Day: June 4, 2013

My girl making her great stuff in her Schoolhouse Studio. I brought her a Begonia today.

Shamans are not like other people, they talk to their guides and power animals and believe in fairies, trolls, ghosts leprechauns. Carol Tunney is a former MD, an OBGYN who did  a soul retrieval journey with me that  helped me shed a lot of fear. Not something I would have dreamed of for most of my life, and too bad, because the journey did more for me than 30 years of medication ever did. Carol was frustrated with Western medicine and loves being a shaman. She is not like the other children, but a powerful healer.

Caro is also a friend, she has one of the most interesting minds I have ever encountered, and she wanted very much to meet our donkeys, and she and Simon were doing shamanic mojo to one another, speaking across the spirit world in their own language. Soon enough, they were cuddling.

Our animals are growing more and more comfortable with us here on the new farm, and more comfortable with one another. They are closer to us here, the pastures wrap around the farm. I came to Bedlam Farm to learn about animals and write about them and now we are closer to them than ever before and know more about them. They know more about us. Maria continues to deepen her relationship with all of us – me, the sheep, the donkeys, and so do I. Their relationships with one another are dynamic and evolving. Red and Simon. Minnie and Flo. The sheep and Maria and I. The sheep and the donkeys. The donkeys are much more at ease with Red, so are the sheep, they graze now within a few feet of him.

It takes time to build a connection to these animals. Trust is long coming and can easily be broken. Food is a connection point. So is attention, touching. Most of all, listening, shedding human arrogance. They are not like us. They do not think the way we do. Yesterday, Tess pressed her head against Maria for the first time. A breakthrough. A connection.

Well, it isn’t her. Maria was dubious about a new pasture, we have no money, she says, and what if they don’t use it or need it? Maybe we should wait and see if the creek dries up, or the other grass grows. No, no, I said, I’ve been managing a farm for some years now, you have to plan ahead, think ahead. The last few summers have all been the same – rain early on, dry heat for months, less hay and it’s more expensive. We don’t want to be caught with our grass dry and brown.

So there I was this morning, taking note of the very curious and ironic fact that the only living things in the pasture were two human beings and then, a mouse-hunting barn cat. Lulu decided that she wasn’t the ass on the farm, it was me. It was Lulu’s rebellion. If she wasn’t going, nobody was going. Simon wasn’t going to cross her and neither was Fanny. Then even the sheep joined in and defied me and then Red. They just weren’t going and there was less water today than yesterday. Maria didn’t say much, but I caught her Sicilian look – only the people are in the pasture, she said quietly but with some hint of menace and a gleam if I-told-you-so.

I cleared my throat and I said the message here is that our spoiled animals aren’t going to get their feet dirty wading through muck until the pipe and gravel arrive. Donkeys know everything, they read the motives and intentions of people like me, especially people that they know well. They know there is a plan, they are waiting for it. You’ll see, I told Maria, once our grave and tube arrive, they’ll all be in there. Let’s go eat breakfast, she said. So I guess we all know who the ass is, at least for today.

I was astonished to see that as the sheep and donkeys all refused to jump the mud bog, Minnie the barn cat came right through the weeds and water and mud, sashayed over to us and went off to the side to hunt some mice in the reeds. This prompted me to yell “wussies!” at the retreating sheep and donkeys. If a cat could get across, surely a donkey could. “Look at this, Lulu!,” I shouted, but Lulu was not interested.

Maria is giving me this look that says what-kind-of-idiot-would-spend-money- to-build-a-pasture-that- none- of- the -animals seem-to-want. Wait until August, I say, when the grass is dry and we are panicking about hay. I hope this is right, because she does not ever forget. Good for Minnie. Maybe she will use the pasture.