Stop and Listen

There are some things that I just know.  I know them either before they happen or without being told.  What I don't know yet is how to truly listen for this gift all of the time.

The little things like seeing a friend in a vision out with her husband and later she tells me she and her husband are going out, or just knowing with conviction that I need to connect with someone, they seem almost benign.  It's when I give them thought that I recognize they are more than a coincidence because the message is so strong.

The big things, like death or waking up one morning knowing clear as a bell that my partner has hooked up with one of my friends, those never seem benign. Yet, how did I know?

These past weeks have been chaotic, ungrounded, physically painful.  I had a visitation from the Archangels and my house and I were turned upside down for five days during their stay.  I was experiencing absolute frenetic energy and it was jarring.

Then one of my hens, Dumpling, went missing.  She disappeared sometime within 2-3 hours in the middle of the afternoon.  That was Friday, April 5th.  I searched this ranch high and low and found no sign of her, like she just vanished.  And for the past two weeks I have continued looking for her, still resisting the reduction in the hen headcount of eleven, and asking Archangel Ariel, the protector of animals, to watch over her wherever she might be.

Last evening, I was out feeding the horses.  I kissed Hy Note and moved on to dole out the sweet blue grass hay.  As I kissed him, I had a strong recollection of his very intense and severe colic episode last fall.  He was in so much pain, he literally was walking into trees.  I immediately gave him Reiki while I waited for a call back from the vet and he managed to stand still for a few moments to receive the energy.  With this memory calling my attention, I turned back around to see Hy Note looking at me, and then he put himself down on the ground.  A horse does not lie down during feeding.  I ran for a halter, got him up, scooted him around a bit and the gas passed.  Thankfully, this time he had only a minor belly ache.  Before heading in for the night, I made sure I could hear his gut sounds and that he pooped, signs that his system is functioning as it should.

This evening, I was collecting the pearls from the girls.  As I picked up 3, I looked at them and saw a dark brown oblong egg, which really wasn't there because Dumpling is the only one who lays dark brown, oblong eggs.  

Earlier this morning, the goodles had knocked over a bale of hay.  Rather than pick it back up and restack it, I thought I'd take it apart and use it first.  This knocked over bale opened up a hole between bales; it was like a tunnel.  I looked at the hole with my head cocked to one side because it seemed strange that it would be there.  Carla and I had stacked the hay pretty well.  

This evening, I looked at that hole again and I even bent over to look in.  While it was light outdoors, it was dark in the hole and I thought I should go in and get my flashlight and see what this hole is about.  I didn't do that then.  Bodie was sniffing at the hole and for a minute I thought maybe the ranch bunny was in there.

I was out in the dry lot, again spreading out the evening feed, and Pinkie came up to me licking her lips and with a definite thought on her mind.  So, I followed her out and around the corner and there she was.  Dumpling was barely standing at the entrance of the hole!  Feathers were scattered around and she looked roughed up.  I imagine one of the dogs managed to pull her out.  I could tell something was wrong with a foot and I wasn't so sure about one of her wings.  I ran to the tack room to get a towel I have in there for the just in case moment, and I wrapped her up, grabbed a literal handful of hay and brought her inside.

First things first, I comforted her and thanked Archangel Ariel.  Then I shook up the NutriDrench and gave her some, undiluted, straight into her beak.  This is a syrupy liquid filled with electrolytes and nutrients and that no matter how much you wash your hands, you still smell it on your skin.  I put her in the kennel and ran out to get more hay.  The goodles were circling and calling me, Pinkie was hiding under the shelf in the garage because I had scolded her and Bodie wouldn't come close.   Dumpling's water cup was filled immediately and put directly under her nose.  I could hear Shadow and Pippin walking in the gravel, not where I want them to be, and as I went down to the hen house to get her some food, I found Shadow inside eating the grain.  Thankfully, he has become accustomed to being chased from inside and walked out on his own--it was easy, I needed that.

I left the goats out to browse and I went back in with the pellets and set them out for her.  I wet my fingers and put them to her beak.  And then I gave her a Reiki treatment.  She settled right down, closed her eyes and I watched her body rise and fall with her breaths.

Chores still needed to be completed, so I reassured her I'd be back.  She turned her head and looked at me and I could feel her gratitude.  I asked Hy Note, the guardian angel of my animals, to help her heal.  I told Alibi she was back--for the past two weeks I've been asking him if he saw anything.  Shadow is such an old soul. As I held him, I asked him to send all of his angels to give Dumpling strength.  When I locked up the hens, I told them Dumpling was in the house.  Truly, very truly, they reacted!  Heads up, chicken chatter amongst them.

With the flashlight, I went to look at that hole in the hay. It's only a bale-width deep.  I looked from above; could she have fallen in?  It was not likely.  The hole is on the bottom layer of hay, so it is on a pallet.  I suppose it's possible she got stuck, which explains her hurt foot.  And did the dog/s drag her out?  I think so.  Why isn't there a pile of chicken poop in there?  I don't have a very good explanation.

Just now, I checked on her again, and she is alert and looks directly at me.  Where was she for over two weeks?

Getting back to listening.  Her disappearance never seemed final for me and for these past two weeks I have been asking Archangel Ariel to bring her back, in one form or another.  My petitions didn't seem futile.

After the Archangels left my house, I understood the need for the chaos.  I had become so consumed by external events and influences in my life, that I couldn't keep anything straight in my mind.  I couldn't remember from one minute to the next, seriously.  So, if they couldn't get me to stop and go inward on my own, they were going to bang me up and bruise me quite a bit.  Kind of like being hit over the head with a frying pan--you certainly could not ignore that!

Recognizing this place of inquietude, I went for an acupuncture treatment last Thursday.  Everything shifted and lifted.  I felt joy again.  Last Friday, I really did dance for joy!

With that veil of heaviness and gloom shaken off, I could be available again to tune into this gift of intuition, of knowing, of seeing.

What did I learn?  Trust it.  It's real.

1:11

When I pulled out of Maverick's parking lot this evening, or this morning, it was 1:11am.  I thought, "Oh Noelle, pay attention to those numbers!"  Something is amiss.

It was a first, I believe, for me to leave at such an hour.  My feet are actually sore and feeling well spent.

The drive home was mine.  Only 3 other cars on the road between the tired dance floor and the return to my animals.  The sky was radiant with moonshine and the clouds were remnants of a recent rain shower.  In between the billowy sky characters, the stars and planets were peeking out.  To really make the moment clutch, I was listening to a little Cheryl Lynn, Got to Be Real, on my 70s on 7, courtesy of Sirius XM.

After getting inside and being greeted by the dogs who have no sense of time, something told me to step onto the deck and just listen.  Maybe Scout, my reliable Great Horned Owl, would be around.  Now, the clouds were really thinning out, much like a celestial archipelago.  The air refreshed by the light rainfall.  The earth had softened under the sunny agreeable days of late, and it is such a rich, fertile smell, one of sprouting life not far off.

And then, hmmmmm?  What is that most unusual sound?  It sounds like it's coming from the goat pen.  With my super sized mag light I looked out and I could the reflector patch on Alibi's rain sheet, in the goat pen.  I just had that feeling that my evening was not going to be considered complete without additional horse and goat love.

So, at 1:30am with a change of clothes and rubber boots to navigate the mud, I head out to assess the tomfoolery of my hoofed ones.  They really did it!  I cannot begin to imagine how or who but the panel attached to the tin sided goat shed was pulled away, straps broken, and completely perpendicular to the perimeter fence.  When things are secure, the panels meet at a V and create a haven for my goodles.  It was the most preposterous arrangement.  And so, enter the horses, or shall I say King Alibi, to shoo away the cashmered ones in order to eat their hay.

On my way out to the dry lot, I passed my little sleepy goodles giving me a drowsy "ma'aaaa" from inside the horse shelter.  The big bad boys had chased the little bad boys from their pen and they were telling me of the injustice.

Fortunately, that 1:11 was telling me I've got time but don't dawdle.  From the amount of the remaining hay in the feed bag, it could be reasoned that their seizure of the otherwise cordoned goat domain was recent.  Whew! A greedy consumption of herbage by one dominant equine averted.

Thinking about the clock, I took advantage of being out there and spread some green love for my Arab princes.  I am hopeful I can take advantage of a little extra shut-eye on a weekend morning as well.

Cock-a-doodle-doo!

Embrace Your Path

Something on Wednesday told me to confirm the 8pm Line Dance class I was hired to teach for a bachelorette party last night.  The first email from the owner said "Yes, see you then."  Then I received another email saying, "Let me call them to confirm."  Then the third email, "No."

It was a strange occurrence.  His "organizer" went "outside the box" and hired another gal to teach.  Apparently she didn't realize that the owner had already contracted me and that I, another instructor, even existed and was on his contact list.  He mentioned not wanting to "cause ripples."

It was strange indeed.  I thought about it throughout the day, because it was fewer than 24 hour notice and why wouldn't the owner's agreement supersede the organizer's?  Why, if he had contracted me almost two weeks ago, was that null and void?

It just bugged me.

So around 7:45pm last night when, had plans gone according to the schedule of the morning,  I would have been doing a final review of my dance choices and getting ready to start the lesson with the squealing, giggling, jumpy bachelorette and her gal pals, I said my prayer of thanks over the meal we were sitting down to eat instead.

I said to the universe, "Okay, so today's events were a little strange and I don't get it, it's not that obvious to me.  For some reason, I am meant to be here and not there.  I trust in my path lined with daisies, satin, soft rounded stones and filled with flowing water.  Thank you for looking out for me."

A few bites into our take and bake pizza and salad filled with gems from our garden and hard-boiled pearls from our hens, I heard the goats crying.  It was filled with panic, with urgency and it was so loud, it seemed to be right outside the window.  We jumped up from the table, jumped into the golf cart and raced over to the barn.

Shadow came out to the gate crying for help.  There was Pippin with his head stuck in the metal hay feeder, screaming for help.  And he was screaming.  It was the kind of scream that bypassed your ears and went straight to your gut.

Fortunately, he is just tall enough that he didn't strangle himself; however, he was on his tippy toes avoiding such an ill-fate.  I lifted him up and Larry maneuvered his head out from between the bars.

The bars on the feeder are wider on top and narrower to the bottom.  I am sure he was standing on his hind legs to get to the hay and slipped in and when he went down, he was then between the narrow bars.  When the feeder is full of hay, his feet rest against the pack of forage.  They had eaten almost all of the hay, so there was nothing to push him back.

We returned to the house and sat back down.  My appetite was interrupted.  I looked up at the clock and it was 8:12pm. 

I once again looked up, but toward the sky, closed my eyes, and once again thanked the universe for lighting my path.

It's Not Easy Waking a Sleeping Chicken

A typical ranch day, if there is such a thing, concludes with counting all six chickens and locking up their pen.

Just before dusk they all make their way back to their hen house and climb in, make a heck of a ruckus organizing themselves, and then they settle in for the night. I count them up just to be sure all have returned, and then close their gate so no night-time predator can create its own ruckus with my hens.

It has been getting darker earlier and I was behind in my evening duties. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 5? 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Hmmmmmm. It's Alice. Where is she? It was hard to see and to top it off, Alice is black and white.

I set out calling her, looking in all the places they visit throughout the day, under tree roots, under cars and trailers, in the creek, by the horse snack dishes (see photo.) Was it that monster hawk who got her?

Lately, my hens have been laying their eggs up in my hay bales. They have 4 perfectly comfortable and sheltered nesting boxes, but apparently they've tired of them. For days I was wondering if they had stopped laying eggs as there weren't any in the hen house when I would go collect them. It didn't make sense. My hens weren't quite a year into their laying.

Then one day I followed the hens out of their pen in the morning and watched one head straight for the hay shed, hop up a few bales, climb onto a wood post (see another photo) and then go down between the wood sides and the hay bales and tuck herself into a hole created in the hay bales (see other photo.) When she finally came out, I looked in and found 5 eggs! The jackpot.

So now, I climb in between the wood sides and hay bales and slowly lower myself down as to not catch myself on the snags on the wood and reach in, blindly because the space is so tight I can't turn my head, and retrieve the eggs.

Well, back to this evening of missing Alice. It dawned on me, maybe she's in her nesting spot. I look in from the horse lot beside and there she is, sleeping. I can't leave her there overnight, she'd be exposed to the feral cats, raccoons, and whatever else would climb in to bother a chicken. I couldn't climb in to get her because I had seen Bodie climb in there and a startled chicken fly out and that wasn't pretty on account of the lack of room to maneuver.

So there I stood, on the other side of the posts calling to the sleeping chicken: "Alice!" "Kiss Kiss Kiss" "Wake up girl!" "yooooo hooooo!"

It's not easy to wake a sleeping chicken. In fact, they tell you that the easiest way to catch a chicken or rooster is at night...if you can reach them.

So I took a stick and pushed it through to the hay and got her to perk up a bit. Then I had to scare her to get her out. Ugh. She jumped out, over the bales, down to the ground and ran straight for the hen house--and they can run as fast as 9 mph.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Clink went the gate lock.

Now, we have 6 ducks and a goose. They swim in the pond. Can you imagine what it's like trying to round them up to get them in at night? There is an owl that perches overhead; they seem oblivious. I have spent lots of time going from one end of the pond to the other trying to get them out. And look! They can swim clear to the middle! (see duck photo)

Despite how it may appear, my days are never the same.

The 2nd Cutting

We just watched our last neighbor cut, fluff, bale and stack the 2nd cutting of hay. This means something.

The irrigation companies turn on the water in late April. The ranches along the route wait as the water makes it way from the reservoirs down the irrigation ditches, filling irrigation ponds. When your neighbor up the ditch starts watering, you know your turn is next.

In preparation for the incoming supply of water, fields are often burned, turned, seeded, pipes are put out, equipment is emptied of the mice nests that built up over the winter, whatever is necessary to prepare.

Then for the next 2 - 2 1/2 months we monitor and adjust water flow, change the location of irrigation heads to be sure every blade is getting showered, we wait and watch as the hay grows under the sun of the long days here in Central Oregon. It grows by inches in a day. Each ranch shuts off the water when they are preparing to cut; this gives the hay time to dry. Then the first cutting comes, some time in late June/early July. The 1st cutting is a herald of summer--it's officially here. This is exciting! It's summer, it's hot, and everything is alive!

Once the hay is cut, baled and stacked, the watering begins again to grow the 2nd cutting. But then when the 2nd cutting comes, during the weeks of September, it means something else. The days are shorter, the hay of the 2nd cutting isn't as power-packed as the 1st, it doesn't grow as energetically as the 1st. And we all know it means fall is coming. There isn't a 3rd cutting.

The watering begins again, but this time just to keep the grass growing and green and give the horses pasture to eat before it goes dormant in the winter. The irrigation will be shut down at the beginning of October. No more "tick tick tick tick tick" of the water guns as they rotate around in a circle showering feet of green carpet. That is a summer sound.

Who would have thought that there was so much significance in cutting hay? It marks a definite season, for sure.