All the Animals (the peaceful farm sanctuary)

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She was three days old.  Bouncy, adorable, and everything one would imagine a baby goat to be.  She nibbled on the geraniums, went to inner city schools with me when I went to speak, played the piano, and loved her bottles.  She stayed next to me as I read and thought herself a cat.  She rather enjoyed rides in the truck and loved everyone.

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We often have to learn things the hard way to realize what our true beliefs are.  I had been vegetarian for twenty-five years and then vegan for an additional two years when we entered the farming scene head on and fell into line with all the other small farms around us.  We started a small dairy.  We increased our chicken family.  We had many animals who all had to “earn their keep.”

Elsa got pregnant too early.  When she gave birth, we took the baby away. (That is how people get the milk and not the infant) (and we were so thankful it was a girl because boys get killed in the dairy industry.  Period.)  She got mastitis and scabs on her udders.  Instead of letting her heal and giving her another year, I quickly sold her to a family who ushered her into their minivan and were gone.  For $250.  It was only then that I realized in my farming fervor that I just sold our baby girl.  Roosters I couldn’t get myself to eat came home plucked and beheaded for little reason.  I have too many recipes out there that need to come down.

Many folks deter squirrels with cruel spinning feeders and squirrel proof this or that.  We had a squirrel years ago that would throw his food bowl if it was empty after getting our attention!  They are quite fascinating and sweet animals.  Our life is certainly richer watching them play.  They come quite near to receive their goodies.

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Birds of all sorts gather around our third of an acre in the middle of the city.  Scores of blackbirds, owls, hawks, eagles, sparrows, finches, and silly blue jays.  Hummingbirds drink the nectar from the geraniums on the porch.

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The chickens are named and are actually included in our holiday cards.  They all have very different personalities, just like cats and dogs.  My friend’s young turkey was killed.  A few weeks later, the mother of the turkey died.  She was depressed and had stopped eating.  There is no difference (and it is only humans that have determined who is more worthy, who is food, who is equal) between the dog, the cats, the chickens, the squirrels, the blue jays, even the mice that steal a nibble here and there from the birds’ food bowl. They all have a right to live and be and I have no more right to be here than they.  We are all walking upon mother earth.

At this time that we wish for peace on earth, let us remember these things.  Not only will your health drastically improve, but your emotional state will be happier,  anxiety disappears, your impact on the earth’s resources will lessen, and the very number of lives you will save and improve by not eating animals and by putting out some bird seed will be significant.  That is how we get peace on earth.  One life at a time.  This mini-farm is a sanctuary, for me as much as them.

 

Recommended Reading:

The Good, Good Pig by Sy Montgomery

Happily Ever Esther by Steve Jenkins

Living the Farm Sanctuary Life by Gene Baur

 

 

 

Trusting Intuition and Plant Medicines

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My kitten was very sick.  Five months ago I picked Merlin and his brother up at the feed mill where they had been found the eve before.  They were not even a day old yet and their mother was gone.  Merlin survived on dropper-fulls of milk delivered every two hours.  He spent his first six weeks, first in my bra, then in my apron top.  He went everywhere with us because of his feedings.  He is a feisty, furry, sweet little boy and I naturally have a very strong attachment to him.

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Last week I noticed that when he ran (which he seems to always be doing) streams of diarrhea were following him.  It wouldn’t stop.  He also has chronic allergies.  I had cancelled his appointment to get neutered at the “in-and-out-neuter clinic because they wouldn’t listen to me that they would have to be alert to his breathing.

I haven’t been to a vet in over a decade.  Same with the doctor.  I make my own medicines with 100% success and my full faith is in these plants.  If they don’t need to be spayed/neutered or humanely euthanized at the end of life, I don’t take them.  I know as well as I know my name what herbs do what.  I had been faithfully giving Merlin the antibiotic and the super immunity allergy medicine and these keep his sniffles in check.  He had two days worth of tummy trouble medicine that I make specifically for cats (chamomile, mint, mullein, lemon balm).  But fear makes us doubt.  It makes us panic.  And I made an appointment with the vet.

Doug recalled his trip with Merlin and as I read the line by line charges I realized the vet is no different than it was twenty years ago when I was a vet tech.  God love them but most vets (and doctors) are trained on a script, a pharmaceutical drug, and a bill.  She did a fecal sample.  I knew he didn’t have parasites because he had already taken my anti-parasite.  He didn’t but she de-wormed him anyway.  With a chemical.  That made him so bad that night that diarrhea was flying everywhere in large puddles as he screamed and literally climbed the walls.  Then they sold him some “special” food (I cannot believe after all this time they are still pushing that Science Diet stuff as healthy).  Tried to push vaccinations on him (even though he was clearly not feeling well).  Over a hundred dollars later we had a diagnoses.  Diarrhea.

I was furious that my Merlin was worse.  I was furious that I had not trusted my instincts, my intuition, my plants.  The next day, his third day of tummy medicine that I make, he was a hundred percent well.  One more dose and we would have had it.

How many times did I panic when the kids were little (before I was an herbalist) and rush Andy to the emergency room for pink eye (in 2 hours it is better with my recipe), or Shyanne with a headache (feverfew and willow), or Emily with seborrhea dermatitis (she was allergic to her earrings)?

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In our household and with thousands of clients over the years and students’ medicines made and the people they help and so forth, I have seen plants heal everything.  I beseech you to learn herbal medicines for your homestead.  I have saved my own flock of chickens, helped relieve pain in goats, de-wormed sheep, healed cats, saved dogs, and kept our family healthy and well.  The plants were made for this!

They are burying one of my son’s friends this week.  Oxycodone.

I have classes, I have an online store and shop, others across the world have the same.  Seek out wisdom in library books, with teachers, or if you have no desire to turn your basement into a full apothecary, find a real herbalist.  Not a health food store.  A working, breathing, passionate herbalist.

http://whitewolfherbs.com

Maybe 2018 is the year we all go back to the plants.

(By the way, Merlin is doing great!)

 

 

The Urban Farm Dog (meet Gandalf)

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He’s here!  Eleven weeks old and thirty-three pounds of fluff.  (And muscle and baby teeth and mischief!)

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He is a gentle giant.  My granddaughter ran into the house laughing yesterday to meet the new addition.  She ran right up to him and he began licking her face.  He played with my daughter’s dog.  He loves the kitten.  He welcomed my students to the house.  He is a friendly fellow.

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I know I will be learning a lot in the next year about training; something I have never done.  He’s a smart one.  He outsmarted the baby gates with sheer force.  He doesn’t sleep in the kennel; he wants to sleep on the floor by our bed.  But he is a good boy.  And I am excited to have him here.

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Welcome Gandalf to Pumpkin Hollow Farm!  (He set that pumpkin there!)

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Field Trip to a Farm to Adopt Lambs (a tale of ridiculously cute animals)

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Guess who came to live at Pumpkin Hollow Farm?

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A funky sign met us first.  Blessed Bit of Earth Farm is owned by Kevin and Kim Babcock outside of Elizabeth, Colorado.  Incidentally three doors down farm-wise from Emily and Maryjane.  We picked up our grandbaby and headed over there for a farm tour.

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We first met Grandpa, oh goodness, I don’t remember his real name.  He is a Colorado Mountain Dog.  A breed developed specifically to combine the strong traits of an outdoor loving guard dog with the loyal and gentle traits of a family and child-friendly dog.  He was lovely.  A large dog that reminded me of a blend of Great Pyrenees and Yellow Lab.

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They breed these lovely dogs to share the unique aspects of this breed.  They just had puppies and we were thrilled to see them.

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If they weren’t $850 we may have ended up with a fuller car.

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The Churro and Finn sheep roamed the pastures with a menagerie of other animals.  At Blessed Bit of Earth Farm you will find chickens, ducks, I just noticed that horse in the background, and the sheep and goats they raise.

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I love this idea, a trampoline for shade (and perhaps a little fun when the folks aren’t looking)!

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Into the barn we crept. The sweet smell of clean hay and bedding, the warmth of the sheep and goats and the sweetness of newborn lambs met us in the filtered light.  Barn cats tried to steal our attention.

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Two of the mommies had broken out of their stalls and were running about attempting to keep their babies from us.

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But alas, we had ours picked out.  One from each mama.

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We said goodbye to the rest of the kids and headed down the dirt road with our new babies.

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We then went to visit our friend, Vickie, at her shop, The Smells Good Store, in Castle Rock.  Her large Great Dane didn’t know what to make of these little screaming creatures!

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Introducing Sven (doesn’t he look like a reindeer?)

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And Olaf… the snowman.  We already have Elsa, why not?

We then had a flat tire on the way home and had to stop at a Discount Tire.  With a cute two year old running around and two screaming lambs we will not soon be forgotten!  Timing, I tell you!

The babies have learned to use the baby bottles and are quite satisfied.  Sven is rather lovey, Olaf a bit more reserved.  Both adorable.  They have wonderful fiber for me to spin and lots of adorable antics to make my heart melt.

We have lambs.  They are in the house so they don’t freeze, get beat up by the goats, or eaten by coyotes.  They have wet on my slippers and on the couch.  Baby season is upon us!

 

Time Travel With An Old Farmdog

Can a dog represent an entire era?  Walking down the halls of memory, he is behind every door.  In the corners of every reminisce.

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The warm sun takes the chill out of the breeze as we sit around the freshly shoveled soil, soft and disheveled.  We are sitting on the cool ground fondling the green weeds coming up slightly through last year’s carpet of leaves.  Music is playing from Emily’s phone and Maryjane dances in place.  She attempts to shove handfuls of dirt in her mouth and laughs at the baby goat’s antics.  Andy sits against the large fallen tree trunk.  He smokes his cigarette, methodically remembering every event with Windsor.  I smile too.  When we picked him from the pet store, Andy barely three.  The small, white dog running about the front yard with the children, wild with youth, jumping over rocks.  Joining Emily on a sixteen mile walk to my Grandparent’s house.  A night I stayed up, eyes pried open, a baseball bat in hand, fearing for my life as my ex-husband got out of jail, a shaking, small dog that never left my side.  The year he won a pet costume contest as a vampire.  Picking him up from doggy daycare after vacations and finding that he was in front with the employees, always a favorite.  Wagging his tail when the chickens passed by.  Cuddling with the cats.  Emily meticulously paints the downed log.  In script writes Windsor’s name and dates.  The log sits in front of the newly dug soil.  Shyanne was working, but had given her good bye kisses the night before.  All the children gathered around the living room on an evening that was not a holiday to reminisce and cry.

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From such youth, early twenties, a mother of a toddler and a newborn to sitting beneath this tree with my grandchild by my side.  Wisps of grey start to show and light wrinkles quietly descend upon me.  It is surreal to be here in this place.  Watching the clouds crawl across the sky I see my life, an era passed.  The children grown, my youth gone, my dog gone.  Time in front of me.  But the end of an era nonetheless.  Time traveling with a wonderful family dog.  Now, we look forward and see farm dogs (real ones), family dogs, but none shall replace the dog of the past era.  Windsor Wizzer Sanders, 12/15/95 to 3/3/2014.  Rest in Peace.