Author: Lisa Burbank

Writer, minister, animal rights' and environmental activist, herbalist, homesteader and prepper.
Animals, Homesteading

Meet the Animals – The Girls

Lisa Burbank

Though this post comes a few days’ later than planned, no homestead would be complete without the constant chatter and song of a flock of chickens. I apologize ahead of time; some of them did not want to cooperate by posing or even giving me a “heads-up” (literally) but, hopefully, in time, they will grow more accustomed to their celebrity status and start giving a few cameos. Without further ado, meet my cackling flock of ladies:

This is Flame. Though she refused to turn around and only presented her back to the camera, she truly is a lovely lady. Flame is an Americauna chicken. Americaunas’ eggs have either blue or green-colored shells. They are often referred to as Easter Egg chickens. I don’t know if the blue/green coloring is natural or something that came from genetic modification to produce these colors (I mean, how labor-intensive is it to dye Easter eggs???). Flame is one of the older ladies on the farm. She is 6 years old this year and, while her egg production is not as prolific as some of the younger girls, she still manages to provide a few spots of color in each carton of eggs.

Sylvie, another Americauna was equally uncooperative about the camera. Sylvie is one of the younger gals. She is 2 years’ old.

Rae, another 2 year old Americauna, was even more uncooperative and, the only shot of her I was able to get was this one (below) of her running away. Ho-hum…

Group shots work well! The Americauna in the center of the picture is Sunset. She is another 6 year old and, like Flame, retiring from her job of egg production, giving only the occasional spot of color here and there. It’s all good. Culling is only done on this farm if there’s a threat from one animal towards the others. The lovely red lady in the bottom right corner is Connie, short for North Conway. Connie is a New Hampshire Red and the only one left in my flock that is a NH Red. The others, Manny (Manchester) and Winnie (Winnipisaukee (sp?)) were lost last year; all three were named for towns in the State of New Hampshire.

These two ladies are Kiel and Basa, my two Polish hens. They are nearly identical. When they are right next to each other, Kiel is a slightly lighter gray color with a few black polka dots on her back.

Goldie is featured in both of these…as the one that got away and, with one of the Plymouth Barred Rocks, with her tail up to the camera…sorry! Goldie did the chicken run thing every time I drew near; I will keep trying. Goldie is a 2 year-old Buff Orpington.

Prudence, a 6 year-old Plymouth Barred Rock

Faith, a 2 year-old Plymouth Barred Rock

A group shot of Hope, another 2 year-old Plymouth Barred Rock; Crow (left) and Raven, two Black Australorps.

Phantom, another Black Australorp–all three Australorps are 2 years’ of age.

And last, but not least–and it must be a Silkie thing because Miss Taffy had absolutely no qualms about being photographed at all.

Next up? Ducks!

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Faith, Forgiveness, Gratitude, Healing, Homesteading, Prayer, Religion, Self-improvement, Spirituality

I’m a Martha

Lisa Burbank

“As Jesus and the disciples continued on their way to Jerusalem, they came to a village where a woman named Martha welcomed them into her home. Her sister, Mary, sat on the floor, listening to Jesus as he talked.
“But Martha was the jittery type, and was worrying over the big dinner she was preparing.
“She came to Jesus and said, ‘Sir, doesn’t it seem unfair to you that my sister just sits here while I do all the work? Tell her to come and help me’.
“But the Lord said to her, ‘Martha, dear friend, you are so upset over all these details! There is really only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it–and I won’t take it away from her!” (Luke 10:38-42)

It has been a crazy week here at the Herbal Hare Homestead with goats needing de-worming and, of course, it was Holy Week last week and I’ve spent the better part of the last few days at church, giving the readings for Good Friday and Holy Saturday.

It was a blessing to be able to serve in such a way. The Holy Saturday vigil was done by candlelight and it was a truly beautiful ceremony. As I gave some of the readings, listened to others’, to Father Elson’s homily, and celebrated a young soldier being baptized, receiving First Communion and Confirmation, for the first time in a very long time, I felt my soul filling with His word, His love. For the first time in a very long time, I surrendered my will to Him and placed at least a tentative trust in Him, that He will not lead me astray, but allowed the knowledge that He truly wants the very best for me–for all of us–to fill me.

And yet, I kept glancing at the clock.

Good Friday’s Liturgy was at 3 p.m. Though the service lasted two hours, even walking, I was home by 5:30 p.m. with plenty of time to feed animals and focus on the day-to-day stuff. The walk home was a perfect time to reflect and absorb the beauty of that service. We observed the Stations of the Cross and, while my bad knees screamed some abuse at me after kneeling twice for each station (14 stations in all), all-in-all, peace settled over me and I walked home feeling contented…and looking forward to the following evening’s ceremony.

I have rarely attended a Holy Saturday vigil. Though I am usually home from work early enough to attend, I confess to placing some worldly concerns before it. But, when the request for volunteers to help with the readings came out, I quickly volunteered…and looked forward to it. Again, it was a beautiful service and my heart was moved throughout. But, like the previous evening’s ceremony, it was rather lengthier than a typical Mass and I found myself looking over my shoulder at that clock.

My farm is on a slightly later schedule than most. As I work evenings and do not get home until around 8 o’clock, feeding time is between 8:00 – 8:30 a.m. and p.m. each day. Saturday there is a slight variation on this because my work schedule is earlier; feeding time gets bumped up to around 7:30. As the hands of that clock drew closer and closer to 7:30, I began to get antsy. Goats and rabbits are both prone to bloat and must be kept on a regular schedule. My poor babies must be getting hungry. I wonder if I can slip out as soon as Communion is served without being noticed…(this from the very first pew!). These thoughts, and more, threatened to derail the peace of this Holy Saturday vigil and I found myself thinking about one of the readings given for Palm Sunday last week. It was the story of the two sisters, Martha and Mary, and how Martha complained to Jesus because her sister did not help with the chores but sat at Jesus’ feet and listened. Suddenly, I felt Him knock and I realized that, while I tell myself that, no, I would be more like Mary, listening to His every word and choosing the better part, the truth is, I’m more like Martha. I worry. I stress. I drive myself to distraction over the “little things”…and miss out on the more important things in life. I have my “routines”; heaven help anything that alters those routines. I snap and squabble and mutter under my breath at these alterations.

In short, I have issues.

And it was never more apparent than during that last half hour of the Holy Saturday vigil. My initial reaction to this realization was to pray for His forgiveness for allowing myself to be so distracted by worldly concerns and then asking Him to still my heart that I might let those concerns go, to place them in His much more capable hands. And then I looked at the clock again. It took several attempts to finally draw my attention back to the vigil and truly focus in again on the blessings being given. The enemy of my soul was doing his best to draw my attention away; Jesus kept reminding me, no, look here. I am the Way.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Homesteading

Meet the Animals – Cock-A-Doodle-Doo

Lisa Burbank

Yesterday saw temps in the low-80’s–positively beautiful weather for homesteading endeavors, so I hung up the laptop for one afternoon and focused on some much needed work around the farm. However, mindful of this week’s “Meet the Animal” series, I did take along my cellphone so I could continue today.

Let me tell you…chickens are NOT easy to photograph. Neither are ducks. Though my cellphone is slim and flat, and does not in any way, shape or form resemble a weapon of mass destruction (at least none that I or my poultry children might be familiar with), they shied, cowered, ran, squawked and flapped their wings whenever I got close enough to take a fairly decent shot. But we persevered. Some of these shots may not be perfect but, hopefully, as they grow more accustomed to their new modeling careers, they will oblige by giving me a few cameos.

The one exception is Tank.

He is the youngest of the three roosters I am introducing here and he proved to be quite the ham yesterday, actually coming closer, striking a pose, and looking up at me as if to say, “Yes, I am a pretty boy, aren’t I?” Tank is a Silkie. These are native to the Far East (sources vary; some say China; others, Japan, etc.) and are considered by many as show birds. Silkies are different than most chickens in that their plumage retains it’s downy-chick texture rather than the individual feathers typical of other breeds. And that downy-feathery plumage continues down to his feet. In fact, his feet are so lush and full with this down, it is part of the reason he earned the name “Tank” because he somewhat resembles a tank as he waddles across the barnyard. Silkies also have some other distinctive characteristics, including black skin and bones; blue earlobes and sporting 5 toes rather than the usual 4 of other breeds of chickens. Silkies are known as the lap kitties of the chicken world. They actually enjoy being handled and are quite sociable.

Next is Corporal Denim.

Corporal Denim’s earliest claim-to-fame was as the “perpetually frustrated rooster”. Being a Cochin, he was considerably smaller than most of the hens I purchased when I got him. The one Cochin female of the flock had no interest in him and, instead, bonded with my big Polish rooster, Sargent Feathers, who was quite protective of Little Peep. That left Corporal Denim with the task of trying to mount hens bigger than he. I used to entertain family and friends with stories about how he almost got “lucky” today but Patience, Autumn, Ruby, etc. threw him off at the last moment and, he was so excited by his almost-triumph, he would “hump” the nearest clump of grass. When I re-stocked two springs’ ago, I had mercy on the poor boy and made sure to get a few smaller hens; he is now quite content.

He was not, however, camera-friendly. Corporal Denim is actually quite shy. As a young cockerel, he gave me some doubtful moments–moments when I strongly considered reneging on my vow that none of these birds would ever see a stew pot. His aggression lasted until Squire came along. Squire was so bad, I carried a shovel, a broom–anything–to block Squire’s attack when I went out to the barnyard. I had hoped that, like The Corporal, Squire would eventually calm down once the hormones and the pecking order were better established amongst my flock. But, with Corporal Denim, his aggression seemed to be sparked if my coat flapped in the wind or my Wellington’s squeaked in the mud, something he didn’t understand. With Squire, it didn’t matter. I still carry a scar on my ankle from his piercing it with a spur. Squire wasn’t just aggressive; he was downright mean. Where I could at least approach Corporal Denim, pick him up and stroke his feathers (chicken whisperer advice at defusing aggression in roosters), Squire was completely different. He was savage with the hens; I had plucked chickens running around the yard at all times. And he bullied Corporal Denim, who, despite his auspicious beginnings, is now a beloved pet. That was enough to make me recant that vow–at least in this one exception. Squire’s meeting with the stew pot was already considered a fait accompli–as soon as I could find a way to capture him without being pecked to death–when Squire was stupid enough to challenge the boss of the barnyard, Sargent Feathers.

This boy has proved to be the best rooster on the planet. He is a Polish rooster and I just love that flashy pompadour of his. Squire was almost his twin as far as plumage is concerned and I had hoped that he would prove to be as good with the flock but, alas, as stated earlier, he was the exact opposite. Squire and Sargent got along well until Squire was stupid enough to challenge this boss of the barnyard. Though there was no sign of blood shed, shortly after Squire challenged Sargent Feathers, I found his body behind the goat barn. And I don’t believe in coincidence. (Chuckle) Sargent Feathers guards his hens fiercely, keeping a watchful eye for predators, especially hawks. He has a very distinctive warning cry–quite rasping and loud enough to wake the dead, and definitely carrying a note of alarm. The moment they hear it, all of my chickens, roosters and ducks take the nearest cover. He has another distinctive sort of clucking, sort of cooing call when he finds a particularly delectable something to eat, calling his feathery friends to join him.

Though I know a lot of farmers would say I have two too many roosters, three is proving to be just right. Sargent Feathers, Corporal Denim and Tank get along quite well and they each have their favorites amongst the hens–and there are enough to go around. Though Sargent Feathers’ little love, Peep, was lost a few years’ ago after a fox jumped over the 6 foot fence and killed her, Penny and Delilah Duck, he seems well content with the ladies who currently share his world–I’ll save those for tomorrow.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Homesteading

Meet the Animals – The Bunnies

Lisa Burbank

I talk about the animals that share this homestead with me a lot but rare have I downloaded photographs of any of them. So this week I am dedicating my blog to doing just that–sharing my beloved babies with everyone. They are my world. They share their love and affection; give me that many more reasons to rise and shine each day; in some cases, they provide me sustenance through the eggs they lay; plenty of free fertilizer; lots of laughter and, yes, eventually a few tears.

So, without further ado, as this is The Herbal Hare Homestead, let’s start with the bunnies. Many moons ago, my pen pal from Curacao christened me “Beach Bunny”; a few years’ later, my then-husband re-christened me “Cuddle Bunny”. They both must’ve had some sort of premonition because rabbits have been a daily part of my life since 1998 when my then-sister-in-law bought a pair of rabbits for her children. At first they were the stars of the home but, as often happens, once the novelty of these new pets wore off, they began to be neglected. My sister-in-law and I frequently got together to workout. I’d find the pair of them in cages on the lawn, no shade cover, no water, very little food. And the cages were absolutely gross. It was heartbreaking. It took a lot of gentle persuasion but, eventually, my sister-in-law asked if I would be willing to take them. I hadn’t planned on rabbits but I couldn’t say “no”. My only thought was to rescue them from these sad conditions. Mr. V and Rainy came home and there’s been a total of 21 rabbits to share this home–not all at once, but over the last 19 years. These 6 are the current residents of The Herbal Hare Homestead:

This little guy is Rhys. He and his sister, Alys (directly below) came to me, along with Alys’ 6 children, back in the spring of 2012. Rhys and Alys were about 10 months old at the time. And, yes, Rhys is the father of their offspring; first owners didn’t notice he was gnawing through the wood between their hutches and, well, Rhys and Alys did what rabbits are most notorious for. They were then given to a friend of mine who, in the short time they were with her, really wasn’t too sure about raising rabbits. When the babies started coming in rapid succession, I received a frantic phone call asking if I would be willing to take them. At the time I still had two geriatrics, Jillian and Violet, and another orphan named Choo-Choo, but why the heck not? Rhys, Alys, Tumbleweed, Blizzard, Stormie, Sweet Pea, Lemony Snicket and Orion moved right in and they have been a blessing in my life ever since. Sadly, I lost Orion and Lemony Snicket in 2014 to an intestinal parasite.

Alys

Sweet Pea

Tumbleweed

Stormie

Blizzard

Out of the offspring, originally, there were three each. Stormie, Blizzard and Tumbleweed are all does; Sweet Pea, Orion and Lemony Snicket are/were bucks. They each have large dog cages instead of hutches as these give them plenty of room to hop and move about. They are also fairly easy to clean; though, as you can see by the state of the rabbit room floor, they do not keep hay and shavings from being scattered about. I should start advertising as a professional sweeper. (chuckle) Each day, I set aside a couple of hours and give them bunny playtime (one at a time; no “accidental” breedings here) where they may come out of their cages and hop around the bunny room, stretch their legs and “visit” through the bars. I never spayed/neutered any of them because, while they are all Lionheads, my hope is to acquire a couple of Angoras and cross-breed. Lionheads have Angora in their genetic DNA, as we can see by that long mane and “skirt” they all sport. As I get more proficient on the spinning wheel, I hope to raise my own fiber (And before any fellow animal rights’ fanatics come out of the woodwork, there is no harm done to the rabbits. They simply get a haircut, much like we do at a salon, and three months’ later, the same rabbits have another 2-3 inches of wool grown out again (wish my hair grew so fast!). Sadly, people often equate the raising of Angoras and the spinning of their wool with the rabbit fur coats of the 1970’s when mini-rex’s were bred in massive quantities to supply the demand. Those poor creatures lost their lives; mine will not until the good Lord calls them home via natural means).

Sadly, this is the only photo I have of Lemony Snicket. It’s not a very clear one and he is the one in the cage, bottom right corner. I believe that is Rhys outside of the cages.

Orion

There will be more to follow in the days that come.

May God bless you & keep you!

Homesteading, Writing

Accepting the Challenge

Lisa Burbank

Yesterday I did some catching up on the emails in my Inbox. It doesn’t take them long to build up, especially when I tend to ignore them for days on end due to the other demands on my time. In my perusal of them, I came across a post from a fellow blogger whose blog I have been following. Another writer like me, he has decided to challenge himself to further excellence by asking himself to write, I believe it was, 90,000 words of his book by the end of April. He asked if other bloggers and/or writers would also take up the challenge.

I have long been searching for an accountability partner, or at least someone–or something–to keep me focused that I don’t lose heart with my book. I tend to procrastinate, even as I long to finally finish at least the first draft of it. And I’ve decided this is the accountability, this month-long challenge that says by the end of it all, I will have written 150 pages of my story.

I am still short a few pages as of the writing of this blog post. This is my second day at it as I did not see the post at the very beginning of the month when it was originally written. I have just a little over 5 pages of type and a word count of 2782 words, which I just divided by 5 (# of current pages) and I came up with 556 words per page. Using that as an average and multiplying by 150 pages, I will have 83,400 words written if I stick with this. So maybe I’m taking up more of the challenge than I even realized.

As for my blog, I will still be here, keeping my readers posted about my progress on the book and, of course, the myriad homestead happenings. It’s time to feel like a true writer again.

May God bless you & keep you!

Faith

Mud…

Lisa Burbank

“I waited patiently for God to help me: then He listened and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out from the bog and the mire, and set my feet on a hard, firm path and steadied me as I walked along. He has given me a new song to sing, of praises to our God.” Psalms 40: 1-3

Squeelllish–auk! Shwisquel–thok!

Oops! That’s my feeble attempt to recreate the sound of my Wellington-clad feet stepping and sucking back out of the muddy quagmire the barnyard has become as torrential downpours assault the Northeast. It is not a pretty picture. Neither is Sargent Feathers’ striking pompadour when it’s weighted down with rainwater but, like my beloved rooster, I hold my head up high and carry on.

Or at least make it look as though I am.

The bog and the mire, as it says in the Psalm I quoted above. That describes both the barnyard and, some days–many days–my heart, as I continue to search for full-time work off the farm and battle what I am beginning to suspect is a form of discrimination at the current job. Because my position is tough to fill, having found someone (moi) who is reliable and does the job well, the powers-that-be seem intent on keeping me in this part-time evening/weekend slot. I keep getting told I am under-qualified for every full-time position that opens up even as I was told when I got this current position that I was a little over-qualified for it (??!!?). Most days I don’t really mind much. With a farm to run, classes to “attend” (online), and still pushing forward to start a business that utilizes goats as an environmentally-friendly mode of clearing land of unwanted vegetation, I have a pretty full plate. But, as those little hiccoughs occur–you know the ones, those unexpected expenses that crop up from time to time–sometimes it’s tough not to get overwhelmed. And, yes, just a little depressed. It’s worse when I see someone fresh out of high school with no qualifications whatsoever sliding into these same positions.

Grrr!

However, I believe He has a plan in place, even if I cannot see what it is yet. And, while my trust is always hard-won, I am placing that trust in Him…even as I listen to the “squeelllish-auk” of my Wellington-clad feet meandering the muddy quagmire of life.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Homesteading, Nature

The Year of the Fly

Lisa Burbank

No, this is definitely not a post about Chinese zodiac. (chuckle) Nor is it a belated commentary about the 1980’s remake of the movie “The Fly” starring Jeff Goldblum. That would produce way too much drool. Though there is plenty of gore in that film, there is also a brief scene of Mr. Goldblum in the buff and that’s worthy of quite a bit of salivation. However, that’s neither here nor there.

We are inundated with flies this year!!??!

Anyone who tells me that Mother Earth is not getting increasingly warmer needs to have their head examined to find out what planet they’re living on. The usual deep freeze that I’ve come to know in New England really hasn’t happened this year. Yes, we did see a few single digit nights. We even got hit with a blizzard a few weeks’ ago. But that deep freeze that lasts for weeks, even months? Nope. That freeze, despite the extra layers of clothing and that extra log on the fire, has always been a bit of a godsend. Fleas, ticks, flies, worms–all of the myriad creepy crawlies that can make life annoying, at best, and downright miserable at the worst on a homestead, have been snug as–dare I say it?–bugs in a rug all winter long. We haven’t seen any fleas (knock on wood) but I’m pretty careful about keeping everyone groomed. And mites have been at a minimum because, unlike most winters, my chickens have been able to take their dust baths all winter long. Usually the ground is too frozen for them to “bathe” in the dusty earth under my bathroom window. But the flies have been ungodly.

Take a walk into my kitchen right now and I guarantee you will be hit in the face with at least a couple of flies. There are fly strips hanging in nearly every corner–and, wow, are they a bit of a nasty hazard for those of us with long hair…ewww!–and they fill up within a day of hanging them. Mom and I have been swatting, and killing, them by the dozens on a daily basis. Our fly swatter now wobbles uncontrollably on its handle from so much use. It has become a nightly ritual to target as many as I possibly can before I go to bed–and I can usually count the number I swat in the double digits. And yet, we’re still inundated.

I am loathe to use any sort of spray due to the possible threat this might pose to Smoky the Cockatiel and the many rabbits and cats who share this home with us. I avoid chemicals as much as I possibly can, not wanting to add to the carbon footprint they create. However, I am getting desperate.

Where are they coming from? That has been the big question. Yes, I have a farm with live animals. Yet places like the barn, where most of those animals stay, are fly-free. It is only the house. Mom and I have been pulling spaces apart to try and find the source but we have yet to succeed. They still keep coming. For every one we swat, it seems there are 20 more to take its place. I’m wondering if Bellatrix Lestrange has somehow placed a curse on them similar to the goblet she bewitched in “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” to multiply every time somebody touched it. It is that bad.

However, to keep this post from being one big rant, I remembered seeing an episode of a show called “Yankee Jungle” where the owners of this exotic animal refuge have something called a fly jar. I found their website and asked what is in the jar as the ingredients were non-toxic and eco-friendly, but did the trick to keep their animals from such a nuisance. I may be making a few of these jars on my own…

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Creativity, Frugality, gardening, Homesteading, Minimalism, Writing, Yoga & Fitness, Zero Waste

Rainy Days

Lisa Burbank

“In bygone days He permitted the nations to go their own ways, but He never left Himself without a witness; there were always His reminders–the kind things He did such as sending you rain and good crops and giving you food and gladness” Acts 14: 16-17

I’m of two minds when it rains. There is that laze-around-in-my-pj’s-curled-up-with-a-good-book mindset. And woe the temptations of the flesh because that is often the mindset I follow under angry, black clouds. Today it’s the good-day-to-putter-around-the-house-and-get-things-done mentality. I hit the yoga mat early this morning, waking before the alarm–despite the dreary skies–and then added a few pages to my book. Max was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs to go out when I finished up. The rain was only threatening at 7:30 a.m. but the warmer temperatures we’ve had over the weekend has left a muddy mess of the barnyard as snow from Blizzard Stella melted away. Max, being a dog, did what dogs do best…he stayed out in the mud a little longer than usual and tracked wet, muddy prints throughout the house when he came back in. I tugged on my rubber boots, threw a coat over my pj’s (standard morning chore attire) and began schlepping water and feed out to the goats, chickens and ducks. The usual cacophony of barnyard greetings met me as I opened first the hen house and then the goat barn. I’d like to think they’re happy to just see me but I suspect it’s only the canisters of feed I’m bearing as gifts that bring about this reaction to me…

The rain started in earnest shortly after their breakfast.

Mom calls these heavy rains we’re having today “season breakers”. And she’s probably right except she will call every hint of snow or rain, from now until the trees finally bud and the thermometer hits and stays steady above 50 degrees for more than a week, a “season breaker”. It’s all good. And she bears the occasional razzing from me with grace.

Actually, I hope she’s right. There’s much to do this spring on the homestead and I am eager to get started. Despite Mom’s predictions, the weather in New England is too unpredictable this time of year so it will be a few more weeks before I can start planting and there’s a bit of landscaping to finish up from last fall before that planting can be done. Again, I’m looking forward to it. The last couple of years I’ve been in such a slump that I’ve neglected my gardens. I’ve got itchy fingers now, looking to plunge into that soil and cultivate some life-giving sustenance from it.

The goats, chickens and ducks are also getting new living quarters. The old shed that I converted back in 2010 has seen its better days. I can throw a few old pallets down on the rotting floors and continue to use it for storing firewood and/or hay but it has seen its last winter as a barn. This will take some doing; I’m definitely not a contractor or construction worker but I don’t think this will be too difficult. The “new” structure is already here in the form of a double bay garage. The previous owners of the property had removed the garage doors, built a wall, and added a door to the outside (albeit, it faces into the garden so it will not be seeing much use…). The floor is still concrete, which will be much easier to clean than wood. No oil stains or anything that might prove hazardous to the animals. There’s even a propane space heater mounted towards the ceiling, well out of reach of curious goats, but available if needed. The only real work to do is the construction of a few stalls inside, the removal of the back window that faces the barnyard, and building a ramp for the animals to get in and out. And, of course, said window will have to be replaced with some sort of door to keep them in at night…and the predators out. The biggest part of the job will be cleaning it out as it has become the depository of any unwanted “junk” and out of season “stuff”. And that about sums it up.

(Yes, I do still have some minimalist chores to attend to, too…)

In another 15 minutes or so, it will be time to head to work–the paid position in town. But, for now, I’m compromising with this rain, writing and working and puttering around in my pj’s, as it washes away the last of the snow and reveals just how much clean-up is still to do in the gardens. And about the homestead.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Alcoholism, Animal Rights, Animals, Creativity, Faith, Forgiveness, Gratitude, Healing, Homesteading, Politics, Religion, Self-improvement, Writing

Thoughts on This Blogging Thing

Lisa Burbank

It has been seven months of pretty steady blogging. And, wow, what a change in my life this has made. Sure, there have been a few hiccoughs along the way when my postings haven’t been quite as steady: a bout of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (still recovering from that but it’s getting better); the loss of Internet service at home; and, amazingly, once you break a habit, such as a very early rising to write and blog, it is very difficult to get back on that horse again and ride, as they say. But I won’t give up. And I love horses…and blogging.

Obviously, this post is a reflection of these past seven months. Prior to making this commitment, my blog posts were pretty sporadic, spanning months sometimes in between. Now, when I’m away for even a few days, I’m like that hungry bear coming out of hibernation. It’s become like a drug and I need my fix. These seven months have taught me a few things, too.

First, I underestimate myself. And maybe others, too. When I first started, I think the reason my posts were so few and far between was because I didn’t believe I had anything to say that people would want to read. The long list of followers and “likes” for each post that I have received these last several months–both here on WordPress and on my Facebook timeline from friends and family–have proved me wrong. And a big “Thank You!” to all of you for the boost in confidence; the support; and simply for being curious enough to read a post or two in the first place. Also, to the many friends and family members who have “shared” some of my posts.

“In Al-Anon I realized that I had a distorted self-image. I had never thought to question my beliefs, but when I took a good look, I discovered they were untrue.” (Courage to Change, 1992, 192)

Another thing I’ve learned, and there is a little voice of cynicism rippling through as I type this, is there is definitely some truth to that old adage that those closest to you have the toughest time accepting changes in you. In being brutally and painfully honest about the effects of alcoholism and abuse in my past; in sharing political views; in taking a much stronger stand with my blog about animal rights and environmentalism; in staying true to my faith in God and openly sharing that faith, I have alienated many who have been close to me and yet, ironically, found new friends who share my views–in some cases, in places I never would have expected. This last one is a gift because we can never have too many friends.

A difference of opinion can divide the best of friends. I am learning, through blogging, to be more forgiving of those whose reactions in the face of a different opinion may be hostile. I’m learning not to react in kind. A difference of opinion is simply that. A difference. It need not divide us. But I’m also learning to accept that sometimes it does…and not to take it so personally. In short, I’m growing a thicker skin yet being more willing to offer that olive branch in return. Life is too short.

I think the most amazing thing that has happened with blogging, is I am learning to stand up for myself and what I believe in. I hope I am doing so in a respectful way; I have no desire to purposefully alienate anyone…I do enough of that without trying. (chuckle) But I am no longer as afraid to rock the proverbial boat. My thoughts, feelings, views and opinions may be in the minority in some circles. But I truly have learned to say, “That’s okay”, and really mean it. I now share those feelings, thoughts, opinions and views anyway. And not as a heart-on-my-sleeve victim but simply as a fellow human being with a voice that no longer wishes to be silent. And, really, I think that’s what writing is all about: having something to say. Whether it is a blog, such as this one, a news story, a textbook or even a story made up expressly for the purpose of entertaining, writers are good with words. I hope I am…and this blog is good means of exercising that creative muscle.

As for homesteading? This blog has been good medicine for that, too. I know where I want to go, where I want to be but, for years, I have allowed others to sometimes influence of bit of my direction. If there is anyone more of a non-conformist as me, I’d truly like to meet them. While more and more people turn back to the land because of a distrust of what’s in our food and what sort of damage is being done to the environment, I am in the minority even further being a single female doing this homesteading thing and, while I raise animals, I do NOT raise them for meat. That’s a complete anomaly. They are here for eggs or dairy, or fiber for spinning, depending on the animal; they give me free fertilizer for the garden; companionship, love and laughter. That’s enough. But it has taken me seven months of steady blogging to be able to write this and to say it aloud, and to not care if people don’t “get it”. This is part of who I am and I make no apology for it.

A friend sent me something that I copied on a little Post-It note that has been attributed to author Anais Nin. I don’t know if she really said this or not but it fits: The time came that to remain in a tight bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

May God bless you & keep you!

Works Cited

“Courage to Change” Al-Anon Conference Approved Literature. Al-Anon, Virginia: 1992

Environment, Frugality, Gratitude, Homesteading, Minimalism, Religion, Self-improvement, Spirituality

Walking the Walk–Literally

Lisa Burbank

I have long been extolling the virtues of choosing to walk or ride a bicycle rather than driving everywhere. When the Lenten season started, one of the vows I made was, as soon as we turned the clocks ahead and it was light enough out after work, I would start walking to and from the dealership. This probably doesn’t do much for auto sales but I have always walked to the beat of my own drum–no pun intended. And it’s all for a good cause.

However, I have not lived up to this vow…until I got pulled over by a policeman coming from the local grocery store. Now I had just pulled away from the traffic light so there was no way I could’ve gotten up to “speeding” and I did not peel out. Lights are working. Turn signal was on. I admit I was stymied.

The car was unregistered. (What?) It seems I have been driving around in Mom’s uninsured and unregistered vehicle for over a year now. (How the heck did I dodge that bullet for so long???) Though we had a current registration and insurance card sitting in the glove box, the DMV had dropped the registration after Nationwide dropped our policy for lack of payment. Mom was also mystified. She’s been making payments. What happened? Sadly, Mom was a recent victim of ID theft. Payments, of roughly the same amount, have been going to a cellphone company for someone in California. Mom saw the payment coming out but did not notice the name of the organization pulling the payment. And Nationwide did not send her notification that she was falling behind. A trip to the DMV revealed we cannot renew the registration in Mom’s name because she can no longer drive with her cataracts and does not have a valid license anymore. So I’ve been “grounded” so to speak…until we can find a way to get this thing valid again. And, as if that wasn’t enough, the car will not start. We suspect the battery. So we have a few obstacles to overcome. But it has also been a good turning point for me in this campaign to reduce my carbon footprint.

We live in rural CT so the roughly uniform city block is not a part of our immediate world. However, as The Herbal Hare Homestead sits just on the edge of the business district of the town, we are close enough to my work, the feed store, the post office, the library, town hall, church, and even the local Walmart so that this walking thing isn’t really so bad. The toughest part is the huge hill that leads from my neighbor’s farm down into that commercial area. It’s mostly downhill on the way into town but I am finding myself woefully out of shape traversing that uphill climb on the way home.

But I’m not complaining. When all is said and done, I should have lost this extra 30 lbs. I’ve been lamenting, improved my circulation greatly, saved money on gasoline and wear and tear of the car–because I don’t intend to start driving locally even after this glitch is resolved–and, yes, reduced my carbon footprint on the world.

The good Lord works in mysterious ways. I’ll admit to a bit of an “Oh, Lord, why me?” reaction after this citation (and, yes, the nice officer did cite me but, coming from a family of police officers, it’s all good; he’s just doing his job and it’s good to see). Now I am seeing some of the benefits of it. Even Mom asked me last night, “Isn’t walking or riding a bike part of homesteading?” Who-hoo! Yes, it is.

May God bless you & keep you!