or cars were damaged; it simply was a bad storm coming through.

Unfortunately, I know many other places, below and above us, have suffered much heartache and loss. Power outages occurred within a few miles of us. Such is the madness of the Southern storm.

I think the most surprising of this strange weather journey is not so much the storm itself, but the strange responses online and elsewhere, bemoaning the Mayor's advice to buy emergency supplies, and shut down trains, in a prepared effort to stay safe. Shocking, the strange jaded comments online bemoaning the "waste of money" and "hype" for the storm that blessedly left New York City untouched. Have the metropolis dwellers become so disconnected from nature that they believe they can now predict it, control it, and simply no longer stand in awe of it? Sady, I do believe this sort of thinking is part of so much that is wrong with us, here and now.

WE do not control nature, we cannot command or bend it to our will. It is not us that hold Nature, but Nature that holds Us. All we can do is stand, grateful for when the Universe provides for us, and sit trembling, reverent, when it does not. Like a great religion, we are here to witness its might in awe. We are here to sing it's songs, ancient and wise, and try to make sense of it's strange language, the messages that it sends us. To besmirch its doings as something to "hype," to dismiss it, is as sinful as any flagrant vagrancy against it.

In my heart, I know that is True.

There is a gypsy belief that storms, as bad as they may seem outside, really herald a new change and direction, the old is swept out with the storm, leaving a new slate upon which to start. This storm raged during a New Moon--a greater foretelling of stark change. The world threatens to be Stormtossed, always. There are changes happening here, too. As you shall soon see.

Double U's

2011-08-02T07:44:00.000-07:00

The World Winds Wild and Wonderful....

The past few weeks have seen me busy in a world of W's. Double U's. Double Ewes?

Some examples:

Wasps--It wasn't what I intended, when I became a beekeeper, to kill things. But one of my dear friends called me a few weeks back, telling me her mother's country home appeared to be overtaken by wasps. Scratch that--she wasn't quite sure WHAT was going on, but upon talking to a landscaper about her mother's front yard, several "bees or wasps" suddenly jetted out of a low slung tree stump in the ground. Since the stump was level with the ground, I doubted that these were honey bees (no species I know of can make comb in sub-terrain), but wasn't sure if I had a colony of native bees to contend with...since my friend had a baby who would someday like wandering out of doors, yes, I would be sojourning into upper New York to see if I could either save a group of beneficial bees, or rid the area of dangerous wasps. I had never dealt with the situation before, and was curious to see this nest of stinging animals....

Here are a few pictures of that day (click to enlarge):

Here I am suited and ready. At this point, I've no idea what I will stumble onto. In case these are wasps, I didn't want to chemicalize the grounds we we have two pots of boiling water. I have a hammer to pull up the dead stump, as well, so that no other pesky bugs could make a home of it...

After kicking up the stump, several irate yellow jackets flew up, and directly at my feet. I yelled to my friend (who was also taking pictures! Thanks Belen Velez!) that she had wasps on her property, and to keep a safe distance!

I test the "give" of the hollowed stump--the ground is soft underneath. I will have to pour, then pull up the dead wood....

After pouring 4 POTS of water, I managed to dig and pull out the wood. It was a shallow pit, I couldn't see too many wasps, but there were a few larvae in it. As long as the hideaway to these dangerous insects was done for, then Belen's baby and others naively crossing the green yard would not be hurt. Certain wasps can sting over and over, causing some victims to bleed. Not so with bees, whose barbs will get caught in human skin, and they will die with one sting....

I can safely say it was quite an education working this way.....I hope future wasp families decide to make their homes further up and out of the way of humans!

Wishes....

With the year more than half way through, I usually compile a list of wishes, simply based on what I'd like to get accomplished versus what I am actually doing...
My list so far...

* Somewhere in the world, or one of my rooms, is a scarlet violin that sits lonely and unplayed. This would be the third year it serves as a surface for gathering dust. This must change...perhaps this Winter?

* I wish had more time to bake things...muffins, breads, pandowdies....heck, I wish I had time to reasearch how the word pandowdy even came to exist!

* Of course, there is always the wish for a garden. This year, there was no garden planted. I'm never home to properly tend to it, the record heat is scorching everything this year and, yes, I've seen squirrels eating tomatoes. As far as I understood, squirrels avoid nightshade plants. However, these are New York City squirrels, tough as nails. Ummm, this is the theory I'm going with....other than the mutant, alien squirrels from outer space that eat acidic foods....

* Somewhere in the world, there is a horse waiting for me. A brave, painted, three colored horse with large flanks, sweet eyes, and a soft pink snout. Yes, the horse drawn idea still lingers....but it's a foggy vision, when living in the concrete jungle...

* A closer goal; I really need to perfect my sewing. It's a crying shame when I CLOTH doll artist can't work with cloth!

* Speaking of art(!), I really JUST NEED TIME to get all of my finished art online! Those pieces of wood that I keep posting, in progress, now sit waiting for new homes! I swear I can see them glowering at me for my lack of action in getting them new residences. So hopefully, that will happen by this weekend!

Hmmm....so far, that seems like a competent wish list, don't you think?

Finally, in our journey of W's...

WaterWorks...

When it gets hot, nothing is better than a dip in the pond...or, if you live the metropolitan life, a dip in the local fountain at the trendy park! Here I am at Washington Square Park, this past weekend, with Sweetheart in tow!

He was kind enough to take the picture, as I slipped off my sandals and dipped my hot and worn tootsies into the cool fountain water. I will say, as an aside, he himself wasn't quite as adventurous, but at least he cheered me on, as well as the younger children, who were FAR BOLDER and actually SWAM in the fountain depths...oh my!

TA DA!

Here's to hoping everyone stays cool! More soon!

Vagabond Video: Southdown Baby Doll Love....

2011-07-25T07:05:00.000-07:00

As promised, here is a quick an cute video that is, I guess, the visual compendium to my Mountain Time post. I thought you would enjoy a real time view of the cute Southdown Sheep on June and Dean's farm.

I won't lie to you, while I was casually scratching mama Belle's precious noggin, I was quietly scheming on how her babies would fit into my suitcase without being noticed!

What sort of animals do you own, or do you dream of stealing away?

In the meantime...enjoy!

More Mountain Time Tales...

2011-07-21T06:50:00.000-07:00

This past year, so far, has been one of remarkable journeys. And this mountain-top expedition was no different....

In the middle of my mountain journey, we went into the neighboring town of Oxford. Away from the green mountains, small quaint towns dot the landscape. They are the exact sort of cute small towns that Hollywood seems to capture when they create the "perfect small town." Oxford seems to be the epitome of a simpler, old fashioned world, as charming shoppes boasted old fashioned whimsy, and the surrounding gardens and architecture boasted history and creativity. Old fashioned ice cream parlors snuggled alongside spunky art studios displaying eclectic but prideful work. Sleepy coffee shops boasted tasty fare and flower potted porches, old buildings mingled with Victorian reproduction architecture. Everything was well manicured, and reminded you of something you saw in one of grandma's scrapbooks. In fact, I dare say that I did spy rosy-cheeked children and neighborly folks for our jaunt into this ebullient place.

What we had come for was a folk singing show, put on by the local theaters and shoppe-keepers. Here's the trio, straight from Nashville.

Ruefully, I forget their names, though I could swear it was the "Waylands" or "Waygoers." They sang a sweet mixture of country, bluegrass, and whatever fun folksy tunes hit them....

In between sets, I took the opportunity to photograph the lush town trappings surrounding me.

When I say "quaint," I ain't kidding, Folks! Remember the Old Fashioned Ice cream Shoppe?

Ye olde bank building....I'm not sure, but am very curious, as to what it's used for today. Knowing how these sorts of towns work, I'm sure it's been spectacularly renovated to be a...bank building!

The fountain in the middle of the square where the folk singing was happening. I love these owl heads....

Houses around town square....

There seemed to be deep history in every structure in the place....

Meanwhile, the music flowed long and lush into the night. Twilight brought forth a burst of little brown bats. They whizzed, small daredevils, in the twilit sky, their tiny chirps heralding the dark. Meanwhile, the humans lolled happily at the music and friendship all around. Whole families camped out on old quilts and lawn chairs for this, probably a grand time, by this town's standards. I found myself feeling the same way. City girl or not, I guess it says something that I was impressed by what most city folk would jokingly call a "low-key affair.

Funny, I clearly was the odd (wo)man out, not one of these people looked like me, but there was a comforting, familiar feeling, which I always harken back to loving the country life. I was the misfit that FIT in here, somehow....

As a funny (or disturbing--you make the call) aside, Dean and June informed me of the local townie who had managed to lose his driver's license (at least that was the theory) and so took it upon himself to drive ALL AROUND TOWN in a John Deere tractor mower. He did this to the point, apparently, that he became the local legend/gossip/celebrity for doing so.

I wasn't sure if I totally believed this story--to be quite honest I thought this was a fun way to "pull the wool over the city girl's eyes"--except that on our way home from this magical night, we all spied THIS PARKED along the street with the rest of the cars!

I'll let you imagine how long we howled with laughter!

Neither Here nor There...

The next day, there was more beauty to behold in Ithaca's downtown area, where June and I headed for an "out of town" trip....

The parking garage seemed suddenly attacked by giant Lepidopterae!

In the area known as the Commons (signaling Cornell University's campus), also boasted another beast: a steel horse--

Then there was the farmer's market, which was our original point of destination when driving for an hour into Ithaca.

I actually realize that I ended up taking pictures, not of beautiful squash or festive farm stands, but of the ART booths there because: 1. I'd never really seen a farmer's market that DID allow non-produce material to be sold and 2. All of the artwork was absolutely stunning!

Here are TWO GLASS BLOWN TABLES. The colors are absolutely stunning, and the artist had many examples of unique glass blown objects on display!

There were plenty of folks that worked with wood, which was encouraging to yours truly. Wouldn't these be lovely to paint on?

Now, what can I say? A girl loves shoes, and I am sure they would be more "lovable" when hand painted!

There were so many splendid booths full of art and absolutely amazing foodstuffs, that I was too busy ogling to take any decent pictures. June, and I ended up feasting on a tasty Indian food lunch--papadams, fried veggies and coconut milk over rice and chick peas hit the spot. We also met various raw dessert connoisseurs, raw cheese farmers, veggie sellers of all shapes and sizes (the farmers AND the veggies), plant-mongers, herbalistas, folks selling a cornucopia of amazing items from honey to blackberries to duck eggs. It was a fine time, a feast of senses, a carnival for the soul, being out there with the noisy earthy, friendly artistic crowd. When I talk about "my people"--yep, these would be my folks!

Needless to say, it was almost impossible for me to leave. Something about this place makes my bones ache...though to be fair, I can say this about most of my travels into farm country. June and Dean-- like the lovelies in Iowa, like folks on farms I've visited in years past-- seem generous to a fault. Or, perhaps, that's the way it SHOULD be, and we've somehow convinced ourselves that miserliness, dishonesty and greed are "just the way things are."

But this was not the case in Greene. June and Dean are wonderful, fair people. I truly wanted to hide underneath the covers when it came time to return, hoping not to return to my "real" life in a city where reality bites. But such is life. I can say I will most likely be back here, to this wonderful mountaintop, if only for a visit.

But there are secret things to tell you about, soon...and fun adventures, I think. But I will leave you in suspense, for now...

Perhaps in a few days I will let you know, and also show you some wee woolies in little stories....

Mountain Time Tales

2011-07-19T07:34:00.000-07:00

By and by, I was moving forwards.

Long before I had returned back(wards) to New York City, I found myself whirring past it, toward a mountain paradise. I could not have known then, that sandwiched between the mad rush or leaving New York City AFTER work, and the insane return from this trip, that I would have found a wonderful respite, a healing salve of a trip in Upstate New York...I should have known better, for the very reason I travel is because each travel seems to bring some new lesson, new friends and new experiences...

There is a myth that few people outside of New York City understand; there IS a vast, verdant state outside of the NYC metropolis. Indeed, long before skyscrapers would dominate the imagination of an entire world, people had been farming the lush black soils of New York and it had, historically, been a strong dairy state, good enough to rival those of Middle America.

Amongst this vibrant, brilliant contingent was one place special to me; I was visiting the farm of June and Dean Sparks. They are farmers AND brilliant business folk--Dean and his partners had saved various organic family farmers from assured bankruptcy by marketing directly to consumers under their own brand: NYFoods (NYOrganic).

I had initially come to know the Sparks by interviewing them, perhaps a year ago. Like me, they had a strong passion for farming, farmers, nature, animals, and saving what little ethical farming that there is in America.

Dean had come to advocate organic farming and through his tireless efforts, had managed to bring 35 organic farmers under his brand name, lining up fair contracts with them. I could admire such a person, along with his sweet and kind wife, June, who seemed funny, imaginative, and generous.

I was going to the farm for many reasons, not least of which was to visit these two friendly farm gurus; I had not yet met June in person, and I wanted to see their beautiful homestead. And beautiful, it was!

Green-mobbed-mountain:

A World of blue and green....

June and Dean, appropriately enough, lived in the aptly named town of Greene. Indeed, all around were old (or is it "olde") bucolic images of a pastoral world most folks would only imagine deep in the recesses of their postcard perfect view of farming:

Here at the side of Dean and June's farm, one can perhaps see the outline of their pond, at ground level, from the center and left. I am told that it's waters are teeming with a world of goldfish and koi....

Their farm is beautiful, full of untamed surprises....

Wild blueberry bushes that ran wild on lush acreage were picked....

Whilst unripened blackberries were eyed with sorrowful anticipation. How does one wait until they gain their proper color and ripeness?

Past miles of meadow, the Sparks also have a shale quarry and, a small stream running amongst it. Here, tadpoles spend their infancy in a watery playground. If you look closely, you can see them as the black dots in the stream:

The Sparks also love animals and have a bevvy of beasts amongst their farm that they respect and seem fond of. Here are their rather timid Jacob, and Romney Cross sheep.

And here are ram lambs, Mike and Ike, BabyDoll Southdown sheep. I am particularly fond of this breed as their small size and adorable facial features call to mind a certain "teddy bear" cuddly factor!

Here is a picture of Jim, the future cart horse. Although right now, he's a feisty, fussy little thing.

Let's just forget the fact that he lifted a back hoof, in consideration (insert sarcastic snort here) of kicking me. I mean, we absolutely could NOT have me coming back, limping, saying a small horse could do any damage to a tough city girl like me, right? To be fair though, he was VERY smitten with June, his owner; most likely, he's freaked out by my weird hair and crazy personality. Or something.

Of the other wonderful animals found on the property, there is a small mob of the requisite barn and outdoor cats that serve as vermin patrol, essential to most farms. Amongst the sweet faces, this little princess stole the show!

This is "Baby Sassy," the world's smallest and sassiest outdoor kitty...followed along by her rather young, nervous, and feral mother. Sassy's mother was too young to properly care for her so Dean and June stepped in to bottle feed her. She clearly loves people and the attention it brings her. She runs right up to any human, much to the chagrin of her untamed mother, who constantly tries to scoop her up before the humans do...

As you can see here...Baby Sassy is a wee darling, and cute, to boot!

Is Dean a big bear of a man, or is Sassy super-teensy? C. All of the above.

I find this picture to be very telling, and probably my favorite, as it gives you some idea of the nature of my wonderful hosts: they love animals and, despite their busy business roles, they truly do care for even the smallest creature in their care....

There were more adventures to partake of: folk music was to be danced to, along with antique hunting, farmer's market trolling, and much more....and I shall save this for another time, another post in these Mountain Time tales.....

Backwards.....

2011-07-12T07:12:00.000-07:00

I want to tell you the story of this weekend, but in doing so, I'll have to tell it backwards...

I'll start at the end, by way of explaining the beginning. I'd stepped off the bus, you see, coming home from a trip to an upstate New York farm. And the requisite smile from the calm I felt from just leaving the jostling city was about to be wiped, if not knocked, off my face.

It was all backwards, you see. Those people in the city, they all had some place "important" to go, the ones who knocked past me in their rush, into a world probably too fast to recognize them as humans. This world was a robotic crush. They needed to be somewhere yesterday, and they looked right past me, the girl with a rolling suitcase, not caring whether they jostled me or not. Or the woman who stepped on my foot, because she was too busy texting, but glared at me huffily, as if it were MY fault that she bumped into me.Or the trio of men who blocked the entire sidewalk, not bothering to politely step aside (yes, chivalry, m'ladies, is dead here).

New York City is like that, convincing you of this mindless business, this chaotic way of being. It's energy used to enthrall me when I was younger, my muscles more limber, my focus elsewhere. It's glitter is bedazzling, but by now, I'd seen it all, and it's glare was white-hot blinding and my focus had long ago blurred.

It's a funny thing, to be utterly aware of HOW foreign everything can suddenly become. Scratch that--I am the foreign one in this strange equation. I realized that, on my slow travels homeward, that day, that I am the wayward traveler, even on the sojourn home....

I am backwards, you see, so utterly out of place everywhere, that I am a walking contradiction. I am, at times, the most shyly conservative hippie, of international birth and yet never quite identifying with those original people, while yet constantly being mistaken for any nationality. I am the most serious artist you will ever meet. I am a responsible dreamer, who has three different jobs, but could be penniless on any given day. I am the urban farmer, the writer who has no patience for writing, both loud and loudly silent.

It's lonely at times, trying to belong everywhere, doing everything, and constantly feeling stuck in a rut. Who the heck wants to deal with me, with my weird ways? Who do I talk to, in this concrete labyrinth, about digging in black soil, establishing roots, literally and figuratively? I am a traveler, but I long for a bit of earth at times, away from concrete, just to know I can DO things, I can take care of myself, I can live the way my grandparents lived, and I can be happy about the simplicity of it all. This is the world of the farmer, the world I advocate to others consistently, but which feels just out of the grasp of my own fingertips.

Backwards, these ideas are: the feel of lanolin from freshly shorn wool, the smell of various types of lavender or garlic, the sounds of hooves calmly clomping on packed soil, or the breath of a gypsy cob horse in the winter morning ....these are strange memories of things I've never purely been a part of, of things in the future.

I long for a tribe of people who know these things. Sometimes I think I will howl at the moon, looking for this lost part of myself, or some semblance of belonging to a breed of people as strange as myself. Perhaps amongst stars and clouds I will find the answer, the beginning of the end of this backwards-ness.

I know this much to be true going forward: there is another adventure to behold. There is a place for me. And this place most likely utilizes a horse. And probably uses the word "FARM" in its title.

Petticoat Junction...

2011-07-06T06:57:00.000-07:00

“A lady is one who never shows her underwear unintentionally” ~ Lillian Day

Now returning to our story: When last I left you, I had been knee deep in antiques. From Iowa.

And there was still a second box, which in a round-about way, had journeyed here because the Iowa connection, yet again...

Cathy Linker Lafrenz was my second stop on the Iowa tour. Besides living in a a dream home FULL of antiques, she was kind enough (or saintly enough, in my point of view) to drive around with me, in between classes, to antique shoppes around town. Come to think of it, given our addiction to outmoded things, we probably were like two kids playing hooky from school, looking for the fastest way to get into trouble.

Neither here nor there...

This would probably be a good segueway to let you know there is something about old clothing that makes me melt. Edwardian and Victorian clothes, are the cat's meow around here. I can't explain it, and it's actually quite contrary to my sort of do-it-yourself-get-out-of-my-way-fiercely-independent-tomboy nature. I mean, I work in dirt, wrangle animals, and Spider-man myself onto concrete roofs in order to care for stinging insects. It's not quite tea-time around here, if you catch my meaning.

Nevertheless, I know enough about my whims to know that tea time, frills and ribbons, and all things whimsically feminine do secretly catch my fancy; these precious vestiges of other worldly womanhood are a curiosity for me. Something about being a "proper lady," gets me, every time. And for some time, I'd been looking at petticoats, things to wear under my modern day summer dresses. Because, let's face it, this summer is hot; only dresses will do, so perhaps some "proper lady"-dom wouldn't hurt, now would it?

On one of our antique excursions I did, in fact, find a petticoat, one with sweet eyelet edging. I have no idea whether that thing was actually an aged Edwardian or Victorian piece, or a cast off from the hippie era, but it didn't matter. I had my first petticoat, and I guessed it was probably as old as I was, and I scored it for a ridiculous amount. I would probably spend as much for a decent dinner in New York City for that amount!

But something went wrong: like a girl with her first tattoo, I wanted more. Of course, being frugal, I thought to get JUST ONE MORE SET, and I'd make sure that the piece was turn of the (last) century. And so, after scouring, waiting, and pouncing on one of the online auction sites, I managed to bring home THREE Victorian pieces, offered by the same seller. The beauty part? They EACH came out to LESS than the cost of the original antique store petticoat!

Here they are in all their glory!

(click to enlarge)

(l-r: long petticoat skirt, bloomers with flounce, short petticoat skirt)

And here they are on one very happy Victorian wannabe!

White bloomer under petticoat skirt. Close-up, you can see the intricacies of the crochet lace inserts, ribbon work and eyelet work!

Double-checking the fit.....

.....and getting ready to dance for joy!

Needless to say, I am well spent from tons of Happy Dances and General Grinning!

I won't really detail what Sweetheart said, although he took the conventional route that I suppose most people take when their Other Halves decide to buy undergarments to wear, but let's just say the phrase *you want to wear Grandmama's underwear* was uttered a few times, and this may have been accompanied by bouts of head shaking and pitying smiles...

But indeed, I now own some lovely, frilly bastions of old-world beauty. Hmmm, but there's a quandry...they look ever so lonely. Perhaps some outerskirts, gloves, a corset, a bonnet and a parasol are in order? Did I mention this sort of thing becomes addictive??