When a Wren is a polar bear

Being a grandmother has it’s moments. One of those came recently when my granddaughter Wren was scheduled to be in her first dance recital. Wren is officially three and 11/12 years old.
The holiday themed recital was scheduled for Sunday, Dec. 19. Since my family lives 250 miles away, we decided to bundle our Christmas gathering on the same weekend. My husband and I packed up the presents and dogs, Lisha and Rocky, for the five hour trip.
The presents went in the trunk, and the dogs got to lounge in the back seat. Lisha’s an old hand at travel but this was Rocky’s first road trip with us. He settled in after about 100 miles, using Paul’s coat as a pillow.
We arrived at Wren’s house just after supper on Friday night, with enough time to see Wren before she was bedded down for the night with visions of fairies dancing in her head. Saturday was her dress rehearsal and she needed a good night’s sleep.
On Saturday, her mother Sarah and I dressed Wren in her polar bear costume, white pants, white shirt, red scarf and white ears on her head band. A stop for last minute Christmas shopping included eating lunch at the food court of the mall. Several napkins as bibs were needed to keep a three and 11/12 year old from dripping pizza sauce on her white shirt.
Her shirt intact, we arrived at the auditorium for rehearsal. We sat waiting while several other dance classes rehearsed their numbers donned in reindeer costumes, pajamas and red dresses lined in white fur. I won’t go so far as to say it was pandemonium, but I’m glad I was not in charge of the scene.
“Unless something goes very wrong, we will only run through each number once,” said the woman in charge.
One participant in the Mommy and Me group was definitely not happy about being on a large stage in front of an equally large audience of children and parents. Her meltdown left me somewhere between feeling bad for her and laughter. Several children abandoned their designated stars on the floor to wave and run to their mothers. The children craned their heads to focus on their coaches who stood in the wings demonstrating the next move.
Then it was time for Wren’s group to rehearse. The teacher lined up the little ones and led them onto the stage. What a delightful sight to see 10 three-year-olds dressed as polar bears march onto the stage single file and land on their stars. Everything was going well until the unthinkable happened.
Wren found a blue feather on the stage floor.
Wren loves feathers, crystals, and anything that reminds her of nature. We think she may be a budding naturalist by the way she likes to kiss dead crickets, and carry frogs around in her hands. Seeing a feather on the floor was too good to resist.
Wren picked up the feather and her attention was glued. She stared at the feather, reveling in it’s delicate details. She stroked the feather and waved it in the air. She danced with the feather. She blessed the other students with the feather.
She did not do her polar bear dance.
I’ll never know if it was the feather or something else in the air, but all of the polar bears seemed to lose all sense of their dance moves. When the run through was finished, the teacher announced, “This is an example of when everything goes wrong. Let’s try it again.”
With feather still in hand, Wren and her troupe got another shot at their number, showing improvement. Afterwards, we paised Wren for a beautiful dance and took her and her feather back to the car. I sat next to Wren and she turned to me and offered me the feather.
“I got this just for you,” she said.
So, the whole thing is now grandma’s fault.
Saturday night was our family Christmas gathering. I had made quilts as gifts for the members of my family, including a special one for Wren. Wren opened her package and pulled out her quilt with an excited exclamation, “Home Sweet Home!” And so, each person’s quilt was named as a Home Sweet Home quilt. I have no idea how Wren came up with the name, but it set the tone for the rest of the evening.
And, I guess Wren had a good night’s sleep with her Home Sweet Home quilt because her recital on Sunday went well. Luckily, the stage floor was swept and no feathers were found. Wren did her dance as well as any three and 11/12 year old polar bear could. We presented her with roses afterwards, like a true prima-ballerina.
Though her mother had sworn this was her last dance class, the next day she said, “Her next recital will be in May.”
By then she’ll be four and one-third years old, and hopefully there won’t be any feathers on the stage.

A dance of trust

Raising a dog is like raising a child. There is the instant love when parent and child have their first moments together. There is the time of nurturing, when the child is dependent on the parent. As the child begins to grow and explore, there is the time of anxiety for the parent. How do I keep my child safe yet allow for learning experiences and exploration.
Even though I got Rocky when he was almost two years old, there was still the instant love moment when I looked through the bars of his kennel and saw his eyes. There was the time of nurturing when I first brought him home, showing him his new place, his food and where to sleep.
Now I’m in the dance of trust, finding the balance between freedom and safety.
I’ll say it again, Rocky is a wonderful dog. And, he still has not learned that coming when called needs to be an instant thing. Because of that, his walk time and potty time are spent on a leash.
I’m getting to know his umwelt includes a need for freedom to run. I know when he’s feeling that need. He gets a look in his eye, a tension in his body, and for a brief moment there is a hesitation. He may look my way as if to say, “I know you don’t want me to, but I really have to go now. Trust me.” Then he’s off.
Like the parent, I know I cannot keep him leashed his entire life. There comes a time when each of us needs to feel the freedom to be our true selves. I can only give Rocky that time if I find a place of trust within myself.
I know he always comes home. He’s usually gone for about 20 minutes, then comes running back from the opposite direction. His smile melts my heart.
I decided control was futile and went for a ‘supervised liberty run’ approach. Fortunately, I live in the country where room to run is available on three sides. The fourth side is a road and across the road are the neighbors. My approach is to keep Rocky’s supervised liberty runs in the three wild areas.
I thought about boundaries. I realize that our farm ends at the tree line, but Rocky doesn’t understand that boundary. He seems to have a different idea of the limitations of liberty. His boundary reaches into the woods, down the ravine and across the creek, then back to the farm via the horse pasture behind the barn.
We start on leash, walking in the direction I choose, away from the road. When we reach the middle of the field, I bring Rocky in, give him praise and a treat, then unhook the leash. Rocky smiles and bounds off a few feet, jumping straight in the air, chasing his friend Lisha, sniffing the ground, until he gets the look.
This is where the trust comes in. I watch him take off, snow flying behind him as his paws hit the ground. Watching Rocky run is like watching the changing face of wind. At times he will run unhampered, like a straight line wind, powerful and unyielding. The next moment, he stops, nose to the ground, circling like a dust devil. When he finds the perfect smell, the wind ceases, like the eye of the storm. When the eye passes, he’s off again.
He heads for his favorite spots and veers off into the woods, out of my sight. I resist the urge to call him back, knowing he won’t respond. I wait a few moments, then begin to walk a diagonal line through the field to intersect his circular route.
Lisha stays by me, occasionally looking into the woods as if she can hear Rocky run. We stand quietly, listening for the jingle of his dog tags. The jingle gets louder and soon Rocky breaks through the brush, still nose down, his tongue swaying with each breath. When he gets close, I begin to communicate again.
“Good dog, Rocky. Thanks for coming back.”
He looks at me and sometimes comes to me for the treat in my hand, sometimes it takes a few tries before I’m able to get the leash back on. And, even then, his joy in the experience of the run is contagious.
“Thanks,” he says. “I needed that.”
Like the parent, I’m learning if you really love them, you have to let them go. If you’ve done your job well, they’ll come back.
There’s something about watching a dog run that stirs the love of freedom in people. How often do we get the chance to run free, unfettered by boundaries or time, only concerned with what is in front of our noses? Do we ever trust ourselves enough to remove the leash of expectations and responsibilities?
Rocky is getting better. It takes him longer to get the look now and he’s developing a consistent route so I feel like I know where he is, even though I can’t see him. I’m hoping he will realize there is a time to run, and a time to stay by your people.
It’s a dance of trust for us both.

When are your holidays?

As a newspaper reporter, I’ve been doing a series of stories about depression. I was reviewing a list of suggestions for getting through the holidays and came upon this line - Know when your holidays are.
Most of us would say the upcoming holidays are Christmas eve, Christmas day, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. These are the most common times for family and friends to get together to celebrate ‘the holidays,’ depending on your personal spiritual beliefs.
When I read this line I realized it isn’t only the official day that can be a challenge.
For example, Christmas isn’t only Dec. 25. Christmas for some people has been going on for over a month already. Shopping for gifts, menu planning, traveling and decorating are also part of the holiday. For someone dealing with holiday depression, coping with shopping for gifts may be worse than the actual day with family.
What traditions do you have that give you a feeling of Christmas? Is it going to pick out a tree, or the first snowfall? If you used to do these activities with the loved one who is no longer present, how will it feel this year? What strategies can you put in place to deal with the feelings of loss or grief that may come up when you pass a Christmas tree lot?
A friend of mine told of breaking into tears whenever she passes her grandparent’s house this time of year. They’ve been gone for several years, but the memories of Christmas at grandma’s house are still vivid for her.
Personally, I think of Christmas whenever I pass an airport at night. When my niece was small, we would intentionally drive by the airport on Christmas eve so we could show her lights in the sky. She believed it was Santa Claus bringing his sleigh full of presents.
Another friend mentioned bringing out the Christmas music and thinking of special people associated with a particular song.
How about going through your list of people to send cards to? Will there be a hole left in your address book?
For someone dealing with depression, driving down the street at night and seeing houses lit up with colorful lights can be a trigger – knowing everyone else is celebrating and filled with the holiday spirit, while they can’t seem to bring themselves out of the dumps.
Know when you holidays are.
It’s not only good advice for those who need coping strategies. It can be good advice for those of us who are looking forward to the joy of the season.
Seeing a shopping adventure with your children as a holiday celebration in itself can make a difference in your experience. Instead of getting frustrated with the long lines and heavy traffic, we can remember to appreciate the experience as a Christmas memory to cherish when the children are grown.
Taking time to add a special note inside someone’s Christmas card could make their holiday and yours a little brighter. I’ve learned that people dealing with depression can be very good at hiding their symptoms. We may not know how important a smile or a card can be to someone this time of year.
Another suggestion was being intentional about holiday plans. What holiday traditions do you really enjoy, and what traditions are being done out of habit or obligation? If going to Aunt Mabel’s house for figgy pudding is something you enjoy, great. If it’s something you feel forced into, perhaps opening a conversation about alternatives could lead to a less stressful holiday. Wouldn’t it be good to know if Aunt Mabel doesn’t even like making figgy pudding, but she feels she has to keep up the ‘tradition’?
Knowing when your holidays are can bring an awareness to the magic in the small moments like hearing the ting of coins being dropped into the Salvation Army kettles, feeling the freshness of snow flakes melting on your cheek, or smelling the scent of balsam as you pass by the wreath on your door.
Adding celebration to these small moments, and seeing them as part of your holiday, can relieve stress and help us all remember why we celebrate this time of year.
Happy holidays.

First snowfall

The first snowfall is usually an exciting time, which proved to be the case this year. My sister Linda drove up from her home in Iowa to visit for the weekend. Luckily, she came on Friday, before the first snowfall hit. She commented about driving through cold rain in the southern part of Wisconsin. Sometimes the rain was heavy and almost solid. When she arrived in Washburn, it was a normal fall day, slightly cold and overcast.
“We’re supposed to get snow this weekend, probably starting tonight or tomorrow,” commented my husband, Paul.
“It seems to be all south of here,” said my sister. “Maybe it won’t come this far.”
Saturday morning we awoke to wind and slight snow. We sat at breakfast and planned our day. We would go into Ashland and have gyros for lunch then stop in Washburn at the used bookstore. These two activities are staples for any visit. The gyros from the Pita Hut in Ashland are “to die for,” and a trip to Chequamegon Books is a feast as well. We also planned to have squash and meatloaf for supper and needed to stop at a grocery store for ketchup, a required meatloaf ingredient.
We began the day in my Bear Den, a small cabin my husband built with a woodstove inside. I was working on a quilting project, while Linda made clay rattles and Paul rested with a book. The snow got heavier, the wind picked up and the ground began to turn white. We were snug and warm in the Bear Den, enjoying the wintery scene out the window.
At lunch time, we piled into my sister’s truck, which has four-wheel drive. We were sure we wouldn’t need it,after all, it was only the first snowfall. But it’s good to be prepared, right? We set off down the snow-covered road towards our “to die for” gyros.The snow sloshed beneath the tires, sending wet waves across the road.
“It’s kind of slippery,” commented Linda.
We approached a left hand turn and the truck began to slide when Linda put the brakes on to slow down.
“You may want to go straight,” said Paul.
Linda straightened the wheel and we slid to a stop past the intersection. She backed up and we slowly maneuvered the turn.
“It feels like grease,” she said, trying to keep the truck on the road.
“Why are we doing this?” I asked.
“We’re getting gyros for lunch and we need ketchup for the meatloaf.”
“Are they worth it?”
We all looked at each other. This is the point where I remember all of the times I have driven in snow and did just fine. I also remember all of the cars I drove by in the ditches and the time I was one of them. I decided the gyros were really good, but probably not literally “to die for.”
We decided to turn back.
“What about the ketchup?”
I had tomato paste, tomato soup and tomato sauce, but no ketchup. The family meatloaf recipe includes hamburger, eggs, chopped onion, oatmeal, mustard and ketchup. Ketchup is not only an ingredient, it is a topping, and a dipping sauce on the side. You can’t make meatloaf without ketchup, can you?
Our first snowfall of the year turned out to be the mother of invention. We drove around the block toward home and passed a car resting in the ditch after it took out a mailbox. We arrived home safely and had leftovers for lunch. Then we brainstormed about the meatloaf. We had just enough ketchup left to be the topping and the dipping sauce. The tomato paste, soup and sauce were discarded in favor of stewed tomatoes as the ingredient.
The storm raged on and branches fell from the trees due to the heavy snow load. My horses were nestled snuggly in their stalls munching on hay and we sat at the dining room table munching on the best meatloaf we ever cooked.
Turns out that stewed tomatoes make a meatloaf that is flavorful and moist. Add baked squash, au gratin potatoes and corn, and we had a meal worthy of the first snowfall.
Being stuck at home in a snowstorm isn’t too bad when you have a stocked larder, two good cooks, and a Bear Den.

Revisiting old ghosts

Last week I wrote a story about a presentation at the Washburn Public Library called Wisconsin Ghosts and the Afterlife by Terry Fisk, a paranormal investigator. While I was working on the story, I visited Fisk’s website and saw that his company was sponsoring the Unexplained Conference in Eau Claire the next weekend.
I love a good ghost story as much as anyone and, with Halloween coming up, it seemed like a good adventure to attend the conference. I called my sister, who lives in Iowa, and suggested we meet there and have a Sister’s Halloween Adventure.
Both my sister and I are familiar with spirits, having grown up in a house that featured a resident ghost. Our family has favorite stories about this spectre, like the time he tapped me on the back in the middle of the night, and the many times my mother would awaken in the night and see him staring at her from the foot of her bed.
When my sister mentioned to her partner that she was going to attend the conference with me, he said, “Oh, maybe you can find out about the ghost who likes to watch us sleep everynight.”
So my sister and I got a room at the Plaza Hotel and eagerly joined the crowd for an evening’s entertainment.
The first presenter had written several books about werewolves. Her talk included stories she has collected from people who say they have had encounters with werewolves. She showed sketches of these creatures and pictures of the places where the sightings occurred. However, there were no actual photos of werewolves.
Here’s the thing. I would think that in this age, with people carrying cell phones everywhere, and hand-held digital devices, someone would have the opportunity to snap a photo of a werewolf, or even post a YouTube of their encounter with one. As my sister pointed out, “Anyone can draw a picture of a werewolf and they all look alike. That’s because everyone knows what a werewolf is supposed to look like.” Good point.
It was a fun presentation, but I’m not convinced about the validity of actual living werewolves.
The next presentor talked about re-incarnation. The speaker’s evidence stemmed from studies done with small children who tell stories of their past lives. Some children can describe where they lived, who their parents were, etc. Researchers have recorded these stories, gone to the locations described by the child, and found physical evidence to conclude what the child says is true. The theory is that when we are children, we still remember these past lives. As we get older and more conditioned, we begin to lose those memories.
Here was physical evidence suggesting that re-incarnation is possible. Did the presentor prove that re-incarnation exists? Not really, but he gave a fairly convincing presentation.
The other presentations were about various hauntings, Big Foot sightings, UFOs, and other unexplained occurrences. Are there big foot creatures in the Chequamegon Forest? There are multiple stories of sightings. Again, no photos other than vague shadows or something hairy from a distance. One photo depicting a close-up view of a Big Foot on someone’s critter-camera looked like a neighbor in a gorilla suit.
The next day we went to a Healing and Psychic Fair. There were presentors on past life experiences, spiritual healing and accessing different dimensions of reality. Vendors featured everything from aromatherapy and healing crystals to dowsing and quantum jumping.
Where any of them able to provide absolute proof of the validity of their craft? No.
But, here’s the interesting question. Can I, or anyone else, provide absolute proof that there is no validity to these occurrences? No.
We are left with a conundrum of polarities. No one can prove they exist and no one can prove they do not. There are heated debates on each side. Religious beliefs come into play. It all boils down to what you choose to believe. If one of these therapies helps someone feel better or live a better life, is that a bad thing? I don’t think so.
We know the mind is a powerful thing. We also know that we don’t know everything about the universe we live in, how it works, and all of the different elements that live in it with us.
There is one thing I know for certain after having this experience. Going on a road trip, spending time with my sister and having fun is something I can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt. I don’t need pictures, or scientific evidence. We had a went shopping, experienced new things, and got to spend some quality time together reminiscing about our own paranormal childhood. We met some interesting people, had some laughs, and maybe even expanded our concept of reality a little.
A weekend well spent.

With help from a carpenter

My husband Paul is a carpenter. In his job, the closest he usually gets to saving a life is fixing a roof so it doesn’t fall down on someone’s head. That is, until last Wednesday.
Paul works for the National Park Service. He was on the job fixing an attic at Little Sand Bay when a call came in requiring help with a search and rescue.
“We didn’t have much information,” he said. “Just a radio call saying someone was in the water.”
Why was a carpenter called for a search and rescue? Because it was within park boundaries and they were the closest available personnel.
Personnel with the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore work closely on and around Lake Superior, and she is an unpredictable partner. The National Park Service provides training for park service employees in first aid and CPR. Interested persons can also be trained in search and rescue.
“I’ve done ice search and rescue training but hadn’t trained for anything like what happened that day,” he said.
When the call came in, Paul and the other members of the boat crew scrambled to make sure they had the right equipment and the best information. They knew the search was in the area of the Meyer’s Beach sea caves.
“It’s exciting at that point. The adrenaline is flowing. This could be important,” he said.
Paul has been on two other search and rescue missions that were non-eventful and mostly provided a break in the routine of the day. Once in the boat, if you aren’t the boat operator, there isn’t much to do but be patient.
“We had three boats going out and we still weren’t sure what we were looking for,” he said. “It could have been a kayak overturned. We didn’t know.”
The three boats arrived at the estimated point and Paul’s boat was instructed to slow down and get close to shore heading east. Information also came in from a member of the team on shore.
“Radio communication can be spotty out there so we have someone on shore who can often see things we can’t,” said Paul. “At this point, I’m part of a three-boat team. Chances are we aren’t going to be the ones who do the rescue. We are just part of the team.”
Chances were different this time. Though another boat was the first to find the victim in the water and throw him a life preserver, it was the boat Paul was in that was best suited to do the actual rescue.
“The guy had fallen into the water from the cliff above and he was able to get himself to the edge and was standing in a small cave, ankle deep in water, and trying to hold on,” said Paul. “There’s no shoreline there, nowhere for him to go. By the time we got there, he was shaking pretty hard and he was only a few minutes from falling into the water. I think he knew it was life or death if someone didn’t get to him.”
Paul could hear the man saying, “Please hurry!”
The boat Paul was in had a ramp in the front that could be lowered, making it easier to get a person out of the water. While Abby, the boat operator, maneuvered the boat in the choppy water, Paul went to the front of the boat and grabbed a line in his left hand.
“When we get close, you grab my hand and I’ll grab yours,” he called to the man. The man stepped toward the ramp and their hands met.
“I yanked him into the boat,” said Paul. “I didn’t want to lose him and have to try again.”
Once in the boat, the man collapsed.
In another boat was a ranger who was also a paramedic. Blankets were thrown from boat to boat and then the boat operators had to again maneuver to get the two boats close enough for the ranger to get into the boat with the rescued victim, who was then transported back to the waiting ambulance at Little Sand Bay.
Successful rescue, a life saved — now what do you do?
“We did what most people would do,” said Paul. “We re-hashed the whole thing over several times.”
I’m proud of my husband. I think he’s a hero, but he is a bit more modest.
“It wasn’t me. It was us,” he said. “Everything worked out right. Having good boat operators and being available was what saved him. In a rescue like this one, we had what we needed, three good boat operators with the ability to get that close to the rocks without hurting the person in the water. Abby did a wonderful job. I think perfect is good enough.”
He also credits someone else for the success of the mission.
“This guy was saved by the grace of God that day,” said Paul. “He got too close to the edge and started to slide down the bank. He thinks he fell about 40 feet into the water and he didn’t get hurt. There were people on the bank with cell phones who were able to call for help and we were available.”
Saved by the grace of God and the help of a carpenter.

Magic in the printed word

I love books. I love the tactile sense of the paper in my hands and the smell of the ink. I love the potential held inside the two covers of a new book and the anticipation of the adventure I’ll find inside.
I work for a newspaper and I’m an author of two books. I have a stake in the printed word.
So, why did I buy a Kindle?
For those of you who haven’t discovered the Kindle, it is a hand-held device used for reading books in electronic format. My new Kindle holds 3,500 books in the palm of my hand.
Over the weekend I met Don Carlos Barrios, a Mayan elder and shaman, at a ceremony near Madison. When I got home and searched the internet, I discovered he has written a book titled the Book of Destiny. His book provides information about Mayan prophecies about 2012 and the Mayan calendar. I decided it sounded like an interesting book so I checked to see if it was in Kindle format. It was.
Here’s the amazing thing: with one click of a button on my computer I ordered the book in electronic format. While I turned off my computer and put my dogs to bed, the book was automatically downloaded to my Kindle (which wasn’t even turned on). I got into bed, turned on the device and began to read the book. All of this happened within about ten minutes and the only factor that slowed down the process was putting my dogs to bed.
It has to be magic.
As I began to read, Barrios was describing the new age of consciousness that is part of the Mayan prophecy of 2012. He speaks of the fifth sun which will bring the human consciousness into alignment with the ether world, the world of the unseen.
It feels like we are already there. How else can we explain the magic of the entire contents of a book flying through the air from one computer to the next in less than a minute? How does the information know where to land? This transmission is faster than the speed of sound or light.
With my Kindle, I can carry with me the entire collection of Charles Dickens writings, every Sherlock Holmes book written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the complete stories of Edgar Allan Poe. And the device weighs only 8.3 ounces.
Any avid reader can understand why I now say “I love my Kindle.”
I have not forsaken printed books. I still have my library of treasures at home and I’m sure I will continue to add to it.
In these times of ether world magic, it is still important to give our children the experience of reading a book they can hold in their hands. I don’t want to lose the image of my pajama wearing grandbaby cuddled up in her mother’s lap while having her favorite picture book read to her. A Kindle can’t give my grandbaby the sensation of touching the fur piece attached inside her book about animals, or the experience of seeing the colors of all her favorite books lined up on her bookshelf.
I still like the experience of reading an old book and finding a personal note hand-written in the margins, or having a small piece of paper fall out of the back of the book with an old grocery list on it. I like tattered edges and folded pages.
And I like things that help bring literacy to new levels. This is the image I hold for these new electronic readers. In this busy world we live in, being able to carry an entire library of books in the pocket of your coat just might encourage young people to read more. It can certainly lessen the load of the backpacks children carry. Being able to adjust the type size with the click of a button might mean that elders and people with limited sight will be able to continue to read.
Yes, I have a stake in the printed word, and I also have a stake in preserving our mother earth. The more books I read on my Kindle, the more trees we have to beautify our world and create the oxygen we breathe.
Which, to me, is another form of magic.

Opening the doorway

This past weekend I pulled my Turtle (small camper) down to the Horse First Farm in Brooklyn WI for the Holistic Horse Fair. I had reserved a booth space for my books and to do some storytelling about First Peace.
The horse fair was a very nice one. I've been to larger horse fairs, like the ones in Madison and Minneapolis, but this one was different. At the larger horse fairs, there are many more people, thousands of people in fact. However, as a vendor, I sat and watched them walk by like zombies, heads bowed, feet shuffling, no smiles. It was actually quite depressing.
At the Holistic Horse Fair it was the opposite. People came and walked around looking at things, talking with people, and smiling.
Could it be that when you claim a holistic, and more natural approach to your relationship with your horse, it changes your whole outlook on life? I think so.
The fair closed Sunday at 5 p.m. and the vendors all packed up and left. I was staying on the property in my camper until the next day. As I walked around, the silence had a lonely quality to it. As I stopped and said hello to the horses, and opened to the beauty of the fall colors and the smell of the earth, that loneliness faded away.
It is the transition from two days of busy and interaction with other humans, to an evening of solitude and silent community with the land and the horses. A lovely experience.
"True presence is the doorway to the great mystery."
I'm glad I opened that doorway.

Learning his 'umwelt'

I stand shivering in the dew-covered grass of evening, while my dog Rocky excitedly sniffs each blade of grass and piece of dirt. The leash in my hand pulls taut when Rocky reaches for a new smell, just out of the boundary of his confinement.
“Rocky, we’re out here to do your business,” I remind him.
A noise catches his attention and Rocky strains against me, panting and looking out into the hayfield. I can hear a deer shuffling across the high grass of the field. When the deer breaks into a run, Rocky jumps straight up and begins to bark.
“OK, we may as well go back in,” I say.
Obviously, no “business” will be conducted on this trip. Rocky and I had different agendas. Mine was to go out for some quick, before-bed dog business, and Rocky’s was a thorough investigation of the yard and potential romp through the woods.
I blame his “umwelt.”
Umwelt is a new term in my vocabulary thanks to the book I’m reading, “Inside of a Dog” by Alexandra Horowitz. She describes the dog’s umwelt as “their self world,” or “what life is like as the dog.”
Horowitz has a PhD in cognitive science and has studied dogs and other animals. Her book takes us into the umwelt of the dog, from its serious sense of smell to whether or not the dog understands the concept of right and wrong.
Horowitz contends that dogs understand humans much better than humans understand dogs. She attributes this to the dog’s continual observation of those humans in his life. Dogs watch us constantly. They understand minute movements in our expressions and habits that we may not be aware we are enacting. This level of attention allows the dog to read us like a psychic with a crystal ball.
Since reading this book, I’ve been paying more attention to the motions I make and what reaction I get from Rocky when I do them.
For example, all I have to do is move my hand toward my pocket, whether it be pants pocket or coat pocket, and I have Rocky’s attention. He has not only figured out that my hand in my pocket means a treat, but he knows the slightest motion of my hand toward my pocket is a good sign of the same intention. This works great when my intention is to give him a treat, but not so great when all I want to do is warm up my hand. Either way, I have a dog in front of me with an expectant look on his face.
I don’t think he believes me when I explain there are no treats in the pocket this time. I get “the look,” as if he knows I’m withholding something that is rightfully his.
Horowitz also gives advice on how to have a smoother relationship with your dog.
Many people take their dogs for walks, but are we walking for our benefit, or for the dog’s? From the dog’s point of view, or umwelt, a walk doesn’t have to be all the way around the block at a brisk pace. Most often, the dog would prefer what Horowitz calls a “smell walk.” A smell walk allows the dog to stop wherever he wants and sniff for as long as it takes to get the information he needs from the scent. Even if you only get 100 feet away and come back, to the dog, it’s a successful walk if he now knows all the dog gossip of that 100 feet. Pulling the dog along before his investigation is complete is like walking past a table at a restaurant and hearing, “and then the greatest thing happened when….’”
We are left forever wondering what that greatest thing was, just as the dog is left wondering when we pull him away from the local fire hydrant.
Sunday was a beautiful fall day to experiment with a smell walk. My husband and I took Rocky and Lisha for a walk on a wooded trail behind our farm. I observed the difference between Rocky’s idea of a walk and Lisha’s. Lisha is a hound mix and runs along the trail with her nose down. Rocky likes a good sniff too, but he is more apt to run along the trail with his eyes up. Rocky is more of a seeing and hearing dog, especially when it comes to squirrels and birds. So instead of stopping to let Rocky get the entire sniff message, I found myself stopping while he focused his eyes and ears on things in the woods. Different dog, different umwelt.
Horowitz also urges humans to learn to accept their canine companion’s “dogness.”
We often bring a dog into our home and expect the dog to act like a small human, when what they know how to do so well is to act like a dog.
I learned this lesson from my sister’s Alaskan malamute, Raven. Some time ago, my sister was having “trouble” with Raven and asked me to speak with him. Since I do animal communication, I was happy to oblige. Raven explained his problem.
“I’m a big dog,” he said. “She needs to let me be a big dog.”
Yes, Raven is a big dog, and as a big dog sometimes he doesn’t fit in tight places. He has a loud bark and a need to explain himself in lengthy terms. He takes up space when he lies in the middle of a room and he dribbles water from his lengthy chin when he drinks.
Now, I am trying to understand the world from the point of view of my German shepherd/herder mix Rocky. I need to understand Rocky’s dogness.
Rocky has energy and curiosity. Rocky loves to run and to herd things. This means I can’t expect Rocky to lie around in the yard unsupervised and be content like my dog Lisha does. Rocky needs something to do. I can either provide that something, or I can learn to not complain when Rocky finds something to do on his own. Preferred activities in Rocky’s mind could involve following the trail of a porcupine, chasing deer, visiting the neighbors, or rolling on a dead mouse for an hour.
Understanding his “dogness” has led me to rethink my meaning of good dog and bad dog. I’m seeing that to punish a dog for being a dog does not make a good human/dog relationship. I need to save my discipline for the really serious infractions, like biting or doing business in the house. For the smaller annoyances, re-directing Rocky’s enthusiasm works better than discipline.
“A complex animal cannot be explained simply,” says Horowitz.
Indeed.

Cooking vs. knitting

Previously I mentioned watching the movie 'Julie and Julia', in which a woman vowed to cook every recipe in Julia Child's cookbook. Since then, I've been looking for a similar challenge, just for fun. This weekend, I picked my challenge, knitting.
I received a book titled "Viva Poncho' as a gift. It has 20 patterns for ponchos, capes and capelets. I have decided to knit every pattern in that book over the next year. I have a head start as I've already knit four of the patterns.
I'm sure there were some recipes Julie had to cook that she didn't especially like, but doing 'all' of them doesn't let you pick and choose. Similarly, there are a few patterns in the Viva Poncho book that aren't to my taste. For these, I will have to chose a prettier yarn, or a different texture to make the finished piece better.
I wonder if Julie substituted different ingredients in Julia's recipes? Is this cheating? or is it being creative?
In the movie, the woman kept a blog about her cooking. I suppose I could do that, but knitting isn't always as exciting as cooking. It's more of a meditative activity for me. I can imagine boring blog posts like "Today I knit two rows."
Of course, there will probably be some exciting times, like "today I had to rip out three inches.'
However, I suppose I will offer photos here of the finished projects, and an occasional post about my progress.
To start with, I am knitting a one-piece poncho called Carson. I am using Cascade 220 in a dark green heather and size five needles. This one will take a while, but it is the one that I have kept going back to the book to look at, wanting to make it.
At the very least, this project will help me put a dent in my overflowing yarn stash.

Three wheels and a big dog

Like many people, I spent Labor Day weekend in a campground, Brunet Island State Park. It was the annual Grandma’s Camping Weekend, when my sister Linda, her daughter Sarah and my grandbaby Wren get together for a girls only camping adventure.
We all met at the campground on Thursday afternoon. Brunet Island State Park is a beautiful place near Cornell, surrounded by the Chippewa River. The campground is filled with large hemlocks, maples and other trees, squirrels, deer and several raccoons.
When we arrived, there was only one other camper in the southern part of the campgrounds were we had our space reserved. All the other campsites were tagged as reserved, but we were the only ones who braved the cold and rain on that night. A few more stragglers came in during the continued rain on Friday, and by Saturday, when the rain stopped, the campground began to fill up.
Most campsites were quite similar. Standard equipment was usually a pull-behind camper and some sort of recreational equipment like bikes, canoes, or kayaks. Quite a few campers brought the family dog along. Add a fire ring and a picnic table and you have a typical camp setup. Families gather by the fire and chat while the children ride the bikes or search the nearby woods for treasures. Meals are cooked over the fire and eaten at the picnic table.
Our campsite was similar, with a few exceptions that drew curious campers to either stop by or walk by with their necks craned in our direction.
We had three wheels and a big dog.
The three wheels I’m referring to weren’t on the camper, or the SUV that pulled it. These were spinning wheels. My sister, my niece and I are all into fiber. We knit, weave and spin. So, for grandma’s camping weekend, we each brought our spinning wheel. While the other campers were hiking or canoeing, we were sitting around our campfire spinning fiber into yarn.
On occasion, I’d bring out my hand drum or native flute and add some music to the mix.
It wasinteresting to watch, out the corner of my eye, as the neighboring campers passed by. Conversations stopped, heads turned, and some people stopped walking to watch. We smiled and greeted them, and kept spinning. Children pointed and asked the grown-ups what we were doing. Dogs shifted their noses in our direction, sniffing the scent of sheep coming off my freshly carded fiber.
One woman was brave and came into our campsite with her husband.
“I’ve always wanted to learn how to spin,” she said. “When I retire and have more time, I’m going to try it.”
“Here, sit down and try it now,” offered my sister.
The woman sat down and had a mini-spinning lesson while her husband watched. I walked over and talked to the man about his dog, trying to keep him occupied.
“I may need to go walk the dog and come back later,” he said, obviously sensing his wife’s pre-occupation.
She spun for a bit, then returned to her husband, vowing to visit a fiber fair soon to try out different kinds of spinning wheels. I explained that she should be prepared to learn to knit or crochet so she had something to do with all the yarn she would be making. I didn’t tell her about the urge to buy a loom and learn weaving too. We’ll let her discover that one later, once she has the full fiber addiction.
There were those passers-by who seemed uninterested in the spinning project. However, most of them offered comments on “that big dog.”
My sister has an Alaskan Malamutenamed Raven. He is probably only about 80 pounds, but when you add in all of his soft, fluffy fur, he looks like about 140 pounds. His feet are as big as the palm of my hand.
“That’s such a beautiful dog.”
“Is that a husky?”
“Mommy, look at that dog.”
These were some of the comments we were used to. Raven is a friendly dog and his older age means he’s not as exuberant as younger dogs. He doesn’t jump on people or bark much, so he’s a perfect dog for curious people.
On occasion, we would need to get up from our spinning and take Raven and Wren for a walk, giving the campers in the farther out sites a chance to marvel at ‘the big dog.’
Wren is three years old, so she had her occasional ‘melt downs,’ which is what we call a bought of temper. However, with all the other children in camp, melt downs were a common occurrence all over, nothing to draw anyone’s attention.
It was the three wheels and the big dog that added a different twist to the weekend.

I must be insane...

...at least when it comes to knitting. Yes, my yarn stash is the size of a major football stadium, but that isn't the only reason I'm insane.
I just completed knitting an Einstein coat. It is gorgeous and it took a long time. If you don't know what an Einstein coat is, it is a wool coat knitted entirely with the knit stitch (no purl or cables, etc.) They call it Einstein because when you are done it looks like it was hard, but it's not. However, it takes a long time.
Upon completion of that project, I went back to working on the Frog Tree Origami Sweater I started last year. Again, it's all one stitch. This time it is K1P1 ribbing. The concept is a knitted rectangle 65" long and about 2 foot wide in this ribbing. Then you knit another rectangle, not as long or wide and fold the two together to make a sweater.
All that ribbing takes quite a while to knit.
This week, I got out some Cascade 220 I've had for a while, dark green heather, very nice. And, I started to knit a poncho using size 5 needles. All knit stitch.
Again, it will take a long time to complete.
And, I'm contemplating another project of a lace shawl.
I must be insane to have four long knitting projects going at one time. But, my scheme is to alternate between projects so no one project can get boring.
Of course, there's always the prospect that all four of them get boring as a whole. Then I'd have to start number five....

Where do you come from?

This past weekend I listened to a talk by a man who was adopted at birth. After his parent's death, he discovered that his mother was Sioux and he was united with his birth family of brothers and sisters. He went on to explain how learning of his native heritage had influenced his life.
There is much interest these days about geneology, many internet sites and books about the topic.
Personally, I know half of my story. My grandmother on my father's side did a complete geneology of our family, going back to Norway in the 1700s.
On my mother's side is where the mystery begins. My grandfather was a storyteller and when asked about his past, he would tell many stories, but no one can say which are true and which were embellished. We have no documentation of his past other than there is some German in there somewhere.
Knowing where you came from can help you understand more about your family's traditions, habits, and idiosyncracies. It can explain why you have a certain hair color or facial features. It can help you understand your medical history.
But, it can also do other things.
It can limit you by putting you into a mold of your past.
It can create discrimination by separating you from others.
It can create exclusionism by causing groups to separate themselves.
People may want to know where they came from so they know where they fit in.
I know where I came from. I came from the mother earth. I came from earth, water, wind and fire. I came from the same place every other human on this planet came from.
Which brings us to another question.
Where are you going?
We are all going to the same place, back to our mother earth when we die. It's not where you came from that matters. It's the journey you take before you go back that is the whole reason we are here.
We are all one family, from one source. We all have indigenous roots if we can trace them back far enough. We all have cave man ancestors who sat around the fire and told stories of where they came from.
Perhaps in times to come, someone will trace their ancestry back to us and marvel in the fact that they are part 'earthling.'

Julia Child vs. church cookbook

Recently, I watched the movie “Julie and Julia,” about a young woman who pledges to cook every recipe in Julia Child’s book “Mastering the Art of French Cooking.” She gives herself a year to accomplish this task, meaning 536 recipes in 365 days. The movie was fun, and if you haven’t seen it, I recommend it.
I commend the woman in the story for her perseverance in the task. Personally, I would have a few obstacles on this type of journey:
What do I do with the leftovers? If I cooked 536 recipes in 365 days, that would mean cooking something new every day. In the movie, it was just her and her husband eating these meals. Of course they had the occasional dinner party, but as a matter of day-to-day eating, that’s a lot of food. My refrigerator isn’t very big. Where will I put all the foil covered plates, Ziploc bags and Tupperware?
Who will do all the dishes? We never see her or her husband doing dishes in the movie. We see scenes of her in the kitchen, but never piles of pots and pans stacked up in the sink. And we know she didn’t have domestic help because that was part of the charm of Child’s book, which was written for women who did not have servants. My problem is, I can’t cook in a dirty kitchen. Before I start any cooking endeavor, I must clean all the counters and do the dishes.
With 536 recipes, there must be a few that will not appeal to everyone. Do you make those anyway? What about allergies? Personally, I’m allergic to hard-shell seafood. Do I still need to make the lobster dishes?
How do I find all those fancy ingredients? This woman lived in New York and had numerous markets to shop from. Here in the northland, if they don’t have it at the local grocery store, I’m out of luck. Though during the summer, the local farmer’s markets are a good source for some unusual finds. I have yet to see live lobster or whole ducks.
When my grandmother passed away, I inherited her collection of church cookbooks. It would be interesting to try this challenge with one of them. These recipes are “old school.” They call for things that are not commonly found in today’s kitchens such as lard and sorghum. Quite a few of these women cooked like my mother did, adding a “pinch” of this or a “smidgeon” of that. They also gave instructions like “cook until done,” or “add spices to taste.”
I took a sentimental journey through grandma’s Country CookBook from the Halfway Creek Lutheran Church, 1971.
The first recipe in the book is for rommegrot, which is comprised of rich cream, milk, salt and flour. Then there’s Berline kranser with the only ingredients being butter, sugar, flour and egg yolks. This recipe is supposed to make over 100 cookies. After these delicacies comes brabakkels with eggs, sugar and brandy (add a bit of flour to roll out thin). I’m starting to see a pattern here.
I flipped the pages to the main dish section to find a collection of recipes for casseroles, hot dishes and meat loaf. A recipe called 7-course dinner includes potatoes, carrots, hamburger, onion, rice and tomatoes all combined into a casserole.
The salad section includes a lot of fruit, jello and cottage cheese.
This is a far cry from “Mastering the Art of French Cooking.” It’s more like “Mastering the Art of Blocked Arteries.”
However, my grandmother used the cookbook (I know this by the pencil notes she wrote in the margins and the extra sheet of paper that fell out listing her favorite recipes from the book and their page numbers), and she lived to be 98 years old. I’ll never know if she tried every recipe, but I thought of her fondly when I came upon the recipe for fruit soup. When I was young, fruit soup was a traditional dish my grandmother served. My sister and I hated fruit soup, but my mother always made us eat some so we wouldn’t offend grandma. I won’t be making that recipe.
The last pages are a compilation of “household hints.” I will leave you with this piece of old-country wisdom: “A banana and the white of an egg, beaten until stiff, make a good substitute for whipped cream.”
Bon appétit.

A new twist

Okay, I admit it, I caved in.
I swore I was not going to read any of the Twilight series books. I had enough of vampire stories in my teens. Remember Dark Shadows, the vampire soap opera? I was addicted.
After a while all the vampire hype started getting old. It was always the same, vampire wars, big teeth and lots of blood, so I quit.
I've always wondered about the vampire legends. If vampires are so good at attacking people and biting them, why aren't we all vampires? The garlic part I could understand. I stay away from people who've eaten too much garlic myself, and no, I'm not a vampire. The crosses work too. After all, who wants to spend time with a certified evangelist, boring.
However, I was in the library looking for a new book to listen to in my car. I've just about gone through their whole selection already, so something new was hard to find. I noticed the first Twilight book was on CD. I needed something, so I caved in.
Why not give it a try. I checked out the website of the author and she notes that she loves to put standard characters into different situations, so I thought maybe this would be different, a new twist on an old legend.
So far, I was right. And I have to admit that she writes quite well.
In case you aren't familiar, here's a synopsis so far:
Young girl moves to new town, meets irresistable boy who has some quirks. His skin is pale, his eyes turn different colors, he's moody, he's aloof, he drives too fast and seems to materialize out of nowhere. Oh yeah, and he never eats. Lots of clues there. But the twist is, he's not a people biting vampire (bites animals instead) and he can be out in the daytime. The author gets by that one by having the character deny the daytime thing as 'merely lore.' With all of these clues, our heroine falls for the mysterious one anyway. Love at first sight (bite?).
So far, it seems the story is less about the vampire boyfriend than it is about a young girl moving to a new town and trying to fit in. Outcast meets outcast.
Funny thing, there is a scene where he takes her to an Italian restaurant. She orders ravioli. As far as I know, most Italian restaurants feature garlic prominently, yet, there was not mention of it, hmmm.
I'll keep reading.

Where have all the flowers gone?

Listen, children, to a story that was written long ago.
‘Bout a kingdom on a mountain and the valley-folk below.
On the mountain was a treasure, buried deep beneath the stone.
And the valley-people swore they’d have it for their very own.
So the people of the valley sent a message up the hill asking for the buried treasure, tons of gold for which they’d kill.
Came an answer from the kingdom, “With our brothers we will share all the secrets of our mountain, all the riches buried there.”
Now the valley cried with anger, “Mount your horses! Draw your sword!” and they killed the mountain-people, so they won their just reward.
Now they stood beside the treasure, on the mountain, dark and red. Turned the stone and looked beneath it...”Peace on Earth” was all it said.
Go ahead and hate your neighbor, go ahead and cheat a friend. Do it in the name of heaven, you can justify it in the end. There won’t be any trumpets blowing come the judgment day, on the bloody morning after...One tin soldier rides away.
-One Tin Soldier (The Legend of Billy Jack) by Lambert-Potter

I was 12 years old in 1969, too young to go to Woodstock, but not too young to be influenced by the peace songs and anti-war protests of the era. I wore bell bottom jeans and blousey tops. My hair was long and straight, parted in the middle. I wore peace sign jewelry and memorized the lyrics to many of the peace songs of the day.
The 60s and 70s were a tumultuous time of war, racial riots, sit-ins, peace marches and music. We spoke our minds, stood up for our beliefs, and wore our hearts for peace on our sleeves.
Now, those of us who lived through those times are in our 50s and 60s. What happened? Where have all the flowers gone? Are they still blowin’ in the wind? Did we ever give peace a chance? Or did the Peace Train roll on past with empty seats?
John Lennon saw it. He imagined “all the people, living life in peace.”
“You can say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope some day you will join us. And the world will live as one.”
And his fellow band members, The Beatles, agreed, “When the broken hearted people, living in the world agree. There will be an answer, let it be.”
Today, we sit in a world still at war. We struggle with issues of neglect for our Mother Earth. We, the children of the 60s and 70s, seem to have forgotten those issues we fought for. We are the ones who grew up, raised families, and helped build our current culture of excess. We are the corporate executives of B.P. Oil. We are the advisors to the President of the United States. We spearheaded the technological revolution. And for all we have built, and all we have used up, we are still at war.
“War, huh, yeah, what is it good for, absolutely nothing.” - War by Edwin Starr
The good news is, we can go back and remember. Our generation, many of us either nearing or in our retirement years, can still change the world. We are the elders. We hold the knowledge of the past, the wisdom to see the present, and the ability to help the young ones move into the future. We can still raise the flag of peace. We can still let our voices be heard.
At her recent performance at Big Top Chautauqua, Joan Baez asked the audience what they were willing to risk. She talked about her youth, the protest marches, and spending time in jail with her mother. She has led her life as a peace activist and is still willing to speak out.
We can be role models for peace. Our stage is our life. Each step we take, each conversation we have, how we treat our neighbors, who we vote for, our thoughts, words and deeds, they all matter.
The 60s and 70s weren’t only about sex, drugs and rock and roll. It was our learning ground, the place where we trained for this present moment. So, don your bell bottoms, and search in your drawers for those old tie-dyed t-shirts with the peace signs on them. Let your hair down and let your voice be heard. We may be old, but we’re not dead yet.
In the words of John Lennon, “If someone thinks that love and peace is a cliche that must have been left behind in the 60s, that’s his problem. Love and peace are eternal.”
This is a call to wear your heart for peace on your sleeve once more. The time is now, before the predictions of Rick Evans, writer of the song In the Year 2525, come true:
“Now it’s been ten thousand years. Man has cried a billion tears. For what, he never knew, now man’s reign is through. But through eternal night, the twinkling of star light, so very far away, maybe it’s only yesterday.”

Everything effects everything

I read an article about the effect the BP oil spill in the gulf may have on loons in northern Wisconsin. It was a good reminder that “everything affects everything.”
We are lucky to live in an area where these kinds of tragedies are few. It can be a relief to think “I’m glad it didn’t happen to me.”
But, it did happen to me.
It happened to me because I live on this Earth, and what happens in the Gulf, or in the Middle East, or the North Pole, happens to me. I can feel compassion for those who are on the front lines by asking one question.
“How does this affect me?”
The BP oil spill affects me because it affects the loons that I love to hear calling on the lake. It affects me because other birds I love may winter by the Gulf. Fish that live in the Gulf find their way to my table and nourish me. Fruit grown on farms near those waters travels through the food chain to my grocery store.
People living by the Gulf watch as oil washes up on their shores. They see the devastation inflicted upon the plants and animals they live with. This affects me because they are my brothers and sisters on this planet Earth.
Science has shown that the extinction of one species can have a detrimental effect on an entire eco-system. This tells us that every small action has the potential for large effects.
Last week I attended the Northwest Wisconsin Lakes Conference in Drummond. The speakers talked about how making a few small changes to the lakeshore environment (like adding rip rap to a piece of shoreline) can cause a decline in the turtle population. Turtles eat bugs, so a decline in turtles can cause resurgence in mosquitoes and flies. To eliminate the bugs, a shoreline property owner may take out more of the shoreline buffers. Removing shoreline buffers can cause a decline in the frog and fish populations, which causes a change in the lake’s ecosystem, causing more algae, cloudy water, fewer birds, fewer mammals ... and more bugs.
Everything affects everything.
The BP oil spill will no doubt cause a rise in oil prices, which effects my pocketbook. But the monetary effect is only one issue. It has also caused more distrust of large corporations, and shown the lack of effectiveness of our system of government and their failed attempt at regulation and monitoring of those corporations. It has shown that there is more concern in our nation for profits than there is for the environment.
What good will all of those profits do when we no longer have a safe planet to live on?
Knowing that a few small changes can have large detrimental effects, reason says that a few other small changes may have large beneficial effects.
What can I change to help mitigate the effects of the BP oil spill?
I can conserve a little more gas. I can keep the dogs away from the barn while the mother raccoon raises her babies in the loft. I can watch how many chemicals I put into the ecosystem. I can help elect honest politicians and try to keep dishonest ones from being re-elected. I can adopt a dog from the animal shelter. I can pick up trash on a beach. I can watch and enjoy a northwood’s sunset. I can find a way to find peace within myself and not add to the energy of negativity created by tragic events.
I can find a place in my heart to pray for the BP corporate leaders because they have to live with the consequences of the oil spill, too, and hopefully learn from them.
Because everything affects everything.

You could poke your eye out, or worse

In doing some creative web surfing, I came upon some things called Wool Combs and Hackles for carding wool. Hmm, something I haven't seen yet, let's check it out. What I found were pictures of tools with spikes.
Wanting more, I emailed my source for all things, my sister, and asked what she knew. We talked on the phone and she said she used to have combs and hackles but she didn't think she had them anymore. Bummer. And she said the history of hackles was very interesting, something about muscular men swinging wool at nails.
Hmmmm, again.
Today I looked up more on the internet and found photos of women using wool combs and THOSE THINGS ARE HUGE!
Forget about bb guns, you really can put your eye out with these things!
My mind started to wander (I'm a writer you know) to scenarios from the middle ages where a disagreement breaks out between lovers in the barn and someone is murdered using a set of hackles.
It could have happened.
Now, I'm more curious. Does anyone know of a good website that shows more info on hackles?
I think I'll stick to the drum carder and hand carders.

Evergreen's dog blog

No, I haven't changed the name of my blog, but it seems I'm writing alot about my new dog, Rocky. He's always giving me something new to say.
Last night, Rocky and Lisha (our other dog) were in the house. I was calmly spinning some wool, enjoying the quiet.
Rocky began to go wackoo. He started chasing his tail in a wild circle at about 100 mph. The noise his feet made on the carpet broke the quiet of my spinning. He would gyrate in a circle in one place, then run to the other side of the room and start again. Lisha decided there was something to be scared about and began to whine at Rocky.
When he continued his frantic chase and bite at his tail, I wondered if maybe something was biting him, like a woodtick and it itched. So I called him over, (he actually came when called, this is good), and began scratching his tail for him. He liked that but I wasn't getting the right spot, so I held his tail in one spot so he could bite it. I thought he probably knew the right spot better than I did. This went on for a while, but didn't solve the problem.
Now, Lisha is getting mad. She is starting to bark at Rocky and gets off the couch and bites at him. "Stop that, you're scaring me," she says.
I decided Rocky probably needed some exercise to run off his energy. I took him outside on his retractable leash and he ran back and forth in front of me, jumping and acting like a dock dog. I held up his sock toy and he jumped to get it, then ran around me shaking the sock toy. This went on for a while.
I wondered if it was possible to teach a dog to lunge like a horse. He obviously had more energy that I did.
I walked along the edge of the hayfield, while he ran back and forth through the tall grass. He finally decided the hayfield was a good place to poop and that seemed to settle him down. We went back inside and he took a long nap.
Is my dog psycho? Maybe. Or maybe he is almost two years old and needed to run off some energy.
Today it's Lisha's turn to be psycho. There was thunder this morning.

What a good dog!

This morning I let the dogs out before I went to work. I put Rocky on his long leash and let them run around. This is usually tricky, as he likes to run around me and get me caught in the leash.
He saw the barn cat, Kronk, by the garage and immediately gave chase. He chased until he got to the horse corral and stopped at the fence. This is improvement. I called him and he turned and came to me. I rewarded him and then started doing my tai chi practice. Rocky sat down on the grass by me and watched the cat, but never got up to chase.
What a good dog!
I think the relaxation of my tai chi practice had some effect. He seemed to like the gentle energy, which counteracted his wild side.
My husband has been taking him for lots of walks and giving out lots of treats for come when called. Rocky sleeps with me in the screenhouse at night and I put treats on his dog bed. He is starting to remember that and gets excited to go right into the screenhouse, no more deer chasing.
We love Rocky.

the next step, dying

No, I'm not dead. I was adding color to wool. This was my first attempt at dyeing wool. My sister and niece came up and we had a dyeing party. We used acid base dyes and a microwave that my sister got free by putting up a sign where she worked.

We did the process outside on a beautiful sunny day.

I dyed my grey and black homespun with one color and it came out beautifully. The dark shades of the wool took the dye differently so it turned out to be a heathery result.

I also had some Lion wool that I got on sale from their website in white. I dyed those skeins in a painted fashion with different colors.

The photos are of the dyed wool hanging on the clothes line to dry. And some that were re-skeined.

Now, I need to do more carding and spinning so I can dye again.

getting fleeced photos

Photos of the washed wool on screens and whatever else I could find to allow it to dry. I love the fluffy white photo, looks like clouds or cotton. The darker fleece isn't as fluffy but it is very soft and longer fibers.

canine vs. equine

Our new dog Rocky is proving to be a quandry. He is a very sweet dog, loves people and wants to please. He is great in the house and on a leash. When the leash is off, so is he. Off to the neighbors, off chasing deer in the woods, etc.
I know horses and horse training. I can teach a horse to come when called, but dogs are a different scenario. Some say it is the difference between a prey animal (horse) and a predator (dog).
Yesterday, Rocky decided to run off through the horse pasture, across the road and take a tour of the neighbor's yard. I saw him do it, I called, he ignored. I got a leash and started walking towards the neighbors. When he saw me coming and I asked for him to come, he looked right at me and said, "sorry I've got other things to do," and kept going. I eventually caught up with him and brought him home.
I once knew a man with a wandering dog. His idea of training was to beat the dog when it came home. All the dog learned was not to come home. I do not condone beating any animal for any reason. Discipline is one thing, beating is a whole different issue.
Discipline implies calm, consistent behavior specific to the issue. Beating implies a human who has allowed his anger to control his behavior.
I know that anger has no place in horse training and I'm sure it has no place in dog training. I don't want my animals to be afraid of me, only to respect me.
There are some times when I try some of my horse training techniques on the dog. In horse training, when the horse is doing something you don't want him to do, you ask him to do something you want him to do instead. This works with Rocky if we are in the house or on the leash. It works well. So far, at liberty it doesn't work.
I know that liberty training with horses is started in an enclosed space, then transferred to total freedom. So far, Rocky is good in enclosed spaces, but hasn't let it transfer to total freedom.
Yes, he's only two years old and we've only had him for a few weeks. Time is important. He still has puppy brain, with grown dog speed.
At least he knows where home is. When he took off after the deer, he made a big loop through the woods and field and came back to me after about 1/2 hour.
It's a small step in the right direction.
What's your dog training challenge?
What's your horse training challenge?
Got any tips for Rocky?

Getting fleeced

My friend Dr. Dan has sheep. His sheep are mostly pets who keep the grass mowed around his apple trees. Each spring he has the shearer come and relieve the sheep of their winter coats. Dr. Dan is a veterinarian, not a fiber person, so his fleeces get put in bags and stored in the barn. He offered me one last year and I had much fun with it so I agreed to take another this year.
When I arrived at his farm and saw last year's fleeces sitting outside, still in their bags, I knew that he had plenty of fleece to give away. I decided to take three fleeces and picked three bags.
When I got home and took the fleeces out of the bags I found five fleeces in the three bags.
I'd been fleeced.
Three beautiful white ones and two that are mottled gray and black.
His sheep, being pets, don't wear coats or have special areas to live in that keep their fleece clean, so cleaning these fleeces is an adventure.
I first had to go to my neighbor to borrow any screens she had available. She also sent a wonderful porcelain tub with a hole in the bottom.
So, today I spent time in my basement cleaning fleece. I connected a hose to the hot water spout from the washing machine hookup and put hot water into several coolers and big containers, along with some laundry soap. In goes the fleece, stir it around to get the soap in, and let it soak. I like using coolers because they have covers that keep the water hot while soaking.
After about 1/2 hour, I dump out the dirty water and do a second wash, then a final rinse in the porcelain tub.
Outside I have a table set up with screens of all different sizes and shapes to dry the fleeces on. I also set up a couple of saw horses in the barn with screens on them.
I was able to do three fleeces before I ran out of room for drying.
My hands are very clean, my back is very sore and I'm looking forward to spending time picking out twigs and hay chaff from the cleaned fleeces. Sounds like a good job to do on a sunny day.
I'd love to hear other stories about cleaning fleece. Have you ever done it? What did you use?

Rocky update

When we first planned to get another dog, we planned to get a puppy.
Rocky is not a puppy, he is almost 2 years old. And, he is showing us that it is perfect. He came to us for reasons, just as life throws us many curves for reasons.
Rocky still has puppy mind, even though he is full grown in his body. He has spirit, an adventurous streak, and soooo much love to give. He only wants to please us.
Yesterday my husband commented, "How much time would we be spending on basic training if we had gotten a puppy?"
Rocky knows sit, lay down, almost come when called. He is housebroken and loves people. How much time would we spend training a new puppy those things that we don't have to spend with Rocky? Probably at least two to six months.
Puppies are fun to cuddle with, and so is Rocky. He will come up on the couch and snuggle in as if he was only 10 pounds instead of 47 pounds.
Rocky sleeps through the night, no whining, no emergency potty breaks.
And every day, Rocky looks at me and says, "Thanks for giving me a home."

Help! My belt broke!

I've had my sister's drum carder for a while now. I was carding a fleece that I had cleaned and spinning it, big fun. However, the belt on the drum carder broke, which stopped my adventure. It's been another adventure trying to replace the belt.
This weekend I took the belt and the carder to a local yarn and weaving shop. The proprietor and I search the internet trying to find a belt, to no avail. I got a few phone numbers off the websites and planned to call them.
Meanwhile I decided to stop by the local hardware store. Maybe they would have a different belt that would work. No luck. The guy at the hardware store recommended the NAPA store down the street.
At the NAPA store, the guy behind the counter was trying to help me solve the problem when another guy came in. He looked at the belt and they began to brain storm, as guys in a parts store love to do. What they came up with was to use electrical shrink wrap to hold the broken part in place. Sounded good, so I bought some.
At home, I asked my husband if he had ever used the electrical shrink wrap.
"No, but let's check it out." he says. Another adventure began.
He thought it would be a good idea to heat up the ends and try to meld them first. Out came the propane torch. It didn't work. Deciding the propane torch was too hot, out came the heat gun (industrial model). It didn't work either. So we went back to the shrink wrap tape, which seemed to work.
I put the belt back on the carder and it lasted for about 15 minutes before the shrink wrap broke.
Does anyone out there know where to get a 41" belt for a drum carder?
I've discovered I can still use the carder if I work the second drum manually, but it takes two hands.

Welcome Rocky!

Here are the first pictures of our new dog, Rocky.

Finally a dog who likes to lay on the dog bed.

At right, Rocky says hi to Lisha.

Rocky is about 1 1/5 or 2 years old. We adopted him from the Chequamegon Humane Association. My best guess is that he is a German Shepherd/Healer mix. He is very affectionate, house trained, and wants to please. He knows sit and lay down and we are working on come when called. He loves to go for walks and play in the yard. He also likes to chase birds and barn cats, but gets along with Mike, our indoor cat. The other two indoor cats are still cautious.

We love Rocky.

Coming home

I love going on vacation, and I love coming home from vacation.
I recently spent three weeks in Mexico, in a cabana on the beach. It was great, and I'm happy to be home. Why?
At home I can do laundry. Everything I had taken with me was damp and smelled of sea salt. I didn't actually unpack. What I did was throw everything directly from the suitcase into the washing machine. From there, it went out to the clothes line to freshen in the spring air. I must have done at least 15 loads of laundry, which included all the laundry that accumulated while I was gone.
At home I can take a fresh water shower. The cabanas had showers in them, but the water was straight from the ocean, salt water. Imagine spending a day on the beach. You're hot and sticky from swimming in the salt water ocean. You're lightly sunburned and looking forward to a fresh shower. You step out of the shower and are refreshed for about a minute, then you realize the water was salt water. Your hair is still sticky and never really dries. Your skin is sticky and now drying out from the salt. You apply tons of lotion, which doesn't help.
At home I can eat something other than guacamole. The restaurants were good, and I don't want to look at guacamole for at least a month. Sure, the guacamole was tasty, but with every meal? Same goes for salsa, chips and refried beans. The culinary hit of my journey was the french toast at TreceLunas, a cafe run by a Canadian woman. There was also one restaurant that served pizza. Not American pizza, but it was wood fired and tasted great.
At home I can sleep without mosquito netting. The mosquitoes in Mexico are smaller than Wisconsin mosquitoes. But they are like terrier mosquitoes, they don't quit. I am still scratching bites on my arms. If you are by the ocean in the breeze, it's okay. If you venture into the jungle, which is only a few steps away from the ocean, you are fresh meat for the hordes.
At home the nights are cool. Mexico days are hot and sunny, and Mexico nights are hot and dark. With no electricity in the cabanas, there was no air conditioning, or even a ceiling fan.
At home the horses are fat and healthy. I had a chance to see some horses while in Mexico. They were thin, bony and also plagued by the heat and bugs. I felt bad for them, but not everyone has access to the open grasslands and perfect horse weather of Wisconsin. It made me grateful for the home my horses have.

After all this, you may think that my vacation wasn't a good one, but it really was. I was not at work. I didn't wear a watch. I played in the ocean and sunned on the beach. I salsa danced on the beach one evening and had grand adventures at ruins and cenotes. I was in excellent company with 35 of my very best friends from all over the world. And I'm glad to be home.

Hoover

No, not the vacumn cleaner. Hoover is a dog, and boy what a dog. Hoover is what we call a 'rental dog,' which means he is staying with us while his people are on vacation. While he is here, we say he is at 'camp snoopy.'
Hoover is a big dog, with soft droopy ears and slightly hanging jowls. He is black and white spotted with a big black button on his butt.
Hoover loves to come visit because he is a city dog and we are a country home. He can run and play, eat horse poop, roll in things, and swim in the pond, all without a leash.
Hoover is also a good trail dog with my horses. He runs out front, flushing those things that want to scare horses before we get there. thanks, Hoover. He never runs away either.
Hoover likes to bark, at the neighbors, at the deer in the fields, at any car on the road.
Last night, Hoover was in the house with us and our dog Lisha and the three cats. For some reason, Hoover began to growl at our little cat, Bob. Bob ran out of the way, but growling isn't acceptable in our house. So, I sent Hoover outside, to which my husband pointed out, "He loves being outside, it's a reward. He should be in here having to deal with the cats."
So, he came back in. I held Bob close to Hoover and petted Bob. I explained that Bob was part of our family and he needed to be nice to Bob. No growling.
I think Hoover understood, he hung his head for a while, then apologized and was nice to Bob after that.
And, imagine this. Hoover likes to lay on the dog bed on the floor. I bought the dog bed when we had three dogs, hoping one of them would like it. They all ignored it like a plague.
However, the cats have been sleeping on it, so maybe it is really a cat bed. Anyway, Hoover sleeps on it. Maybe it's a bi-species bed?
Hoover will be here until Thursday. I love to pet him, he is the softest dog I have ever felt, and when he wants to be petted, his eyes get really big and pleading. I can't resist.

Minor little details...

I read a post on the Miss Babble Blog which talked about the minor little details that are so important to knowing a person. So I decided to put a few of my minor details here, so you can know me better.
I don't wear nail polish.
Okay, maybe once in a while in the winter when my nails get dry and brittle I will wear some nail strengthener, but that's it. I was in Walgreens the other day and found some really pretty metallic nail polish for 99 cents each. I bought a few bottles to use on my art journals.
I love cheese.
But, please no Swiss. Mozzarrella, cheddar, farmers, provolone, parmesan. I love it on sandwiches, in salads, on rice, on noodles, as finger food.
I don't perm, color, kink, or spray my hair.
My hair is straight, it's the way I was born and it's what my hair wants to do. I've tried perming in the past, and coloring, but all it does is ruin my hair. So, I have decided to not do anything with it. I was at a salon a while ago to get a trim and the stylist asked "how do you get such healthy hair?" Easy, don't do anything to it. I don't think that was the answer she wanted to hear, because it pretty much puts her out of a job.
I like fine point pens.
I learned how to take shorthand in high school and we were advised to use a fine point pen because they write faster than medium points. I have stuck with fine point pens ever since. Even though I am a writer by profession, I don't like the act of writing by hand. It's too slow. I do most of my writing on the computer. And if I have to write by hand, it must be with a fine point pen!
I think in shorthand.
Some people think in French, or Spanish. I think in shorthand. It's like another language for me. Whenever I have something to write down that I don't want to share with anyone, I do it in shorthand. Even if you know how to read shorthand (and if you do, you are hinting to your age), you probably can't read mine. I am a messy writer (got a D in handwriting in school) and just as messy of a shorthand writer.

These are a few little details about me, how about you?

Only 9 days...

In only nine days I'll be off to Mexico for three weeks. So, the packing has begun.
In these days of expensive flights, and added fees for luggage, I'm trying to get it down to one checked bag and one carry on. Not an easy task for a three week trip.
I usually pack in the stages method.
Stage one was a few days ago. In stage one, I take out all the things I think I will need and all the clothes I want to take with. I put all of this in my suitcase and find out it doesn't all fit. So I bring our another suitcase and stuff it all in. Of course, this doesn't include things I still need to wear until leaving such as underwear, shoes, toiletries, etc.
Stage two was yesterday. In stage two, I take everything out of both suitcases and go through what I picked. I take out what doesn't work and ask the question, "do I really need this?"
Stage three will be in a few days. In stage three, I again look at everything, and take out some more. I may add in something I forgot the first time, but by now I should be down to one suitcase.
In stage four, a few days before leaving, I start to pack my carry on bag. Now, I can take a few things out of the main suitcase and put them in the carry on bag such as one swimsuit, underwear, and one change of clothes. Now, there's more room left in the main bag for shoes and other essentials that go in at the last minute.
When I'm packing to go to a place warmer than Wisconsin, it gets tricky. Because I have to have the clothes I wear to the airport and back home. I know that it can still snow in May around here so I at least need a light jacket, a pair of jeans and some closed shoes.
I've been checking weather.com to see what the temperatures will be like in Tulum. So far, 80s during the day and 60s at night. A friend said all you need is a swimsuit and a sarong. So far I have three swimsuits and four skirts, two dresses, and five sarongs, three pair of shoes, a sweater, five long sleeve shirts, a couple of t-shirts, light pajamas, a few scarves.....
I'll probably be wearing about five layers on the plane to keep my luggage from being too heavy.
I think that's why they call it a vacation, because all the stress is in the planning!

Just when you thought...

your horse was starting to warm up to you, something happens.
Last night I spent some time out in the pasture with the horses, reading, hanging out, brushing off shed hair, etc. It was early evening, nice out, I was starting to get blissed out. Standing in the grass, reading a book about writing.
Reina (my problem child horse) slowly creeped closer to me, nibbling on small shoots of grass, and ended up standing right next to me. I made the mistake of becoming excited about this, she is usually more standoffish. I turned to look at her and say hello. She didn't want to be acknowledged, pinned her ears back, and swirled her butt towards me.
Instinctively, I step back, not wanting to be kicked, and start to trip on a hole in the grass. This is where you wish you had a video. I did one of those things where you try to catch your balance, and it just gets worse. Finally, I landed in the grass and the book I was holding hit me in the eye. It hurt. I lay in the grass, holding my eye and wondering how this went so wrong.
Now, my eye physically hurts, inside I'm feeling hurt because my horse turned on me, and I'm still laying in the grass. Does the horse care? No, she's grazing, thinking she won that round.
I felt like crying, but that doesn't come easy for me. So, I got up, shook off and tried to go on from there. But, after years of spiritual training, I know it's not good to leave things buried. I needed to get this out. So, I sat back down in the grass until I could muster up a good cry and got it done with.
Now, what about the horse? I got back up, now back in my center, and took her territory from her, three times. Then I waited a bit and went back in a big circle to say hello to her. Imagine my surprise when she pivoted to face me all along the circle. Respect granted, I said hello and left for the stable.
Today, I have red bruises on my eye, but not a full black out, thank you.
The continuing saga of Reina, and I still love her.

Spring is for the birds

The robins are back, the swans are back, the bird song begins each morning. Spring is hopefully here.
For those of us who like to craft, here's an idea to share with our feathered friends, and maybe some others.
If you have small pieces of leftover yarn, cut the pieces into lengths of about 5-10 inches. Use multiple colors, bright, shiny. Spread these pieces around your yard, in bushes, in trees, where the birds will find them. When they birds begin to make their nests, you will see brilliantly colored reminders of your gift all summer.
Longer pieces may be too large for the birds to handle. Five inches is a good length for the bird to transport and to weave into the nest.
Use all weights of yarn as some birds like large, strong nests, and others like small and soft nests.
Then in summer, be on the lookout for presents the birds give back to you, like feathers, egg shells, etc. Good inspiration for summer art.

If you have a lot of small animals in your area, leaving pieces of fiber, small pieces of batting, or even little balls of fiber around outside will give them something to play with when they build their dens and nests as well. Think of the things that mice love to get into, and we hate to have them in, and that is the sort of thing you can leave for them. It's a way of saying, "I don't really like it when you make a nest out of my grandmother's antique quilt, so here is some extra batting you can use instead."

The birds around my barn love to use tail hair from my horses to augment their nests. One summer a barn swallow built a nest right over the door to the stable and hanging from it was a long piece of my belgians white tail hair. I smiled every time I went through that door.

Here are the promised photos of my homemade journals.

What was that sound?

Yesterday, I was out checking fences in the north pasture. The deer reek havoc on the electric fence over the winter and this year was no exception. It's a near do-over.
Walking the fenceline was a mucky and snowy experience, so I decided to walk back in the middle of the pasture where the snow had melted. As I walked, I could hear a strange sound. The best way to describe it would be the sound that ice makes when you walk across it and you can hear millions of tiny cracks forming. Now multiply that sound by an exponential power and you have the sound I was hearing. I stopped walking to listen and the sound was still there, so it wasn't my shoes in the wet earth. I listened for a few minutes because the sound was very mesmerizing. After a bit, the sound began to subside.
I began to walk again and the sound picked up. So, I stopped and it went down again. I did this several times. The sound was not just where I was walking, it went out through the whole pasture.
What was that sound?
Hint, there were also tiny piles of wet dirt all over the place.
Give up? The sound was the nightcrawlers. They were coming up to the surface now that the top layers are melted. As I walked, I disturbed them and they were slipping back into the earth with millions of tiny sucking sounds.
This earth is amazing!

Bookmaking 103

I went to the local frame shop and asked about scrap mat board. They had a box of scraps for free, great! I have found that mat board is the best thing to use for making a hard cover book. It is strong enough not to bend and thin enough to not get in the way of the spine.
So, yesterday I went to another frame shop and asked again. This time she said they sell scraps by the bag and she brought out a bag for me. These scraps weren't free, but at $7.50 for a bag, I got plenty of them and they were larger sizes, so it was a good deal. I now have enough mat board to make plenty of hard cover journals.
So, the next trip was to the local library where they have a place called the Book Bin. In the Book Bin, people donate old books and the library sells them for $.25 each or a bag for $2 as a fundraiser. I found some great, old hardcover books that I can take apart and use the covers as a base. (This idea from my sister)
I found some old text books about computers that are so outdated, they can only be considered history books. Therefore, I don't feel too bad about taking them apart.
Side bar: I love books so originally, taking a book apart and throwing part of it away seemed like a sacrilege to me. However, I'm looking at this as recycling now.
One of the old books I found was a perfect size for a little journal. It was a novel from the 1960s by a French woman, telling the story of her mother's death. At first, I planned to throw out the text, but then I thought, why not try it. So, I took the cover off and began to recycle it. Then I took the text part to bed last night and began to read. It's actually an interesting read. It tells the story of her mother's death from cancer from a 1960s perspective. Medicine is so different now. It's a short book, so I plan to finish it before recycling the text.
The moral of the story: Be open to all possibilities, expand your spectrum of choice and honor the ancestors.
Yes, I'm still planning to post pictures of the books I am making, but I'm having so much fun in the process, I forget to take my camera out with me.