Don't Envy This

I woke up early this morning and decided to post the last thing I was working on yesterday before the second goat-baby hit…

It was a slide show I’d been making of the puppies…pictures for which, moved me to tears, realizing once they find their new homes, these moments would never be mine again.

This ‘aha’ was interrupted by a goat lying flat on her back, four legs up in the air…clearly in distress. Turns out she was giving birth (they normally don’t go all 4 legs up, but she got off balance). I raced out the door just in time to see two little hooves struggling to get out. As is fast becoming my instinct these days, I grabbed what was to grab and gave it my best mid-wifery tug. In seconds, (despite the slime) a precious, perfect, angel of a goat was born. (I say Angel literally, as she had wings painted on her sides as the pictures will attest).

This morning when I went back to post yesterday’s puppy pictures I noted a comment on my FB page, which read: “I want to come live with you.” There was a second one following the angel goat’s birth that read: “I adore your peaceful life.”

Such moments of goat births and puppy videos, yes, are worthy of their ooohs and ahhhs. But lest I don’t convey the other times with slide shows, there are other moments that are as disheartening as the picture perfect ones are heartening.

After all, I don’t post the pictures of the babies that did not make it…I’m starting to process these things through blogs, yes, but out of decency, I dare not post post-mortem pictures.

I have yet to post the autopsy report of a goat whose heart failed after losing her twins at birth. (It’s not that I’m trying to hide it, so much as I’m trying to cope with it.)

There is a fine line between being selective and being honest…I can only pray that you, the reader, will appreciate my attempts at modesty for when it comes to public posts on FB pages, I wish only to uplift. But if for a second this be interpreted as me not experiencing the sadder sides to this story, please know it is not my intention to mislead.

The good, the bad, the ugly…life contains all three.

To me, it’s where we focus our tomorrows as to how the story plays out.

From Karlen's Closet to Karlen's Garden

     I once ran a women’s clothing store and I was lousy at it. Main reason? I loved the merchandise and went to market with me in mind. My attitude going in was “Oh that’s cute. If it doesn’t sell, I’ll wear it myself,” which for anyone who knows anything about women’s clothing and retail knows this is the #1 way to be out of business fast. My dad used to say I was going to be the best dressed girl in bankruptcy court. Fortunately I shut ‘er down before we got that far, but he was right. I would’ve had any number of cute outfits to choose from had it come to that.

     Was talking with a fellow writer last week... I asked how he kept from taking on projects that didn’t excite. (Unlike me with cookbooks, my friend takes on various assignments, meaning he ghostwrites, has several successful biographies to his credit, covers the music industry….that sort of thing.) His answer: I up my price.  Seemed a good strategy, after all, writers have to eat too, and like any profession until you get going, it can be tempting to take any and all paying gigs if it means you’re writing. But I get what he was saying. If the passion’s not there, you might as well ask big, cause you obviously don’t care if you get the job or not. But if it pays off your car, well…you could justify that for a little while anyway. (Fortunately for my friend, he’s got a waiting list of folks wanting his talents so his car is paid for.)

     I thought about our conversation this morning when someone FB’d to ask what I was selling the puppies for. For the record, I decided to breed Rosey for two reasons: 1) her temperament is so unique, I wanted to clone her...But since that wasn’t an option, allowing her 1 litter of pups was the next best thing; 2) I had at least 3 farmer friends whose working Pyrs were aging. Making her offspring available to those I love looking to replace their own working farm dogs seemed a reasonable proposition, ‘cause Lord knows, I’m not making a dime off any goats for fear someone might eat one.

     But when I looked around this morning at the batch of pups she’s hatched…

     When I got down on my knees as I do about 20 times a day, to have puppies crawling all over me, sucking on my nose, my earlobes, my fingers…

     When I fell into a sea of white fluff, their little tails wagging and their little chunky legs wobbling all over me, the floor, each other…I realized I’m no wiser than I was back when trying to run a clothing store…if anything, I’m worse, cause these are living, breathing, adorable angels with fur. To say I’m in love with the inventory would be an understatement.

     With three of the seven pups spoken for before they were even born, it’s starting to dawn on me I’ve got more than enough people now, wanting the rest, which means I’ve got about 2 more weeks of this bliss…and then what? A silent basement? No puppies to come home to? No cute little wobbly things to cuddle, coddle and cradle?

     Going rate for a purebred Pyr with no AKC papers ranges anywhere from $250 - $500 in these parts. Given vet bills, food costs and the like, I’ve priced Rosey’s at $300, though I’m now rethinking that proposition.

     For those of you who’ve left deposits, your price remains the same. For the rest of you, I’m thinking -- $5,000 a pup?

     (I am, of course, kidding. Much as I’m gonna miss these little buggers, I am looking forward to having Rosey back to myself and TJ looks forward to having his sister back on duty watching the goats.) Still and so, what a journey this has been.  If I had to put a price tag on the many “now” moments I’ve been blessed with these past 4 weeks, it would, without a doubt, prove priceless.

Mama said there'd be days like this...

Those who know me know I don’t believe in coincidences.

That’s why I had to laugh when today, between meetings and looking for the next weather report on a cable system I didn’t know so well, I scrolled past an episode of "The Office"... only to hit the one (and at the precise right moment IN said one) when Pam (having left to have her baby) returned to her turf only to have Kevin screaming “Waaaaaaah”...."Waaaaahhhhhh"  at her breasts because (shortened, edited version) this made them lactate…

This made me laugh, as I’m dealing in the same here back at the farm. (No. Not my breasts. But Rosey’s. We’re weaning the pups, but one ounce of any motherly sound –be it her entering the room, her smacking her lips, her licking her own paws…much less, something involving her licking one of her puppies and yes, she lactates…most often on whatever floor is underneath her at the time…)

On the one hand…we keep a mop handy…

On the other…I honestly don’t know what I will do two – three weeks from now when my mopping, maternal, motherly (if not grand-motherly) skills are no longer needed…

Rainy Days and Sundays

           

            It is not uncommon for Sundays to be my busiest day of the week, depending on how the schedule falls. Today was one such day. Between church commitments, homeless hosting duties (complete with cot set up and meal preparations) and a litany of other church related propositions, well, it was a busy one before my feet hit the floor, and that was before you factored Super Bowl festivities and weather shifts guaranteed to keep me tied up with church things for the better part of the day.

            While driving home (a full 12 hours from when I left it earlier this morning) I pondered the future of church attendance in general. Real easy to justify staying in, what with 7 fuzzy pups in the basement and a litany of critters needing my attention. Add to this the fact that I actually live in a church, well, if any one could justify it, I could, and some Sundays I do.

            But seems I’m not the only one justifying. According to Pew Research (good name for a church study group, don’t you think?) church attendance in America is on a steady decline and even for those of us who claim membership at a particular church, we aren’t going regularly, so what’s up with that?

            Where are we getting our spiritual fix?

            Meanwhile, as personal attendance drops, television viewership of religious and spiritual programming seems to be holding its own thanks to the Joel Osteens and Joyce Meyers of the world. Toss in best sellers like Rick Warren with his “Purpose Driven Life” and it’s clear we’re showing up somewhere --if not in traditional settings, then perhaps in the privacy of our own homes and lives, which begs the question: When did this change?

            To me, spirituality is not a Sunday-only thing, so much as it’s a way of life—a lens through which we view our everyday interactions, choices and decisions. True, Sundays may find me gathering with like minded seekers, but were that to go away, I’d like to think it wouldn’t take living in a church to have me living with Spirit in mind each and every day…after all (and especially on a farm) it’s everywhere I look.

Propane Shortages and Wood Burning Furnaces

            It’s one thing to hear your friendly news anchor say there could be a propane shortage. It’s quite another to have your tank topped off at 60% because the company you buy from has started to ration.

            Most everyone on my road is on propane. Everyone, that is, but Thurman. Thurman has a wood burning stove inside his house, on which, this time of year, you’ll see a big ol pan of water –there to keep moisture in the air.

            His stove and the wood he chucks into it everyday is enough to keep Thurman, his wife and his 90-something year old mother all toasty warm on those single digit nights. Go for a visit, and you’ll find yourself peeling off your layers in about 3 minutes or less, that’s how good it works.

            Contrast this to my drafty home, where I pad about in big thick socks and turn the heat way down at night, allowing a dog and a cat and my big old down comforters to warm me. I’m saving whatever propane I can, after all, not only do I care about the shortage, I care about my bill.

            To give you an idea how bad it’s gotten, it wasn’t but a few weeks ago that my tank ran out. One call to the propane man (now on speed dial) and I was up and running again within a couple of hours, no worse for the wear physically, but fiscally, it was a hit.

            $1200 it costs to fill my tank these days. Granted that should last me awhile, but sadly, it’s not lasting near as long as it used to.

            The propane man was back yesterday, capping me off at 60% and leaving another bill...this time for $600. (Must’ve been down to my last 10%) I knew this winter was bad, but I might also have a leak. Neither proposition brings comfort.

            So what did Karlen do today?

            Well, Karlen went shopping for an outdoor wood burning stove, that’s what Karlen did…And with a friend who knows how to install these sorts of things. I predict things like this are the next big thing, after all, who can control what propane (or any other regulated fuel) will do? Even if we had an endless supply, who can say what regulations will do? You kinda have to wonder when gas companies run up the prices (as we all suspect they do…not necessarily propane, but the gasoline giants)…don’t they know when they do this enough, we’re going to look for another solution?

            No wonder Exxon teeters on bankruptcy. That’s what you get when you gouge us. Screw us over and we go buy electric cars or hybrids cause we don’t trust you anymore. How hard is this to understand?

            Now it’s happening to propane.

            Don’t get me wrong. I don’t feel about propane like I do the big gas companies, after all, my friendly propane man never hired a drunken sailor to steer his big oil rig into an iceberg, killing innocent wildlife all over Alaska. Furthermore, if I could ship my propane up North where those poor folks are truly running out, I would do it in a heartbeat and just rub sticks together, but the principle still applies. You spook us with the word “shortage” and stick us with some of the highest priced fuel we’ve ever endured, and we’re going to look for a replacement…something we might have a say in…‘cause sadly, you’ve now made us nervous.

            So yep. I spent my Saturday picking out a wood burning furnace (no chimney-out-the-roof problem with this option. This one goes along the back of the house). I’ve talked to a guy who’s done it, channeling the heat of the burning wood into his existing HVAC ductwork and heating his home for a fraction of the cost.

It all started when a neighbor helped me clear a rotten tree, wood for which I gladly gave Thurman, whose propane bill (I soon discovered) is non-existent!

            (Moments like these that start me to thinking…

            And I’m discovering I’m not alone.)

            Look out big giants! The little guys are waking up!

            Still crunching my findings. When I  hit a solution, I’m happy to share. And if I botch it, well, that’ll be one less avenue you’ll have to try, so either way you win!  Stay tuned…