I've done this before and it's time to do it again. Periodically I get completely off the track of doing the things I really want to do in the course of a day. Not the chores, not the lists of things that must be done, but the things I REALLY want to be doing. The things that make me happy.
Don't ask me why it is that the things that make me happy sometimes get shoved to the bottom of a long list of routine chores, mundane tasks, and the work of keeping up a house and barn and farm.
There IS a lot of work, but it's all for naught if the happy things don't make an appearance for weeks on end.
Years back I developed (probably when I had children, and realized my days could get away from me in the blink of an eye) a tactic to help me get back to the business of incorporating the important things into each day. It's easy to take this technique and overwhelm yourself, which I absolutely did initially, but the remedy for that is to limit the number to three.
THREE THINGS.
Every day I pick three things I want to enjoy. Often mine are the same three, but there's no reason they can't be new each day, and different. The point is to plug in three things you really want to do, that aren't chores, or work, or longstanding items on that To Do List.
My three things right now are:
Pilates in the morning
an hour of dedicated writing time
a ride on Keil Bay
There is no earthly reason why I can't get these things into my days. The work will manage to get done, and if necessary, one or two of the chores can wait. It will never happen if I don't make it happen.
Right now we're moving back into heat wave mode, so the riding will need to be done very early in the a.m. or well past sunset. The biting flies are out too, so the best time to ride is night-time, with the arena lights and the bats. That's not my favorite time to ride, but I'm going to give it a whirl and see if the pleasure of the ride overcomes the fact that it's not ideal.
And if anyone has other techniques that help you incorporate the good stuff, please share!
billie hinton’s camera-obscura:
life and lessons on November Hill Farm
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
Monday, July 05, 2010
birds of a feather
Yesterday my daughter and I took a day trip to visit a waterfowl park that also focuses on conservation of eco-systems and breeding of endangered species. Daughter had camera in tow, and I was her assistant, juggling lenses and operating as a spare set of eyes for when she was taking photos.
"Look, look! Quick! It's a perfect shot!"
I'm not sure I was all that helpful in that regard, as my idea of the perfect shot and hers are sometimes different.
However, we had a wonderful day, making our way through all the different areas of the park several times, enjoying the many bird species and being able to get very close to them, as many of the habitats have walk-through sections where there is no fence between humans and birds.
Most of the birds were quite social and curious. They all looked well-fed, well-cared for, and the habitats were clean and yet for the most part, completely natural, with lovely pools and water elements incorporated beautifully into the landscape.
We were able to see a staff member cleaning a habitat, which involved careful, very slow raking of bird poop and feathers into small piles, which were then scooped into a big bucket. I was impressed that the caretaker was so attuned to the birds, moving slowly and not rushing, so there was minimal disruption.
We happened to be at the flamingo area when one of the curators came by, and he not only answered my questions but took us to a private area so we could see the flamingo nesting shed. The flamingo builds a nest by pushing mud into a mound, then making the top concave so the egg won't fall off. There were four two-week old flamingos in the flock, and he said they had seven more in the nursery. He pointed out the father flamingo of two of the babies, who was ensuring they could explore without being bossed around by the other adults.
He also took us to the back of the owl habitat so we could see the owl baby, who keeps leaving the nest to stay down on the floor of the habitat. They decided to leave him there, as they were worried he would injure himself trying to fly before he's ready.
They have birds from all parts of the world. The toucan was incredibly beautiful, almost like something from a shop, painted by hand. As were the rainbow lorikeets, who were incredibly social and one in particular seemed quite taken with my daughter and her bright blue shirt and red hair.
Judy the azure macaw was taking a walk on the shoulder of one of the keepers, who told us she takes a walk every single day and refuses to go back into her cage until the walk is complete.
A favorite moment was the incredible sound made by a pair of kookaburras, who absolutely put on a show for a small group of us who formed to listen.
I often have negative reactions to zoos and places where animals are captive, but this place had a different feel to it. Every employee seemed truly thrilled to be there, and focused on the birds. The birds themselves seemed in good spirit and each one was beautiful and healthy. I don't know much about birds, but I do know they can get very ragged and unkempt looking if not healthy, and it's easy enough to look at a habitat or cage area to see if it's being kept well or not. Every area had private spaces for the birds, shade, water and food, in many cases space to fly as well as actual trees and plants and terrain for the birds to enjoy, and in the smaller habitats there was fresh, clean foliage and branches that approximated the natural environments.
I still find it difficult to see birds in cages, and a few were: the owls, the tropical birds, the kookaburras. But the fact that they were so beautifully feathered and not stressed in any way I could see made me think they are relatively happy there, and I'm sure anyone who passes through leaves with a new appreciation of these gorgeous creatures, and hopefully a kernel of resolve to protect any birds they encounter in their daily lives.
Of note: very few insects! Butterflies were everywhere, but no flies, gnats, or anything else. I suspect all the ducks had a hand in that.
It was a wonderful day - and interesting after hours of being with birds to come home to cats, Corgi, and horses. Such different animals. The eyes of birds are very very interesting to look into. But utterly different than equine eyes.
I'll be adding photos as I get them from daughter - she came home with many amazing shots.
"Look, look! Quick! It's a perfect shot!"
I'm not sure I was all that helpful in that regard, as my idea of the perfect shot and hers are sometimes different.
However, we had a wonderful day, making our way through all the different areas of the park several times, enjoying the many bird species and being able to get very close to them, as many of the habitats have walk-through sections where there is no fence between humans and birds.
Most of the birds were quite social and curious. They all looked well-fed, well-cared for, and the habitats were clean and yet for the most part, completely natural, with lovely pools and water elements incorporated beautifully into the landscape.
We were able to see a staff member cleaning a habitat, which involved careful, very slow raking of bird poop and feathers into small piles, which were then scooped into a big bucket. I was impressed that the caretaker was so attuned to the birds, moving slowly and not rushing, so there was minimal disruption.
We happened to be at the flamingo area when one of the curators came by, and he not only answered my questions but took us to a private area so we could see the flamingo nesting shed. The flamingo builds a nest by pushing mud into a mound, then making the top concave so the egg won't fall off. There were four two-week old flamingos in the flock, and he said they had seven more in the nursery. He pointed out the father flamingo of two of the babies, who was ensuring they could explore without being bossed around by the other adults.
He also took us to the back of the owl habitat so we could see the owl baby, who keeps leaving the nest to stay down on the floor of the habitat. They decided to leave him there, as they were worried he would injure himself trying to fly before he's ready.
They have birds from all parts of the world. The toucan was incredibly beautiful, almost like something from a shop, painted by hand. As were the rainbow lorikeets, who were incredibly social and one in particular seemed quite taken with my daughter and her bright blue shirt and red hair.
Judy the azure macaw was taking a walk on the shoulder of one of the keepers, who told us she takes a walk every single day and refuses to go back into her cage until the walk is complete.
A favorite moment was the incredible sound made by a pair of kookaburras, who absolutely put on a show for a small group of us who formed to listen.
I often have negative reactions to zoos and places where animals are captive, but this place had a different feel to it. Every employee seemed truly thrilled to be there, and focused on the birds. The birds themselves seemed in good spirit and each one was beautiful and healthy. I don't know much about birds, but I do know they can get very ragged and unkempt looking if not healthy, and it's easy enough to look at a habitat or cage area to see if it's being kept well or not. Every area had private spaces for the birds, shade, water and food, in many cases space to fly as well as actual trees and plants and terrain for the birds to enjoy, and in the smaller habitats there was fresh, clean foliage and branches that approximated the natural environments.
I still find it difficult to see birds in cages, and a few were: the owls, the tropical birds, the kookaburras. But the fact that they were so beautifully feathered and not stressed in any way I could see made me think they are relatively happy there, and I'm sure anyone who passes through leaves with a new appreciation of these gorgeous creatures, and hopefully a kernel of resolve to protect any birds they encounter in their daily lives.
Of note: very few insects! Butterflies were everywhere, but no flies, gnats, or anything else. I suspect all the ducks had a hand in that.
It was a wonderful day - and interesting after hours of being with birds to come home to cats, Corgi, and horses. Such different animals. The eyes of birds are very very interesting to look into. But utterly different than equine eyes.
I'll be adding photos as I get them from daughter - she came home with many amazing shots.
Saturday, July 03, 2010
an important note for July 4th
If you plan to use fireworks at home, before you do, please consider how the loud noise and flashing light will affect the animals - those that live with you, those that live around you, domestic, and wild.
Those of us with horses particularly appreciate the consideration.
CLICK HERE for more info on fireworks and the effects on animals.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
kairos
kairos: a time in between, a moment of undetermined period of time in which something special happens
Yesterday, after dinner, I went out and opened up two of the gates that lead into our small backyard. I had already given the equines free access to the barnyard, and had several "escape hatches" opened up so they could all mill around safely from barn aisle to hay to water, a break from the heat and the routine wherever they could find it.
I needed to water the garden, and the back yard, recently mowed, is already growing, so my idea was to let the horses and donkeys help out while I worked with the hose.
Cody and the donkeys came in first, then Keil Bay. Salina made her way in last, and the pony was in the arena being ridden, so he had to wait. It was nearing dusk, and very peaceful, with the water flowing and the horses pulling grass. Every now and then their teeth would pull just right and the grass would squeak.
I lost the regular passage of time, referred to by the Greeks as chronos, and found myself in that special place where it seems like I've slipped through to some other way of being. I was in the midst of the pinwheel of garden beds, with the hose dragged around the corners, watering. The pony was on one side of me, Redford behind me, Cody behind me, and Salina on the other side. I hadn't noticed the configuration or the crowding that was happening, but suddenly in that very still moment I felt a sense of ... not panic, but a sort of worried alertness, and when I turned around, Cody was standing still but looking like he was feeling very trapped - by the beds, the fence, the pony, and Salina. Without thinking I stepped toward the pony and moved him around the pinwheel, out of the logjam, at the same time thinking to Salina that she must stay put and allow Cody to be in her space until things were clear for him to move.
This was a rare and special moment when I felt like I had joined the herd mind. I wasn't functioning as the alpha or boss mare, but more as a coordinator of space, insuring that no one got trapped, no boundaries got crossed, there were no accidents, and their lovely grazing time with me didn't have to come to an end.
Salina stood patiently, not flagging her head, not even moving an ear. Cody waited, trusting that I was working on clearing a path for him. The pony moved, hoof by hoof, and Redford went underneath the low-lying butterfly bush branches so he wouldn't be in the way. It was one of those moments when there was no time to think. I just felt what the herd felt, acted, and in a few moments all was okay. I suspect this kind of thing goes on all the time in a herd, but I am not often right in the midst of it, and so very open to feeling those finely-tuned and silent communications that happen between horses.
As it got dark, both my children, teenagers now, came out to help with feeding dinner tubs. We got our own routine going, our communications louder than the herd-speak of earlier, and it reminded me how loud we humans can be - not only with our voices and fairly constant talking, but in our gestures and demeanors. I was reminded again of how effective it is when working with and training horses to actively try the quieter approach. A softer touch, even the thought of a touch, often works so much better than the loud request, or worse, the demand.
It was fully dark by now, and I was refilling a water trough beneath the night shade of the big oak. My son and daughter were silhouetted in the light of the barn, talking over one of the stall doors. Because of the water running, and the tree frogs and cicadas, I couldn't hear what they were saying. It was a moment in time, seeing them speak as teenagers, almost as if I were seeing a moment from the future.
They let the horses out one by one. Cody sauntered past, heading through the spilled pool of light from the arena, fully strided and gleaming as he made his way to the back field. The donkeys followed, side by side, like body guards preceding their queen. After a moment Salina came out. She wasn't sure which field they were in - we just rotated from front to back, and I had both gates open earlier in the day. She stopped in the patch of arena light and looked from front field to back. Her blind side was to me, and even though there is no eye there, and the light filled the empty socket as she turned in my direction, it seemed she could see. She still blinks on that empty side, and I could see the blinking muscles moving and working as she turned back and forth.
One of the donkeys snorted and she nickered, then moved into a big beautiful walk to join them. There was no trace of arthritis as she moved.
Keil Bay came by doing his huge and swinging panther walk. The pony came last, having waited in hopes of dinner tubs to clean. Each one passed by me, walking through the shadows, through the pool of light, and then literally faded to black as they neared the gate at the far end of the paddock. After they passed through the gate, I could hear the snorts and movements as they entered the blackness of the back field.
I don't think you can always find kairos, but when you stop thinking and doing and simply be, it finds you.
Yesterday, after dinner, I went out and opened up two of the gates that lead into our small backyard. I had already given the equines free access to the barnyard, and had several "escape hatches" opened up so they could all mill around safely from barn aisle to hay to water, a break from the heat and the routine wherever they could find it.
I needed to water the garden, and the back yard, recently mowed, is already growing, so my idea was to let the horses and donkeys help out while I worked with the hose.
Cody and the donkeys came in first, then Keil Bay. Salina made her way in last, and the pony was in the arena being ridden, so he had to wait. It was nearing dusk, and very peaceful, with the water flowing and the horses pulling grass. Every now and then their teeth would pull just right and the grass would squeak.
I lost the regular passage of time, referred to by the Greeks as chronos, and found myself in that special place where it seems like I've slipped through to some other way of being. I was in the midst of the pinwheel of garden beds, with the hose dragged around the corners, watering. The pony was on one side of me, Redford behind me, Cody behind me, and Salina on the other side. I hadn't noticed the configuration or the crowding that was happening, but suddenly in that very still moment I felt a sense of ... not panic, but a sort of worried alertness, and when I turned around, Cody was standing still but looking like he was feeling very trapped - by the beds, the fence, the pony, and Salina. Without thinking I stepped toward the pony and moved him around the pinwheel, out of the logjam, at the same time thinking to Salina that she must stay put and allow Cody to be in her space until things were clear for him to move.
This was a rare and special moment when I felt like I had joined the herd mind. I wasn't functioning as the alpha or boss mare, but more as a coordinator of space, insuring that no one got trapped, no boundaries got crossed, there were no accidents, and their lovely grazing time with me didn't have to come to an end.
Salina stood patiently, not flagging her head, not even moving an ear. Cody waited, trusting that I was working on clearing a path for him. The pony moved, hoof by hoof, and Redford went underneath the low-lying butterfly bush branches so he wouldn't be in the way. It was one of those moments when there was no time to think. I just felt what the herd felt, acted, and in a few moments all was okay. I suspect this kind of thing goes on all the time in a herd, but I am not often right in the midst of it, and so very open to feeling those finely-tuned and silent communications that happen between horses.
As it got dark, both my children, teenagers now, came out to help with feeding dinner tubs. We got our own routine going, our communications louder than the herd-speak of earlier, and it reminded me how loud we humans can be - not only with our voices and fairly constant talking, but in our gestures and demeanors. I was reminded again of how effective it is when working with and training horses to actively try the quieter approach. A softer touch, even the thought of a touch, often works so much better than the loud request, or worse, the demand.
It was fully dark by now, and I was refilling a water trough beneath the night shade of the big oak. My son and daughter were silhouetted in the light of the barn, talking over one of the stall doors. Because of the water running, and the tree frogs and cicadas, I couldn't hear what they were saying. It was a moment in time, seeing them speak as teenagers, almost as if I were seeing a moment from the future.
They let the horses out one by one. Cody sauntered past, heading through the spilled pool of light from the arena, fully strided and gleaming as he made his way to the back field. The donkeys followed, side by side, like body guards preceding their queen. After a moment Salina came out. She wasn't sure which field they were in - we just rotated from front to back, and I had both gates open earlier in the day. She stopped in the patch of arena light and looked from front field to back. Her blind side was to me, and even though there is no eye there, and the light filled the empty socket as she turned in my direction, it seemed she could see. She still blinks on that empty side, and I could see the blinking muscles moving and working as she turned back and forth.
One of the donkeys snorted and she nickered, then moved into a big beautiful walk to join them. There was no trace of arthritis as she moved.
Keil Bay came by doing his huge and swinging panther walk. The pony came last, having waited in hopes of dinner tubs to clean. Each one passed by me, walking through the shadows, through the pool of light, and then literally faded to black as they neared the gate at the far end of the paddock. After they passed through the gate, I could hear the snorts and movements as they entered the blackness of the back field.
I don't think you can always find kairos, but when you stop thinking and doing and simply be, it finds you.
Monday, June 28, 2010
the garden of earthly delights
I've been trying this week to keep up with the garden more closely than I had been - these very hot days dry everything out very quickly. Since I took the squash, cucumber, and zucchini plants out, I noticed immediately that the remaining squash bugs migrated to what I thought were my watermelon mounds.
Score one for the squash bugs - they knew exactly what they were doing. I must have gotten my seedlings mixed up, because the watermelons are not watermelons! I now have a yellow squash mound and a zucchini mound!
So it's back to doing battle with the squash bugs. We'll keep them at bay as much as possible, but I think we've had our share of yellow squash and zucchini anyway, so if these mounds start getting inundated with bugs, I'll take them out as well.
And lesson learned about seedlings: have the beds ready so the seedlings can go in the minute they're ready. I lost a number of things because I ran out of space and waited too long to transplant. (and didn't pay as much attention to those seedlings in tiny containers as I should have)
Right now, as I wait for the basil and the tomatoes to come fully into harvest, the sunflowers are keeping me happy and entertained.
There is something about sunflowers that brings a big smile to my face no matter what.
Even the new ones not yet blooming are stunning. I can't get enough of them.
When selecting tomato seeds early in the spring, I decided to plant German Johnsons in honor of my dad. When I was growing up, I accompanied him on his annual spring search for German Johnson seedlings to plant in his small but very well-maintained garden. He always loved the German Johnsons, and during the last 15 years or so of his life, the variety became more and more difficult to find. One year we went to the farmer's market together and he patiently asked grower after grower if they had German Johnsons. We didn't find any that year, and I don't think he ever found them again before he stopped his gardening.
I found this about the variety:
GERMAN JOHNSON PINK is a North Carolina heirloom tomato notable for having been one of the four parents of the famous Mortgage Lifter tomato. If you want to be able to brag about your tomatoes, German Johnson Pink is a variety to grow as the hardy plants produce huge pinkish red beefsteak type tomatoes that weigh 1.5 pounds or more. Their flesh is very thick and has few seeds. The fruits have an excellent flavor and are outstanding for slicing, but may also be used for canning. Good disease resistance and very productive despite the large size of the fruit. The indeterminate vines will grow very tall and bear fruit all summer long. Mine each require triple staking because of the weight of the fruit and the large vines. This variety has consistantly ranked high in the tomato tastes held each year at Thomas Jefferson's preserved estate Monticello.
I started everything from seed this year, and when I saw the German Johnson seed, I snapped it up. So far these vines are doing well, and the first tomato is starting to pink up now, and it's huge. The moment it's ripe, I'll pick it and have tomato sandwiches in honor of my father. He'd be proud of the harvest, but would probably shake his head at my gardening practices - no formal staking, planting very close together, random watering and in some ways benign neglect.
We all have our gardening styles and my personal theory is that I want to feed our family, I don't mind sharing with wildlife, and I have so many other things to do in a day I can't really be a slave to the garden. So... I'll take messy vines and some bugs, and we'll eat what we get, which so far has been more than enough.
One thing I wish is that he could have access to our November Hill compost - I think he'd enjoy growing his summer garden with the gift from our horses and donkeys.
This German Johnson is for you, Dad!
It's slated to cool down to the mid 80s on Wednesday, so once it does, I'll be planting more seed in the space now cleared. More dragon tongue beans, and whatever I have left. I lost my eggplant, so will try to get more of those going, and I'm going to try a catnip mound to see what the five fearless felines do with it. The feed store has row cover material by the yard, so I'll use that to get the seedlings going and test out how it works with keeping bugs away!
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