frog blog

I want to write about my life here.  How can one put into words the peace of frogs singing.  Is it peace?  If it is, I want more of it.  Are they singing?  It is unlike any song.  Yet it is the oldest song.  The frustration is that these words are inadequate.  I am not capable of using these simple words to capture the feeling, the deep soul touch of frogs singing.   There is a bedroom downstairs that is cooler, more comfortable to sleep.  I don’t like to be hot.  But the frogs call to me.  I refuse to sleep downstairs because I cannot hear the frogs.  From this room upstairs, the frogs are right in my ear.  As I lay in bed falling asleep.  In the middle of the night when I wake from a stressful dream.   They call to the deepest parts of my being, call me back into the peaceful sleep that they want me to have.  Frogs are there for me in the morning, their song made even more beautiful now that layers of birds have joined the chorus.  Poetry.  As I learn to write poetry maybe the way frogs touch me will find expression.  They expose an ancient place in my heart and it feels unlike anything before and yet it feels like the most familiar, most sacred thing.  

This place is restructuring me.  Tearing down old ideas.  Living out in the country, isolated from all I knew before.  But maybe its the frogs that are doing it.  Sure one must live in a place like this to hear the frogs.  But living way out here and not listening to the frogs would let the restructuring pass by.  I have been listening.  I am hearing what they say.  It is the I part of me that is true.  When I say I have been listening, its the I part of me that is beyond my damaged personality, beyond all my pain and past hurts that get carried around and displayed in pathetic episodes over and over again.  The frogs go right past all that.  They give a kind nod on their way by, but they don’t spend any time there.  The frogs go deep.  They go right in, fearless, because they know what lies inside.  And that’s what they want.  They want the truth.  

I guess its like vibration therapy.  If OM is the universal vibration then frogs are the earthly, constant offering to us tiny humans who can only hear bits at a time.  Frogs are kind and reliable.  They sing whether we listen or not.  They want me to hear but they sing the same regardless.  There is no lessening of their song if I don’t hear.  It goes on anyway.  When people move away from here, leaving the song behind, frogs are not sad.  They sing for the sake of Love, for beauty.  Like a pear tree offers its fruit, frogs sing.  Not because they want someone to come and enjoy the sweet treat.  Just because they enjoy participating in the creation of Love and wonder.  Not hearing the frogs does not diminish the offering they make.   Their offering to the expansion of Love is whole and pure and could not ever be enhanced or diminished.  It is perfect.  Understanding that from my mind is impossible.  Mind doesn’t understand perfect, does not accept it.  That is what makes the frogs’ song so beautiful.  It cannot be heard with the mind.  Only my heart can really listen and hear the frogs singing.  That’s why it is so confusing sometimes.  My heart is listening and changing and my mind is off in the corner all confused and hurt, what is that perfect sound and what do I think about it?  Nothing.  You don’t think anything about it.  Just drink it like a warm glass of milk on a cold winter morning.  Let is wash over you like a hard rain on a hot summer day.  Let yourself soak into the song of the frogs, like your toes sinking into the heavy, clay mud around the spring.  Rub it in to your dry skin and feel the sound nourish what you thought was lost. 

Tractor work

      Yesterday I raked the hay in the big field behind Dean's.  It was great.   It was a beautiful sight as I came down the lane and caught my first sight of that field.  All the neat rows of hay drying in the sun. The bright green, fresh cut grass contrasted against the darker hay that had been raked the day before.  I felt the excitement growing.
     The first time I raked hay in 2012 I did not like it at all.  The tractor is loud and stinky.  Raking the hay requires running the right wheels over the hay.  I watched as the tractor spewed black exhaust right onto the food our cows would eat that coming winter.  I was nervous, not sure if I was doing everything correctly.  I wanted to do a good job,  to help make nice hay for the cows.
     This is my 5th summer helping with the hay.  Raking has become much easier for me and there is mostly joy with a slight remnant of that nervousness remaining.  Making hay for the cows is a very important job and I love contributing to this part of the farm.  Driving the tractor now feels empowering.
     Tractor work is one of those things.  It must be done, for now.  I love it because it is vital to having cows.  Living in Michigan with cows means making hay.  Making hay can be done without tractors.  I do look forward to the day when there are lots of people here and we can make hay with hand tools and lots of positive energy.  Energy that will come from a shared love of cows and milk and cheese.  Until that day comes, I celebrate the tractor and its spewing of exhaust.  It is what we do for now.
The cows are strong, creative beings.  They thrive on the hay that we make.  Things will only improve as the tractor work fades away.

Shades of Green

 
I intend to die in this place.  When I say die, it means something different to me now then it used to.  I intend to leave my physical body and joyfully transition back to where I came from.  Where mateo came from.
miguel and I and mateo were walking up to the hill in late December  and miguel commented about the
Shades of Green in these trees.  He and his family planted these trees years ago.   I love to soak up the joy he exudes when he speaks of the impact they have made on the farm.    And Audrey.  He speaks of his daughter and how the ducks on the swamp right now are most likely descended from the ducks she chose.  The ones that could fly.
Intending to die in a certain place may be similar to people who say they are going to live with another human for the rest of their lives.  They commit to each other and expect to live together until one of them dies.  I am married to this land, this farm, this place on earth.
Until my 'death' do us part.  It is nice to know who will go first...

mama's & calves in the spring time

                All these baby calves and mama cows.  It is a beautiful, bountiful spring.

Prunella and her Bull calf  

Prunella and Labora are the star cows for now.  They are young, small, and doing excellent work raising their babies.  Out in the pasture yesterday, we looked closely at their udders and saw no signs of trouble.  All quarters looked even and overall their udders are not tight.  It appears that the their calves are nursing on all four teats and keeping their mom's problem free.  So we still have not brought either one of them up to the milk house.  That will come with time.  I look forward to interacting with them both.

Labora and her Bull calf  

Morgana's calf has perked right up and appears to have declared that he will LIVE!  He nursed on Morgana that morning in the holding pen after the previous night's dose of colostrum from Isabelle.  We sent him out with his mom that morning.  That evening we saw him alone in the barn but Morgana was soon there to feed him.  We watched him latch on to her teat independently and felt confident that they needed no more assistance from the humans.  The next day he was way out in the pasture with her, walking well and even running a bit with his tail in the air.  The little guy has embraced life beautifully. Morgana is a patient, attentive mother for him.  It is a joy to see.

Morgana and her Bull calf - SURVIVOR!  

I milked Sweetie yesterday without the kickers and without any fuss or bother from her.  She's really quite pleasant to milk on some days.  Miguel milked Whitney from her side (not behind), but still with the kickers on.  She will get used to us milking her eventually.  Probably...
        Isabelle is an interesting case.  I remain hopeful for her and her calf.  When her calf did not stand or walk much on his 2nd day, we brought him up to the yard to be cared for and fed by the humans.  Isabelle's udder is difficult if not impossible for him to nurse from.  She allowed him to remain with us without any protest.  That is unusual and not an encouraging sign for either one of them.  We fed him two more feedings with her colostrum.  One of these he took from a bottle and the 2nd one he was so weak that we used the tube and feed bag.
On his third day he still walked only a few steps independently.  Other calves that same age would be running and frolicking in the pasture.   We decided to move him out of the yard with us and to a place along the lane where he could be with Isabelle.  We kept feeding him with the bottle.
         Isabelle has been dropping huge amounts of weight and her bones are sticking out dramatically.   We decided that possibly she was terribly depressed and wondered if her colostrum was contributing to her calf's lack of spunk.  We fed him a bottle of milk from the other cows .   Ten hours after that feeding he was on his feet unassisted and looking a bit better.
           Yesterday we found Isabelle in the barn with her head low.  She looked really bad.   We walked the still improving calf to her and she came out of the barn and showed interest in him, mooing softly and licking him all over.  He took a bottle of milk from the other cows.  He had a strong suck and went after the bottle with a good appetite.  Isabelle looks even more gaunt now.  It is shocking how much wieght a cow can lose in such a short time.  Each one of her ribs are visible and her hip bones are clearly exposed.  We think the only thing that might save her now is being with her calf and seeing that he is doing ok, or better than he was.  We will not milk her anymore, allowing her to absorb and stop producing milk.  Hopefully she will start eating again and begin to reverse her decline.
       The depression part makes a little bit of sense for this particular cow.  Her calf was dead last year and she required miguel's physical assistance to birth it out of her.   I distinctly remember her acting incredibly depressed for a long time after this happened.  Is it possible she never recovered from that event?  Something made her udder grow to such unhealthy proportions.  Is this more evidence of some hormone imbalance?   I am eager to head out today and see how the two of them are doing.  We will continue to feed her calf milk from other cows and pray for the peaceful result that comes.

Isabelle now

Isabelle a few years ago  

Isabelle giving her baby a good licking  

care?

     What does it mean when someone says they care about someone else?  There are an infinite number of ways to care about some one.  If two people live 3 states away, and there is never any face to face, phone, e-mail, snail mail, or any other contact between them, do they care about each other?  Seems like if one of the people is elderly and unable to initiate those forms of contact, then the other person could take the time to reach out and show that they care.  If the younger of the two people occasionally talks to other people in the family about the elderly person, does that mean that they care?  Seems that possibly they say that they care when really they are nosey and just wanting to give the impression that they care.  If they really cared, would they send a card?  When it was made known that the elderly person very much enjoys receiving snail mail but the younger person never once mailed a card or a picture of their young children, do they still care?  Aren't they just feeling guilty that they don't interact with the person?  
These are some common definitions of "CARE":

noun

1. 1. 

   the provision of what is necessary for the health, welfare, maintenance, and protection of someone or something.

   "the care of the elderly"
2. 2. 

   serious attention or consideration applied to doing something correctly or to avoid damage or risk.

   "he planned his departure with great care"

verb

1. 1. 

   feel concern or interest; attach importance to something.

   "they don't care about human life"
2. 2. 

   look after and provide for the needs of.

   "he has numerous animals to care for"

     In the provision of what is necessary, seems like sending a card in the mail would contribute to the health and welfare of a lonely Grandparent.  I guess if someone just feels concern or interest in
another person, they wouldn't need to take any action to express that feeling.  They could experience that feeling and not share it with the one they were concerned or interested in.    So according to the first verb definition of care, someone on the outside of a relationship may not be able to know that one person cares about another.  That is a personal experience of feeling and does not, by definition, require any action.  I imagine that it is potentially uncomfortable for a person to feel concern or interest in another person and not express it.  This discomfort may manifest as anger towards those who are actively expressing their feelings of concern through action.  It may manifest as guilt and gossip.
From now on, I will find a better word than care.  I want to do more than just care about people from afar.  I want to be involved in their life.  I don't want to sit back feeling concern or interest in someone and allow it to go unexpressed.

partnership

Prunella in Sept 2013.  She was born to June, the cow, in
June of that year.  She is named to rhyme with June, and after the
wild flowering perennial herb, Prunella.  

     I walked Prunella down the road.
She was calm and I was able to walk right next to her, just a short span of rope between us.  It felt like trust.  It felt like all the time and kindness put in with her was paying off.  I felt confident.  I know how to lead a cow down the road.
      Its spring time on the farm.  The grass is growing now.  The pasture down and across the road has a lot more to eat currently than the one here.  There were 17 cows on this pasture.  It was time to move some of the animals down the road to the other pasture.  Four of them willingly moved across the road at the gate.  Three others that we wanted to move would not go easily.  I knew that if we waited until tomorrow, I could put a halter on them and lead them peacefully down the road.  It would also be good practice for them, to have on a halter and be close to a human.   I knew it would be fun.  I love moving the animals like that.  They're big and its wonderful to have a powerful animal  trust me enough to walk down the road on a halter.
     Prunella went into the milk house in the morning and she just stood there, not going in to a stanchion.  I calmly approached her with a halter.  She let me gently slip it over her face and secure the buckle.  She was not confined, she could have moved, but she didn't.  I clipped the rope on and lead her out of the holding area, into the road.  She walked with me down the road.  I enjoyed the trip and let her take her time.  Sometimes I quietly spoke gentle encouragement, but mostly we were just quiet, walking.  It felt like partnership.
     When I got back to the milk house,  Nettle was already tied up with her halter and rope.  She came out of the holding area and into the road.  She didn't want me to be too close.  I let a long length of rope between us.  I paid attention to her energy and gently encouraged her forward sometimes.  Mostly she led me along.  She went into the new pasture with the other cows.  I tried to take her halter off and she resisted my being that close to her head.  I tried to hold her rope and close the gate but she pulled and got away.  I knew I could not safely allow her out in the pasture with a rope dangling from her halter.
        I followed her for a bit and she kept getting the rope caught under her feet so she was scared and couldn't get too far away.  Thankfully she stayed in the barnyard and did not run out into the larger pasture.  I kept following her and stayed focused on the rope, not looking at her to allow her to relax a bit.  I made a few grabs and she ran away scared.  I let her be for a minute and she started quickly munching on the thick, new grass.  I got down on my hands and knees, with my head towards her rear end.  I kept my eyes down, away from her head to let her relax and not create more intimidation.  I moved along the ground slowly towards her while she was munching and gently held still if she looked at me.  I made a grab for the rope and missed as she bounded away.  Nettle returned to eating and I got down on the ground again, slowly and calmly moving towards the rope.  Sending her gentle energy the whole time.  Letting her know I was going to help her by removing that halter, then leave her alone to be a cow.  She kept munching and I was able to get close with my rear towards her head.  I made a grab and reached the rope.  I stayed on my knees and held on.  She pulled away and I stayed down, not looking at her and not saying anything.  I stayed still and then quietly explained what I wanted to do.  I slowly got close to her and was able to release the buckle on the halter.  She jerked her head away and left me laying on the ground, halter and rope in my hand.
      Complete triumph.  I had done it.  All alone.  Caught a scared cow by her rope and stayed calm enough that she allowed me to remove her halter and set her free and keep her safe.  That felt so good.  I am good with the animals.  I know how to pay attention to their energy and I listen to what they need, which helps me get what I want.  Things like moving them to a lovely, lush pasture and keeping them safe.  We are partners.  I appreciate my relationship with each one of them, more than I am able to express.  They are true teachers and they stay true to themselves, allowing me to practice listening and respecting them as individual, independent beings.   Working with a cow is being in the flow.   It feels amazing.

Nettle in September 2014.  She was about two years old here and
had successfully given birth to her first calf.  Nettle is named
after her mother, Yarrow.  Both are wild herbs that grow
abundantly on the farm.  I collect and dry these plants for making
herbal tea.

  

I am a nurse

He was young.  His body was strong.  He was probably good looking.
His family sat with neighbors around their backyard fire pit.
He ran.  He jumped, headfirst into the fire.  Into the flames.
Now, I imagine he was above us in that room,
   watching.
We struggled and fought to bring him back.
Back down to his physical body.
His elderly parents stood against the wall,
   watching.
I brought her forward to the bed, touched his foot.
She reached out, she held onto his foot.
The Medical Doctor said something,  take them to the waiting room.
There was chaos in the room.  We were losing the fight.
I looked at the Doctor.
The Father stood against the wall.
I looked at the Mother.
She held onto his foot.