DECEMBER 21, 2012 - ONLY 357 DAYS TO GO

          New Years day is creeping up over the other side of the horizon; every now and then I see a star-burst in the night sky signifying it's almost time to grab some pots and pans, maybe fire the shotgun into the air to celebrate the birth of 2012.  This is the year when some of the historical premonitions are supposed to befall our civilization and perhaps end everything - the Mayan calendar; why do you suppose it ends Dec. 21, 2012; how does a calendar run out of days? - Nostradamus predicted the Earth getting hit by a comet and more recently, Edgar Cayce says the Earth will tilt on its axis at a different angle, which will create great devastation world wide and did you know that the Sun will be at the exact centre of the galactic plane on that date?  Something to think about, ponder and possibly be concerned about, especially since, as we all know, nothing lasts forever.  I expect this could be a worrisome year for many if they dwell on the ending of the Earth but for me, the way I look at it, we're all here for a very short time like it or not and knowing or not knowing the day that I'm going to die isn't going to make any difference.  A lot of people don't want to depart alone when they go to the big outhouse in the sky (which is what our space programs have been turning it into for many years) so hey, on that day, we, who are all still existing on that particular day, that special day, can all join hands and go together - the Rhapsody, behold Armageddon; Revelations come true; the ultimate battle where goodness wins over evil.  How does one prepare for such a day?  I guess if one is religious, prayer is the answer; if an atheist; c'est la vie.
          2012 - the year that ends all years.  For me, living at the base of Green Mountain in Fosterville, NB, Canada, on 50 acres of natural and a little man-made beauty, I can't be overly concerned about Dec. 21, 2012.  At that time of year, I could be waist deep in show, the wind blowing a gale through the tree tops; so the way I see it, the animals will still need tending to, the stove will still need some logs and the family will still need some lovin'.  Life will go on as per usual, no last meal like a condemned criminal; no getting dressed in my best finery; could possibly say a prayer, but to be honest, prayers have never been high on my list.  Besides if this ultimate Holocaust comes true, it's  not like we can avoid it; there's no place to go and hide; our space ships don't have the technology to find another Earth and we can't buy out way out of this calamity either.
         Let's just say, Dec. 21, 2012 really is the day the world ends; it will certainly be a blast won't it - more exciting than any New Year's celebration, crowning of royalty, swearing in a president or prime minister, gala opening of a Hollywood movie, the largest tsunami, most explosive volcano, fiercest hurricane, etc.  And just think about it; there's no last row seating, standing room only - we all have front row, centre seats.  We may not be able to stand and applaud at the end of the most spectacular performance ever presented but then why should we - for once in everyone's life we will be a star and not just a bit actor that never says a word - we can all scream together!
          Well, it's not 2012 yet; I have things to do today besides sit here at the computer and write a blog.  Since the temperature dropped well below zero last night, I need to get the livestock some water since their drinking water is now a block of ice; the dog, goat and cat can manage alright but the poor little chickens can't lick it.  Need to throw some wood on the fire too, my studio is cold, almost need gloves to type on the keyboard and I may have to cut the lock off the garage door - the key just goes round and round.  Thought maybe it was frozen but after I poured a little of my hot goldenrod tea on it, the key still kept on going round and round.  And I suppose in a sense, we're all a little like that key, we all just keep going round and round, stuck in our own individual ruts.  Not sure if I'll be writing a blog on New Years day, so if I don't; Happy New Year to you all and be there on Dec. 21, 2012!  Cheers, eh!

SORE BACK AND NO RESOLUTIONS

          Christmas is over and as per usual, like a great many people, I overate, drank too much and sat on my butt too long.  As a result, from this somewhat decadent lifestyle, on Christmas evening, when I bent over to get some grain for our pregnant goat, my back, since I've got 5 compressed arthritic discs said, "That's it Lenny!"  Barely able to walk because of the intense pain, I went from sitting on the couch to laying on the couch.  However, since I've been inflicted with this back problem for quite a few years, I discovered that rather than laying on the couch and waiting for my back to quit hurting, I try to get moving as soon as possible and despite the pain, I seem to recover faster.  Day 1: walking was not an option.  Day 2: walked around the house a little bit and not just to use the toilet.  Day 3: walked about a mile to the lake and back taking photos of the thawing ice and melting snow.  Day 4, tomorrow: hopefully will be able to bend over better and may take a crack at cleaning the barn and chicken coop; especially the chicken coop. it's rather disgusting.

My Friend, Ronnie's Tepee

          It's almost the New Year and I don't plan on making any resolutions - I've got enough hard work ahead of me for the coming year.  I need to expand the hen house and studio, build a new wood shed, possibly a combined sitting room/green house and a tepee is a must, also get wood for next winter to keep us warm - geesh - I should be 17 instead of 70.  And oh yeah, drag small logs out of the forest so my friend and I can saw them into boards; enough for the upstairs 1,200 sq. ft floor.  Did I mention that I want to dig a small pond - planning on adding some ducks to our barnyard - maybe rabbits too.  And I think I've got an aching back now.  One good thing to say about my back giving out on Christmas day, it's winter and I don't have too many chores to do at the moment.

Watercolour Portrait of My Grandson Ethan

          Talk about a nice Christmas gift, my daughter Brandi, who lives in Toronto, ON paid for my airline tickets to Nanaimo, BC and back with a day in Toronto - now how special was that?  In return for such a thoughtful gift, the day before I flew out, I painted a portrait of her son Ethan looking out the window.  It's been a long time since I painted a portrait and it was good to know that I hadn't lost the ability.  I posted the portrait on a website for artists and mentioned that I was willing to paint portraits - didn't give a price, said it was negotiable.  I received a comment from another artist telling me that they only paint for the joy of it and not for the monetary gain to which I replied, "Hey, I have to make hay - I live on a farm with animals to feed and a small family to help support, so I not only paint for the joy of it but for the money too."  So hey, if anyone out there in cyberspace would like a portrait painted of a loved one or even a pet to help support our farm and family - my prices are reasonable; all I need is a good detailed photo to go by.
          The weather has taken quite a change the past few days; almost all the snow has melted and the temperature feels somewhat balmy.  It's the first day in almost 2 weeks that the chickens have been let out to roam and scratch about the barnyard.  They are certainly happy little feathered creatures and seem to be laying quite well.  Since the chickens are all very young, just beginning to lay eggs, we are getting eggs in all sizes and because of the Ameraucanas, some of the eggs are green, blue and pink - almost seems like Easter.  Freya the goat is quite large now - only about a month and a little bit before her big round belly gives birth - I wonder if she will have one or two kid?  I'm going to let a few of the hens, in the spring, if they become broody, to sit on their eggs and let them have chicks - would kind of like to let them do it naturally but may incubate some as well to perhaps sell.
          Time to get off my butt, stop writing and start walking about for a bit - need to get my back into working order again and especially need it healed before spring arrives - cheers, eh!
         
                   

CHRISTMAS EVE - BEAUTY AND CONSUMERISM ABOUNDS

          Well -  it's that time of year again - the big, bearded, ho-ho-ho guy in the sky with a huge bag of goodies arriving in a sleigh  that's pulled by eight tiny red deer and of course Rudolph with a red light-bulb for a nose to lead the way.  Ah, the joys of consumerism - a merchant's dream but for many people; a night mare.  I believe we can thank Coca-Cola for the big Santa Claus gimmicky kick-off.  I'm not a bah, hum-bug sort of guy - I spend money on gifts like most anyone else but I do try to keep it realistically viable, that is to say, I don't go into debt; simply buy what I can afford.  I hate to say it but I do believe my generation was the beginning of overspending and giving kids just about anything they desired and the way the Santa Claus tradition has carried on thus far, it has gotten beyond everyone's control and now borders on the ridiculous.
          A couple of Christmases ago, when my grandson Charlie was only two, and I've seen this with other children as well; he received lots of gifts; colourful, noisy, expensive gifts but the one he was most interested in was my empty beer case - he played with it the most.  Actually, if you want to give a toddler the perfect gift, what is considered to be the No. 1 gift - give him or her a stick - I wouldn't be surprised if a rock is No. 2.
          Christmas is sort of bitter-sweet for me, not because of the Hollywood, media-hyped influence but because my father died Christmas day back in 1969, the year I married my first wife, Doreen.  I can't say that I'm really unhappy on this day, just usually take a quiet moment by myself and say, "Merry Christmas Dad, wish you were here."  Funny, when you think about it though, the person that's really responsible for this day is actually more like a bit player in a Santa Claus movie.  Jesus Christ must roll over in His grave every time they bring out another Santa Claus movie or when He sees how much most of the people idolize some fat guy with a twinkle in his eye that promises gifts and seldom delivers - being naughty or nice has nothing to do with it.
          Christmas eve today, and from the looks of it, we'll be having a white Christmas.  It's -17 below, the sun is shining and the landscape is picturesque; white, sparkly snow covering most everything - making it ideal for a fat man to land with a bag of goodies on a rooftop - most likely burn his ass off though if he comes down our chimney and lands in the air-tight wood stove.  I still haven't been able to convince our younger daughter (10) Jessica that she should leave Santa a cold beer and a slab of pepperoni - it's always cookies and milk, which I'm not terribly fond of eating or drinking.   We're having a quiet Christmas, just my wife Sarah and her two girls and possibly a couple of neighbours for turkey dinner.  Not sure if we'll have all the trimmings but I expect my belly will be as round as Santa's when I've finished munching the meat off the drumstick, chomping on a chunk of homemade Christmas cake, nibbling on sweet chocolates and sucking back a few Fireball (cinnamon flavoured whiskey) creamy hot chocolates.  I can't help but think how lucky I am to be born and live in such a great place, especially when I see that the majority of people on this planet live in complete and utter poverty.  I sit here now in my own little studio, a cold beer within reach, Finnegan the cat snoozing on my lap and just writing away on the computer, saying whatever the hell I feel like - no real life threatening cares or worries, just mellow and warm with visions of sugar-plums dancing in my head.

         I'm not much like Santa when "he sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle".  No, but as I leave this computer not like "the down of a thistle, "  I will "exclaim, 'ere" I walk out the door, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"  - Cheers, eh!   

                    

APOCALYPSE, GOLDEN UNICORN FARM AND A WISHING WELL

Apocalypse

          Apocalypse is a painting that I did years ago when I was a young man - seems like every young person goes through that rebellious stage, when they're unhappy with the establishment and would like to change the world and make it a better place.  We all get a chance to be that way and somehow, after all these years that I've complained and heard other people complaining, not to mention those in other countries that don't have it any where as good as we do here living in Canada, a person would think that the world would be a better place instead of it being a cesspool filled to the brim with toxic waste, the air barely breathable and the water hardly drinkable.  Being an artist, I can honestly say that I love this Earth and all the natural things that abound throughout, even though some of the creatures living here would literally like to sink their teeth into me and strip the meat from my bones.  In some ways that's almost more desirable, since it would give sustenance to the beast, rather than everything being poisoned and I'm laying in a squalid ditch flicking like a dying fish waiting to take my last breath.  When I painted the Apocalypse, even though it didn't seem like it so much at the time, I had a premonition that the world and its civilizations were heading that that direction and now as I listen to the remarks people are making in the media and just ordinary Joe's on almost a daily basis, this painting may be closer to the truth than I would like to admit.  I've never put this painting up for sale, because who would want to hang it on their wall, I don't even hang it on mine; I keep it in a closet - it's downright scary!  I decided to put it on my blog to show people that if they don't want this ugly painting to become real, they should really make a strong effort to eliminate their heavy carbon footprints.  I try - I don't even drive but even saying that makes me somewhat of a hypocrite because I let others drive me around.  I also purchase things from other countries instead of trying to rely on an 100 mile radius, which actually makes a lot of sense because a lot of people who live within this area would become more productive and may not have to rely so heavily on making a living working for someone else.  But then who says being sensible is the logical way to go?

Door  Leading to my Studio in the Garage (Attached Barn can Also be Seen)

          

          Here on Golden Unicorn Farm, the snow began falling just before daybreak and within a few hours we had approximately 6" of winter wonderland covering our place.  It's not necessary to tell anyone how beautiful it is here, I think the photos speak for themselves.  The next photo is a shot of the house, which I can see from my studio window and when I look out my doorway at the other end of the studio, I often see Luki, our Great Pyrenees dog waiting for me to come out.  Although he's actually a very professional type guard dog (almost a hit-man in disguise) he is mostly very gentle with the animals, except for Freya the goat when feeding time arrives - nothing (except us) goes near his food bowl unless, they too want to become part of  his dinner.

View from Studio Window

Luki - Our Faithful Watchdog

          It's beautiful here on our little farm - it's nothing like my ugly painting Apocalypse and I'd really like to keep it that way.  Sure the weather may be harsh at times; we dress for it; put lots of clothes on in the winter and then take 'em off in the summer.  The black flies, mosquitoes and no-seeums are definitely hell on wings but they go away eventually.  Sure, there's big black bears hanging around here too but they're not too interested in us and they're most likely hibernating now or seriously considering it after this snowfall.  Moose, deer, porcupine, coyote, fox and other animals share our place and they're welcome as long as they leave our livestock alone - otherwise they have to deal with Luki and if not Luki, then me and I'm the meanest son-of-a-bitch that watches over this 50 acre place, well hardly mean but I have been known to deal with varmints with deadly force.  

          Enough about meanness, death and ugly paintings.  This is a photo of our well; an actual well, not a pretend wishing well.  However, today, I will make an exception for the well and dub it a wishing well because what I wish for me and mine and you and yours is a healthy world because without it we are not healthy either.  If we look after the Earth, the Earth will look after us - cheers, eh!

Our Wishing Well (for today only) We Depend on it for Our Drinking Water

SIGNS, FOOTSTOOLS AND CROOKED CANOES

Stockford Mill Sign

          I've painted all sorts of subjects and lettered a lot of signs over the years in almost every size imaginable - teeny, itsy-bitsy miniature portraits for a scaled down dollhouse to a blimp shaped like a killer whale named Ruthy that didn't look so big once it was floating around high up in the sky.  I've also lettered a few chain saw blades but this is the first circular saw blade that I've painted and lettered.  Linda Hamilton commissioned me to paint a picture of her father's (Walter Stockford) sawmill on one of the old rusty blades that he once used to saw logs into lumber.  The grist mill was built during 1935-36.  It was powered only with the use of water on the Eel River, which had been purposely dammed for the mill's operation.  Linda's father is now quite elderly and the Stockford Mill is no longer in service.  The building which was located on the river's edge is no longer there; it now stands further back from the river amidst some trees and although it can be seen from the road, it's highly unlikely that it will ever be in service again.

Saw Blade Progression

          Prepping the 30" saw blade was not as easy as I thought it would be.  I have no idea low long the blade had been rusting but it was quite badly pitted and took quite a long time to grind away the rust until it was once again shiny steel.  After about 3 or 4 coats of primer were applied, I roughly sketched out the photograph Linda had supplied.  Since the photo was black and white and the autumn day looked pretty gray and cloudy, I thought I'd use my imagination to brighten it up - I believe artistic licence is the term used.  She also would have liked a portrait of her father on the blade but the photos she supplied were so grainy and small, I decided to leave him out because I don't think I could have painted a satisfactory likeness of him.  Linda has yet to see the finished product and I wonder what her reaction will be when she picks up the saw blade - hopefully she will like the colorful transformation and bring back some happy memories.

  Finished Product

          Since Linda mentioned she was probably going to put the saw blade out in her garden, I used 1Shot sign enamels to produce the painting and lettering.  Although the paints stand up fairly well to sunlight and battering rain, it would probably be better hung up on a wall that doesn't get direct sunlight because it will fade in time and if a little moisture should get in behind the paint, well the rust will start eating it away.  

  Children's Wooden Footstool

        Besides painting the saw blade, I've also been busy building and painting kid's footstools.  Sarah and I were in a craft fair a couple of weeks ago at the First Nations Auditorium attempting to sell some of the things we made but didn't have much luck.  We were a bit discouraged by the low attendance and as many good, encouraging remarks that I heard concerning the stools, not one sold.  Forgetting that I'm no longer in BC but now located in New Brunswick, which has a much lower economy and fewer jobs, I feel the price for the stools was too high.  I've since lowered the price and sold this one - the name of the child costs a little extra but even after the child is grown, it will make a nice keepsake - make an excellent plant stand as well.  I'll have to remember that when producing crafts, I shouldn't expect to get paid much for my time, which is fine with me as long as it covers the cost of the material and I enjoy what I'm doing and I am.  If anyone is interested in purchasing one of these delightful little kid's stools, the price is now $25.00 each and an additional $5.00 to have it personalized.  Of course, depending upon where you live, shipping is extra.

          The First Nations Christmas Bazaar is not one that I will soon forget because the natives were allowed to sell bottles of wine that they had made.  And, although I'm not much of a wine drinker, beer tantalizing my palate more so, I did buy and imbibe their product while waiting for someone to purchase something from our table.  Let's just say that by the time we left the craft fair, I was more than three sheets to the wind, their Crooked Canoe wine had an apt name - cheers - eh!     

            

LESS IS BEST

          Seems like even if a person would like to slow life down just a little bit, you know, keep those wrinkles and sags from deepening and hanging even further than your knees, your mind steady and sharp with memories still intact, life just continues marching on to its own indomitable beat, totally oblivious to our concerns and needs.  No matter how many people tell me I look young for my age and that physically I'm not in too bad of shape, I know realistically that I'm kind of an old codger and like my Uncle Joe, a quiet man with a wry grin, used to say when he was diagnosed with cancer, "I get a little nervous when I walk by a shovel" - that's me now, the way I sometimes feel when the Grim Reaper comes to mind.  In the end, cancer got him, just like it or some other malady, even old age, will eventually take its toll on me - nobody gets out of here alive - not even Harry Houdini who was an amazing escape artist.  His wife Bess said, after the tenth Harry Houdini seance attempt, "Ten years is long enough to wait for any man!" I imagine if anyone could have found a way back from the grave, it would have been good old Harry but after 124 years, I suspect he won't be back; then again, maybe he's still trying!.

Harry Houdini

          And when I think about it, that's all a person can really do - just keep on trying - make their life as fulfilling as possible and don't be afraid to take risks.  Look at old Harry - all bent over, chained and manacled, most likely about to be hung by his heels inside a locked steel safe 

and tossed into a river.  He died a fairly young man, 52 years of age, but the thing about Harry is that he died doing what he enjoyed.  I think the thing to remember about life and it's something I'm unable to get my head around because I still keep on accumulating stuff as if I'm going to take it with me when I go, but Less is Best.  A time came in my life, when as many people are today and were then, I was basically a workaholic, a million bucks was my goal; to retire in grandeur on some tropical beach or some well-manicured estate - now that was a waste of time.  When that goal was shattered by a recession, my life at the time totally out of control, chaotic to the nth degree by my immature behaviour and way too many beers, I didn't know it at the time, but it was the best thing that could have happened to me.  It's true that I've often times taken the path of least resistance, which is sometimes a fool's choice but hell, an uncharted, crooked path slows a person down, gave me a chance to stub my toes, trip and fall and smell the flowers so to speak.

          What I eventually discovered after I didn't feel guilty about not working 12-16 hours a day and trying to hoard away a small king's ransom and that Less is Best - I now had a shitload of time to do whatever I pleased - instead of working a normal 5 day week with 2 days off, I now worked 2 days with 5 days off - like everyone else, I still had bills to pay but they were a lot smaller.  I went from searching for jobs to avoiding them and it's not because I was a lazy guy - it's just that my needs were a lot smaller and easier to manage.  I retired at around age 42 - not with a million bucks but broke - creditors clinging to my ass like a flock of flies and like Mark Twain (Samuel Langhorne Clemens) I never went bankrupt - I settled my accounts with everyone.  

          Here it is, the middle of the week and I'm kind of living in the middle of nowhere, New Brunswick, on a semi-wilderness 50 acres, chickens pecking about, a pregnant goat searching for non existent fresh green leaves, a cat creeping around looking for juicy mice and a huge dog to protect the lot of them - another wife and two more kids but still, as much as I have, which is actually more than I really need but because I moved to a place that was more affordable, I actually feel like I'm still kinda living like Less is Best.  It's difficult to shake our self-importance but when I'm up to my armpits in chicken shit, it kind of keeps me stabilized and in place.  Since most people, especially city dwellers don't have the opportunity to muck out a hen house and a barn, in order to keep check on any inflated egos, I recommend that when they drop a steamin' 16-coiler into the toilet, they bend over, take a good look at what they deposited and then suck in its putrid aroma through their noses - gives a whole new meaning to what we are truly about and the meaning of our lives.  No matter how big a mansion we live in, how new our automobile is, how well we're dressed, how good looking we are, how much wealth we have - like it or not, we are all full of shit in the scheme of things, and even though Less is Best, that's the way I see it - cheers - eh!                         

SUNDAY MORNIN' COMIN' DOWN AND GOIN' UP

           This morning feels like a line in a Kris Kristofferson song, "Sunday mornin' comin' down".  Now don't get me wrong, not like in my younger years when I woke up on some Sunday mornings snuggled up to my brown paper bag of drunken delight and wishing the bottle wasn't empty, I just feel a touch moody this cold Sunday morning, a slight cloud of melancholia pressing down on this old head.  For the most part, I've always been a somewhat happy-go-lucky sort of guy plodding along through the ruts of my life, sometimes reaching exciting exceptional highs and other times deeply despondent lows.  The problem about feeling really high and sitting on a lofty summit with no more places to grab a hold and pull yourself even higher; the only direction remaining is downwards and usually it's a tumble.
          I wrote about "fracking" in the last two blogs because it really upset me and I thought for a millisecond that maybe there was something I could actually do to help bring this disgusting manner of extracting natural gas from the Earth but when I turn back the pages of time and discover that nothing has never really changed in our human behaviour since the first caveman wanted a better cave to live in; we seem to be cursed with the dependency of consumerism, and, at this particular time of the year, Christmas, being the highlight, the spot light, the high point, an almost out of control frenzy of purchasing gifts; merchants of every demeanor reaching out with their long arms so their greedy hands can be overflowingly filled with gold and silver, I've come to the realization there isn't really much hope of changing our ways.  No matter how many people hold their placards high, stretch their banners wide and loudly chant for positive change as they march towards the people they have voted for to help make the world a better place, at least to my point of thinking, even when some changes occur for the good and betterment; the placards and banners are soon strewn and blown away on the wind of hopelessness, the marching and the cries no longer heard; everything has soon been forgotten, hushed over and when seemingly no heads are turned, no ears are listening, whatever was pushed aside or overturned, is once again creeping out of the darkness.
          Historically, going back in time, even before Alexander the Great and Genghis Khan toppled civilizations, the way of the world has always been in a continuous turmoil; the only thing being different now, the existence of our civilization is threatened, not by a horde of soldiers but by our rebelling planet.  As we all poison, choke and stab the Earth in all manner of ways, like a huge, itchy animal, I fear nature will one day rear, shake its head and rid itself of the flea infestation - mainly the whole human race.  I guess if there is any hope to be seen rising over the horizon at that time, if the world is even remotely in some state of habitation, there may be a few people still clinging to the Earth with their cracked and broken fingers and if there are any, I hope they have more foresight and a goodness within so that perhaps they can prepare a better way of co-existing with each other and especially with nature.
          I know some of the people that read this blog think that I'm just an old fool having a rant and perhaps I am but it's my blog and I can say what I like (chuckle, chuckle).

    Actual Footstool

          Our little 50 acres of paradise here at Golden Unicorn Farm is covered with patches of snow and since it now looks as if winter is here for its duration until spring arrives, somewhat like the big black bears that occasionally prowl around on our place, hibernation, even for me, seems a likely choice.  I had the wood stove in the studio blazing happily the other day as I made some crafts for a craft fair this weekend.  I constructed and painted an actual footstool - yes - an actual footstool for wee kiddies to stand on while brushing their teeth or perhaps reach something that's just not quite reachable.  I made ten of them and for me, not being a carpenter by any stretch of the imagination, I found it to be quite challenging.  So far, at this weekend's craft fair, although I've heard a lot of good comments, I've yet to sell one - perhaps $50.00 each is too much.  Today, I shall lower the price to $45.00 and for $5.00 extra, since I'm a sign painter by trade, I'll personalize them if so wished.

Art Card

       
          At this weekend's craft fair, I'm also selling cards for $4.00 each or 3 for $10.00 depicting some of my paintings.  I decided to add another card to this collection and see how it does - yesterday I sold one and watched as a lot of people's faces lit up with big smiles as they looked at it.  The painting has long since been sold but in these hard financial times where many people cannot afford a piece of art to hang on their wall, I thought they might enjoy a little of my art and perhaps pass on their enjoyment by buying one of these cards titled "Real Women Fart Out Loud".  Hope you enjoy it too - cheers - eh!  
 
               

WHAT THE FRACK - FRACKING IS STILL ON MY MIND

          In the previous blog I wrote about fracking and it caused me to actually get quite angry, most likely because I was totally frustrated that such a diabolic procedure to extract natural gas with water is even considered, let alone allowed.  Someone commented on the blog and asked what we could do about the problem and I have to admit, I didn't have a clue.  Of course, just being one person deliberately cutting myself off from big city thinking, living way out in the boonies where bear and moose, at times, have actually walked right through our yard, I pondered about the comment until finally, a wee glimmer, a glimpse of an idea formed inside my almost empty cranium.  I'm just a nobody, one of the silent majority and an old fart to boot and what came to mind was a person who deliberately gets into people's faces and attempts to hold them accountable for their actions, that person being Michael Moore.  I sent Mr. Moore an email with a link to my blog, which has a link that portrays the toxic devastation of fracking.  Now, whether or not he will take up my torch, more like a matchstick that's about to go out, is another matter.  I'm sure a person like David Suzuki is already doing something about it, at least as much as he possibly can, since the environment is something he's very concerned about.  The only other solution that I can think of to stop fracking is for each and every one of us to write a letter or compile some sort of list that we, the people of Canada, people of the world can sign and send to Stephen Harper, our prime minister.  Since votes are a politician's main priority, if the majority of Canadians are against fracking and let it be known to him, he just might rethink his values and stand for something that just doesn't benefit him and his party, but benefits the whole world.

          I don't know about any of the people that read my blog on a regular basis but I've always just been sort of quiet guy, never really says too much or gets very upset - just an easy going, roll with the blows, take the path of least resistance guy.  I pick up my pencils, pens and brushes now and then, create some sort of artwork - can't get too excited about the subject matter; enjoy the doing more than just looking at the piece after its completed and hanging on a wall and I write this blog about where I live, what I'm up to and the occasional short fiction or nonfiction tale to entertain myself and perhaps entertain someone else.  There are those who consider me, because I do these things, to be a narcissist, egotist or a wannabe writer and artist but mostly, what I want to be is just a basically half decent person who attempts to live a lot by my own mental and physical capacities, especially since I regard life as an extremely pleasurable learning stage.  Sure, I strut around at times, thrust out my chest like Big Red, one of our roosters, but to be honest, I usually do that when I'm alone and no one can see me making a fool out of myself.  Perhaps one of the readers of this blog has a little pull,can bend a few arms, are able to make your voice heard, and if that is the case, then maybe you can make someone like Stephen Harper or some other politician take heed of the power they wield and make them think, am I really doing the right thing for humanity and the world in general and not to be so engrossed in the typical agendas of economics and business - do people have to sell their souls because they're broke and the only decent paying job they can find is destroying our planet?

          If anyone out there in cyberspace, who reads this blog from time to time has any solutions to bringing fracking to a halt, I'd like to hear from them and if I can be assistance in any way, that would be great; please let me know.  In the mean time, since it's almost Christmas, in order to earn a few bucks, my wife Sarah and I are making some crafts to sell at a First Nations Bazaar in early December.  I'll take some photos of our creations and post them in the next blog - cheers -eh!    

 

               

WHAT THE FRACK IS THIS FRACKING WORLD COMING TO?

          What the fracking 'ell is going on?  After watching a video and reading about fracking, I am almost of the firm belief that our world and everything living here will most likely be completely destroyed and it wouldn't surprise me if it were to occur during this old man's short remaining lifetime.  The Earth, instead of looking like a gorgeous, gigantic Utopian marble in the universe will soon begin looking like Jupiter, a swirling planet of toxic gases if we the people don't take a firm stand - since when is natural gas more important than water and we know what will happen to us if there isn't any drinkable water - it's death; death to every living being upon this Earth - even the cockroaches, which may hold out the longest, will eventually succumb - we have to say NO to such things, actually not just say NO but demand that these despicable actions never occur.  It's no fracking wonder the Muslims can't wait to get to the promised land and if I had their beliefs, I'd be strapping some dynamite around my ass too but instead of walking into a church, shopping mall, hotel or wherever else people of a different faith congregate, I'd be walking into the main offices of the major oil companies and telling the presidents of those companies, "Guess what the frack is going to happen when I pull this pin out of my ass - Kabooooooom!  I admit religion has been very disruptive, dangerous and overly imposing but as bad as it has been during the past centuries and even today, it has never come close to exterminating every living creature in the world.  What the frack!  If everyone believes there is a God of some description that put this whole Universe together, how do you think He is going to feel when we destroy one of his most precious creations - I'm of a very firm belief that if there is a heaven, it's actually a very small place because there are so very few people that have lived and are perhaps living today, who deserve to reside in such a wondrous creation.
          I've heard rumors that fracking is being considered here in New Brunswick and have to admit I've not given it too much thought.  Fracking is like the arrival of nuclear energy - the common person never really has any say in the manner, nuclear plants just started popping up all over the place around the world and so it is becoming with fracking.  It's kind of ironic isn't it that Japan had a huge nuclear melt down not so long ago - of all the countries in the world that tasted first hand at Hiroshima what it was like to behold the deadly devastation of a nuclear blast, that they would have allowed a nuclear plant to be built on Japanese soil. I'd have thought the population would have walked the streets with placards and banners banning such a procedure but what the frack - money and what it can buy is such an evil fracking trap - frack me - when all the resources are used up and there isn't a breath of fresh air, not a drop of fracking water to drink, not a tree left standing or a crop growing - what the frack will a dollar be worth then?
          What sort of people are our politicians and why the frack are they supporting such diabolic methods of creating energy?  It's very obvious that the only interests they hold dear are to themselves and that must be the supreme joke on them because they are just as fracking doomed as the rest of us fracking idiots who actually take the time to vote for them.  And I wonder why I haven't been that interested in voting and for years never voted - well I know why - as long as I've been old enough to vote, I've never seen a prime minister yet who has actually really done anything worthwhile other than strutting around looking important and backing all the wrong mandates - since when should business and the economy be a fracking priority - the well being of this planet and all its inhabitants should be the main agenda.
          Frack - I'm getting fracking angry and I don't know what to do about it so before I really begin to fracking blabber, I'm going to end this fracking blog - cheers - eh!

For more info regarding fracking:   http://www.globalnews.ca/pages/story.aspx?id=6442511512         

FINNEGAN - OUR NEW MOUSIE HUNTER

Finnegan - Newest Member of the Barnyard          

          Let me introduce to you, our very own felicitous, felonious, flexible, fleet-footed, feline, Finnegan, the newest member of Golden Unicorn Farm.  He's stable, able - puts mousie on the table - doesn't share mind you.  He meows and purrs, seldom, at least hardly ever slurs, except of course, only when he slurps.  He's a cat among cats; a real cool cat - not your average tom cat - not like the three that live down the road next to the dumpster; one is brown and one is white and one has a pancake stuck to its bum - no, Finnegan's got class spelled with a capital C - he prances, dances and in time will be romancin' - I'm sure a sleek, proper pussy with a slender, splendorous physique will in his ear one day, softly whisper, softly speak of promises of delight and meet him in the barn one cold night in the moody moonlight with only the wind as their witness.
          Finnegan's bloodline can be traced back to the land of green, Eire, Erin or Ireland - blarney, if he aint an Irisher through and through; why even his melodious meow, his personable purr has a charming, agreeable lilt.  His great, great, maybe 477 great grandfathers ago, Nine-Lives-Willy, a philandering feline with an incredible gift of gab, while pursuing a long-tailed, Porky Pig of a wharf rat that ran aboard an old three masted sailing schooner, its destination, Halifax, Nova Scotia circled on the chart, didn't realize where he was until a one-eyed crewman slammed the cargo hatch shut with a bang.  Aye, Nine-Lives-Willy not only survived the lengthy sea voyage, the North Atlantic heaving its watery guts across the decks for days on end, he was fat - roly-poly as Humpty-Dumpty from dining on the wharf rat and all the other rub-a-dub rodents that had snuck aboard the schooner.
          No doubt about it, Finnegan the feline is a fine specimen of a cat; expect he will do right fine here on our little farm - lots of wee rapscallion rodents scurrying about - many dainty little morsels with skinny, stiff long tails he can pick his teeth with when he's finished dining.  He's a corker, toe-to-the-line, look 'em in the eye and then pounce with a fury, furry paws with long sharp nails and a mouth full of needle-tipped teeth - a mousie killing machine if I ever did seen one.
          Finnegan is precocious and playful and very affectionate - for someone who doesn't really care for cats that much - I find it's impossible to not notice and respond in a favourable way to this little cat as he rubs himself against my legs and snuggles into my arms, purring contentedly away.  Although Jessica and Rachel would just love to give Finnegan the run of the house - it's not going to happen.  We don't need an overly pampered fat feline, a lazy Garfield, the cartoon cat, lying about on a velvet cushion by the warm wood stove hearth, forever stuffing his face with a bowl of goodies, an endless supply of fresh tuna and cold milk.  No - the mousies have been steadily moving into the barn, studio and house as if they are the favourite vacation spots for rodents during the winter - Finnegan is here to discourage their annual autumn migration.  I haven't noticed a decline in the mousie population but my wife Sarah has seen him toying with one of the unfortunate rodents before devouring it.
          Finnegan aint no prissy pussy cat, no puss in boots, no clothing of any kind - he prefers to be au naturel - what you see is what you get kind of feline.  I just happened to glance out my studio window and what do I see - it's that Finnegan cat lying down on the job - can you believe it - he's out sunning himself on log in the warm sunshine - better go grab my short leather whip, the one a retired tiger trainer gave to me right after the tiger he was training bit it off along with his arm - cheers - eh!

SNOW ARRIVED AT GOLDEN UNICORN FARM - HAS WINTER?

Life, here at Golden Unicorn Farm near the base of Green Mountain, is beginning to wind down a bit, now that winter is approaching and the days are shorter - can hardly believe it snowed about 6" the day before Halloween - in my whole life, I can't remember it snowing so early in the year.  Although, when I think about it, when I was living in Calgary, Alberta many years ago, I experienced a freak snowfall one seemingly hot day in July.  The Calgary weather was and still is a little bit strange; during the winter, one day can be bloody freezing, 40 degrees Fahrenheit below 0 one day and the next, 70 degrees Fahrenheit above due to the warm Chinooks.  The days are shorter and colder now, actually fired up the wood stove in my studio the day it snowed.  Forgetting how little firewood it takes to warm up the studio, the temperature rose so high, I had to take off my shirt and since I was kind of having a slow day, I enjoyed a cold beer, shut my eyes and imagined myself lying on a beach listening to the waves rolling over the sand.

  

First Snow Chickens Have Ever Experienced          

  Mr. Mousie Lookin' for a New Home

       
          The thing about the arrival of winter out on a farm where a lot of critters that live outside during the summer, they decide to take up residence in one's house and in our case, the studio and barn as well.  Luckily, the skunk that was hanging around the house for a few days, most likely because of the dog's presence, wandered off to find a better place to spend the winter.  Now the mice, they're a different story; dogs aren't a worry to them.  As you can see by the photo, one of the stereo speakers in my studio make ideal homes for mice.  They even have an entry door and an exit door.  Not that I have anything against mice, don't think they're dirty little scary animals but I know if left to their own means, they can really multiply and become a serious nuisance.  The one that I found living in the speaker soon left its high-rise dwelling for something a little less noisier when I turned the volume up.  Since  my warm studio, with a bountiful barn full of food for the animals and chickens a very short distance away, makes an ideal living place for mice, Sarah got a cat (Finnegan) from our friend Glenn McLean, which, by the way, is a great mouser.  I'm expecting some of the mice will be packing their bags soon and moving along, especially when Finnegan realizes that Golden Unicorn Farm is now his home.  

          I've never really been too fond of cats.  I like the idea of Finnegan living out in the barn and visiting my studio on a regular basis because he has a job to do.  Fortunately Sarah and I have the same mind set regarding Finnegan, neither of us want him living in the house.  It's odd that women, many of them being somewhat hygienic clean freaks just love cats - especially since, forever licking themselves, cats are always covered in dried spit - seems rather disgusting to me.  I once had a cat that lived in one of my sign shops; he was grey and his name was Smokey.  I have to admit that I really grew fond of Smokey, he was the only cat I knew that liked to play hide and seek and I'm not talking about hiding his food or a toy; he enjoyed playing hide and seek with me - we each took turns hiding and then looking for each other.  One day, shortly before he got ran over by a car, I hid behind a sheet of plywood that was leaning up against the wall near the door and when he came quietly padding through the doorway, I jumped out and yelled boo!  It was the first time I ever saw a cat piss itself, - he left a streak of yellow piss across the entire floor and on the window sill before leaping outside.  

          I'm not sure if some varmint has taken up residence in the wood shed but when I came out to the studio last evening when it was almost completely dark outside, I heard a scratching sound and then caught a glimpse of something leaping off the top of the wood pile and then disappearing around the corner of the building.  For a moment, I thought it may have been Finnegan because it was about the size of a small cat but it was a different colour, perhaps a dark brown or grey.  Hmm, I wonder if Finnegan will put the run on that critter or if I'll have to load up the .22, have myself a little target practice.  I've been hoping Luki, our Great Pyrenees would have deterred any small varmints from sneaking around and perhaps making off with a chicken but maybe some of them have discovered that the dog doesn't have the run of the whole farm.  I think maybe it's time I took him for a little walk about the house and yard - him and I both take a piss as we wander about and mark our territory - cheers - eh!             

       

  

BUILDING SARAH'S SHELVES FROM SCRATCH

          George Probst, a friend of mine, and I were going to get some lumber for Sarah's new pantry last weekend, so we can build her wall length shelves, a work station and perhaps another work table on wheels she can put wherever needed.  However, it was raining, which lately here at the base of Green Mountain has been almost a daily occurrence throughout the summer and now, a good portion of autumn; snow has even been forecast for this Thursday and Friday but has now been delayed until this coming Tuesday.  Like Sarah's delicious breads, sticky-buns, cookies, pies and other goodies she bakes from scratch, George and I planned to build her pantry from scratch and so, Monday afternoon, the sun shining brightly with no threat of rain, we along with his wife Margaret headed off into the forest to select some trees for this endeavour.
          George and Margaret have another piece of property that has a river running along one side and it is fully treed - many beautiful deciduous and coniferous trees stretching tall, straight and skywards, which are very marketable.  However, like George and Margaret, I see the value of the land in having trees not having them logged, especially in the disgraceful manner they are taken these days - legalized rape of the land is what I call it.  George and I are verified old men in our 70's and Margaret is no longer a spring chick either, so as we wandered around through the forest searching for suitable trees, we were very careful not to lose our balance as we stepped over fallen trees, branches and waded through the brush - a simple fall at this age, one when I was younger, would have simply just shrugged off, can now be bone-breaking.  The softwood trees we were searching for would hopefully have recently died and just naturally fallen so their wood would be suitable. However, if they had fallen a long time ago and laid too long on the ground, or for that fact, standing too long after they died, they would be rotten and be of no use.
          Using a sharp axe to check if a dead tree was rotten by chipping off its bark, George finally determined, which trees would be suitable for Sarah's pantry.  They were all spruce trees; two were already lying on the ground and the larger one had snapped off about halfway, probably during a wind storm, which he cut down with a chain saw.  While he bucked the two small fallen trees into 6' lengths, Margaret cleared a trail to the truck and I carried them out, each small log weighing approximately 60-70 lbs.  The larger tree he cut down, he had to rip the 6' lengths into quarters as it was too big around and heavy to carry.  The quarters were still too heavy  for me to carry, so Margaret grabbed an end and we both hauled them to the trailer, which after it was filled, weighed about half a ton, about all the small trailer could handle, we then headed for George's wood-working shop.

Sarah's Pantry Newly Milled Shelving Drying Out

         After we ate a good wholesome meal that Margaret had fixed, George and I carried the small logs into his workshop and began turning them into boards for the shelves and uprights.  Within a few hours of pealing bark, planing and then ripping the logs into 1"x6"x6' boards, we were finished.  Well, not quite finished; we have to go back and get a few more logs to make some thicker boards for the work tables.
          When I arrived home, I still had pieces of sawdust clinging to my clothes and in my hair and a lot of pitch was stuck to my hands.  As I stripped down for a hot bath, the aroma of the forest and the trees we had harvested still clung to my clothes and body.  Although the work was somewhat strenuous and I hurt like hell when it was over and still do after two days later, I am looking forward to returning to George and Margaret's land, to the beauty of the trees, the freshness of the forest - anyone who believes that living trees and plants have no feelings are just plain ignorant, especially since it's been proven scientifically that they are not just objects growing out of the ground, they actually do possess some sort of feelings..
          Apparently a small group of scientists placed a large plant and a bowl of water containing a goldfish in an otherwise empty room.  They applied stress pads to the plant, much the same as when they do a stress test on a human.  At the beginning, the pen movement on a piece of paper was just a line - that is - until they tipped the bowl over and the goldfish was struggling for its survival on the floor - then it was a different story.  Just like a human that's under stress, the pen drew lines like crazy.  Whether the plant was concerned about the goldfish's dilemma or its own safety was unknown but the stress test certainly proved that the plant indeed did have feelings - cheers - eh!      

CREE INDIAN PROPHESY - MY TEARS MINGLE WITH THEIRS

Only after the LAST TREE has been cut down,

Only after the LAST RIVER has been poisoned,

Only after the LAST FISH has been caught,

Only then will you find that MONEY CANNOT BE EATEN

Cree Indian Prophesy

          Other than when the higher powers, the United States and Russia back in the Kennedy era were strutting their strength in front of the whole world, threatening one another with an arsenal of nuclear weapons to blow up the whole world many times over, has our planet, our only home in the entire Universe been in such serious jeopardy.  At one time, and not that long ago, the Cree prophesy would have been about the white man's voracious, greedy appetite upon discovering a new continent with untouched riches and resources but now, I believe, although many white men are responsible for the dreadfully sad condition of the world today, the prediction is a menacing warning against those who are destroying anything or everything to fulfill their own power needs - these people, if there is a devil, are the devil's evil, corrupt and deadly spawn - the true Judas Iscariot at the Last Supper.

          OCCUPY seems to be the big word today and indeed its meaning is pulling a lot of people the world over together in order to resist the quiet army of destruction that sit behind big desks handing out baubles and beads to those that are needy and ignorant or really don't care what they are doing to earn a buck as long as they are earning a buck.  Since the First Peace March, and I'm not against peaceful marches, far from it; but what is happening now, because I firmly believe the fires of greed has gotten so far out of control; this avarice fire cannot be contained by peaceful means alone.  From what I've learned from history, whenever a problem has reached the point of no return, we, and I mean many who thought themselves incapable of violence, arm themselves with a weapon to strike out at the foe; even when they do not even know who the true foe is.

          I'm just a simple man living at the base of Green Mountain in a semi wilderness area of New Brunswick trying to get back to a somewhat simple existence.  I was once one of the rats in the rat race trying to accumulate as much wealth as possible so I could retire a millionaire at the age of 40.  This wasn't just my dream; many people had the same dream and I'm sure as people dip their hands into their pockets today to purchase a Lotto ticket, because they don't have the means and know how to rake in that kind of money, their dreams are exactly the same as mine were at one time.  I guess it's only natural to want more - most likely the first human to move into a cave thought he was living in luxury but because it was still drafty, damp and somewhat open to the elements, he kept searching for a bigger and better cave, until eventually, he began building caves to suit his needs.  And of course, those that were incapable of building a better cave, bullied others into stealing that cave or building him another.  When I look at the world conditions today, I fail to see where anything has changed since we first learned to stand upright and walk on two legs.

          The Cree Indian Prophesy from what I see occurring about me is becoming rapidly fulfilled.  Trees, as large as toothpicks compared to the size they used to grow, are driven by the truckload past Golden Unicorn Farm on a daily basis and the damage the loggers are doing to the land is devastating.  The lake, which is only ten minutes away by foot must be poisoned because we've been warned not to eat too much of the fish.  I won't have to worry about eating money when the last tree has been cut down, the last river has been poisoned and the fish have all been caught because I have very little and as odd as it may seem - I like it that way.  I like, even at the age of 70 and although I ache like hell a lot of time, that I have to physically struggle to help put food on the table and keep a roof over our heads.  My worst nightmare would be to wake up in some third world country beside a swimming pool with a cold drink in my hand being served by someone who didn't have pot to piss in - actually it could also be in a place like Las Vegas, a modern Sodom and Gomorrah.  After having way too much wealth in my life at one time and even now, still most likely more than needed - less is best says I - cheers - eh! 

             

AUTUMN LIFE AT GOLDEN UNICORN FARM

          Autumn life at Golden Unicorn Farm is ablaze with uncountable vibrant hues of colour.  The sumac trees, Virginia Creepers are seething crimsons; the birches garish golds; the maples magnificently glowing with every colour imaginable and the firs retain their gorgeous greens.  And, very soon, when the leaves have blown away, the ground is covered with snow; a pure white shroud for the countless fallen leaves, I shall begin to fill some canvases with brilliant colours to retain the autumn spirit and give meaningful pleasure to my soul.
          I hear the black Australorp rooster crowing loudly as sunlight glitters across the pasture upon the fallen leaves and mounds of grass; still green from all the rain that's fallen during this past summer.  I expect he's gathering his harem of hens; still very young, virginal and not yet laying.  The Rhode Island Red rooster has yet to utter a crowing sound, either he is still too young or does not want his presence overly known in case the black one should challenge him.  And there should be one more rooster amidst the clucking flock but he has yet to show a bright red crown or make any sound of authority - and then again - perhaps there are no roosters amongst the tufted Ameraucanas, only more hens to be divided between the red and black roosters.  The three Polish hens, Flopsy, Topsy and Mopsy (named by Jessica, Sarah's youngest daughter) are on their own; no rooster to make amorous advances towards them.  For the most part, since they don't seem to be as smart as the other barnyard hens (more pretty than brainy) it's just as well they don't produce any more like themselves, otherwise, like most evenings, when all the other chickens have returned to their coop to roost, I have to go find them and put them inside.
          Since Jack the billy goat was auctioned off awhile back, his Nubian girlfriend Freya doesn't infuriate Luki, (Great Pyrenees guard dog) quite so much; she's learned to keep her distance when he roars defiantly like a miniature lion; especially when their bowls of food are set before them.  Next spring, Sarah and I are thinking of adding some ducks to our barnyard menagerie, which means I'll have to dig a small pond for them.  I understand, besides being real characters, their eggs are just as delicious as the chicken's and if memory serves me right, less cholesterol too.
          So far, and hopefully as the years go by, Sarah and I will continue enjoying our little farm and make it a place that the locals and summertime visitors that inhabit the camps (cottages) along the nearby lakes can enjoy as well.  Of course Sarah's little cafe will be open then but it's not all about money, earning a buck; I see the way my Sarah's face lights up when someone complements her on her baking and canning wares.  And, we're planning on hosting the Golden Unicorn Arts Festival again next year.  Being an artist, I may never have been a starving artist but I know about being a struggling artist, which most of us are, so we're hoping to make the art festival a yearly event so that artists in the surrounding area can produce and sell their wares in a relaxing and friendly atmosphere - make it worthwhile for them to travel the distance to our little art oasis at the base of Green Mountain.
          Speaking of Green Mountain, since it's now ablaze with colourful reds, oranges, golds and ocher, perhaps we should temporarily change its name to Fire Mountain - cheers - eh!             

COYOTES, WOLVES AND A UNICORN GARGOYLE

          Yesterday, I went for a short walk with a friend George Probst who lives about a mile away from me on the other side of Green Mountain.  While he was showing me some hawthorn berries, we came across some large prints in the mud that looked like they were made by a dog.  However, the owner of the property where we were strolling about, although he has a moderately large dog, its prints would have only been about half that size.  George thought they were made by a coyote but from what I know about coyotes, they're not usually very big animals.  But considering that I've heard coyotes have cross-bred with wolves, there is the distinct possibility, the prints either belonged to a coyote and if not a coyote, then most likely the prints were made by a wolf.  The prints were very close to the size of my hand without the the tips of my fingers showing; they were very big and ominous.  Recently, I'd heard that the coyotes are getting braver, whereas before, they were rather timid and usually ran off when approached by a human.  Not that long ago, I heard on the news that a woman who had been jogging by herself was attacked and killed by coyotes - something that had never occurred before, at least not to my knowledge.
          Often, when I go for a walk at this time of year, I'm alone and I either go hiking through the forest or walking about a mile long loop to the lake on a seldom traveled road, since all the people that have houses alongside the lake have now migrated to warmer climates for the winter.  Seeing the large coyote or wolf prints in the mud yesterday and also hearing about a moose that was killed by a pack of coyotes a short distance away, I may start taking Luki (Great Pyrenees) with me.  Although I usually carry a small knife at all times, I might be able to handle being attacked by one coyote but I doubt that it would protect me from a pack of coyotes and wolves would be an impossibility.  A lot of bears roam around this area on a daily basis and although I've been quite close to them on foot, they don't scare me as much as a pack of wild coyotes or wolves.  I remember many years ago playing with a tame, young wolf in Calgary and although it wasn't quite fully grown, it easily knocked me down and grabbed me gently with a very long snout, which was full of a whole lot of sharp teeth; .
          At the moment, here at Golden Unicorn Farm, the sky is very dark and the rain is pouring from the heavens in torrents.  I was planning on doing some outside chores today but they will have to wait.  I haven't finished tidying the garage after building the barn, so I expect that will be one of my projects for the day; seems there's always something needing to be done around here.
          Sarah is quite the baker, pretty much baking everything from scratch and that's what I'll be doing over the winter; not baking from scratch but building from scratch.  My friend George and I are going to fall a fairly large spruce tree on his property, buck it up into appropriate lengths and then take it to his workshop, where we'll slice it into quarters and turn it into suitable boards.  We're planning to build Sarah a custom pantry for baking and canning and a workspace for her sewing needs as well.  I'll also be looking into getting a large sink that I can plumb into a space near the washer and dryer; apparently the washer and dryer can be stacked one on top of the other.  This will enable Sarah to clean all her baking utensils more easily, since some of them are too large to fit into the kitchen sink.  Originally, when Sarah and I were talking about building her lots of shelves and work tables, we were going to buy most of the materials at TNT ( lumber store in Woodstock) but after talking it over with George and he volunteered his expertise, I just know we will produce something that will be a lot nicer and more functional than if I were going to do the work just on my own.
    

          George creates beautiful cabinets, often times with exotic woods and his carvings are very intricate and have much meaning.  Each year, like the carving portrayed, he carves something special to be sold at an art auction.   So as you can see by the carving, I'm very fortunate to have someone like George giving me a hand with Sarah's work station.  And, just to have some fun time together over the winter months, I'm going to carve a gargoyle in his workshop; I'm thinking a unicorn would be ideal.  I haven't carved much of anything before but I'm hoping with a little direction from George, I can pull it off or at least have something reasonably well done so it doesn't look too amateurish.

          Despite the rain, I see the chickens have left the coop and are scratching and pecking about in the pasture.  Freya, our goat doesn't like to get wet, so will have to make sure she has some hay to nibble on in the barn.  We had some out of town visitors who were out on a drive, stop here yesterday; they were amazed how happy the animals and chickens were.  Before they left and after talking to the man for a short time and showing him my art studio, he bought one of the books I wrote, Arctic Odyssey and a dozen very fresh, free range eggs.  We're hoping, at some point down the road, our little farm will pay for itself and if not, at least we are having fun doing a lot of things we like to do - cheers - eh!