Silly Hen

It's a bit after 11pm and the poodles and I just got back in from a late evening feed and then a 15 minute forensic search for one of my hens.

I went down late to lock them in and only counted 11.  One of my black and white Barred Rock hens, either Alice or Baby, was missing.  It's never a good feeling.

My headlamp wasn't strong enough to do a thorough search on a winter's night of the new moon.  The stars are magnificent but still not enough wattage for a hen search.  So, back to the house to get my mag light and back down to continue looking.

Oh, the temperature is about 9 degrees.  I wasn't so cold but I was concerned that if I couldn't find her that my hen was in a safe place where she alone could keep herself warm.  They have quite a suit of downy feathers these days, but at night they nuggle together on their roosting bar.  I'm not sure if it's for warmth or safety.

Going through my list of previous experiences with missing hens, I felt optimistic that she had not been snatched by a predator but for some reason did not return the hen house when everyone else did.  This is when I wish my dogs were trained to flush out a bird.  There is a lot of sage bush around and plenty of trees where she could hide.

After coming around for the second time, I started to look up.  Maybe instead of digging in to the dirt as they do during the day, she went up to roost.  Whew!  Big sigh.  There she was perched on a branch of their favorite Juniper tree.  It's so big and full with very low hanging branches and plenty of loose dirt around the bottom that there is where they spend a lot of their time.

Thankfully I could push through the branches enough to pick up my hen and bring her back home.  Red the rooster had much to say about her clucklings; perhaps a welcoming back home, perhaps a disciplinary comment.  It was a  satisfying feeling to close up that door knowing all 12 of my chickens are safe and sound and settling down for a long winter's nap.

A Fire Sign

The sign posts all around me have been pointing to infinite potential, endless possibilities, getting acquainted with the heart mind.

Having come through the other side of a major life transition, my eyes are open and my ears are perked.  Where does my path want to lead me?  What does that next stone under my well-danced feet feel like? I am wildly curious and tickled pink.

Lately, I have taken note of just how much I gaze up into the sky.  It is fascinating.  It is inspiring.  It is magical and mystical.  I used to dream of rainbows and shooting stars.  My dreams have come true.

The Full Cold Moon energy of this month has my body tingling.  I wake up in the wee hours and go look outside.  With the snow and the moonlight, everything is glowing, the hour uncertain.  Last night the sky cleared.  This morning at sunrise, I walked to the west door and greeted the day with a sleepy grin.

Invigorated by the crisp winter air, I spent a good part of the day outdoors.  Alibi and I took a walk to the mailbox at the end of the road to pick up a package I have been expecting.  It was just us on the road.  My boots crunching in the cold snow and his hooves steadily keeping pace.  Our hearts are in rhythm.

When I finally came in, the moon was just rising in the east.  I completely relish being able to see both the east and the west from my windows.    As the December moon rose up over the pasture in front, I put my tarot cards and their pretty purple brocade box on the sill to be cleansed by the full moon energy.

The poodles and I needed to get to the feed store before it closed.  I am breaking down and buying a heater for the water trough.  Although I revel in the increasing daylight hours, I cannot be fooled by the calendar.  It tells me I may be breaking ice in the water for quite some time to come.

Before taking another step toward departing, I knew I had to look to the west.  The Cascades always perform.  The three Sisters were crystal clear, snow covered and basking in the setting sun.

As we were driving home from Big R, I stole a glance up toward the clear winter night sky and there it was!  A shooting star.  It was as if it came from behind my reliable winter transport, over my head, hooked on to my front grill and coaxed us forward chasing its fiery tail.  It said, "this way."

Look.  Look up.  Look forward.  Look inward.  There lies your path.

If Not Now, When?

When will we make decisions for the better of the greater good?  When will we step back from our stubborn and fantastic belief in our notion of freedom and realize how we are being held hostage by our own self-centered demands.

Are we so caught up in ourselves that we cannot sacrifice when the risk to the greater good is at stake?

I do not refer just to guns.  I ask about healthcare, about care for returning military with PTS, about assessing our well-being through social programs, prayer, meditation, schools, work, church, the grocery store.  I ask about opening our eyes and slowing down long enough to notice.

We must be the advocates of those struggling.  We must take care of our children and preserve their innocence, curiosity and their dreams.

Our job on this earth is not working alone.  Despite our own troubles, our job is to reach out, to act, think and speak on behalf of the greater good.  When we all show up for work, no one will be left for dead.

Saturday Bliss

Last month's question of "For what are you grateful?" is still on the front burner.  As there are generally two front burners, this month's question, "What brings you joy?" is right beside it.

It's a classic December Saturday: a little late sleep in,

sunshine and occasional clouds, brisk air, possibility of some snow but not looking like it, nothing on the must-do agenda, spending lots of time outdoors with the animals, a friendly visit from April, anticipating the arrival of Jacqueline next week and then Laurie and Lucas the following, and just doing what strikes my fancy.

And that is my joy!   



Joy to the World.

New Strategy

Unpacking is just a big fat time waster in my book.  I don't seem to find the fun in it.  I find it akin to emptying the dishwasher or folding laundry.

My method, which has been working just great for me, is to take out the plates and glasses as I need them.  Then the dishwasher got full.  That required a washing, which led back to that unpleasant task of emptying the dishwasher  So, I resumed my one-at-a-time unpacking.  I like this!

Then I got news that Jacqueline was coming for a visit.  And the day after she leaves, my sister Laurie and Lucas are coming.  Well, that put a hitch in my exaggerated emptying of boxes.  A new strategy was implemented.

I shall take this moment to brag that I have unpacked all but one box in the kitchen: the box of tupper.  Where do you store that stuff?

Maybe They Aren't All Supposed to Go With You

Those were some harsh words to hear when Eileen Lock, a clairvoyant astrologer, said them to me during a reading.  "Such nonsense!" I replied.

We were talking about my then impending move to a new home.  I was thinking through the move of all of my animals, including my feral cats.

During the week of my move, I set out the trap in hopes of catching Graysin and Lynxie, my two cats who live in the hay shed.  Lynxie just stopped coming for breakfast and dinner--at least not when I was there.  And we had just got to the point of my being able to pet him and scratch his ears.

So one balmy fall night, I was sitting below Graysin as she looked down on me from her grass perch.  We were just talking.  Easy going cat and human conversation.  She was relaxed, calm and interested.  Then I asked her, "Graysin, do you want to come live with me in my new home?"  Her response was unmistakable.  A categorical no.  I almost felt embarrassed to have asked her such a question.

After catching the neighbor bully cat, Jorge caught Graysin and confusing her with the neighbor bully cat, released her.  Then another cat, one I have never seen before checked in to the cat hotel.  Another catch and release.

Just as I was thinking I would disassemble the crate I had set up, Jorge called me to say he had another cat.  This time, he checked the right ear to see that it had been tipped by Bend Spay and Neuter when I brought him in for a feral fixing.  And Rayito arrived.

I was so happy to see him.  I had held him twice when he was a baby because he had fallen out of the eaves where Momma Twin kept her little ones safe.  As he grew, he would come out whenever I was feeding.  He was so intrigued by the goats.  As they browsed, he would follow them.  Unlike the other cats, he was half white, so I would catch his feline movements out of the corner of my eye.  When I called his name, he would stop and sit.

Rayito was here for four days.  It was almost immediately apparent that he did not belong here.  I thought bringing him here and taking care of him was in his best interest; I would keep him safe.  It didn't feel right.  Rayito would be safer and happier back on his 40 acres where he grew up, where his mother and brother, uncle and grandmother live.  Safer where he had established hiding places from nocturnal predators and the chase of the dogs.  He would be safer where he was confident.  I accepted on Saturday that this is not Rayito's home.

Today, he went back to his stomping grounds.  I wished him well, expressed my apologies for the misjudgment on my part, and sent him off with a piece of my heart.  That was probably the hardest thing I've done recently.  I may never see him or my other kitties again.  As sad as that is, I accept that maybe Eileen was right.

Three of Pentacles

Walking to the barn tonight, I inhaled deeply.  My chest expanded, bursting with the crisp autumn night air.  Accompanied by Bodie, I relaxed my shoulders, slowed my gait, extended my clenched digits, and breathed in again.  Rather than scan the horizon, I scanned the night sky.

There is a noticeable shift in energy on the ranch.  A heavy, sad presence has lifted.  The air is swirling in a different direction now.

High above our heads, the stars and planets are alive and dancing.  The Milky Way, unobscured by the long-standing smoke of the Pole Creek fire, dashes across the ebon canvas.  The Pleiades have reappeared, calling to mind a Native American story of the Seven Sisters.

Such peace.  Such beauty.  The possibilities are infinite.

This morning I drew the Three of Pentacles.