Mud on Muddy Hill

Mud and I went for a walk today, or tried, but as we got on the gravel drive we saw lurkers at the gate-people most likely driving by the place after seeing the listing. I have no problems with that, but didn't want to engage, so I decided to run up Muddy Hill a few times for a much needed aerobic break. Mud loved it, running on his namesake hill, the sheep up on the upper horizon with Otis and the donkeys.

He is a beautiful dog, a very happy creature. While Huck carries the worry that I might express at any given moment, Mud holds no pessimism in his mind. He is one of the happiest dogs I've known, a goof ball at times, a weapon carrying guy when his tail is with him which is always so hold onto all breakables.

Huck can't go on walks anymore, which is sad, as his face shows disappointment when Mud and I leave. It is only relieved when we return, and he looks so soothed that we are back.

Easter walk on Muddy Hill

We took Huck and Mud up to their favorite romp on Muddy Hill. We wanted to see how the grass was doing since the flock is destined to eat their next. Such a juggling match when you cross pasture-but in a way it is part of farming I really like, once I learned to go with the flow and not fret about the natural pace of Mother Earth's rhythms. And of course that rhythm can change each year depending on weather conditions which makes cross fencing and multiple barns a must for convenience and animal care.

Huck was very happy to be allowed to run free on the hills. He is so old and gimpy now and can overdo it so easily with his front shoulder. But to see him out there again, he looked so happy. Broke my heart-in a joyous way. And that is what Easter is to me-joyous celebration of life. I was not raised in any church, but always loved the Easter celebration. Bunnies aren't bad either, but Easter feels like an opportunity for expansion. So I guess it was appropriate that Huck got to expand today. Looking down at the flock, and Aldo the Elder, I felt blessed, with Martyn, my charges and this land. It is not perfect which is a wonderful fitting since we are so flawed too. We were pleased to see how the grazing of the sheep was helping the small stream that runs through the property-at some point it might not, but for now, it is helping eradicate certain weeds and blackberry.

I like looking at my flock. I was thinking what a simple pleasure this is and how farming has many of these internal moments of peace-despite the hard work. I would assume that a farmer with a large operation has these moments too, but they are hard to explain to another.

This morning, I smelled a scent that comes at Spring. The sheep manure begins to dry and it mixes with the new grass scent, and it is almost a salty smell. While some might wonder how manure's waft can be pleasing, certain kinds of it, in the right conditions and amounts float me to a wonderful place of contentment. Come to think of it, it's not floating, it's a solid feeling of standing on the earth and reaping it all in while I do chores.

May your day be one of renewal!

"This is where you define yourself," said the trees

It's a beautiful autumn day. You cherish them even more this time of year. I was restless inside and took my camera up to Muddy Hill where the sheep were grazing. There is this part of the woods up there that as you climb up the hill, you reach the sky and the ground merges into it. It is a place that I've always loved climbing to, with the dogs, or on my own. And the sheep were milling around, some eating fallen oak leaves, others napping, like the elderly Daisy who is going on eleven. She is showing her age, with no teeth, laying down more, a bit arthritic, but her life is good. She was retired at age eight and now lives amongst her daughters and grand daughters. I take each month with her as a blessing, as she was one of my first two sheep and helped build our flock; she taught me so much with patience and gave back even more through her offspring.

One of my favorite parts of this hilly wood area is a clump of Savannah Oaks that grew in a formation so that there is a little magical space inside it. Daisy was napping in front of it. It is big enough for me to stand in and I've always felt it has some kind of magical qualities, like if I stand there long enough maybe I'll be transported far away, or maybe I can talk to whoever I want to even if they are gone.

It is like one of the sumac forts I had as a child-a place to go to and be unencumbered by the outside world. As a child that outside world seemed simpler than the one I live in today. I certainly don't remember people being so angry, but back then there were no anonymous faces barking at each other without rules on a cyber road.

I went to that hill today because I was restless. I wasn't sure what I needed to do that would satisfy that restlessness. It was the pull of the hill that drew me up there, and the sheep. The flock always ground me and bring me happiness. I communed with Chessa, and old Daisy and Alma. But when I stood in that clump of trees, a huge visceral sensation poured through me-physically.
It spoke loud and clear to me-

"This is where you define yourself, and carry it back with you."

Nobody defines me, or this farm. That's my job.

Dreaming of fields

As a transplanted midwesterner, I always find what is called "winter' here in Oregon more like what we Minnesotans would call "late spring". I find myself believing it is really summer-because there is green grass and buds on the trees, dafs poking up.

Now, this photo is from a summer gone by, up on Mud Hill. This time of year–no matter how sunny–finds the grass struggling to grow, and I yearn for the fields to be full of bud again. My sheep need the nourishment and eek out enough with hay supplementing them, but I prefer to have full bellies when they return to the barn.

In May I will be saying the sheep can't keep up and we might need to mow a field or two. In any case, the weather has been mild and sunny, and I am so enjoying every minute. Soon we will be walking on Muddy Hill, and the scene you see here today will be once again in my view, in the real.

Fog friends

I went for my morning walk with the dogs and on the return walked part way up Muddy Hill. I haven't walked there in a while because we cross fenced it so the sheep could graze there certain times of year. That means we can't walk all the way up, until we add a gate to the cross fence.

I love it up there, in some ways it is my favorite part of the property. It reminds me of a painting, where we are creatures floating, hovering over the farm. The Savannah Oak grove houses multiple families of birds and rodents-and you can hear them working in the fallen leaves. A covey of quail is usually close by-hiding from the dogs-but ready to take flight if needed.

Stella and Iris were on Donkey Hill, their white coats sinking into the background. I was pondering fog- how I think of it as one giant entity that can cover miles at a time. But then I realized it is like dirt, it is little particles all clumped together into a white coating. I began to see it as individuals combined into a flock, just like the sheep.

More little Mud

In cleaning up and revamping of blogs I kept coming upon older photos. I have become one of those people that keeps resharing old pup, lamb, donkey and kitten photos of the past. Double sigh.

But really, these remind me of Muddy Madness Days that ensued after we first brought this little chocolate chubbers home to Apifera some three years ago. You can go back and see them all for your viewing pleasure. He was a squeeze boy, wasn't he.

I'm turning 55 in a few months. I think I am right smack in the middle. This has a way of making each photograph - even it was taken a week ago - make me stop and analyze each detail of the photos - the light, how old I was when it was taken, and in this photo the fact there is no cross fence on Muddy Hill reminds me of the work that has been done in three years.

Still, the best part of this photo, it is almost edible.

Thank you, Muddy, your face always makes my day, even when it has just eaten cat poop...or sheep poop.

Little Mud

You'll have to endure a trip down memory lane every now and then.

Muddy turned three recently. I just can't believe it's been that long. As Huck will be turning 8 in January I occasionally suffer from 'Awwww" moments when I come across an older photo of one of them.

This is one such photo when Mud was about 6 months up on his name sake, Muddy Hill. It is a classic Muddy look, the expression clearly states,

"What? Who me? I didn't do it."

We three creatures

Another journey on Muddy Hill...

Morning on Mud Hill

Moments, now gone, in which the essence of uncut pasture laced in weeds merged with the beauty of a face.

Mud on the hill

Muddy continues to grow, examine, and enjoy....just like his handler. He loves dead Queen Anne's Lace and is amused that I had them all strategically located throughout Huck Hill...just for him. Ah, yes, anything for you, my young fellow. He went on his first outing today, to the feed store, and while Huck patiently waited in the car, Muddy learned that squeeky wood floors would not kill him.

And as we returned down the hill, the fog that had covered the clearcut all morning began to lift, allowing us to stand for a moment and encourage it on.

Muddy Morning

My morning walk with Muddy had the Dirt Farmer tagging along. I had told him he needed to come with us today, to witness the traditions Muddy and Huck are forming on their daily ritual. And he needs to have time to look down at the farm from the highest point, so he can feel small and big at the same time. The Savannah Oaks are now are wearing their best mossy coats, and the grass is yellow and amber mixed with a tinge of green in spots. The water can be heard under your feet, as it follows its own heart downward, downward, anticipating it's reunion with the Yamhill River.

Muddy Madness Day 7

And so it has come this, my fever is breaking. It's a new morning, a new week full of all the possibilities for accomplishments, and failures. And what have we learned from this onset of fever? That new life is something to be grabbed onto, relished, watched, - not with envy- but with the clear belief that anyone of us, at any given age, can be happy just because we live.

Thank you, little Muddy wonder, for being with us.

"Life is what we make it, always has been, always will be."
Grandma Moses