MY FRIEND FREYA

Freya and Me - Photos taken just before she went to a new home.

          Freya was definitely a goat with her own mind.  I didn't call her Freya as much as I referred to her as Bonehead because she was bound and determined to have her own way, regardless of the consequences.  And of course, another old goat like me with a persnickety attitude, well, we just had to butt heads occasionally.  Despite the problems I had with Freya, like jumping the fence, butting the dog, eating everything in sight and disrupting the chicken coop, I have to admit her presence is missed.  We had our playful times as you can see in the photo, where she would jump up on her hind legs and I would grab hold of her front hooves and, like a dog, she would often follow me as I wandered around the pasture.  Luki, our Great Pyrenees dog may or may not miss her since they were constant companions but something tells me, his feelings are similar to mine - we miss her but when we remember her bullying attitude and greedy appetite, we hope she has a happy time in her new home.

          Now that Freya has moved to a little farm in Kirkland, Sarah and I are considering getting another animal; perhaps a temporary beef cow or a full-time alpaca come to mind - something that is compatible with Luki and will still let him think he is in control as a guard dog.  I understand alpacas make good guard animals as well and keep away critters such as coyotes.  Now whether they have a good nature or not, I'm not so sure, anything that spits in your face when it's PO'ed, may not be an ideal companion or have a great disposition.  I also don't know what sort of care they need or even what they like to eat on a steady basis.  A beef cow may be the answer as long as we name it Hamburger or T-bone and don't make a pet out of it, which is pretty much what Freya became.  We've discussed sheep, pigs, horses and even donkeys but I'm thinking, perhaps a cow or two is the answer.

          As I write this blog, Finnegan the cat is curled up asleep on my lap and for someone who doesn't really like cats that much, it seems sort of odd.  However, Finnegan is not really a lap-cat, he's hell-on-four-legs when it comes to squirrels, mice and other pesky small rodents - I'd have to say he pays for his way, much like the dog and chickens.  When I go for walks and some of them are quite long, he follows along just like a dog.  I don't know why but animals seem to like me and it's not because I'm the gentle and kind sort all the time; I've been know to give them a well-aimed swat or a kick in the ass to grab their attention.  Of course, the animals have their moments too; it's not like I haven't been bit, kicked or scratched up at times - fair is fair is the way I see it.  I'm not a tree-hugger or a pet-panderer but I like to see that no unnecessary harm comes to any of them.

          The snow has pretty much melted away and as I looked around the muddy pasture this morning, I could still see Freya's hoof prints and I have yet to clean out her stall or take her feed bucket away.  I'm not sad that she's gone to another farm but at this age, the tail-end of my life, every good-bye plucks at the old heart-strings; seems like there are more good-byes than hellos these days.  The sun is shining brightly and although the breeze is somewhat cold, the crocuses that have popped up their colourful heads by the well are a welcome harbinger of spring - cheers, eh! 

            

SUBLIME QUIET - UNICORNS, BEER AND AN OLD DEAD FRIEND

          Sunday morning, and although the fairly big dump of snow that fell yesterday night has trudged off into oblivion, as I look out my studio window towards the meadows and ridge of Green Mountain, like scouts of an advancing army, I see a lot of little snow flakes whirling about in the breeze; most likely checking out the surroundings to see if another invasion of winter is possible.  Finnegan the cat, slayer of mice, squirrels and other small rodents, is curled up on my painting table taking a snooze.  Silence abounds throughout the studio, except for the occasional crackle and pop emanating from the wood stove; its warmth most agreeable.  I have a lot of work waiting and I know I should probably get at it, but I often think of Sunday as a peaceful day, not in the Biblical sense and not that I need any rest.  No, often for me, it's a day to collect my thoughts and sometimes put some of the crazier and stressful ones in place; sometimes like dreams that heal some of the problems that have landed on my shoulders demanding justification and answers that are not always available.
          Today is definitely a quiet day.  Sarah and the girls are on their way to Montreal for Jessica's appointment with a doctor Monday morning.  She has to have surgery on her collar bone, which didn't heal properly after she was involved in a car accident that occurred about eight years ago.  So, I am alone for the day.  They will be home tomorrow evening, so except for the chickens and other critters living here at Golden Unicorn Farm that need tending, I might just take the entire day off and do as little as possible.
          I guess the unicorns are having a quiet day as well; I haven't seen or heard any of them.  Since foraging has improved, most of the snow begrudgingly disappearing rapidly, I'm not having to put as much hay out for them.  I realize many people don't believe in unicorns and I did too, just considered them to be mythical beasts but until you see one, a truly remarkable and beautiful animal and hear one; now, that is music to one's ears!  Ah yes, they do have voices and make incredible sounds; much like a horse, except their nickering is more melodious, almost as if they're singing a song.  The language of unicorns is almost comparable to a rhapsody of songsters competing for a mate.
          Sometimes on Sundays, I hike up over the top of Green Mountain to visit George and as I draw closer to his house, I often hear him playing Bach on the organ  And, if I don't visit, he often makes his way here, where we have delightful conversations in the studio or in the house over a cup of hot coffee or a cold beer.  Since I'm not planning on leaving here today, laziness more than beginning to infiltrate my body and thinking I would like a quiet, alone day, I wouldn't mind if we didn't get together.  However, that being said, should George arrive, I will not in the least be disappointed.
          During my immature, carefree, didn't give-a-shit days, waking up Sunday mornings were often very noisy; the type of mornings that sounded like someone was beating the hell out of a big base drum inside my head playing The Hangover Blues, which continually ricocheted off the empty walls of my brain cavity.  It's no wonder my body aches now; I think I spent the first twenty-five years of my adult life trying to drink myself to death and luckily for me, I didn't succeed.  I'll undoubtedly enjoy a beer today; I don't mind drinking alone - sometimes all the company a person needs is a bottle of beer.  I remember years ago when I used to drink in a local Legion, this older fellow, obviously a labourer of some sort, since he was always covered in dust and carried a metal lunch box, would walk through the door every day, shortly after five o' clock, usually sit at the same table and order two glass of beer.  Although his conversation was very animated and I was often sitting quite close to him, I never once heard one word he spoke to the invisible person sitting across from him.  When he finished one beer, he would set the empty glass in front of his invisible friend and then begin drinking the other full one.  After drinking the two glasses of beer, he would immediately stand up and walk out the door.  I don't have any invisible friends but from time to time, I think about some of my young, dead friends, one of them my best friend who was killed in an auto accident at the age of 21.  His name was Ken Campbell and I can still see his thick, wavy blonde hair and twisted front tooth when he smiled, which was often.  I'm thinking, all this writing about having a beer has worked up a thirst, and since it's Sunday morning and I'm all alone - no one would notice if I went into the house and poured two glasses of cold beer and had a conversation with my old, best friend Ken - cheers, eh!  

UNICORNS, CHICKENS AND OTHER CRITTERS

          Just when I was beginning to think all the snow would be gone, being almost the middle of April, I can't believe we got another dump of the white stuff last night.  At least it wasn't as much as the weatherman was predicting but still enough for me to grab a shovel and clear a path to the vehicles and the woodshed.  Actually, I'm a little concerned about our firewood supply, it's like the gas gauge on the truck, which usually hangs around empty or just above.  Winter, winter, winter - begone!  Scat - and take all your beautiful, sparkly snow flakes and shiny ice with you!
            However, one good thing about the snow, I get to see Snow Star a little more and a few of the other lighter coloured unicorns prancing about the lower meadow when they don't think anyone is watching.  Moonshine Willy looks a little out of sorts since it snowed.  I saw him down by the apple tree yesterday evening and it looked as if he was checking out the limbs to see if any green buds had sprouted - I know he's really looking forward to spring when the apple tree is in full of blossoms and tiny apples start to form.  I'm anxiously waiting as well, even if it does mean that bug season is just around the corner.
          I've been going to the cattle auction at Beddell Settlement every Monday; checking out the prices of the small heifers and steers; Black Angus and Charolais being my favourites.  Thinking about raising our own beef because at least that-a-way, I know how healthy they'll be fed and me and the family will be fed later on.  However, I have to admit, as much as I think raising our own beef is an excellent idea, at 71 years of age, when I start thinking about driving fence posts into the ground with a 20 pound mallet and stretching wire to keep the little critters penned in the pasture, building a shed to keep them and their food dry during inclement weather conditions, my aching arthritic bones begin complaining something fierce.  I'm pretty sure I can hire Justin, who lives up over Green Mountain a mile away, to give me a hand.  He's a good, strong, young feller with a strong back that doesn't shy away from work.  I've hired him a couple of times already and he's worth every dollar he earns and I don't have to keep an eye on him, which is something I respect and appreciate - gives me time to help him or do something else that needs doing.
          I muck out a chicken coop on a regular basis, which is about to need another cleaning and you have no idea how much crap 100 chickens can produce, the straw floor is like a woven carpet of pure, unadulterated gooey shit.  It houses about a hundred hens and a couple of frisky roosters; seems like they're forever planting their big feet on the back of some hen and having their way with them.  I've noticed a few of the hens are beginning to get a little broody and since the majority of them are heritage hens, I'm considering letting a couple of them sit on their eggs and maybe, just maybe, I'll purchase an incubator.  Instead of raising Meat Kings or some other type of mutated chicken for meat, I figure, since our birds are dual purpose, we could use some young hens, and the roosters, well, I figure they'll look good on our kitchen table when they're roasted to a juicy, golden brown.
          The heat is cranked in the studio since the fire went out overnight and since the warmth is beginning to make me a little sleepy, think I'll stop pounding on this keyboard, head into the house and grab me a cup of fresh brewed coffee before continuing with the bedroom renovations upstairs; been wainscoting the bottom of the walls the last couple of days, which I expect will take me a few more days to complete.  I'm not sure if I have enough tongue and groove pine boards to do the whole room but even if two of the walls are completed, I think the room will look just fine.  Not sure if I will stain them or just clear coat them with Varathane but either way, it will give them a more finished look.  I'm also planning on priming a large canvas for the next unicorn painting - should be a beauty if it ever gets finished - cheers, eh!    

MOONSHINE WILLY (The Unicorn)

         
          Well, I finally completed the painting of the frolicking unicorn, which, after you read the poem, will find I believe, his name to be quite suitable. I have to say, Moonshine Willy was most difficult to paint, not just because like most unicorns, he was extremely elusive but the few moments I did get a close-up view, he just wasn't able to stand still.  Old Willy boy is certainly always on the go; he's forever bounding across the lower meadows, across the ridge and through the forest; not sure if he ever sleeps.  Even though I've written a horse stall full of poetry over the years and most of it has been tossed out on the manure pile, I still like to rhyme a few verses now and then and Moonshine Willy, well he certainly was an inspiration for me; I wish I had half the vitality and energy that he expends; not to mention his virility.
          I've had a hundred 11"x14" art posters of Moonshine Willy printed that are for sale as a Limited Edition of 100.  Each individual print is numbered and signed by the artist/poet (me) and comes with a certificate (a collector's item for sure).  The starting price is $7.50, plus shipping.  If anyone is interested in the poster of Moonshine Willy, send me an email:  lenwsherman@gmail.com