Roz's First Day of (Obedience) School

     I begin with apologies to my friends whose kids with major life accomplishments, I feel I have not adequately emoted...
     Thinking over my closest, one's daughter just completed nursing school, with job lined up and life moving swimmingly. Another friend birthed an artist...a sculptor to be exact. A deep-thinking soul whose work is amazing. (I know I've said I'm proud. I just don't think I've said it enough.) I have another, whose daughter is a school counselor...PhD in psychology, works with troubled teens...increasingly on call for the traumas and tragedies that too often lead our newscasts. Another friend's daughter is a brainiac...newly engaged, she just aced the bar...Former president of her last school's student body she may someday be president. (If only we could plug her in now.)
 

    In short, I have some seriously gifted girlfriends raising seriously gifted daughters. And while one can never brag too much on these things (after all, they've had 20 plus years to perfect their profession) I now touch my toe into the shallow waters of their ocean, for only now have I felt their pride (on a microcosmic level mind you, but a mother's pride is a mother's pride)... This week we began . . .
     Puppy Obedience Class. (Yes. I realize it's a stretch here. But stay with me.)
     Leaving 4 big dogs behind, Roz squirmed in the passenger seat, her water in one cup holder, a Red Bull in mine. (Save your judgment; it was early. We needed it.)
     Pointing Jeep towards Nashville, Roz was more confused than anything and at first, not nearly as excited as I felt she should be so I sang to her, trying to pep her up for what was to come...(Our radio's been broken now for nearly a year; this is our time for bonding.)
     Within the hour we offloaded her from her co-pilot perch, leash attached; dog confused. (The co-op she recognizes...She's a hit at TSC...She's a regular at our local pet supply store. And she especially loves when we pull in to Room in the Inn to see all her friends. But today was different and she knew it. This was an all new experience. This was BIG (literally--as in parking lot, people, hustle and bustle) ....Lots of strange sites,  smells, and even strange dogs ....(What? DOGS? Insert Scooby-Doo "rut roh " here)
     What time I wasn't singing, I had been reflecting ... on what I'd gotten us into...what I had committed this little fuzzball to. To be clear, it is not lost on me my own subconscious desire to add a little more discipline to our lives--Never trained a dog before, but I knew "I" could use some structure. My life has become one endless cycle of re-routing plans ever since farming. A goat born here changes an appointment there.  A morning lost in writing alters the afternoon game plan for errands. At first I blamed Mother Nature where changes in weather can rule out an entire crop and an unanticipated storm can re-work your day. But there's plenty of this that just comes from working with creative energies for a living. Be it writing, producing or co-venturing on another's project, there has come the need for me to stop and regroup...Intentionally adding something of discipline into my day to day felt in order.  And since they don't have obedience school for people, I made Roz my excuse.

Roz...Gearing up for an evening at RITI

     Never have I taken a dog to obedience school; most plan this around a need, such as the puppy that keeps tearing up your pillows or the one that suffers from panic attacks when you walk out the door. Such were not our reasons. No. Roz's reasons involve a newfound career move born of an incident that took place last November. It was a conversation with a homeless man that instigated an entire whole chain reaction. (Can we agree? The Lord can use anyone to get a point across.)
     A little background...
     I hit the campus of Room in the Inn as I do every November. Some faces are familiar. Some faces are new.  I was downtown reuniting with fellow volunteers and guests alike--folks I had not seen since March (when our regular season ends). It's not uncommon for folks to ask about the farm...the garden...the critters. This year I had something new to share, that being Rosebud and her pups that were at the time of our season's launch, about 5 weeks old, so I was sharing cell phone pictures, clips of nursing pups and the goats they're born to protect. I had also confessed that I was trying hard not to keep a pup myself as 4 grown Pyrs is a lot in anyone's book.
     In talking with a new guest I had not met before, he took a glance at the pix and said "I'm getting one of those!" (I was pretty certain he was confused or hopeful or both, but I had to ask: "Are you sure? These are Pyrenees. They get pretty big."
     "Yeah, I'm already on a list...They're assigning me one as a service dog."
     (Again, I'm sad to say, my initial response was: you must be mistaken. A quick mental picture of Rosey as a seeing eye dog ended abruptly as I thought of how quickly she bolts at deer...Could not imagine a Pyr in service training...I couldn't imagine training a Pyr period.)
     But the service dog he was describing had nothing to do with eye-dogs...nothing to do with drug sniffing. Seems when I wasn't looking, someone out there spotted that Pyrs are among the best breed going to assist someone who might be suffering from something psychological ...challenges such as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
     My new friend went onto explain that as a returning soldier he had been diagnosed with PTSD, and once his housing came through, a dog was next...but not just any dog-- a Pyrenees. And a trained one at that. First I'd heard of this; clearly I was gripped.
     Back home, I spent the rest of the night and half the next week, googling organizations, studies and the like. I watched videos; I called friends in high places asking "Whose idea was this?" and "How can I help?"
     To be clear, Pyrs are not known for being "trainable" as say ...a German Shephard or a seeing-eye dog. You google their heritage and you read words like "stubborn" or "strong-willed"... these adjectives usually come after "exceedingly large" and "expensive to feed" and the all famous "nocturnal" (meaning they bark all night and sleep all day...Trust me on this one. Then again, there is a great peace that comes with those nocturnal barking rounds.)
     So here I am with Roz...13 weeks old and newly vaccinated so as to enter this class. They say the ideal age is somewhere between 10 and 14 weeks for starters. Suffice it to say, despite the large breeds she's in training with (the Rott and the Weimaraner in particular) Roz was already head and shoulders above them in size...her laid back attitude in 180 contrast to the other, more "trainable" breeds. ( Roz was so laid back it was comical AND ironic given the shoes and ribbons she'd torn to shreds the night before, but at least this left her tuckered out by the time we got there. Not a lot of anxiety going on with Roz...even in a room full of strangers. Like Granny-Rosey, Roz is very much her own dog.)
   

Roz's Next-Chair Neighbor and New Best Friend

 The PetSmart classroom is located center of the store, so that onlookers and those considering the same can witness just what takes place. Last to arrive (yes, we know who needs the discipline) Roz and I took the last seat available, which stationed us between an 8-week old Weimaraner (talk about energy) and a teeny, tiny Yorkie (equally rambunctious; also known for yapping). Between the two --a mountainous Roz...30 pounds of fluffy white cloud only heavier and a face that said, "Who are these people?"
    First order of business, we were handed a clicker, sounds for which are to become synonymous with such things as her name, good behavior and eye contact, all of which, (once you click) mean a seriously tasty (read: expensive) doggie treat. (Note: same doggie treats are handed out to the Yorkie are were handed out for Roz...That she didn't go AFTER the Yorkie's to me, should've netted her a ribbon, if not additional treats, but what do I know. Roz was being such a good gurrrl. Quite frankly, I was amazed.)
     The name thing she got in spades. (Of course we'd been singing it all the way there.) The sitting part (if it meant a treat) she got equally well. ("Can I get two if I go ahead and lie down?") The clicker thing made her cock her head sideways with the cutest confused expression, but in time she gathered that the treat wasn't coming until she acknowledged it, skills for which don't exactly come naturally to one who's never taken a dog for training before. (Eye contact THEN click? Or click to get the eye contact. This took us a minute to coordinate. May've been a blonde thing. Roz, on the other hand was there to do whatever. The clicker part was more confusing than anything but saying her name, getting her to look eye to eye, that came naturally. Then again, she comes from a long line of eye-gazers...Plus I was holding a treat. Ok. What's next? )
     Next, we took a break in which we were led on a guided tour of the store. Leading the entire class through a Canine Candyland of Bouncy Burrows and Holee-Treat balls and indestructable KONG toys and game-playing things,  we were taught things like why a $30 elk antler is a better investment than a $.99 rawhide chew (if you account for the potential vet bill). All in all, highly educational, if nothing else I'll know where to find our aisle on future visits without having to ask for help. On the other hand, given the puppy-eye-level placement of this smorgasbord of delights, I felt it slightly inconsiderate (if not downright abusive) to expect a 10-week old pup to be still while being taunted by all the temptations.

     But more amazing yet, was Roz (who just the night before had pulled out EVERY toy she owned --and a few of mine--as in one last hoo-rah before the disciplining began). In total shock to me, Roz was not phased in the least by these things...Instead, Roz, who was closest to the door when leaving our training area for this little tour, (we were last in if you'll recall, thus nearest to the door) Roz held back...allowing everyone else to follow the leader first. Even when a fellow classmate offered to let us go before him and his Snickerdoodle, Roz remained poised, her herding instinct kicking in. Once everyone was in the aisle (and a long aisle it was-- long enough to host a dozen dogs, each with 2 or more family members) Roz observed her flock, strategically parking herself between the entire group and the rest of the store.  Roz (back to the group) had assumed her position and parked her body so as to serve as lookout, for this, her newfound substitute of a family.
     Back in the class area, we practiced clicking again before being asked to sit in a large circle. (This one was a new one on me, and one I feared might be our undoing.) Side by side with our beloved pets in front of us, we were to pass our babies to the person on our right, so that each of us would meet each of the other dogs (while watching our dogs look back in confusion). On this, Roz (at first) did not do so well; but halfway in (i.e. directly across the circle from me, watching her mama make over an adorable Rottweiler pup), she started to grasp the concept...they were moving her back my way. She would be coming back around before it was all said and done (big sigh). Her mommy would not be leaving without her. So long as I didn't walk out that door, she was cool and began to make friends with the other doggies' mommies. (Good gurrrl Roz. Good gurrl.)

Mommy's On a Bathroom Break. Gotta Guard Her Door.

     After this, we were given the opportunity to ask final questions. (I have to restrain myself in these moments; I asked only my fair share.) We were given some homework, a folder of things to read later and "suggestions" as to what things we might invest in next for new areas of training that are to come.
      Roz and I said adieu to our newfound friends ... and left the store with $40 worth of an antler and some treats. Exhausted she slept all the way home. (This time I didn't sing.)

How Not to Blog

Roz ... Before the week began

     I am glad I did not state specifically for the world to see, my New Year's resolutions, as two weeks in and I've already broken half of them... Anything that started with "daily" (as in "incorporate more of this into your routine") hasn't fully been incorporated and in reflecting on why it's pretty simple: my days were packed already. (What was I thinking?) Between farm commitments (may be no garden going, but the chores are forever) ...the goats (now entering another round of birthings) ... a new puppy AND puppy obedience school)...work projects...church projects...volunteer projects...friendship maintenance ...writing...living...being...Well, I don't think I'm alone when spotting: "To add ANYthing new into your life Evins, you're going to have to delete some things first."
     Sadly, as our houses grow more cluttered with each Kmart run, our closets overflow from one too many trips to the mall, our phones unable to store more pictures till we clear out our clouds, so go our lives...And yet mindlessly, endlessly we take on one more thing, meet one more person (and face it, most of us don't ditch our old friends just because we  make new ones)...We commit to one more project...At what point will we stop and realize we're manifesting things and activities and events in our lives quicker and quicker these days, and yet no one since Newton has stopped to remind us that "for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction" meaning for each new thing, each new invite, each new person met, each new activity tackled, come new set of responsibilities stemming from responses requiring new RE-actions, which in turn need responding and re-acting to, and so on and so on...
     Sad our lives aren't wired like our cell phones where before we hit the wall we're told our capacity is up only to be offered a plethora of monthly options to buy more storage.   If only there was a 99-cent-a-month plan so we could just tack on more space when we've run out of what we were originally given. In our increasingly noisy lives there is no such option. But does that stop us? No.  We just keep adding and adding and adding to our overextended lives anyway. And then we question our memories and our sanity wondering why we have the attention span of a gnat or can't remember where we were last Tuesday night. (Something I have lots to say about, but right now is not the time, lest I get further behind on this week's activities.)
     I titled this one "How Not to Blog" because each and every day this week deserved a blog all its own AND in real time. Had I stuck to my plan, there'd be four here by now (adding guilt to the overall mix of things).  So new, so eventful, so gripping some of this week's lessons (not all of them happy ones btw) I was too busy LIVING my life to write about it. So busy was I in questioning (be it instructors, be it myself, be it God) I found myself utterly exhausted by the end of each day, and as a result my body's need for sleep won out over my mental desire to live up to my commitment to a piece of paper made 2 weeks ago.
     So I'm making up for that today.
     Rather than updating you in real time...I'm updating you all at once; 4 days after. The good news is, a bit more reflection is now added to the mix. (Hoping that'll make up for me breaking my New Year's resolution of blogging here daily.)
     So forgive the "week-in-a-day" series of blog entries you're about to receive. Other option was to make one long entry, but given the differences each day held, the former option feels a more organized one, (organization and elimination of things being high on that resolutions list, and one I HAVE stuck to. Of course the year has just begun so I have miles to go before I sleep...)
     First up: Roz's first day of (obedience) school. (Brace yourself. This was one of the precious ones... I know everyone thinks their child special--and each one is-- But Roz, doing something SO off the beaten path for anyone ever from this family to attempt...well, it was an adorable thing to behold... a total unknown for the both of us. But may I just say she was a brave little pupster to have tackled it with such grace and charm.)
     Next on my list:  build some fold out steps for the Jeep so as to get her there by the end of the run or else by end of season she'll be driving...#growingbytheminute)
   

   

Video Blogging 101

     It would help when posting about a new venture into the world of blogging, to POST said video ... (yes, we actually hit a wrong button, which I am only now seeing)

     To make better sense of the afore mentioned (so called) feral cat blog ... I offer you 2 versions of what was meant to be a first... ( video attempt)

Next up -- video editing, and/or updating all systems (which I loathe as I shall lose several days figuring out where the Apple people moved everything)

     (Let us see if THIS allows the clips to show...If not, perhaps I'm best returning to long hand, written journal formats ...)

(Post Script: Rule changes and upgrades are easily lost on one not so technically inclined...Will consult my tech-y-'r friends tomorrow to figure out where all the other video posts of days past went...(Clearly, going forward, all must route through YouTube...that is, assuming the two above actually show up. I won't know until I back out and start again as a viewer.)

While grateful for technological advances, being force to upgrade sucks as there's  not a lot of excess time in our days as it is to stop and figure out what they assure us they've done to save us yet more time~  (which seldom if ever it does) ...Hoping these clips post... (And apologies if perhaps, for some of you, they posted twice. I can't see it from my end until I back out and start again, as clearly things I can see quite clearly in preview...don't make the final scene for you, the viewer.)

Going forward perhaps I'm best to stick to the written word accompanied with the occasional still shot ~ (assuming they haven't forced an upgrade there as well...)

Dear Lord, I miss analog.

So much for my simplified life :)

   

There 'R Blogs...(and then There 'R Blogs) Advancing to the World of the V-log (but not really)

   

More written words to come on my New Year's Resolutions (I actually DO have a lot to say about this, but my dog ate my homework...Literally)

     So may we shift to the "other" version of a blog...which is to say, the "video blog" also known as the "v-log" (which I'm pretty sure was the term 2 years ago...I haven't updated my technology since then, so please allow me this moment)

     To be clear, we are nowhere near ready to claim victory to the video-blogging thing by way of vitae,  but our attempts and excuses as to why ... should be more than self evident here.

     Case in point: please keep in mind, Roz, (cute white pup) is not the only critter taking up real estate in these parts ... In case you just joined us...may I introduce "Gracie" my (so called/not-so-feral) feral cat. (You'll have to scroll backwards if you don't know the history on my vast research into feral cats...why we need them...how all farms/barns should have them...How you should never name them for they will never let you close...)

     (For those of you who know me ... Well, here's the rest of the story. Yes. Gracie's now inside the house.)

     If you are only starting your own personal research on 'ferals' ....you might find this particularly helpful. (Just to let you know, it took two attempts to tell this story. Clearly going forward I need either  a)  to stick to writing or b) to hire a "for real" video editor ... (Pretty certain Steve Jobs is rolling over in his grave about now; surely he never intended his i-phones to be used for such foolish purposes, but hey ...  at least it's in real time :)

     How this all will end...
          well...
                 I'll share as long as I am able...

     Here's to educating the masses as to the pitfalls of the dangerous (so called) feral cat!

Meet Rosamarie (a.k.a. Roz)

   

     Ok....Not exactly the blog I planned for this day... (3 months off, the list backs up, but clearly, living in the "now"  means "today's surprises" move to top of the list.)
     So for those not following on Facebook, mid-hiatus, came a bunch of puppies...
     For those not so familiar with my familiar-farm-family, I am the mother of 4 big white Pyrs (as in Pyrenees dogs)...Rosey and TJ were my first (bro and sis); Rosey had one round of babies before being fixed (11 to be exact; we kept 2--Rosebud and Hix). Rosebud is my most recent mother--all babies (including the one I kept) are today on farms protecting everything from sheep to goats to chickens to people. In keeping with the Rosey/Rosebud line of things, our latest family member is named "Rosemarie" a.k.a. "Roz" a.k.a. "Rozerini" a.k.a. ...anything that comes out of my mouth when she's chewing on something or otherwise looking very cute.
     So, in keeping with the tradition, RoseBUD (are you following this? She's Rosey's daughter...Roz's mother) did a super job as mom, but is now more than happy to be back at her duties guarding goats. Baby ROZ we kept for 2 reasons: 1) Rosey's line we plan to continue; Roz is 5th generation goat herding/working dog so one female in each generation we keep for sake of the line, so in time Roz, too, will birth a litter of pups. But for now--no rush, for Roz is the perfect puppy who showed up at just the right time, (i.e. Nothing like a puppy to snap you out of your exhaustion or dysfunction or any other kinda funk; nothing will snap you into the "now" like a Pyr puppy, although I dare say most any puppy is capable of the same. I just happen to be particularly fond of Pyrs.)
     But the greater reason I opted to take on a fifth pup, is I have recently discovered Pyrs are now being trained as service dogs for returning vets suffering from PTSD, and well... I applaud whomever made the connection and I want to help.
     So I have a different plan for Roz.
     For starters, my goat to large dog ratio is well taken care of around here. We've basically got 1 dog for every 4 - 5 goats. (Technically "One will suffice" especially when factoring the food bills, so the goat-guarding duties are covered.)
     No. I'm interested in seeing just how trainable these dogs really are. And while 12 weeks is the recommended start date for basic obedience training (Roz turns 12 weeks tomorrow) she has already shown great potential as a greeter and volunteer (if not a mascot) tagging along with me at Room in the Inn. (In fact, it was one of our homeless guests who, upon hearing I raised Pyrs, shared that he was about to be assigned one.)
     "Assigned one?" I was curious...Surely he was mistaken.
     "Yes. As a service dog." (I'm thinking, "They're kinda stubborn and they aren't cheap to feed...are you sure you have the right breed?")
      Answer: Yes. (Turns out he was right. I had to know more.)
     I came home and started Googling and lo and behold, Pyrs are being ranked one of the best breeds out there for vets dealing in post traumatic stress disorder. Why? Because of their temperament...Because of their loyalty...Because of their instinctive protective nature...Because you don't want to step foot between a Pyr and whatever it is that Pyr is there to protect. (I would personally like to meet the person who came up with this one as I think it's brilliant.)
     So for starters, we'll see if Roz is trainable. (FYI Pyrs are known to be stubborn (we like to say "independent minded") i.e. difficult to train if you don't start early. Don't know that this would work with Rosey or TJ; Hix and RoseBUD are definitely out of the question, so set in their ways are they; but in starting Roz out early, we are eager and hopeful to see what training can do.
     If she takes to it, (and so far, she's socializing well in large group settings) who knows, Roz may make it to a VA near you. If not, we'll at least report back on the experience.
     Pyrenees do (sadly enough) wind up too often in pounds and shelters...(If you've never had one, read up on the breed before falling in love with this polar-bear-looking pup.) They DO grow quite large and will require space. (Think Saint Bernard only solid white.) They are also nocturnal (meaning they bark all night to keep things away), and in the summer months, they shed and some drool.
     On the other hand, these dogs are fiercely loyal, instinctively protective...truly "gentle giants" when it comes to injured animals and kids (both children and newborn baby goats).  But don't let the label fool you. In these parts a Pyr will flat take out a coyote or a fox and mine are particularly rough on buzzards and hawks. In short they are on patrol at all times and live to protect the things they love, be it goats, sheep or their owners.
     The thought of this breed being of aid to returning soldiers warms my heart no end. (Then again, I'm pretty nuts about these dogs.)

Ok. May I just say, this was the "not so great" part of my day
when Rosey dragged into the yard the skeletal remains of a
possum, leaving it for Rosemarie to find~
 (Think it's safe to say, this one's not faking)
Fortunately, Roz is (as of today) still small enough to fit in the shower~
(ugh)

   

In the words of that little Poltergeist girl...

     I'm Baaaaacccckkkk!

     Hardly the silent, sensitive way I entered this new year, but high on my list of New Year's resolutions was "Resume the Blog" ~ And so, I am. Here's announcing that it's back.
     First, may I begin with my sincere (and kinda overwhelmed) thanks to those of you I discovered had been following it. As I've mentioned in prior posts, my original intention in starting a blog in the first place had nothing to do with keeping score or upping my following. Rather, it had everything to do with sharing what I'm learning as I go, for the sake of saving time.
     For starters, I don't know what I'm doing. I've been learning from day one, but since more and more people seem to be resonating to such things as home grown veggies and sustainable living and simplifying their lives and novel new concepts like tiny houses and (fill in the blank), I get a lot of questions. (Namely: WHY are YOU doing this, Evins? Answer: Well...it started out as a cookbook idea--a project I decided to research first hand, which meant "Grow it yourself, which turned into Farmer Thurman showing me the old fashion way, which turned into "to be organic, you gotta have critters that poop," which turned into cute goats, which turned into Pyrenees to protect the goats, which turned into... You get the gist. And if you haven't noticed, I never got that 3rd cookbook on the press, why? Because despite those enticing magazines at your grocer's check out, THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A HOBBY FARM~ (So if you're thinking of this as a hobby, let me dispel that little myth right now.)
     So to those of you curious or pondering the same, I was more than happy to share, yes, the fun and fulfilling elements of my first hand, neophyte, investigative approach to things...but also the "Whoops...Didn't quite think that one through" moments of which there are many. (Actually, most of them...If I stop to add them up.)
     Bottom line, I love the farm. I love gardening. I love my goats, my pups...I love this life. But attempting to manage all of these things with the hope of doing any one of them reasonably well (not to mention, run a book company to pay for said "experiments") well, it left something to be desired.
     So end of the last season, (August always finding me exhausted and usually in the hospital for some stress related weak link that gives way), I once again found myself steeped in stress. My mother faced a critical surgery and needed care taking; my own health was weakening. (Exhaustion will do that to you.  No vacation in 4 whole years, will do that to you. If I wasn't going to logically recalibrate my energy expenditures, my body was going to do it for me, and I could hear it asking, "Could we please hit pause and review?")
     Answer was: yes. Experience in life is only as good as our ability to reflect upon it once it's happened, and for me that came with some very serious soul searching as to what parts of this we keep, and what parts of this we say "Nice experiment; I think I'll leave that to the pros."
     So I enter this year, having taken the time I felt I needed to regroup, re-organize and re-prioritize a few things (starting with my own health, and that of my mother, who came through things with flying colors...Thank you God, and thanks to those of you who prayed)...In other words, those pesky little events that otherwise culminate in "Life" ...Complete with the lessons that will slow your jets down for you if you keep adding layers to the stack cake you're baking in your own little kitchen there.
     I enter this year, and this blog in particular, with more questions than answers...More uncertainties than ever before, and yet more hope. I still feel strongly that interests in such things as sustainable living, clearing our lives of clutter, making more space for what matters and using that space efficiently (i.e. tiny homes are on my research radar this year...Love that Tiny Home Nation, but what I want to see is where these folks are in 10 years...Did they last? Are their marriages are still in tact? Are they tired of living in a cute closet on wheels or did they really use all they'd saved to experience life more fully? Again, uncertain, but hopeful.) I feel strongly our interests in these things are happening for a reason...that I'm not the only one asking "How do I slow this train down?" and I'm not the only one wondering "How did it get this crazed in the first place?"
     Seems everyone I talk to these day (be they Thurmans, be they corporate execs, be they entrepreneurs) are dealing in some aspect of the same. Something's going on here. We've got more luxuries, more technology, more access to information, more HELP by way of things to save us time, and yet no one seems to have any spare time to show for it. (How'd that happen? Or are we using these things improperly, after all, every phone, pad and gizmo comes with an instruction booklet, but none comes with the booklet to warn you how having all this nifty new gear might one day affect your sanity.)
     So that's me. That's where my mind goes when I'm not blogging...(I'm still writing mind you, just silently, in a journal long hand, but to give you a clue, that's where my mind has been.)  I enter this year still searching for answers on how to prepare the proper soil, but more than getting beneath my garden's soil, I want to dig beneath the surface of my own life's dirt to see what root rot may've set in when I wasn't looking.)
     So if you're curious (or just grateful someone decided to be the self-appointed guinea pig here), bookmark me. I got halfway done with a new website that will allow you to ask for a notice with each new blog, but until I get the other half done, just bookmark it. I'll be here most everyday, Lord willing.
     And get ready for the pictures. Got goat babies due just any day. Rosebud (Rosey's daughter) had a litter of pups smack dab in the middle of my mom's surgical ordeal, so THAT was a high and low kinda roller coaster...Life on the farm is far from laid back, but there's a lot to keep you smiling (if not downright laughing)...And still, there's plenty to make you think (and feel...and ask).
     So...here's to a brand new year, with some brand new resolutions, starting with "More silence...More meditating... More intentional focus to life's little decisions, that eventually account for the big ones...More sharing of what matters most (assuming you find it...to me-- this one's the biggie. If we could each but figure this one out, why wouldn't this be a swell place to live? )
     Here's to the journey. As my friend Richard Bach once wrote,

          "Here is the test to find whether your mission on earth is finished:

                                                                                                        if you're alive, it isn't." 

(From Illusions...My favorite book. Ever. If you haven't read it, I can't recommend it highly enough. Bach is my kinda author, my kinda thinker...but that's another blog for another day.)

     So Happy New Year, kindred spirits and kind-hearted souls...

     Be happy.  
                            It's New.  
                                                 You're Here.

1/1/16

Sabbatical

 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8(KJV)

     A year ago last January (2014) I set out on an ambitious venture. Having moved back to my hometown to take seriously the offer of a 4th generation farmer to teach me how to grow things as I put together a "Farm to Table" cookbook, I decided to share my story by way of a daily blog. (To see how far off the mark I was from where I envisioned it going, I offer you the very first entry. http://karlensgarden.blogspot.com/2014/01/diary-of-first-time-farmer.html ...Boy was I naive.) Still, I undertook the self-imposed challenge for a number of reasons:

     One: was a generous gesture, Thurman offering to mentor me. Within the first few weeks of the journey, I came to realize that even though it was my responsibility to DO the work itself, I would never have known how or where to start. Things like turning the ground (vs. plowing, vs. tilling) Things like reading an almanac ... planting by the signs... Things like "I wanna grow tomatoes." (Thurman) "What kind?" (Me) "What are my choices?" (same for corn; same for cucumbers; same for . . .) opened the door to an endless barrage of questions and a mountain of notes in journals that I felt other newbies might one day benefit from, so I decided to document my journey . . . Share my Thurman.

     Secondly, having entered this farming world (by far, the hardest work I've ever undertaken, and yet the most rewarding), I knew it would be easy to get out of the writing habit, after all (and this was the part I did NOT think through) FARMING IS A FULL TIME JOB. Given it was writing that paid my bills, I could not afford to lose the discipline. So whether I was blogging to myself or to an audience of two,  I needed to "put it out there" so to speak, to keep myself sharp. (To this day I have no clue how many people follow it. I never set up the analytics.)

     At the year one mark of the daily blog thing, I decided I'd blog only as time would permit, which up until this last week has been roughly every 2 - 3 days. To keep the farm going meant bringing in help, maintaining fences, equipment, etc...To keep the critters healthy meant building barns and calling in vets and making feed runs. In short, with each new answer came a lot more questions and a lot more challenges vying for my time, my money and my energy, all of which are in need of a reboot about now.

     With all my heart I feel there is a movement afoot...that others too are sensing this need to get back to basics. Everyday I talk to people who are looking to enhance their know how in the event they had to sustain themselves and their families, if for no other reason than it's just healthier that way. More and more I run across people who say "How long can this economy last?" as they question everything from government spending to natural disasters to wars that never end. All the while the farmers and gardeners I meet at auctions and Master Gardening classes are doing something about it.

      I've gotten good at asking the questions; I've come to adore my local ag extension people, there with the bigger picture stuff-- How to get the well dug...Who to call for fencing...Where to turn to preserve your farm for future generations. Still and so, the fields are white and the laborers are few. 

     All in all this has been quite the eye-opening journey and again, the most precious chapter of my life to date...But like the scripture quoted above, To everything there is a time and season . . .and now that I've both planted and plucked, I feel my time to speak has been spoken...a time for silence is upon me.  

     A week ago today I traveled to the mountains of East Tennessee for a 2-day get-away (first time in 3 years...That's what farming and critters will do to a travel schedule!) I attended the wedding of a dear friend and stayed in a rustic little cabin with nothing but journals and notebooks, the way I foresaw this journey playing out 17 months ago. As I sat in the silence, hearing my own voice like a long lost friend, it occurred to me, now is that time.

     With each new thing to learn, came new responsibilities...With each new responsibility, came more commitments. In short, my time--this precious commodity and the only thing we can really call our own, is needed elsewhere.

     As best I can I have tried to show both the ups and the downs of my little farm life. Yes the goats are adorable and yes, I'll fall to mush next week when Rosebud has her puppies, but there've been painful parts too, and this past year in particular left me facing more than I was ready for...

     It was a tough hit for me emotionally to lose my business partner, mentor and friend of 20+ years. (Teddy Bart passed away last December). A few months later I lost not one, not two, but three of the most precious ladies to ever walk the planet to cancer. Over the summer I had to say goodbye to Minsky, my best bud and co-pilot pup for the last 15 1/2 years...Two weeks ago little April goat died in my arms. And earlier this week I'm sad to report I lost one of my 3 (not-so-feral) kittens. 

     Today...with the seasons changing outside my door, there is a change in me as well...a change I cannot anticipate with logic and planning...one that am not totally clear on myself, but one I can only walk through as a day by day proposition. Where once I felt a desire to speak, today my heart craves silence... and in order to be fully present for the chapter that lies ahead, I take this leave of absence. 

     In order to be present...to be fully in the moment as I care for those most precious to me, I am alleviating what things I can....for what period, I cannot say...The writing will continue, I simply must release myself from the obligation of a time table.

     The biggest challenge of my life today (and I hear this from every friend I talk to, so I don't think I'm unique) is how to get it all done and still be present for the things that matter most. We are wired to our computers, addicted to texting, and we're drunk on social media. On the one hand one, it's not all bad...I adore being able to check to see what friends are up to or to laugh at someone else's silly goats. On the other hand, time on social media is costing us...It packs a powerful punch. When we spend more time online than we do caring for the people we cherish most in our lives, well, perhaps it's time for a change.

     Last night I called Thurman. His mother died yesterday. What weekend plans I thought important just went out the window, after all, what good is all this blogging if I can't be present and of comfort for someone who has given so much to my life

     Three days ago I heard from the daughter of a most precious friend -- Stage IV Pancreatic Cancer --he was given 4 weeks to live 4 weeks ago...I can't think of anything more important than the conversation we'll be having today...

     And as my own precious mother--the woman who gave me life-- faces procedures, tests and surgeries, dealing in excruciating pain along the way ...it is not my duty, but my honor to be there by her side...We'll leave no stone unturned as we walk through this valley.

     So fair warning to those whose texts may go unanswered...whose IM messages I don't always see...Short of the necessary work before me, my focus and my heart lie here...Outwardly caring for those who have cared for me...Inwardly caring and preparing myself for what lies ahead. Please don't take it personally if I don't get back to you right away. Once through it, I'm sure I'll bounce back, but for now, a season of silence is upon me...How long I am there, only time will tell. May be weeks...Maybe a month.

     I am grateful to you all for the prayers, the love and the support...and for having allowed me to share my story here with you...I'm not saying goodbye...only that it's time for a sabbatical. I am in need of a Sabbath. (In truth, I think the whole planet could use a Sabbath.)

     Here's holding it in prayer.

     

     

On Interviews and Interviewing

    I count my lucky stars to have been mentored by the best when it comes to the art of interviewing. The number one trait of a good interviewer is the ability to listen and Teddy Bart was masterful at it. As his producer I was often asked (by potential guests) "What's he gonna ask me?" or "Can you get me a list of the questions?" (Believe it or not, when authors go on tour, most write their own questions FOR the host assuming most hosts don't have time to read the book.) Teddy never needed such "cheat sheets" nor did he pre-script his questions. My producer's reply to this type of question was "Teddy doesn't know what he's gonna ask you till you get here--He doesn't know what you're gonna say back." 

http://www.tnledger.com/editorial/Article.aspx?id=83945

     Teddy's goal was to earn your confidence, then get you relaxed enough so that he might bring something out of you that others may have missed. The best interviewers are insatiably curious to start with and digging beneath the surface to find some new gem or better yet, something you (as the interviewee) are so passionate about, you open up yourself up and let 'er flow...that's when you've struck pay dirt.
     To get there involves a level of trust. There's a fine line between flowing and spewing. You don't get a "do over" if you got so comfy/cozy you slipped up and shared more than you should've. On the other hand, props to the question-asking soul who spots your sweet spot and hones in...Watch any good interviewer (and I had the honor of watching Teddy for 20 years) and you'll spot that listening is critical, but caring, really caring about what the other person is saying (provided it's not political "bumper sticker" speak) is key. And those who make it look easy...well, that speaks to how good they really are.
     It was a pleasant surprise to hear from Colleen Creamer, a successful writer, author and respected reporter whose bi-lines have ranged from the Tennessean to Nashville Arts to the New York Times. Most recently she's been writing for the Ledger, and when she reached out about doing a story on the farm, I was happy to oblige, though curious as to why someone coming OFF the beaten path seemed newsworthy. My life is pretty common fare these days compared the high-octane days of morning drive radio. What's more, farming's been around since the dawn of time and there are folks out there doing it far better than I'll ever hope to.
     Still, it was an opportunity to catch up...a chance to give credit where credit is due to folks like Thurman who are the salt of the earth. What's more, I'm all for sharing that life shifts can be done, and if gnawing at you, should be...While I haven't mastered a totally simplified life, it is a goal I recommit to each day and for those who (increasingly) reach out about considering some version of the same I'm as sincere as a heart attack when I say "Don't put it off too long."
     Whether considering a spot of land or a mapping a patio planter box, this garden thing is more than a food source. For me it's a metaphor on life: a living breathing reminder that "As we sow, so shall we reap." Planning and planting what you want to see happen in your life and then tending to it...until it appears, that's about as Beyond Reason as it gets. But the neat thing is, it's also about as real as it gets. I recall when I first ran across the word "Garden" (a word origin that made it into one of my books) it moved me. In case you didn't know, the word traces to early monastic times where these "guarded areas" (later the "guardeds" which evolved to "garden") were sacred plots, set aside in tribute to the original garden of Eden. They were there to provide physical sustenance for the entire monastery or Abbey, yes, but they were also a part of a monk's daily ritual......where they'd go to practice a more mindful communion with God via a physical meditation.
     Same thing happens today if you let it...There's something very mystical about seeing something spring forth out of nothing. Something otherworldly takes over If. You. Let it.
     While "Sustainable Living" is the all the buzz these days, I contend it's "meaningful living" that we're seeking...As with interviews...so with gardens...so with life, the best stuff comes from digging deeper. And for that, I give major props to Colleen Creamer and the Nashville Ledger for going for the root of the story... For that I also extend my heartfelt thanks.
   

   
   

The Crazy Bunch (Sung to the Tune of The Brady Bunch)

Here's the story...
Of a crazy lady...
Who was living with 3 not-so-feral cats...
They showed up in different makes and different colors...
(Cause their mama was a slut and rolled like that!)




Here's the story...
From the other side now
Of a pen that houses goats and big white pups...
Who are chompin' at the bit to meet their playmates~
(But we reinforced the gate to keep them up!)

The Crazy Bunch ~
The Crazy Bunch ~
That's the way we all became the Crazy Bunch!

RIP April: The Rest of the Story (for those who have asked)

     With several books to my credit citing phrases and their origins, I had never included "not out of the woods yet" though it's an expression I've come to appreciate more and more these past few days. (For the record, some trace the expression to Benjamin Franklin, who used it in the context of early frontiersmen, trekking through forests, not setting up camp until they'd found safe clearing, meaning for the more difficult part of the journey they were "not out of the woods yet".)
     For me, it will forever be an expression tied to baby goat, April, for she was not out of the woods figuratively, and when we found her, she was in the woods literally, where we found her (I thought) dead.(Thank God for Pat, who knows more about goats than I will ever hope to learn. He was worth his weight in gold yesterday.)
     Having played with her just the night before, sharing her with friends...hugging her goodnight when I did my final rounds, I honestly thought she was on the mend. She had made it two days, after serious rounds of de-worming medication and was eating quite well (though still distancing herself from the others). We kept a close eye on her, having given her a pretty strong dose of worm meds, parasites being the nemesis as anyone raising sheep and goats knows.
     But yesterday morning was different; April did not show up for breakfast. Walking into the woods, it was Pat who found her, second only to Hix, who just like the day she was born, had no intentions of letting us anywhere near. Her body was limp. Hix's growl, ferociously guttural. Her body had started to draw flies. It's the worst sight in the world, made tougher by not knowing how long Hix would stay poised...(My guess: until the first buzzard appeared as we all know how Hix feels about buzzards.) My only saving grace was that Hix had not yet eaten his breakfast.
     I confess, I assumed her dead; it was Pat who spotted (from a safe distance) a pulse! "She's still breathing!" he hollered. I bolted to the house for Hix's food...the distraction alone, giving Pat just enough time to pick her up. (God bless this man.)
     Feeding dogs and goats at warp speed, I cried when I saw Pat round the corner, holding a weak, but still alive little goat.
     "Doesn't look good" he warned; that much I could see. But she was trying and we were going to give it all we had.
 

A very concerned Rosebud helps me check on sweet April the night before

      The vet was on another farm call. Pat held her, dripping water from a syringe as I raided my basement fridge of every medical concoction I had on hand. One by one I texted pictures of bottle labels asking the vet: "Yes or no?" and if yes, "How much?" Antibiotics are a staple you keep on hand (big challenge if you're going organic); dewormers, iron supplements and B vitamins are things one should also have. I had some but not all. Turns out, it wouldn't have mattered anyway. April was deathly anemic. Diagnosis: Haemonchus Contortus, a.k.a. barber's pole worms.  (https://hoeggerfarmyard.com/goat-vs-barber-pole-dont-let-the-worms-win/ in case you're not familiar)...A deadly parasite increasingly problematic here in the South.
      This barber's pole worm I had been warned about early on...External exams are done by pulling down the eyelid to check for color. (Note: pull down your own; it should be pink, meaning your blood count is good; if it's white like April's was, the bloodsucking parasite has won. It's called the FAMACHA test. We didn't need a vet to tell us. This is the sort of thing Pat knows like the back of his hand, but I wanted to do everything possible just the same.)
     First water, then a little goat's milk....later a few drops of pedialyte. We had 2 of the necessary shots on hand; anything more would have to wait. For a few minutes she perked up (not as in walking, but as in holding her head up; I so wanted to believe, but Pat knew better. Still, he graciously allowed me my hope, I suspect knowing my vet bill was unnecessary. For my peace of mind, I had to try.)
     I texted, "She's fading fast...HURRY!" The vet rearranged his schedule, texting back "I'm on my way." Slower and slower her breathing...her heartbeat steadily fading..."Hang in there girl...Hang in there..." I begged as I walked, bounced and rocked... To her credit, she DID hang in-- just long enough for the vet to get one more shot in her, (a heavier dose of de-worming medication), but to no avail. I felt the last breath leave her tired little body. We had done all we could do...(For April at least...for now.)
     But her death was not in vain.
     While a weaker goat from birth, smaller in size, born to a very small mama, April was no doubt more susceptible to the parasite. However, what April sacrificed in her own precious life, may very well have saved the whole herd, for her death and now the vet's presence, prompted the FAMACHA check of everyone's eyes, and strict instruction for immediately de-worming of the entire lot.

While I would not normally share a picture of
a dying creature, I do so here for educational
purposes...Below is the chart, now commonly
used to judge externally, how anemia is diagnosed
per the FAMACHA method.

(There are various theories on how often to de-worm as the immunity against this parasite in particular is building rather rapidly. Some farmers alternate de-wormers; some adhere to "medicated" feeds; others drench orally, the sickest in the herd; as for me, the entire lot is undergoing a 5-day shift in diet to a strict deworming product, while moving their electric fencing for more regular rotation of their grazing pastures, seeded with grasses like lespedeza, a 'natural dewormer' we this year, planted in spades.)
     In the end, it is my nature to look for the good in these moments. They are painful. There are tears.  What's more, it is my nature to beat myself up pretty sorely for not having spotted things sooner...acted more aggressively...It's all a part of the process, I suppose. It also serves to remind that no matter how much we think we control this thing called life, in the end, it's the releasing to these life, not the resistance of, that makes for the greatest growth. (At least that's been my experience.)
     If a lesson can be learned, a warning shared, then even a little life like April's will have served a useful good, which in the end, is what she would've wanted.
[Post Script: I will be taking April's body in for autopsy to make absolutely certain nothing else contributed to her passing. As I have shared in prior posts,  Kord Diagnostic Laboratory on the Ellington Agricultural Campus in Nashville provides this service free of charge to those working to keep their farms contamination free. If you have lost a farm animal to disease or something unknown, I cannot recommend Kord highly enough. It is to everyone's advantage to keep track of things such as parasites, worms and other debilitating diseases that can spread throughout a region if left unseen to.]

     Again, my heartfelt thanks for the many thoughts, prayers and condolences throughout this ordeal. It never ceases to amaze me the love that can channel through social media in times like these. I am humbled. I am grateful. I thank you all.