Another Day in Paradise

The soft tap tap tap of rain on leaves as it plashes down the bower, a stirring of the air, crisp, damp, foggy breath'd and fecund. Rich with Autumn's grandeur, a paintbox worth of color dappled on turning leaves. One lone small maple leans out towards the light, out from beneath the larger trees which perch over the steep creek bed. A mixed hardwood & softwood jungle, lush and deep with muted plinks and susurruses. Soon to be a blended pallet of yellows, oranges, pinks, purples & reds, with the piney greens as stark contrast to deciduous leavings. Staid companions, these conifers betwixt the broad-leafed majesties. I stand on the bridge taking just a moment before off I go to toil for my daily bread to listen closely to the primeval songs of this place, the music of the mountains, the sonata of the forest. And now, the Song Dogs add their voices to the orchestra, a rich blend of contralto, bass & soprano rising primitive up the scales of our hearts. The night's full moon still lingers in the soft silvered light, caressing the morning, loathe to leave. As I am.

A bit of a whimsy which has adorned the Aldars since we moved here.

Cry Havoc! And release the Goats of War! The Royal Goat Court at work browzing back the blackberries, clearing the feral parts of the land, and fertilizing a potential new garden.

The fernleaf maple (Acer japonicum f. aconitifolium) is in full display. What gorgeous purples and mauves! I love this tree!

These cottonwoods sing to me. Between these and the Sequoias, it sounds like the ocean murmuring along a pebbly beach. I love their fall golds, and their songs are... nurturing to something deep within me. I miss the ocean, miss being close enough to stand at her shores with my naked feet in her waters, but the Cottonwoods soothe that missing.

I caught the light shimmering sweetly on the fall-kissed leaves of the Coral Bark Maples (Acer palmatum 'Sango Kaku') This is another tree I just love, with her winter interest, and her chartreuse tresses.

Another of the Coral Bark, with the Gladstone tree peering behind her shoulder. This was a volunteer from Dianne's old house. We are happy to have the living connection to Happy Rock.

My old bridge. It was poorly made, and I paid too much for it. I will move it this Spring, to in front of the pond, and plant a vine (maybe a clematis!) I'm also going to dredge the canoe out of the pond, plop it also in front of the pond, and use it as a flower bed.

One of the Ancona ducks, our second generation.

Another of the Fernleaf Maple, with the light behind it.

This is a wild maple in the creek. I don't know what kind it is, and I didn't catch it early enough when the sun filters through and just lights it up. But it is a lovely golden spot of brightness within the green of the creek bed.

This morning, it is foggy and drizzly, and everything is silvered. Yesterday was golden. I am surrounded by precious metal lightness! Everything is Light. EVERYTHING.

>^,,^<

Song Dogs

Song Dogs sing the night alive rock the hills, make the mountains weep with your songs. These are my Kidz.


Teeghkii, my Golden Boy. He has decided that couches are good things to sleep on, not snack food.

I gonna love him and squish him, and call him George. No, wait, Mr. America, that's it.

Big smooches. 2008, this summer.

Beau and Tundra. Tundra's making nice, Beau is loving every minute of the attention. A beautiful couple.

America, 2006, catching snowballs. Fetch is one of his favorite games. BUT there's a catch. He doesn't bring 'em back. Naw, Mom. I'LL fetch. YOU carry.

Missy Chance. "Come Here, now! I want pets!"

America in the straw, the turkey. 2006.

Little Rhi, off leash in 2001? Ocean Beach at Dog Beach.

Little Rhi in 2002 looking particularly photogenic.

Mr. BearPaw, 2006. He is now 14 years old. Gruff ol' silly ol' bear, likes to have his butt scratched, hates to ask for it :~)

Spirit the WonderWoof.

Blog Action Day: Poverty in a Small Town

And what am I gonna do about it???
As this is Blog Action Day I am going to attempt to add yet another of my thoughtful-yet-unread posts to my thousands of invisible fans out there in Cyber Space. Since the real reason for this Blog to begin with is as a venue to practice my writing, it's all good. I think this is a great idea, this coming together on Cyber Space, this focus and intent. We are, all of us, focal points of energy, and focused, we CAN affect change. REAL CHANGE.

Now, I am not going to write about politics, nay. I am going to write about Hope. I am going to write about Prayers. I am going to write about desperation and desperate times. I am going to write about fear, and fear-mongering. I am going to rage rage against the fading of the light! I am going to shake my fists at the inhumanity of it all, and most of all, I am going to Vote with my whole conscience, with my whole prayerful soul, with all my hopes and dreams for this Country. My Pops (Great Grandfather, Assistant District Attorney of San Diego County in 1932) used to tell me several things which stuck with me over the years, and one of them was, you can't complain if you're too derned lazy to Vote. Well, since I like to complain, vehemently sometimes, I guess I best Vote. I urge you all, every last one of you invisible Gentle Readers, to Vote your Conscience.

But that is not the focus of this Blog Action Day. This Day is to raise awareness of Poverty, where-ever it raises its' ugly head. In this Country, indeed, in this World, with its' stunning leaps and bounds of technology, with its' incredible improvements of quality of life, there is no place for Poverty. There is simply no room in the Land of Plenty for our Elders to be lonely and hungry and cold. No room for our children to go shoeless, or uneducated, or without health care. NO ROOM for ANY of our citizens to live in desperate fear of getting hurt or sick, because they will lose EVERYTHING everything they ever worked for, dreamed of, all for the lack of minimal proactive health care.

And damn it, what am I gonna do about it? What am I gonna do to affect my One Mile Radius? Well, here's my plan. I plan to spend as much time as I can developing new garden plots here on Wolfdancer Creek. This season, I will develop at least ONE large new garden spot, or start it. I will do a cover crop on the one working garden I have and I will till it before the freeze, in preparation for next year. Next year, I vow to set aside more time to weed, and till, and harvest, and less time in front of the computer & the TV (watching movies on disk or VCR for relaxation, because I don't have "television", I have a TV) and the excess vegetables that I do not can or use, I will donate to the Senior Center. And the excess seeds I cannot use, I will donate (as I have done for the past three years) to the Pre-School, where the Teachers have a Victory Garden for the children.

I have a start on things, I have been putting the goats out to eat the blackberries Good on so many levels. GREAT fodder for the goats, the two new rescue goats are getting fat and shiny, the Nubian Princesses remain healthy, shiny and beautiously plump. Saves a bunch of money on goat feed, opens up otherwise feral land, feeds that land with very nutritious goat droppings and the downed and weed-whacked canes of blackberries which quickly rot unto rich nutritious soil fodder...

Today, I make a vow. I will make my garden grow. I will make a part of Wolfdancer Creek available to those with not-enough. I will share the bounty that I have been given. Although we here are living financially at Poverty Level, struggling with bills, struggling with making ends meet, struggling with day-to-day living, praying that nothing Bad happens, because God forbid, there is just no money to deal with anything except the bare necessities, and the bare necessities do not include things like health insurance, or proactive Vet care, or going out for dinner, or going to the movies, or trash service, or maybe even the internet if I can't get a handle on the backed up bills, but by gummy, the bare necessities DO include food for the critturs, electricity, and food enough for us two-legged critturs.... Good coffee in the morning, good bread to break with good friends....

So as poor as we are, we are Hopeful. Everything is Light. EVERYTHING.

>^,,^<

Thoughts on Understanding & Fear

Chief Seattle's Thoughts
How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? The idea is strange to us.
If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?
Every part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clearing and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people. The sap which courses through the trees carries the memories of the red man.
The white man's dead forget the country of their birth when they go to walk among the stars. Our dead never forget this beautiful earth, for it is the mother of the red man. We are part of the earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters; the deer, the horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the juices in the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and man --- all belong to the same family.
So, when the Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land, he asks much of us. The Great Chief sends word he will reserve us a place so that we can live comfortably to ourselves. He will be our father and we will be his children.
So, we will consider your offer to buy our land. But it will not be easy. For this land is sacred to us. This shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you the land, you must remember that it is sacred, and you must teach your children that it is sacred and that each ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells of events and memories in the life of my people. The water's murmur is the voice of my father's father.
The rivers are our brothers, they quench our thirst. The rivers carry our canoes, and feed our children. If we sell you our land, you must remember, and teach your children, that the rivers are our brothers and yours, and you must henceforth give the rivers the kindness you would give any brother.
We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not his brother, but his enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on. He leaves his father's grave behind, and he does not care. He kidnaps the earth from his children, and he does not care. His father's grave, and his children's birthright are forgotten. He treats his mother, the earth, and his brother, the sky, as things to be bought, plundered, sold like sheep or bright beads. His appetite will devour the earth and leave behind only a desert.
I do not know. Our ways are different than your ways. The sight of your cities pains the eyes of the red man. There is no quiet place in the white man's cities. No place to hear the unfurling of leaves in spring or the rustle of the insect's wings. The clatter only seems to insult the ears. And what is there to life if a man cannot hear the lonely cry of the whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around the pond at night? I am a red man and do not understand. The Indian prefers the soft sound of the wind darting over the face of a pond and the smell of the wind itself, cleaned by a midday rain, or scented with pinon pine.
The air is precious to the red man for all things share the same breath, the beast, the tree, the man, they all share the same breath. The white man does not seem to notice the air he breathes. Like a man dying for many days he is numb to the stench. But if we sell you our land, you must remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports.
The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also receives his last sigh. And if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and sacred as a place where even the white man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow's flowers.
So we will consider your offer to buy our land. If we decide to accept, I will make one condition - the white man must treat the beasts of this land as his brothers.
I am a savage and do not understand any other way. I have seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairie, left by the white man who shot them from a passing train. I am a savage and do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be made more important than the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive.
What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of the spirit. For whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man. All things are connected.
You must teach your children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of our grandfathers. So that they will respect the land, tell your children that the earth is rich with the lives of our kin. Teach your children that we have taught our children that the earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of earth. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves.
This we know; the earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth. This we know. All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected.
Even the white man, whose God walks and talks with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We shall see. One thing we know which the white man may one day discover; our God is the same God.
You may think now that you own Him as you wish to own our land; but you cannot. He is the God of man, and His compassion is equal for the red man and the white. The earth is precious to Him, and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its creator. The whites too shall pass; perhaps sooner than all other tribes. Contaminate your bed and you will one night suffocate in your own waste.
But in your perishing you will shine brightly fired by the strength of the God who brought you to this land and for some special purpose gave you dominion over this land and over the red man.
That destiny is a mystery to us, for we do not understand when the buffalo are all slaughtered, the wild horses are tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with the scent of many men and the view of the ripe hills blotted by talking wires.
Where is the thicket? Gone. Where is the eagle? Gone.
The end of living and the beginning of survival.

All things share the same breath - the beast, the tree, the man... the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports.

Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect.

Man does not weave this web of life. He is merely a strand of it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.

Just sharing. It's IMPORTANT. What we understand we cannot fear. We hate what we can fear. THEREFORE, can we hate what we understand?????

>^,,^<

Poverty in the Land of the Free & the Brave – Thoughts about Challenges

My generation has had its’ challenges. There are those of us who have cruised through life with a sense of entitlement; the world owes them a living, damn it, and bring it on! There are those of us who have lived pretty “Chinese Curse Exciting” lives, and we’ll have stories to tell in the rocking chair days, let me tell you! Some of us have been rigid and some of us have been flexible. Some of us are going to make it come hell or high water. Some of us will drown.

I’ll bet many of us think about “someone else” when they think about –IF they think about—poverty. Poor people are “somewhere else”. They can’t be your neighbors, or God forbid, yourself.. I’m just “going through a tough stretch”, just “behind a few years on bills”, “just struggling a little”.

Well, it’s time for me to admit that I’m poor, not struggling. Wolfdancer Creek is in the Poverty Zone. My Grammy would be rolling in her grave, if she had one. My mortgage is going up, PG&E bills are rising, food costs are rising, gas prices are already through the roof, I’ve had to drop my trash service, I’m 2 months behind on the electricity bill, one month behind on the phone & DSL bill, (and considering dropping it, too, but since I decided to choose the Net over television five years ago, I would feel so lost & disconnected without Net access..) one year behind on my property taxes… And forget about Health Insurance, I haven’t had health insurance since the mid 80’s at AT&T. God forbid I break or get sick. I’ve got four more mouths to feed (the new kittens, you know) and still the animals need feeding, need shelter repairs… Wages are stuck in a time warp, employers are scared to death and cutting hours and jobs. I’ve taken on 2 side jobs, and tomorrow I am applying for a part time job at a Doggie Day Care center. In addition to working as close to full-time as I can beg at the Garden Center.

These collections of facts have made me think about what I have done, what I can do, and what I’m going to do. This being An Election Year with several capital letters, we have plans to make. Back-up contingencies to consider. Panics to attack. I have got to make Wolfdancer Creek work. I’m going to expand the gardens. This year, what with produce prices going through the roof, even with the very LIMITED bit of vegetable garden I was able to put in, we ate better. Not MORE, mind you, we actually ate less … but “better”. More healthful. I have to learn to can stuff, so I can put up the bounty for the lean times to come. This year, with the help of my Pal Mr. Lee, I made spaghetti sauce, and Mr. Lee canned it, and we split the resulting pints. Next year, I will harvest more regularly. Next year I make a promise to share the bounty with the Senior Center.

Wolfdancer Creek is going to become more self-sufficient. More renewable. More resourceful. More sustainable. The apple trees should be in better shape next year, and I have NO IDEA what I am going to do with that many apples. Make apple sauce? (& can it?) Make apple cider? Apple Jack? Apple pies to distribute to every single Senior in Estacada? Maybe. Maybe I’ll set out a U Pick sign. Maybe I will trade them for oranges & avocadoes from my Pal Michael-from-Mountains, from his Organic Farm in San Diego County.

So I am poor. I am living on the border of Poverty. And yet, I am rich beyond imaginings! Rich in friends, rich in beauty and wonder, rich in wildlife, rich with opportunities. Rich beyond measure with dirty hands, dog-kissed, cat-licked, goat-sniffed, duck-watching, snow-flakes-falling-on-my-nose-and-eyelashes wealthy.

This election should prove to be .. interesting. Interesting like the Chinese Curse “May You Live in Interesting Times.” “I am asking you to believe. Not just in my ability to bring about real change in Washington, I’m asking you to believe in yours.” I am Voting for Hope. Something I have not experienced politically in a long long while. I wonder if I can sell my lettuce to Sarah Barracuda?

Gardening is alot simpler than politics. Next year, I want to help someone have enough food. Poverty is curable, methinks.



>^,,^<

The AWWWWWW Factor to the Power of Three

Are these not the most sweetest little things? They are so tiny, I can't even sex 'em yet. My last entry (late) for the Let's all post cat pictures etc..(Thanks to Happy Mouffatard at The Inelegant Gardener for the New Holiday.)

>^,,^<

More LAPCPADPOUB !

On with the show! Kitties from my Life. Thanks to Happy Mouffatard at The Inelegant Gardener for the New Holiday.


Introducing Puck (named for Shakespeare, not hockey) the Most Fabulous Puppy Raiser Ever. I still miss him so much! Puck's death by Feline AIDS (acquired via neighbor cat) was what changed my view on allowing my kitties to go outside at will. *sigh* What a terrible choice. He was 11 years old, and one of my truest friends.

Here is Puck emerging from his favorite louging spot within my clothing, where-ever it may be!

And this is Puck & his sister Tigger. Their Mom was a feral I rescued-unbeknownst to me- preggers. Three for the price of one! WEEEEE!

This is the gluttonous Harley (Harlequin Davidson is his full moniker) He & his sister Sundancer (Sunny Delightful for short) were netted beneath a moved shed at 8 days old. Eyes were still shut. Harley was raised by Spirit my low-content wolfdog, and he believes he is a panther. He sleeps beneath the covers, and carries around my socks, and talks with his mouth full.

This is Spirit & Puck. She loves her kitties. And not as squeak toys or snack food.

This is Marguay, another rescue.. The last of a litter who was found by a coyote in a wood pile. Marguay was skin & bones when I got him around 4 weeks old, and could barely hold up his head. He was riddled with worms & other parasites. I had to feed him by eye dropper. His back middle toes were fused to the bone, he was cross-eyed, cow-hocked, and a bit retarded (as a result of his insufficient nutrition as a wee one, I am sure) but sweet as the day is long. He was 9 when he finally passed to the Bridge due to kidney failure. He was incredibly patient with me for the three weeks' worth of hourly sub-Q fluids and IVs I had to give him before he finally left. A very sweet kitty, I was proud to havehad the opportunity to make his acquaintence.

This is Gypsy, my Grammy's cat, and Poohka, another rescued feral. Gypsy was 23 years old when she finally left me, after Grammy died. She died in my arms, and was greatly beloved. Poohka is still with me. He looks like a Kliban cat, and was probably the model for: "Cat. One helluva nice animal, frequently mistaken for a meatloaf."

Spirit & Dickens. Dickens was with me for too short a time. Another rehabbed feral, he used to go for walks with me and the dogs. Coyotes took him. Perhaps he thoughtthey were friends. *sigh*

Spirit & Harley, best friends forever.

These are some of my feline friends. I have been incredibly blessed with wonderful personalities, and have been lucky enough to have had the opportunity to share my life with these feral cuties.

When the nights grow dark and drear,
my cats creep near
and pluck my fears away like mice
their purrs vibrate to my soul
Love on their terms, but Love Unconditionally whole.
There are those who still come close
while so far away, always in my heart, never too far.
Another night's star.

I wonder what kitty secrets they tell.

>^,,^<

LAPCPADPOUB Day!

Yup, that's right, LACPADPOUB day. It stands for 'Lets all post cat photos and dire poetry on our blogs’, and today, October 12th, is the day they chose for this great blogging event. The Lovely Folk at The Inelegant Gardener hav created an International Holiday celebrating Cat Nutters around the World.

I need to hei me home to post the pictures, since I don't have any pics on this computer. I do, however, have additions to include. On Wed. Oct. 8th, a long-haired black kitty found her way into the electrical room at work and had 6 kittens. On Thurs. when I got to work, 5 of those kittens were stiff, cold and practically dead. I gathered them up, and plopped me with an armload of newborns in front of the wood stove and stimulated them unto irritation. I broughtthem all back! BUT that night, despite my efforts, 3 of them got pushed out of the nest and succumbed to the fierce 32* cold. Our first freeze was not condusive to kitten birthing, I fear.

The Bosses said "get rid of them" and since last time, the litter and Mom was sent to the Inhumane Society for disposal, I'm taking them home today. I've named them Gollum, Frodo and Samhain, and Mom is Midnight (thanks Tom) Sherri is going to help me with her spaying as soon as I find a place. I'm keeping Samhain. AS IF I need another damned cat! A nice round number TEN Samhain will be INSIDE.. *bah* PLUS the three outside kitties.

The reluctant kitty rescuer..... I will post pictures of the others when I get home.. And I need to get pictures tonight of these three, and will post as soon as possible. They are so tiny! 5 day old kittens. *sigh*

Abandoned
yet still willing to trust
she bumps my hand with her head.

Tiny, he hisses with hardly a breath
fierce for his size.

>^,,^<

>^,,^<

Scratchy reception stubborn perception

I am finally planting a shade garden... in response to 2 additions to the pet Cemetary. Today, I planted Sweet Woodruff & Celandine. Both are considered "invasive". Both are perfect for the graveyard. Light shade, heavy hearts.

Wolfdancer & The Blustery Day

WOW! It is raining hard here. Sheets of sideways driven rain pelts the buildings. It doesn't sound as fierce as it used to before when the roof was tin, now it's a susurrus of secret whispers. At home, the wind howls through the screens, like siren songs. As I almost always have a window open SOMEWHERE, there is no shortage of screens that the wind can use to hum its' music.

I figure it's going to drop about 1"-3" just today. Rufus at the Weather Cafe has been warning us that we will have "wind events" with significant wetness.. & he was right.

I got a load of elk bones Thursday (I think it was Thursday, it's been an extraordinarily exciting week.. Exciting as in the ancient Chinese curse) Four large elk carcasses. Took my about 6 hours to cut up just one of the 2 wheel barrows full, and all the Kidz lived large on elk. The Woofers of Wolfdancer Creek will be dining deluxe for the next few days. We are not done.. Greig & I cut up another half a wheel barrow last night beneath his umbrella & "surgical" table... We're running out of freezer space. I must remember to bring home some more ice.

I spent most of the day Wednesday burying my two Woofers, planting some shade perennials around their graves... Columbine for rememberance, Lady's Mantle & Sweet Woodruff just because. For memory. For medicinal purposes. For their beauty. For ground cover. For the ability to recycle old ways of being into new life. Everything is Light. EVERYTHING.

It could not have picked a more aupicious time to dump a deluge. I needed the rain to settle the graves. I needed the rain to wash clean the Yard, wash it clean of corruption and blood. I needed the rain to wash away my own pain and the disturbing pictures in my head.

Everything is Light. Everything.

>^,,^<

>^,,^<

Well, the frost is on the pumpkin

Well, the frost is on the pumpkin-if I had pumpkins... and the hay is in the barn -- if I had a barn and hay planted... As I walked up to the goat yard this morning, in the dawning dark, the grasses were silvered with dew, and nearly luminescent in their grace. Autumn has broken.

>^,,^<

Expectations

Today is the Autumnal equinox, the Balance part of the Year, the Harvest Moon, time of the Brown Bear, of creative curiosity. Tomorrow will start the Ducks Fly Moon. Today is when the length of the day equals the length of the night. The last day of the South, poised to move into the West.

And poised we are, here at Wolfdancer Creek. We are facing difficult times with our Kin, with all our Relations, with dignity and perseverance and patient understanding, mostly.

All of my tomatoes may not achieve ripeness. If this be the case, I will surprise a certain someone with his first taste of fried green tomatoes. Since surprises and feeding him is a delight both epicurean and emotional, I may harvest a passel of the bigger tomatoes which are not showing color for dinner this week. I have discovered that while goats do not like squash foliage, they DO like squashes. The chill is ensuring that what apples I do harvest will be sweet & delicious. I believe I found a couple of winesap apple trees in my orchard, and this Spring I will move my attentions to grooming that block of trees up, brutally if I must -- I will sacrifice a season's harvest for healthy manageable trees-- I still have to figure out an organic-yet-effective apple maggot-type buggie control.

The Woofers seem to be sensing and reacting to the change of season as well. We have grumpage happening in several areas. I think I may expound upon my theories on this here, but needs be a later date, with more references.

I have been assured by several sources that this is NOT typical Oregonian weather timing. My prognostication for this Winter in Estacada, and I'm publishing it now so's I can start a record (starting last year as none of you readers out there will remember, but you CAN verify in the archives *grin*) it's going to start early, there will be a few fairly brutal and lengthy cold snaps, it'll be wetter than normal and colder than normal and longer than normal. I haven't got a "feel" for the snow presence yet. Long & cold is what I am "feeling". Let's see what happens!

Signing off 'till later, I wish thee Balance and Peace.

>^,,^<

Sweatin' to the Garden Rocks

Two days hence:

92.8 °F / 33.8 °C
Clear
Humidity: 27%
Dew Point: 54 °F / 12 °C
Wind: 0.0 mph / 0 km/h
Wind Gust: 2.5 mph / 4 km/h
Pressure: 29.38 in / 994.8 hPa (Falling)
Heat Index: 91 °F / 33 °C
Visibility: 10.0 miles / 16.1 kilometers
UV: 4 out of 16
Clouds:
Clear -
(Above Ground Level)
Elevation: 1100 ft / 335 m

Ah! I took the scythe that Greig bought me and I cut a tall wagon-load of "first cut orchard hay" (read that, weedy grass) Which I am preparing to haul up to the Royal Goat Court.

I cleared all the way to my "Happy Gardening" sign, which has been overtaken by the tall grasses.. Tall grasses, I might add, which I, in my naive furor, actually PLANTED there, because I was unaware that first year or two that mulching with straw was flat-out DANGERSOME out here. If you plant it, it will come.

Yesterday, Greig and I made temporary fencing in our first foray into the Great Blackberry Abatement Scheme. So far, it is working like a charm, and the goats are FAT!!!

Rhi thinks they look like *meats, Mom, DINNER!* But they are almost as big as she is, the goof. Off to let them out into the brambles for the day. Rhi's burning off calories watching them studiously ignore her.

>^,,^<

Re-Entry into Spaced Program!

Well, I got me busier than a one-armed paper-hanger with a case of the hives. And it's been a week since I wrote *bad me* I started a new post two days ago, only to have it terminated by the Great InterNet Gods. *foooey*



Good Morning, Moon. Good Morning, spooned one. Light the night and spin the day rich with pinkish lavender water color sky, Good Morning Moon, so full and honey delightful, so full of secret songs the Song Dogs sing. Good Morning, apple trees, all washed in light and lovely. Good Morning green tomatoes full of ripe red promises. Good Morning, Love, sleepy eyed your hair still damp with apricots and silvers. Good Morning, mountains by the lake, with your piney tresses aglow with moon and dawn.

Good Morning, Moon. Good Morning, Day. I greet thee joyously, dew on my lips from fairy kisses and dragon dreams. Heart wide open, I spin 'till I'm dizzy with it.

>^,,^<

Crispy Morning

I have made me a warm steeped cuppa apple cinnamon herb tea with a teaspoon of honey. Back in the late 70's, I had a bit of a reputation in the wee Beach town I lived in for so long.. Ocean Beach, in sunny San Diego... for having a huge selection of herb teas. I am happy to say that I haven't lost my touch. There is nothing better than a warm cuppa herb tea to start off a crisp September morning. Back in San Diego, September has developed into one of the hottest months.. (it's
68* there right now, as compared to 43* here in Beautiful Estacada. OH no, no such thing as Global Warming.)

I am hoping that this week will maintain warm days so that my tomatoes can ripen. I see signs that they are less than enthused by the less-than-50* nights... I see some yellowing in the lower leaves.. *sigh* AH well, what will be, will be. Worst case scenario, there is a mess o' Fried Green Toatoes in my future.

There are also signs of color in my deciduous tree leaves.. Some of my maples --the Coral Bark and the Palmatum-- are displaying ruffles of fall color in their fair skirts. The Fern Leaf Full Moon maple has not yet changed her skirts. I think I shall be delighted this year by the place I planted these trees... There needed some color there. I have a few ideas for landscaping that area, I'd like to add a very large rock, and plan a place for my hammock. Let's see how this shapes up for next year. This area around the pond is one of my very favorite spots on Wolfdancer Creek
It lends itself well to dreaming.

'Till next time, O Gentle Folk...Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it's out to work I go....

>^,,^<

Well, verily, I tippy tap into the Big Picture~ Blog Action Day

As a new Blogger with a non-existant Readership, I, nevertheless, must assume that my One Mile Radius starts with one small step, and begins with me. In particular with this year's Presidential Election, I feel urged to get involved in this endeavor. Bloggers everywhere across the board are signing up to discuss Issues of Importance. (Please note I use the "Capital "I"s here with Intention) So please put this on your calendar.

Blog Action Day

I've signed up. I have no idea what I shall write about, after all, no-one reads my small rural Blog except my immediate Family (God Bless 'Em!) and a few friends. Maybe that will change,maybe it will not. Perhaps my Blog will remain an OnLine Diary of sorts. It matters not. As I see it, even if there is no-one to see the ripples my stones of involvement create, nonetheless, they are there, and perhaps they will touch someone, something, somewhere, somewhen.

My One Mile Radius. (This is perhaps a glimmer of what I shall be writing about) My everyday actions, simple as they may be, are as butterfly wings. When I go to the store to buy the frozen chicken I feed my wolfdogs, (defrosted before they get it, of course) even if I feel inside as if my feet are encased in lead, even if I feel as if my heart is encased in ice, and I may never see the sun again, still, as I leave my truck, I lift my head, I look at the beautiful sky, and I put on a smile. I've been told that my smile helps push back the desperation that we are all fighting against. I'm sure it's not because I'm "all that and a box of cookies", but rather that when I smile, I smile with my heart wide open. I smile with everything within me, with every little piece of Light I can muster.

Yesterday I discovered just how badly in debt I am. It's pretty bad. It feels rather overwhelming. And I know I'm not alone in this. As I left the store, rather puzzled at how little my bill was, I got to my truck, began to unload my groceries, and discovered that my Grocery Checker had only charged me $5.30 for my two cases of chicken, rather than the $53.04 that it was. I turned around, got in line again, and showed her the boo boo, and ran my card again to pay for it.

Could I have used that "extra" $50.oo??? YOU BET! It would have paid off a bill that I owe, OR it could have fed my dogs for a week. (OK, for a couple of days at least) It briefly occured to me that this was a truth, I could have used that "extra" money desperately. But not for a second did I consider not turning around and making good on the mistake. This is my town. These are my fellow Citizens, my townfolk, my friends. And these ripples that I make with this "one hand clapping" "butterfly wings" action of mine is that first step of my One Mile Radius. I have chosen to fill my days with Random Acts of Kindness, to live with heart wide open. It is a choice I make every day when I awaken. It is a decision I started when I moved here, to start anew, and since my husband abandoned me, I have chosen to embrace all that this entails. The ethics behind living life with Responsible Purpose.

Somehow, it helps.
So I encourage you all to get involved in whatever way you can. Check out this Blog Action website. See if it chimes anything deep with you. And if it does, reach out and touch someone. My hand's outstretched, too.

Blessings!



>^,,^<

Duck Sauce! Saucy Ducks?

Here are the pictures I promised of the Anconas.



Snow Ducks





This is the Six Pack, our first clutch of eggs successfully born here.



They are funny little creatures; part pirate, with no ethical difficulties with rape and pillage, part comedian.

The Dragon Cave

My dragons grow with heat and snow
with lithesome wings and sterner things
with pipes and harp and claws so sharp
with fierce intent and teeth that rent
with staves of peace and fire beneath
wit healing touch which soothes so much
my eggs I keep both warm and deep
without a word they sing like birds
a song so sweet, so fierce, so fleet
to lift our hearts out from the dark
but most of all when darkness falls
my dragons gather my soul together
and wolves and we all sing to thee
ArrrOOOoooOo! to you! ArrRRooOO to you!

So my friend Centuri introduced me to yet another internet passion, Dragon Cave.
Dragon Cave
Where you steal dragon eggs, and raise them into hatchlings, and then raise them into adult dragons, via "clicking" on links on the internet. It takes a bit of doing, and your dragons can die if they don't get enough clicks within 6 days. I have found it intriguing.
My Wee Dragon Bairns
*chuckle* Enjoy!

>^,,^<

Gratitude

Never too old to find a fellow Dreamer. Never too old to watch the stars wheel in the sky and take someone's hand to watch it with you. Never too old to watch movies together and laugh at silly things. There are things one is never too old for. Love. Romance. Dreams. Awe. Joy. Wearing purple dresses with red hats. Stopping to smell the flowers. Gratitude for a friend's safety. Joy for a friend's accomplishments.



Keep a camera by, because you are never too old to stop in the middle of the street and take a picture, to burn it into your memory for those later years when one's memories will be the heat which drives one's smile.





Never too old to say Good Bye to the past, and never too old to appreciate its' existence in your heart, and the lessons you've been given.



Believe in Dragons and Unicorns, and they will believe in you.