Saturday, August 27, 2011


I used to be afraid of the dark. Really afraid.

Of course when I was little I was a scared-y cat. That is part of growing up. A baby goes from being oblivious to monsters under the bed, until their brain grows and they learn that there are scary things in the world. I am sure I was no different. However, during some time during later childhood development, you learn that there are no glowing green two headed monsters with smoke coming out of it's ears in your closet. You become more knowledgeable of what is real, and what is not.

But there are still scary things in life. If you let the fear creep in again.

All through my twenties, I was still scared of the dark. Even with all the doors and windows locked, and a gun by my side. I was still frightened. I remember sometimes I would wake up in the dark, and be totally frozen in fear. When I say frozen, I mean it. I could barely breathe. I suppose it was panic. I am not sure. But even if an intruder came in, I am pretty sure I would be unable to grasp a gun and point it, never mind pull a trigger. I would lay there for hours frozen in my fear.

I was thinking about that tonight as I was out securing the animals, and doing my late night checks on everybody. All the people are in bed, except for me.

I had to get some hay. First though, I had to take one of the electric fence wires off to get out and over to the old empty Victorian next door. We keep the bales of hay there on the porch. It is pitch black. I maneuver the steps up to the porch by feel, and by memory. Odin my dog is usually there wagging his tail with a thump, thump, thump on the wood floor when he senses me. But Odin is gone, and there was no wagging, no happy tails. I feel my heart ache a little as I reach until I can touch the bales. Then searching with my hand to find the bale that has the twine cut, and grab a big pat of hay. I go back down the steps and back over to the electric fence. By the gleam from a light inside of my house bounching slightly on the electric wire, I jump over the remaining hot strands. With one arm balancing the hay like a waitress holds a tray (I used to be one) I pick up the plastic latch, and connect the fence wire tight back to the post. I am suddenly the farm security officer.

As I walked to the barn to deliver the hay, I think to myself about how good I am at using my other senses in the dark when I cannot see. I think about how I am first to jump up and go outside when one of my dogs is barking at darkness. I am not frozen, I am in my element. Trusting myself and not letting the fear sneak in. But tonight, I do suddenly feel sorry for the scared, younger me. I mean, I was well into my thirties before I got over that frozen fear stuff. I wonder why it took me so long to become fearless?

There are probably many good reasons that I was so scared, as well as some unfounded fears that were a complication of the justified fear. I was unsafe for awhile, but then when I was safe, I just couldn't get it.

My therapist gave me this written on a scrap piece of paper when I was in my early thirties.


It took me awhile until I bought into that.

I remained outside for awhile listening to the wind, and a tree creaking, looking into the darkness, and feeling grateful that I do not live in fear anymore.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

happy hour

As Rusty arrived home from work tonight, and she spotted him.

I was saying welcome home, now smile!

Rusty said, "I brought some nice dark rum home for you... Go get a glass and a RC Cola and join me for a drink." So I did. I also grabbed a bottle opener too, for the beer.

Because she loves beer.

She love, love, loves it.

Deer loves beer.

But she also loves...

the cardboard.

Now if she only liked to eat glass, she would be a complete recycling center.

Our pet goat does not drink and drive and is of a legal drinking age,.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

the versatile blogger

I would like to thank Hailey Marie who authors the blog: Moonlit Nights, Trials and Triumphs of a Pagan Novice for gifting this wonderful award to crow. This is my first and only! Take a minute and go over to say hello to Hailey Marie. She has a fresh look at paganism, and her magical journey. I like that she is down to earth, and is open to discuss her views, and personal discoveries. It is not a "how to make a spell" type of blog, and more of an esoteric view of magic. I like very much that she thinks for herself, and makes being a pagan her own unique experience.

The Rules after accepting the Versatile Blogger Award are:

• Thank the person who gave you the award & link back to them in your post.
• Share 7 things about yourself
.• Pass this award along to 15 recently discovered blogs.

Seven things about myself:
  1. I am 48 years old
  2. I like storms.
  3. I talk to my animals. They might not know English that well, but they do know energy.
  4. I am registered with the Independent Party.
  5. I live much like a Monk, but have a family I care for.
  6. I fall in love with life over and over.
  7. I am a Witch, and not just on Halloween.
Now, I am not a rules kind of person. But I will mixed it up a little crow style. These are newest readers here, and if they write a public blog, I shared their link and they have won the award (it is not mandatory to accept.) Have a peek at their pages. I think you will be delighted!
  1. Staying Awake
  2. Soul Soup Sister
  3. A Brit in Tennessee
  4. Going Gently
  5. Banjo 52
  6. Siam-Pals Bunny Barn
  7. Zen and the Monkey Mind
  8. Edenland
  9. West Virginia's Treasures
  10. 5 Acres & A Dream
  11. Harbinger's Fur Babies
  12. A Soul's Journey
  13. Aoibheal's Lair
  14. Grow Fish Eat
  15. Two Bears Farm
If for some reason, if I was unable to access you blog as the 15 most recent readers here at crow who own blogs, please accept my apologies! Also, if I continued down the list to older readers with blogs, you would find some great reading! You might want to go on an adventure and meet some great folks!


Monday, August 22, 2011

guardian angel

Sunset came fast tonight. I thought I would capture some photos, of my new dog Izzy, the Great Pyrenees.

After a day of learning about me and all the inhabitants here at the farm, we took some time to just hang out. Izzy is a gentle giant and loves all the little creatures of the farm. Even the cats.

After awhile. Izzy went back to work. Then something quite remarkable happened...

I will leave it at that.


Sunday, August 21, 2011

spell dog backwards

I have been dreading to write about this, but I need to get it out, or this post won't make sense. Whatever making sense really is.

Well, our oldest dog died in a freak accident. His name was Odin. Note: Use care when naming a pet, or even a child after a god or goddess. Odin, was a tough dog to train. We got him at a pet store, while picking up supplies. There he was, a big puppy, who had just come out of quarantine for respiratory, issues. He was displaced because of hurricane damage to the breeder or pet-shop him and his siblings were at. So he pretty much lived in a cage for the first part of his life. The store had him marked down, so we all felt pity for him, paid and brought him home. Until the day he passed on, he still laid down when he ate (a habit from being caged for so long.)

A foxhound in a historic St. Petersburg FL neighborhood, where the houses where lined all up like dominoes. Several of my neighbors questioned my choice of a hunter dog in a densely populated location and let me know. My other nice neighbors enjoyed him. Especially my neighbor Sandy. She was a city bus driver, until an accident caused her to be unable to work. It was her life. But she loved Odie. He would jump up high enough for her to see his head pop over the fence, and throw his head in the air with a loud hound dog howl. She could see him from her window of her house across the street.

I told the nay-sayers, that I got the dog before I got the farm. I told everybody that. That is how I got here. I not only spoke about Odin coming before the farm. I started a "mountain box" and announced to whoever would listen, "I am putting this in my mountain box". At the time, it appeared absolutely impossible to leave FL due to an ongoing custody issue, and a very revengeful and paranoid ex-husband and the father to my two oldest. I am not calling names. It is just the fact. So, it looked impossible to me. I saw no way out, other than I continued to talk to the universe. "This, is going in my mountain box." There was a box, and then another, and another. I also would continue my dog mantra. "I got the dog before the farm."

That is how magic works. You work your will. I worked my will.

Odin the magnificent

There was a break in the clouds, I sold my house and made my bold move. You have to work with the Universe, if you pray, or practice magic. You are part of the same Universe, same God of that which what does your bidding.

So I ended up in the mountains, in a rental, in yet another city. I was miserable. So I searched for a farmhouse, away from exhaust smells, sirens, and people. I found this house, where I am here writing you from. The Realtor let us in. I loved this old house. I climbed the stairs up and took a right, and in that room upstairs, was at least 30 trophies. Fox Hound trophies. I decided then, this was it. The Universe answered. Odin, my foxhound, was a dog and was a dog spelled backwards.

And so it was. We worked this land, and Odin was tied up because was an escape artist and he was a runner. But we soon realized, we were no longer in a city. Odin was a big boy, and we needed him to mark his territory. He kept away the big dogs down in the valley. He kept away foxes, and weasels and anything else he could smell. We could hear him up the hill on a trail, and he would always come home.

Odin had a tough beginning in life. So our gift to him was the mountain and his freedom. He was happy. He ran and ran.

Odin seemed to remember though, the sound of a diesel truck. One of my neighbors, who disliked him (even though she had three dogs) had a big truck, with big wheels, and a loud engine that she loved to rev up at all hours. Odin would do his howl bark and answer that truck. So, it was a circular issue between them.

It just so happened, that my neighbor Shirl's son has a big flat-top truck. A diesel. Odin reacted the same when Shirl's son visited. And just two days ago, as he backed out, and started to pull forward, Odin was run over by that truck, and died instantly.

I was hanging laundry when I heard Shirl call me from the road. "ah, Willow?"

I checked Odin's vitals, and he was gone, gone. I could see Shirl's distress, and his son tried to explain. I told them, it was my decision to let him roam, and that they should not feel bad. I told them that Odin had a good life. I pulled my farm dog off the road and laid him behind the sunflowers. I would need help to bury him, and would wait for Rusty. We literally live on Rock.

I wasn't sad. It was weird. I felt like Odin had a good life. That I had brought him to a place where he belonged. He was a happy dog. I thought about that if it was my day to die, I would want people not to be sad. I would want people to know that I was happy, before I signed out of this life.

The weird thing: He never went after the chickens, but that morning he pulled the wire from my chicken tractor and killed two of my young chickens. Why do you suppose that was? Was it the chicken's time to go? Did Odin have his last meal? Why?

So we buried him that night. Caleb sang some song and tossed in bamboo with him. I laid some Black-eyed Susans on his body, then we covered him with earth, and large stones to mark his grave.

last photo taken of Odin pictured with Tonka 8/20/2011

I belong to a few rescue groups. I saw a posting for a Great Pyrenees who needed a home. Which led to another. We had been talking about a herd guardian dog for some time. But now with Odin gone, my flocks and herds were left vulnerable. Even the beagles, as there is an Elk-hound who used to sneak attack them before we let Odin roam.

So, we have a new dog. A new farm dog, for the next phase. My hope is that she is happy. Rusty ran 4 lines of electric fence wire today. To keep her in with her flocks and herds. I feel better.

Her name is Isabella, but goes by Izzy. She is 8 months old, and is a very smart and loving girl. Today was her first day on the job.


Rusty and Izzy

We like the other dog, Odin. Where is he? Who in the hell is that?