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.

The Cost of Caring: When Innocent Creatures Suffer

   

     Goats are God's definition of joy in a critter body. Minutes after they are born, they are up on their little goat feet and within their first hour they're doing that happy little sideways dance that makes for endless Facebook posts and darling YouTube videos. In a nutshell, goats embody love. You can't look a goat in the face without smiling...(I double dog dare you.)
     As lively and fun as the little buggers are, your heart breaks when one goes limp, which is how I found April last night.
Last check of the night and all was not well. Things you don't want to see include lifeless eyes, a goat flat on its side (or back, even worse) or a worried mama goat, trying to nurture her baby back to health. The other goats instinctively gave distance. Like all nature, they know when something is wrong.
     Born to the smallest goat in my herd, April's mama was a surviving twin, born TO a twin on the coldest night of the year before...(That polar arctic thing was dangerous all the way around, and doubly hard on a mama giving birth as it's hard to keep one baby alive, much less two, when birth fluids freeze instantly, which is what happened to April's twin brother before I could get to him; talk about a sad night.)
     Anna Karinina, April's mama, was one of several given Russian names, as they arrived opening week of the Russian Olympics.  Anna (AK as we call her) was tiny. So tiny I decided to have her fixed, as Heff, twice her size and twice as determined, was no match for her. Sadly, I got her to the vet too late; she was 3 months pregnant (gestation on goats is 5). A baby taking on Heff's gene for size could've been deadly. Fortunately, AK inherited her mother's gene for size and color and came out fine. (We've have lived with the tragedy before when the first goats I purchased were bred by a brush (goat) billy...For the record, NEVER pair a pygmy with a standard size goat; 2 mamas of my initial herd had tragic births with babies' legs longer their mothers, making for emergency surgeries costing life and limb.
       Pygmies are tiny on a good day; April was teacup size at birth, and even today is more akin to a Nigerian Dwarf than a Pygmy. Fully grown, today she is now smaller than Cupid's recent twins (Jack and Jill, born 6 weeks ago. Given her mother's small stature, April inherited small genes (and fortunately, not Heff's), but her immune system was challenged from the get-go.
     For those unfamiliar, wattles (those little nodes that dangle from the neck of some (but not all) goats) are sometimes called neck-earrings. Best I can tell, they serve no useful purpose...They're just cute...again, not all goats have them, but April does.
   

     Around 2 months of age, beneath her left waddle a cyst had formed, the size of a small marble. Fortunately it did not have the texture of a marble (i.e. it was not hard, but rather fluid-filled, which was easily enough drained, only it came back....It was drained again, but it is now forming for a third time, leading us to believe it may not be benign.) Time will tell. Right now, the focus is managing the dehydration factor. (I'll spare you the vivid details here, or you may check my earlier blogs on the poop factor, i.e. quickest way to spot a problem in farm animals, and for goats, even more so, given they have 4 stomachs...Suffice it to say, if their poop is off, their system's off. It's the number one tell-tale sign of a problem, leading me to believe that clearly God has a great sense of humor.)
     I'll spare you the details save to say, April made it through the night. (Good sign.) This morning, she ate. (Another good sign.) The others butted her, leaving her flat on her back (Bad sign...Suggests they know she's weak and are counting her gone, but I was there...and will be watching over her like a hawk until the doctor arrives.)
     While yes, this goes with the territory, it's not the part of the territory I like. It's a part of life-- just not the fun part, but it is the cost of caring so deeply.  To avoid the pain of hurting over an innocent critter would mean avoiding animals all together and that's a price I do not wish to pay.
     That said, I DO so marvel at the kind wishes, the thoughtful comments...the prayers I KNOW were prayed. (I felt them.) The tender hearted replies from so many caring people --fellow animal lovers, friends...even total strangers -- warmed my heart and brought great comfort at a time I was otherwise feeling lost and helpless.
     There is something about watching innocence suffer that both bonds us and reminds us of how very fragile life is, (and how very helpless we are at times to do anything BUT pray).  Yet for all the pain felt while watching it, there is a sweet peace that comes with knowing others care. And for this, I am truly...TRULY grateful.
     I'll keep you posted.
     My heartfelt thanks for your precious tender hearts.
     For now, it's an April kinda day.

Learning Curves (Feral Cat Meets Her Pyr)

    I recall every detail of Rosey's first (and only) litter of pups. Because it happened smack dab in the middle of the 2013 arctic blast, we (like a mother arguing with her teenage daughter) "debated" where the pups should be born. Me? I thought they should wind up under the dining room table for their first days so I could keep a close eye on them. Part of that was selfish I admit, but part of that was cautionary: given the size of both mama and litter, it is advised to keep an eye on the count as it is not uncommon for a mama Pyr to accidentally smother one in her sleep. Determined NOT to let that happen, I made one heck of a refrigerator box-puppy crib, but Rosey, being Rosey, said "Screw that" and commenced to having her puppies in the great outdoors in her favorite spot under the deck. (Only Rosey wasn't watching the weather channel, nor did she understand just how cold that "Polar Arctic Blast" could be.)
     At 32 degrees and falling when it started, Rosey hunkered down in her pick of places as I pulled out extension cords, blowers, heat bulbs, blankets and towels, and in my thermal romper and earmuffs spent the next 8 hours crouched along side her making sure every puppy got dried as quickly as possible. (Breaking water and freezing temps can make for instant pup-cicles if you're not careful.) By evening, with the help of neighbors and friends, we managed (in the 2 seconds Rosey got up to pee) to shift the puppies indoors; 2 days later, we shifted them to a make-shift nursery in the basement where they stayed for the next 8 weeks of their precious puppy lives.
     By week six, my farmer friend Thurman was chiding: "You're gonna spoil them dogs; they won't be worth a plug nickel if you don't get 'em out there with the goats. These dogs need to be getting used to the things they're gonna protect." Thurman is right about this, but of course, being Rosey's dogs they were extra smart pups to start with. Today I'm happy to report that no one got damaged by me keeping them indoors an extra couple of weeks. Today, 2 of the pups guard alpacas; 2 live on a horse farm in upstate New York; 1 guards a rescue shelter including dogs, cats and a goose with a broken leg and Rosebud and Hix, of course, do a masterful job keeping watch over our goats here along with their big-headed uncle, TJ.
     But an interesting thing happened throughout this ordeal.  Rosey, whose first year of life was spent with goats, patrols their parameter, but given all the time and energy spent indoors, her true guard is now more the house and everything residing therein and around, which means she now has new protectorates to consider.
     I'm proud to say, Rosey (the most self-actualized dog I have ever known) takes to these things quite well. She was unphased when Lilly, a rescue we fostered, shared her space for 2 weeks. Throughout Layla's ordeal, Rosey was sympathetic and mothering, lying next to the wounded pup as she healed from her surgery, sharing space, food, treats and (biggest share of all) her mama. (i.e. Rosey was not at all jealous, which as any dog lover knows, is always a risk.) And for the week we enjoyed the company of two 10-week old pups TJ sired, well, Rosey actually tried to nurse them despite the fact that she had been out of milk for 6 whole months.
     But now we have new critters. Our (so called) feral cats are now venturing forth, discovering new turf, appearing on porch decks....climbing big trees. It was bound to happen. One by one they must encounter Rosey, who basically needs to sniff 'em out and get used to the fact that they are here to stay.
     [Author's Note: when it comes to smaller critters like chickens or kittens, it IS best to raise a Pyr as a pup alongside the animals you wish them to protect, as their instinctive wiring is for goats, sheep and larger things. Rosebud's rambunctious reaction gave pause (paws) for concern a few weeks ago, but fortunately today she's back on her old turf and a bit preoccupied. Furthermore, if these cats have any remaining feral in them at all, which they do, I truly do not worry, after all God gave 'em tree-climbing gear for a reason, and that stuff works great for swatting big dog noses in addition to everything else.]
     As for Rosey, who was taught by Boo how to properly respect a cat...we're feeling good about things, despite this one scary moment when brave little Gracie met great big Rosey for the first time!

Up Next: Woodburning 101

   

Ahh...Nothing like the sound of chainsaws and
barking dogs to start your day . . .

     For the past 2 years (ever since the polar/artic blast) I have been contemplating a shift from propane heat to wood-burning alternatives. Let me tell you why.
     1) I have more access to wood than I do propane. (Actually, I love my propane people; but I don't love when the stuff gets rationed, which happened 2 years ago, which sent me on a search for alternative heat sources, lest it happen again.)
     2) I live in a rather drafty home. No. Let me restate that. I live in a VERY drafty home, what's more, the flow patterns for heat and air are funky, because it's a renovated church, meaning gaps in the windows leak air, settled floors leak air...Trust me. It's drafty, and a fortune to heat in the winter months.
     3) With every sustainable, alternative option I exercise, I feel a bit better about my life. Don't ask me why. I would not call myself a prepper. But it is increasingly my experience that the more I can simplify...the more I can entertain a "sustainable" alternative, the more I have to give to the things I love and the causes I care about. This alone makes the sustainable journey a fascinating one. (Plus, I love to learn, so there's that too.)

     The learning curve is now on overdrive, as I have now begun the search for wood-burning alternatives, only to find "There are many." What's more, everyone's situation is unique so what I share on my journey here may NOT be ideal for you. (I'm learning there are a lot of specific things to look into. I had no idea just how many variations there are on what clearly goes back to the dawn of time, which is humanoids warming their bodies by way of fire.)

     For starters, the tree in the photo had died (which makes me very sad, as it was a beautiful oak, but it got overtaken by poison oak, making it susceptible to a fungus, so there was that as well). For the past 2 years I have watched its slow decline, which was sad enough. But now, it serves to remind that everything has new life in it if you shift your perspective, so I reached out to my country-bumpkin pals who know how to do these things and now we have....firewood! (Nothing to inspire the search for wood-burning options like a wall of firewood, now neatly stacked and waiting for winter.)

     For reasons I do not know (I must've heard an ad) I had my sites set on an outdoor, wood-burning furnace. I had researched the components. Gone to visit a few. But when it got down to it, and I was told the thing had to be 25 feet away from my house AND any trees (I have a lot of trees), this began to look like the way I would NOT want to start a winter's day. So my search reverted to "indoor" units.
     For those who've not gone through this journey...welcome to mine. Indoor units are as varied as the individuals who seek them out, but the first order of business is "furnace or stove" (there is a difference. If you're like me and have been using the terms interchangeably, well...get ready to change.)
     Stoves--come in a vast range of adorable assortments, from cast iron square things to pot-bellied cute things. The sit in the middle of your home and they heat the area they are situated in to high heavens and if you opt for blowers and such, can be directional. (So far I'm thinking this is not ideal for me, but they are awfully cute.)
     Furnaces--can tie into your central heat and air options (if you are, like most people, living with such modern day conveniences) and can be routed to your duct-work, meaning you have an alternative (even if you choose to stick with propane when it's not being rationed). In other words, there are full blown furnaces for first time home-buyers who want to really start rugged...and there are component furnaces..."add ons" as some call them...that allow you the option of heating with wood or whatever else you had in mind. For me, (as of this writing) this is looking to be best.

     For those who have made this decision already, I welcome your thoughts and feedback. For those living with decisions they wish now they had not made, I welcome your insights as well, as I plan to document throughout this journey for the sake of others contemplating the same.

     Should be an interesting winter...I'm big on planning ahead. Stay tuned.

On Your Mark, Get Set... GOats!

     As the garden comes to a dwindle, (only sweet potatoes and a few pepper plants remain), our thoughts turn to fall and other projects in the wings...(and when I say wings, I mean that literally).
     Topping this list is equipping the barn and goat areas with cameras, after all, who doesn't love seeing goats jumping on things? If the internet is any indication, the world just can't get enough cute goats, be they jumping on spools or romping through garages wearing pajamas.
     With this in mind, I have decided mine should do their duty to upping the happiness factor everywhere, so get ready as we prep the site with Goat Cams and Go(at) Pros!

     (Note: we are not so certain Goat Drones will make the cut, however, as these are noisy little buggers, and first attempts to shoot drone footage found my goats hovering under a tree and my dogs barking at the sky. Clearly from their perspective, the drone strongly resembled a buzzard, and. . . well...we all know how that turned out.)