Friday, October 28, 2011

the little witch 2

The following is intended for an adult only audience. This contains descriptions of child abuse. Please do not read this is you are in a bad place. If you are presently being abused or you know of someone who is, please call the child and elderly abuse hotline, usually located at the front of all telephone directories. Your report will be anonymous. There are people out there that will believe you. If they don't, keep telling safe people until you find one that will.

I wrote this about 14 years ago when I was in deep in the throws of my recovery from childhood sexual abuse. I share it with you here, unedited, as a part of my history. Some of my views have changed, along with my ultimate forgiveness to those who hurt that little me. However that was down the road, and I will take you there if you want to listen.

You still have time to exit this page. Please do so if you are under 18 or in a fragile state, or just don't want to read things of this nature.

 Ok story-time...

My Childhood is gone, was stolen.

A little baby girl was brought unto this earth. She was innocent and was in the purest form. This baby grew to become a small child. Ready to bloom, waiting for the nourishment of love and safety. She was denied that, which was her birth right. This sweet little girl was stripped of all her hidden treasures. So many potential abilities stolen. She was left with just a shell. Only emptiness inside. Nothing else except self hate, blame, and inner turmoil. This child learned early that the world she was brought into was not safe.This child was me...
I only have limited memories of my childhood. I will try to piece together what I can...

I was born and raised in a New England town in the United States. My parents had five children. I was the oldest girl.

My mother's occupation was an R.N. at the time. Which she worked a lot of odd hours, including the night shift. My father worked for a major company in the New England area, then eventually left that job to start his own business. His first company was a printing shop. I can remember him having me and my other siblings working in his shop. My older brother almost lost his hand as he manually placed paper in an old fashion type printing press machine. He lives his life with a scarred hand, because of my father's greed. We were his little slaves. I guess we were free child labor. I still to this day hate the smell of ink.

My father opened a real estate business next. Looking back, this might have been when he decided he was "the ruler of all." His business was very successful at first. My parents remodeled our seventeen room home, and built an Olympic size swimming pool. They bought furnishings, a BMW motor cycle, a Corvette, and a Greyhound bus converted into a motor home. We had a stable and horses. We went on vacations. We attended church. My parents had plenty of friends. We were the perfect picture of a normal upper-class family. But what was going on inside this facade was something quite horrible. We were not the perfect family,...not by a long shot.

I feared my father. He was a strict disciplinarian. He would spank me on my bare behind, for punishment. He would make me wait for the punishment, which was worse then the painful spankings. I was a quiet, obedient, child. I can't imagine myself doing anything that warranted that severe of a punishment. It embarrassed, and humiliated me to take down my pants for the spanking. I remember waiting for a punishment, crying and saying over and over to my mother, "I hate him, I hate him." My mother just looked sad, and said "shhh...Daddy is on the phone. "

I can only guess how old I was when my father started abusing me sexually. It was probably between the ages of nine and fourteen. He abused me in several different locations. He would come up to my bedroom most of the time. I would pretend to be asleep. I believed that if he thought I was asleep, then he nor I would have to face it. I call it playing possum." Leave me alone, I'm dead." He didn't. He abused me anytime my Mom was not around, camping trips, in the living room, on a business trip, in the bus. Anywhere he could. I was always in possum form. "I'm dead, not here, this is not happening." But, it did happen. I was sexually abused by my own father. I did not know what he was doing to me, but I knew it was bad.

The person that was suppose to protect me, turned out to be the person I needed protection from. The monster under my bed was real.

I look at my childhood pictures and try to remember. What was in that little girls mind? Why is she smiling? What kept her going? I look at the photos that I hold in my adult hands and I grieve. I feel such sorrow, for this child is gone. She is gone somewhere in my memory, too frightened to come out of hiding. Such protection my mind has...

I carried the pain all through my years as a child. The self hate festered inside of me like a disease. Unable to reach out for the help I so desperately needed. I told no one. It was too embarrassing, too ugly to speak about. Never placing the guilt where it belonged. Always looking inward for punishment of the crime. So much for this little girl to handle at such a tender age.

My father was having one out of many affairs and soon left our family. He left my mother with five children, on a nurse's salary and zero child support. Our home soon went into foreclosure. My mother received food stamps in order to feed her children. She would shop for the groceries in the next town over, to insure no one would recognize her as she made payment with food stamps. I being the oldest girl, took on the huge task of taking care of my younger siblings. The two youngest had no idea what was going on at that time, due to their age. My sister, Laurie who is 11 months younger than I, was living in her own private hell. My older brother began his drinking. Our family started to crumble. It was the most difficult for my mother. I can only imagine being in the same situation. Five children, bills, keeping her job, with no help.

I recall hearing her cry behind closed doors. I wondered why she was sad.

The time came when my mother was forced to move herself and her children out of our home. My father had not only left, he left her in debt. We moved to a government subsidized apartment in the city where she worked, and into an environment that was so different from what we were used to.

Isolation became a way of life. It was difficult for for me to make any kind of friendships. My sister Laurie and I were all that each other had. Our new school was tough. There were fights daily in the hallways. I was threatened, spit on and harassed. Drugs were everywhere.The school at that time was out of control. No teachers ever reached out. Nobody notice how alone and scared I was. I'm sure Laurie felt the same way, but we never discussed how bad it really was.

It was just a way of life.

My Mother decided to go back to school to further her education. The university was located in Colorado, so she made arrangements to have my siblings and I go to live with my father. He had recently resurfaced in another state. He was living with his girlfriend, a much younger woman than himself. I can't remember how I felt about going to live with my father. It was just something I had to do. My mother had no clue about the sexual abuse, if she did, I know she would not have sent us away.

We went to live with him at the end of the summer of '78. We entered into school in September. Laurie and I were tossed into more isolation. We were afraid to even ride the school bus for fear of being beat up. Looking back, we must have appeared to have been easy prey for bullies. Fear and loneliness seemed to be just a fact of life. We had no allies, just each other.

I believe it was in my homeroom class, when I met the school guidance counselor, Mr. X. (I can not give his real name now.) He had come to my classroom to introduce himself. Mr. X explained his position as guidance counselor and invited anyone who needed to talk to his office. He seemed to be very caring, and someone who connected with us. I can remember him cracking jokes, and making the students laugh. It was then that I decided to go see him and report the sexual abuse that my father had committed.

I requested a guidance pass from one of my teachers and before I knew it, I was in his office spilling my guts. I finally had a trusted adult that I could tell my secret to. I cried tears that had been hidden for so long. It was the hardest thing I had ever done in my fifteen years of life. I reached for help, I told. I was going to be safe.

I continued to go see Mr. X during school hours, to purge my soul. At first he listened, and became what I considered my friend. I was as naive as they come. What I did not know at the time, was that he had a duty to report the abuse to the proper authorities. He never did. Instead, he took my trust and twisted it for his own use.

My counseling sessions turned into what I thought at the time was a relationship. Mr. X said that he cared about me thought I was beautiful. I was receiving the attention I so desperately craved. Soon, physical contact began, with kissing and some touching. All of this occurring on school property in his office, with the door closed. I began to wish that he would take me away, far from the daily hell that I lived. I tried to be anything he wanted me to be. No matter how hard I tried, I could not be his girlfriend, because I was a child.

It was this child that Mr. X preyed upon. He did not give or get help for me. He was not my counselor, my friend, or my lover. Mr. X was a predator, seeking out his "kill." There was no love in his heart, except for self love. He found this little rag-doll that was already so worn, and he finished her off. Not caring about the emotional damage he was inflicting. Not even a trickle of pity. Only self gratification filled his evil mind, at any and all cost.

This activity continued until one day Mr. X invited me to a High School football game. I asked my father if I could go with him. No lectures on safety, no questions asked, my father simply said yes. Thanks Daddy.

Mr. X picked me up from home and did in fact, bring me to the game. I sat alone through the entire game. He said that he had to help with running the game, and checked in on me a few times. After the game we left together, alone, in his car. He stopped at a drive-through package store and bought some alcoholic beverages, then drove me to a two story house. I can recall it being a home for disadvantaged children, it was called The House Next Door. It was only used in the daytime. He had the key and slipped me in the back door. He directed me upstairs, in the dark. Mr. X put on some music and offered me a drink. It tasted horrible, but I drank it, trying to be a grown-up. We drank and danced and then before I knew it, I was in way over my head. I was not a grown-up, I was a child. I was trying my best to let him do whatever he wanted, but I couldn't. I cried, and after awhile he brought me home. My father accepted my lame attempt of an excuse, about why and where I was until 3:00 am with an adult man. He never questioned me, I never even got punished. Nothing. What could he say? He and Mr. X had a lot in common.

I quit school soon after. I never saw Mr. X again.

Just a few threads holding the rag doll together now, fit only for the garbage. All innocence lost. There would be no proms, no graduation, nothing a normal girl gets to experience. I was different. I had something wrong with me. No one cared. No one heard. No one saw. I was alone, and it didn't matter.

The future looked bleak . . .

Thursday, October 27, 2011

the little witch, 1

This is a story about a little witch.

As I wrote about before in "little me", I don't know much about my ancestors. Recently seeing picture of relatives, and even of myself for the first time has sprung something wide open. I have been thinking about how this is probably why I love and covet things that are old. I gather other people's history, and make it mine by placing it in my home. I gather, I collect. Not on a broad scale, but I do love old objects. They make me feel connected to a history. Last year I started to collect old photos of priests and Nuns. You will see how that ties in further on. But now, I have some provenance, even if it is in a two notes, and some scanned photos.

As I wrote in "little me" connections with my Father's side of the family was pretty well wiped out after my parents divorce, (thank god they divorced, or more like myself and my four siblings were abandoned by my Father.) The passing of my Grandfather sealed it. His wife, my grandmother died when I was young. I have only distant glimpes to that side. I do know that my paternal Grandfather was a Minister. I remember being baptized by him. I remember looking down at a crisp white envelope I was holding in my hand and wondering what he gave me. I guess that might have been my baptism certificate, something I never saw again. My Grandfather was a Preacher man. My Grandmother was a Preacher's wife, she was also a Mother and an Artist.

On my Mother's side there has been an even more severe cut off to the past. It is rumored in my family, that my Maternal Grandmother was the child of a Catholic Priest and Nun. She was raised by her "Aunts" who were her Mother's sisters. They were Scottish, from the McGraths that came here to America. I don't have any history, as it was always vague. Were they my real Aunts? Everyone thinks so. Luckily, my Grandmother was a huge part of my life. She was the coolest Grandma ever. She drove her cherished Chevy Camaro even at age 80. She loved listening to police radios, square dancing, and she was certified in nautical navigation and in ham radio communications.  I remember her loving the Micheal Jackson tape I brought and played at her Summer house. She said it had a real good beat, and really got into it. She smoked ciggarettes, but said she didn't inhale (way before Clinton said that) Her name was Marie, no middle name. Just Marie. I remember when her Siamese cat had kittens in my bed. We we were sharing a room while she lived with us for awhile. I raced across the state in the middle of the night when I got a call that she had fell ill and was dying. I didn't make it in time to the hospital to say good -bye, but I did sit there with her lifeless body, smiling at her spirit. I loved her, and was very close to her. My Paternal Grandfather, died when I was very young. Not much was spoken about him. He was not a nice man. Perhaps someday, I will find out the heritage there. But his surviving daughters, my Mother and my Aunt, do not speak of him. I know why. My Mother remarried a man, my Stepfather, who is also a son of a Preacher. Interesting. The patterns.

So, I am the Granddaughter of two Preachers, and a Great Granddaughter of both a Priest and a Nun. This is sort of connected to my last blog entry "real live witches!" This begins my story of how I became to know who I was, under all of the fear, shame and pain. I hit bottom, and picked myself back up. I slowly began to realize my path, and it saved my life. When I say saved my life, I mean it. When a young girl is sexually, physically and emotionally abused by the very person who is supposed to be there to protect her, a part of her spirit gets broken forever. It also sets her up for more abuse. It is what she knows. It is the familiar.

This is the account about how I picked up all of the pieces, landing on my two feet, reaching my hands up to the sky, and breathing in all that was meant to be.Writing all of this out will be a challenge for me, but I am up to it.  I will have to do this in small parts, so this is the start. The story of how I found that I had something holy pulsing through my veins.I inherited a certain something, that can't be fully explained, but I will do my best to express my truth to you, if you want to listen. Events that happened before I even knew about these ancestors.

What made you, you?

the preacher's wife

the lost art


real live witches!

My headache is gone... Spooky time.
Also, I will no longer post my blog on my personal Facebook page. I am made a new page on Facebook. You can still get notifications if you like the page Crow. The like button is in the column to the right ---->
You know people usually think that modern day witches (Wiccans, Pagans, Herbalist etc) are like these goth like angry people, who worship Satan, and do not believe in God. (I had my own preconceived thoughts long ago) I have to tell you, that modern day witches are just everyday normal people, your neighbors, artists, lawyers, engineers, nurses (lots of nurses), waitresses, event planners, farmers, accountants, and scientists. Some even worship right beside you, yet have their own special set of believes known to them. For example there are Christowitches, Jewitches, Neo-Pagans and the like. Many Native American group's practices fall into very similar beliefs. Many indigenous people faiths or belief systems fall under the Pagan umbrella of religion. Actually, the Catholic faith has many similarities to Wicca on the surface. The incense burning, the many saints they pray to, the rituals in worship, the altars, and so on. But Wiccans usually do not symbolize the ingesting Christ's blood and body in bread and wine. Most have Cakes and Ale, in worship or workings, or in celebration for other reasons. I have attended many a Mass. I was never Catholic, and was not allowed to participate in Communion, but was welcomed to be blessed by the priest, and I took him up on that on a few occasions. Who doesn't want a Blessing? Anyway, just as an example of how much we are the same.

Way off topic, but my point is, we are not weirdos. We are regular people who you interact with everyday. We are kind, giving and open. We follow sometimes even more of a strenuous morality, as we do not follow a typical Dogma or have everything set out and taught to us every Sunday. We are  responsible for our every action, every word, and every thought. Not in a guilt ridden way, but in a open loving way.

Witches heal (the earth, people, animals and minerals) and Witches have been taught how to do divination. Some are hereditary, where all of this comes natural. More on that from a personal prospective.

But most of all, Pagans accept that there are many paths to the Divine, and respect that.

Gosh, I am long winded. Even when I am trying to be brief. I really need to take on students this year. Yes I teach. :-O Maybe I should do an online course. Oh and I don't charge money and I don't Proselytize.
(Proselytizing is the act of attempting to convert people to another opinion and, particularly another religion.) Wiccans don't do that, neither do I. We offer our services, because that is what we do. We are healers.

Here is a nice reading I found from: Witches Rising. 
See if you can find any similar traditions that you might follow.

Halloween/All Hallow’s Eve, All Saints Day/Hallowmas, All Souls' Day, Dia De Los Muertos, Diwali, Samhain (sow-en)—must be the season of the witch! This high Sabbat (November 5 in the Northern Hemisphere) began as a traditional Celtic festival marking the end of Summer (light half of the year) and the beginning of Winter (dark half of the year). It is a time out of time, when the veil between the worlds is thin. It is the most magical time of year, when powerful divination is imminent and the dead return to walk among us. It is a time of remembrance, of letting go, and of new beginnings. Here, the wheel of the year ends but the cycle continues...

Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
- Edgar Allan Poe

• Set up an Ofrenda (family offering altar): Honor and commune with your ancestors during this Festival of the Dead. Gather relics (personal items like jewelry or prayer cards) and photos in remembrance of the departed for your altar. Add candles, flowers, and food offerings to welcome them. Play music that they liked, tell their stories, and share what you learned from them. What is remembered lives!
• Create a magic wand or besom (witch’s broom): Samhain is the most auspicious time to harvest and adorn magical tools. Wands are traditionally made from Oak, Holy, Elm, Walnut, or Willow trees. When you find a branch that speaks to you, take a moment to leave the tree an offering (libations of fertilized water work well) and thank it (they love hugs!). These days, besoms are readily available in most craft stores but they are also fairly easy to make out of Oak, Ash, Willow, Birch or even your favorite herbs ( Both wands and besoms can be adorned with whatever materials you wish. Just be sure to cleanse and smudge all of your materials, focus your energy with good intentions during construction, and consecrate them to your purpose.
• Welcome the Switchy Witch: Have you heard of the Switchy Witch? Not many people have, so you're really lucky! She's a very good witch, you see, and she visits children (and adults who believe) every year on Halloween night. To welcome her, leave a piece of candy on your doorstep or windowsill. Then, leave a cauldron (basket, bowl, or plastic pumpkin works too) with all of your leftover candy on your hearth before bed. Yes, you can keep some, but don't be greedy because she gives all the collected candy to the children who weren't able to trick or treat themselves. In return for your offerings, she leaves you wonderful presents like magic gems and stones, bottles of fairy dust and dandelion wishes, books full of wisdom, sparkly stickers, and magical toys!
• Make corn dolls: Traditional corn dolls or dollies represent the Goddess/God of the harvest. Kept on the hearth or altar throughout winter, they are thought to keep the spirit of the corn (the essence of fertility) safe until it is ploughed back into the Earth in spring. They are easy and fun to make for people of all ages, so get creative! You can even make angel/fairy wings by tying two husks in an X shape onto the back of your finished doll at the waist, then shaping the ends with scissors.
• Share the harvest: Donate new or unwanted non-perishable items to your local food bank. Having a party? Ask people to bring an item with them, then take a few moments together to bless them with good wishes for the recipient. Find a food bank near you (

Now is the final harvest before darkness reigns and the Earth slumbers. Savor the rich fruits of Fall, use a variety of fresh vegetables and squashes to make a hearty soup, and fill your home with the fragrance of freshly baked breads and pies. Be sure to place an extra setting at the table to welcome loved ones who have gone before and bury an apple or pomegranate in the garden to nourish those spirits who are just passing by.
• Fruits: Apples, pomegranates, grapes, pears
• Nuts and seeds: Acorns, walnuts, pecans, pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds
• Vegetables: All varieties of pumpkins and squash, Indian corn, carrots, mushrooms
• Breads and Grains: Cornbread, carrot bread/cake, apple bread, wheat
• Beverages: Hard cider, ale, mead, wine

Fall flowers warm us with shades of gold, yellow, orange, and crimson, but it doesn’t really feel right until you decorate with some traditional reminders of the season like oak and maple leaves, pumpkins, gourds, cinnamon sticks, and pinecones. Appeal to all your senses by creating your own blend of magical fragrances that include deep musks and rich spices to awaken our collective memory.
• Chrysanthemum: Joy, love, protection
• Marigold: Longevity, prophecy, confidence
• Aster: Faithfulness, patience, wisdom
• Dahlia: Transition, dignity, self-worth
• Moonflower: Awareness, vibrancy, spontaneity, flight
• Sage: Protection, immortality, wisdom
• Mugwort: Divination, clairvoyance/scrying, astral travel
• Rosemary: Remembrance, purification, concentration
• Allspice: Healing, luck, money
• Cinnamon: Channeling, psychic power, spirituality
• Nutmeg: Energy, awareness/intention, love
• Cloves: Attraction, love, protection
• Patchouli: Love, fertility, passion

• We Are the Flow, Lindie Lila:
• Bones, Flight of the Hawk:
• Witchcraft, Frank Sinatra:
• Magic, Doris Day:
• Magic, Pilot:
• Season of the Witch, Julie Driscoll:
• Dead Man's Party, Oingo Boingo:

Note: Learn exactly when all Cross Quarter, Solstice, and Equinox times are in your area:

Enjoy the season...

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

little me

Today my brother posted a photo on my facebook page, it was from another page that was created for descendants of our paternal grandparents. I have been cut off from this side of my heritage, because of a divorce, and the abuse that we all endured, at the hands of my Father. One of my siblings tried to reach out to this side, however it ended when the abuse was brought up. My Father's sister did not believe us. Why would she? She doesn't even know us. But we had no pictures, no connection, nothing. That side of the family continued living on without us.

I have severe memory issues. I am sure it was my mind protecting my soul, but what I do remember is enough. More than enough. I have shoved it back into the dark corner, brought it back out. I have been angry at it, sad about it, confused, and most importantly I have been enlightened by it. But I am always surprised to be reminded that we are forever healing from the wounds we carry.

I went through this facebook page reading and searching for the people who share my blood. Aunts and Uncles and cousins, grandparents... With each photo a dim light way off in the corner would flicker, and I would think, Oh yes, that is my Aunt... I remember applesauce making in her kitchen, and how she cut the apple open from side to side, to reveal the five pointed star...

I read to my 11 year old daughter, a a couple of writings that were posted by my Grandmother. It was about where her ancestors came from. I finally had a history suitable to share with an 11 year old. As I read out loud about my great grandfather, and how he came to America from Sweden, my daughter shouted out, We are SWEDISH?" Yes, we are, just a part. Then we talked about how her great, great Grandfather lived and worked near the place and around the same time as Laura Ingalls Wilder. She had done a book report about her, so it really gave her a sense of life back then and a connection for her. She immediately asked me if she could meet one of my Aunts particularly by name. I am not sure why she picked this one name, but she did. I took a deep breath, and thought about how this was the very Aunt who disbelieved us.

I also read another writing that my Grandmother wrote. She died when I was about 7. So reading her words were like her speaking to me. She was an artist, and extremely spiritual lady, and for awhile she kept chickens and pigs. She talked about one experience in her life, her tone changed into something recognizable to me. I could tell she had this beauty in her, no matter what her son grew up to be, I was gifted with these words...

"... I’ll never forget that first evening. We were very tired, so we went to bed early. All was very quiet when through the open French windows drifted the sweetest music from a distant hillside – the song of the whip-poor-will. I’ll cherish that memory always. Another time in midsummer, nightfall was just settling down on Altona. The children and I were sitting on the soft velvet carpet in the yard. The horizon was a beautiful deep night shade. In the sky was a soft violet evening star, and the moon was clear in the sky. The tall elm beside the entry of the yard was tall and dark against the sky. Then from a distant hillside drifted the same beautiful call of the whip-poor-will. An enchanting evening it was – just one of many others through eleven wonderful years."

After, I read this, I felt a head ache coming on (weird for me) so went outside for some air and to help Rusty chop up the day's cast off vegetables from the market.  Rusty stops chopping and says, what is that? I stop and listen thinking it is probably the coyotes. He says, "I thought it was maybe a baby goat sound, but it was just a whippoorwill."


I stood staring into the night. I barely heard it. My head was raging so I came in and drank some water and took a couple of Ibuprofen and a Naproxan. I will talk more and share more, once this headache goes away. I just had to get some of this out. Perhaps it will help my head.

Here is little me, a picture I have never seen before tonight. I am in the red, white and blue bathing suit with four of my brothers and sisters, doing peace signs. One of my Aunts in the pink is smiling at us.



Tuesday, October 25, 2011


Hello beautiful ones. I have been wanting to make a blog entry, but I am having a little blockage it seems.

Not your normal writers block, just a block of exhaustion at the end of the day. It is hard to think, to write, to do anything really, but veg out a little, then sleep.

I have been working quite a bit with my rabbits. First, I adopted a rabbit who's owners said the "newness and fun" of owning a rabbit had faded for their son. It is a white rabbit with one ear that sticks straight up, and the other ear flops. The rabbit was eating cow grains when I went to pick it up. It is now on a special diet, just like the rest of my rabbits. I do a mix of premium rabbit pellets, black sunflower seed, calf manna, sweet feed, and oats, followed with plenty of water and second cut hay.

I cleaned the rabbitry/chick nursery out, top to bottom, and got it ready for another rabbit, an English Angora buck named Amazing, but with Amazing came an unexpected intake of three flemish giant rabbits. Yes, they are giant. Big bunnies, two does and one buck It seems they were housed together, so I should be expecting two giant litters, I don't know when, because I am not sure how far back these three were exposed to each other. So for now, they are hopping around their new digs. Meanwhile, Tahoe, my Blue English Angora doe is expected to kindle on the 25th, and that is today. So I may be knee deep in babies. Baby rabbits are called kittens, but breeders call them kits. So knee deep in kits. But who knows? I learned to not count my chickens before they hatch, and I will continue on thinking the same of most things in life. Wait it out and see what happens.

I have decided to move my rabbitry to the house up the hill. A cute two bedroom, that was converted from the barn to a house long ago, and now, at least for this coming winter, it will house animals again. Nothing like that show Animal Horders!  I saw an episode on Animal Horders where this lady had so many rabbits they were living in her walls, cupboards, mattresses, you name it. Sad show really, for the animals, and for the people. I will have a clean efficient, little rabbit operation, cover the floor in vinyl and to make a nice comfortable place to house and care for the rabbits, with room indoors to exercise them as well. My new hideout. ;-)

 A TN Faiting Goat named Blue Clay  is being delivered on November 5th. He is sharing a ride with a small animal transporter, and other goats. Seems there is another Wild and Wonderful Woman with very similar interest that lives North of me. She will drive down, and we all will rendezvous nearby and do the swap. Blue Clay is a blue buck. He will be penned together with my Pancho, as both of them have had their first rut. So, they will have each other until I need their services. Pancho is such a sweetheart, I hope Clay is just as sweet.

After that, Winter. Making it through the snow but most of all dealing with frozen water containers. Winter makes everything a little more difficult on a farm. Mountain terrain is not the easiest to navigate, by vehicle, or by foot.

My truck is up for sale. My cool ass old Dodge truck. I am a tad bummed, but I do now have a used Jeep Cherokee to wheel around with. Four wheel drive, and interior room for like people and stuff. I will miss rumbling down the road in my old truck.

Oh and I now have seven baby chicks too. After the chicks turned 2 weeks, I brought my chicken tractor upstairs in the barn lined with pine chip bedding and dropped a brooder light over head. They are happy growing chickies. I am growing them over the winter, so by Spring, they will be ready to lay. Also my Tetra tint went broody! She now has a clutch of 8 eggs. Some of my chickens, might not make it through the whole winter or will begin to slow on egg production. I have some older girls. They have shelter and warmth, but sometimes the extra stress factor of being confined, or going out in the cold, can contribute to loss. I am a little more seasoned as a Farmer-girl now and a little more of a realist.

I will leave you with pictures of two of the giant rabbits having a bite to eat in the barn the first night they arrived-

Until later... ~crow