Author: Lisa Burbank

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

Another Quickie…

Lisa Burbank

This morning was tough. The alarm went off at 3:30 and I didn’t have the heart to disturb Priscilla, one of my feline roommates (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it!), so I snuggled back into the pillow and enjoyed the slow rumble as I tickled her under the chin.

Like Ariel, Priscilla is another calico. She was dropped off last summer, very pregnant and very skittish. Her first morning here she bit my arm as I reached over her to clean her kitty pan. I spent several hours in the ER, received a tetanus vaccine and discovered that I am highly allergic to it as I spent an afternoon huddled under several quilts, shivering uncontrollably in 90+ temps with a fever of 106 degrees. Naturally, Mom rushed me back to the ER; I now have one of those funny bracelets with a serpent on it saying “no TDP or TDAP vaccine”; the doc says I’m better off taking my chances with tetanus next time. But Priscilla and I have obviously come a long way since then and I enjoyed the bonding this morning, Priscilla rewarding me with her patented “I-can’t-get-close-enough-to-you” nuzzling of hands and face.

When I finally crawled out of bed–about 1/2 hour later–I decided to finish the short story I’ve been working on for class. And, being the perfectionist that I am, it took me longer than anticipated but, for once, I submitted it early rather than 2 minutes to midnight on Sunday when it is due. Finding myself rapidly approaching the big 5-0 and a college student is kind of like experiencing this strange sort of time warp but I wouldn’t change a thing.

And tomorrow morning I’ll be back early. This blogging thing is addicting.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Gratitude

The Boss Lady

Lisa Burbank

ariel Every once in a while, I write one of “those” posts when a beloved pet passes on. It’s inevitable. Life expectancy for a dog or a cat, or any other animal, is typically much shorter than it is for humans. And, on a farm, where the population of animals is generally much greater than the average household, “those” sort of posts are to be expected a little more often. But, no, this isn’t one of “those” posts; I’m celebrating the life of my beloved feline, Ariel, while she is still kicking and breathing.

Mom calls her “The Boss Lady” as every other cat and dog in the house stands at attention when she speaks…and speak she does. I used to refer to her as my Welcoming Kitty (rather than Welcoming Committee) as she would come running over to the door, meow, meow, meowing at whoever entered. It didn’t matter who; all were welcome. Age is slowing her down a wee bit; she’d rather meow from the comfort of the rocking chair than run to the door now but the meow is still full of enthusiasm for your arrival. She’s also been known as the Parrot Lady as, in her youth, she would gladly ride around on your shoulder purring and chirping at you for hours.

Ariel, along with her litter mates, Woody and Paz, were found over 16 years ago under a log behind the property I was living at with my then-husband, Dan. My dog, Tessa, found them. Unfortunately, Tessa dove under the log and pulled a 4th litter mate out. She didn’t eat it but, well, we won’t go there. It was sad and heartbreaking, and the oxymoron of it is that once the other 3 kittens were in the house, they became Tessa’s best friends–especially Paz. The mother cat had once belonged to a tenant that had left her behind; we were never able to catch her and my ex-father-in-law, unfortunately, saw her get hit by a car sometime–and another litter of kittens–later. He gave a home to two of the kittens from that litter; my ex-brother-in-law took the other two. I had a much older cat, Samantha, when Paz, Woody and Ariel moved in. Samantha was 16 and it was the equivalent of putting some little old lady in with a bunch of rambunctious teenagers…except for Ariel. While Samantha would squawk at her at first, the two could usually be found sleeping on the bed together and I swear, Samantha spent the time whispering words of instruction on how best to take care of “Mommy”. You see, then it was Samantha whose days were shortening as a compromised urinary tract started getting the better of her. The bond between Samantha and Ariel lasted almost a year; Samantha succumbed to renal failure in May of 2001, just months before Dan and I purchased our home together.

For friends and family members who knew Samantha, she was quite the cantankerous kitty. She had a select few whom she would allow the privilege of petting her…and even we lost a few pints of blood from time to time. She was all attitude. And while Ariel has never been quite as aggressive, she knows how to hold her own…even now as we move into the winter of her life.

Ariel has a tumor. It is just under her right front armpit. A couple of “fatty” tumors also grace the side of her face but they are benign. I’m not sure about the one under her armpit as it seems to be growing, slowly, but growing nonetheless. I have not had it biopsied. She is too old for any surgery and I wouldn’t put her through such an invasive surgery anyway; I’ve been there before with other felines. Never has their life been preserved by it but the quality of life has been further compromised. And, with a biopsy, there is always the risk that it will spread the cancer if, indeed, cancer exists. I discovered the tumor in January, called the vet immediately, and, thankfully, he is respecting my decision with this. Now, before all the fanatics go into hysterics, Ariel is under veterinary supervision. She is eating, drinking, evacuating her waste okay; her breathing is normal. It doesn’t seem to be affecting her at all other than a slight limp these last few months as the growth has started interfering with her gait somewhat. However, she can still jump onto the bed, the easy chair, climb stairs and, generally, continue to live the life she’s always lived. But that doesn’t stop each moment from being even more precious than it was before this growth developed. And I swear, she is starting to turn the mantle over to the next “Boss Lady”. Or maybe, “Boss Gentleman”…

Alice (named for rocker Alice Cooper) is a gorgeous flame-point with vivid blue eyes (he should’ve been called Sinatra for his ‘ol blue eyes) and the most loving temperament one can imagine on a feline. At times, I swear he is Woody incarnate–a veritable cuddle bug. He has been enamored with Ariel since he first crawled out of the nest–much to Ariel’s initial chagrin. Alice is one of the kittens kept from last summer when his mother, Priscilla, was left on my doorstep. I heard the footfalls running away from the house the evening before, as whoever her previous owner was, dropped her under the window of the rabbit room and got all of the buns to thumping those back legs in alarm. Alice just adores Ariel…until she starts growling and hissing at him. Then he runs away all bewildered as to why his attentions have been so violently rebuffed. Until lately. Now he’s standing his ground a little bit, aware that Ariel, unlike Samantha, is all bark and no bite. However, I’m not sure he has the temperament to be a “boss” here; we have some pretty dynamic personalities and I’m thinking, though he’s managing to finally charm “The Boss Lady”, it may be one of his litter mates who gets the title passed to them. We shall see…but I hope that won’t be for a very long time. “Mommy’s” not sure she’s ready to see that mantle passed.

May God bless you & keep you!

Environment, Herbs, Holistic Health, Nature, Organic

Positive ID

Lisa Burbank

After writing “Friday’s Flora and Fauna” piece last week, I realized that, for the sake of safety, I should include some references for working with herbs.

First and foremost, a good field guide is an herbalist’s friend. If you grow herbs in your own garden, then you can be fairly certain of the plant identification because you know what you’ve planted but, in the wild, you can never be too careful. Some benign species may have some close-looking cousins that could make you very ill if you consumed them–they can even be deadly. Take, for instance, Queen Anne’s Lace (Daucus carota) and Yarrow (Achillea millefolium). These dainty, white, umbrella-shaped flowers grace nearly every roadside–so much so that one would think it is easy to identify them. Of course, they each have a distinctive leaf pattern to tell them apart, and both are benign. However, their close cousin (in looks anyway), Hemlock (Conium maculatum) is poisonous. So much so, that even touching the plant with your hands, and then touching your lips with those hands, may have a deadly reaction. So plant identification is extremely important. I recommend Peterson’s Field Guides as they are ranked above most.

Roger Tory Peterson wrote many field guides, starting with birds, but including “The Peterson’s Field Guide to Medicinal Plants and Herbs” and “A Field Guide to Edible Wild Plants”. They are both worth the investment. There are others; please look them over thoroughly for references of distinctive marks, colors, leaf-patterns, etc. that are unique to the plant you are looking for. Also, make sure there are notations for size and what sort of growing conditions they prefer. If we’re looking for Black Cohosh (Cimicifuga racemosa or Actaea racemosa), which prefers a moist, heavy soil, you’re probably not going to find it growing in the desert.

Another good rule of thumb is to learn the correct botanical names. My herb instructors, Michael Ford and Joanne Pacheco, were death on using botanical names–and for good reason. What I may call a dandelion, another person may call Lion’s Tooth, so common names can be confusing when wild harvesting. (And, though I am going off subject a bit here, when wild harvesting, please don’t take everything; leave some quantity of herbs for others and, more importantly, for further propagation; over-zealous wild crafting–i.e. depleting whole stands of an herb or edible, puts plants at risk for extinction; take only what you need and leave the rest. Google “United Plant Savers” for more information about responsible harvesting) For safety’s sake, it is especially important to know your botanical names when purchasing herbs from a local nursery. I mentioned Yarrow earlier; there are ornamental varieties that are quite beautiful but they may not have the medicinal properties you’re looking for. And, as with improper identification in the wild, these ornamental varieties may be poisonous. If the botanical name on the variety in the nursery doesn’t match what you know is correct for that herb, don’t use it; you never know.

As for working with herbs, and learning those correct botanical names, some recommended herbals are “The Way of Herbs” by Michael Tierra, “Healing with the Herbs of Life” by Lesley Tierra, “The Green Pharmacy” by James A. Duke, as well as anything written by either Rosemary Gladstar or Juliette de Bairacli Levy. These should give you some good starting points and have you brewing and simpling in no time at all.

Warning: once you start, it’s a little bit like that slogan for Lay’s Potato Chips “Bet you can’t eat just one!” Well, not exactly eating but, bet you can’t stop with only one. Herbs have a way of getting under your skin–in a good way. Knowing you have the knowledge and the tools to help keep your family and yourself in good health is empowering, and it gets to be habit-forming. Not a bad addiction though if you ask me.

May God bless you & keep you!

Creativity, Herbs, Holistic Health, Homesteading, Nature

Friday’s Flora and Fauna: Violets are More Than Just Blue.

Lisa Burbank

When I was a little girl, violets were second only to dandelions. Oftentimes, I picked both together, enjoying the striking contrast between dandelion’s fuzzy, yellow flower head and violet’s soft, velvety petals. I would bring them in to my grandmothers’ kitchens, or to my Mom’s, place them in a Dixie cup or an old tea cup of water, where they would grace the windowsill for the rest of the day; by morning, they’d be dead.

I’ve blogged about dandelions before; now it’s violet’s turn.

I don’t remember how old I was when I first learned about sugared violets. I didn’t grow up with “green” living, or even living off the land, so this was foreign information to realize that certain flowers and/or leaves may be eaten–especially the ones that much of the population considers weeds. But sweet violet (Viola odorata) is indeed an edible flower. And, being curious about how they are “sugared”, I googled it. I found this recipe from Martha Stewart: http://www.marthastewart.com/350345/sugared-flowers; next spring, I will have to harvest them and give it a try. The leaves are also supposed to be good steamed, much like spinach or kale.

Medicinally, I have found two separate references–one from Juliette de Bairacli Levy and another from Michael Tierra, both renowned herbalists worldwide–for the use of violets to treat tumors. According to “The Complete Herbal Handbook for Farm and Stable” by Juliette de Bairacli Levy, both the leaves and the flowers may be used…both internally and externally. Despite my love affair with herbs, I can’t help wondering how effective they are in such a treatment. If they are effective, why doesn’t the American Cancer Society incorporate them into their healing regime? Or do they? Has some part of the violet been isolated and made into a drug to be used in cancer treatment, similar to the pain relieving compounds in willow bark being isolated to make aspirin? Or is it simply because violets are considered by most a weed, and fall under the category of “folk medicine”, that perhaps they are pooh-poohed by orthodox medicine? Regardless, it is worth further research.

Violets have other medicinal uses, mostly involving the upper-respiratory system. They may sooth a sore throat, alleviate dry mucous membranes, ease chronic coughs and asthma symptoms (Tierra 203-204). They may also be taken internally for the treatment of inflammed liver, kidneys, bladder, and for gallstones (de Bairacli Levy 159-160). Though the latter book is aimed at the farm, they are also said to be effective for the same ailments in humans. Externally? Being emollient, they make a nice skin oil or lotion to help ease dryness and inflammation. Who knew?

Our natural world is so full of wonders, I am sometimes amazed to find myself reeling in shock over a new discovery. Violets haven’t been part of my pharmacopoeia before so it was fun doing a little research on them today. In so doing, I may have found a new friend to add to the home apothecary…or, at the very least, a new addition at the dinner table. And, if they don’t appeal to the palate? At almost 50, they still look great standing next to the dandelions on the windowsill.

May God bless you & keep you!

Works Cited

de Bairacli Levy, J. The Complete Herbal Handbook for Farm and Stable, 4th Edition. Faber and
Faber, New York: 1991 (original printing was with Faber and Faber of London, 1952…)

Tierra, M. The Way of Herbs. Simon & Schuster, Inc., New York: 1998.

Environment, Herbs, Homesteading, Nature, Organic

Entering Fall

Lisa Burbank

Autumn in New England: a rich, vibrant pallet of red, gold, burgundy, yellow and orange shouts from all of the treetops; the homey scent of wood smoke kindles images of winter nights nestling beside a toasty fire; the fainter, smoky scent of fallen leaves beginning to decompose wafts up from under foot; and the raspy scuttling of those fallen leaves dances across the roadways. Though it is a bit early, I envision jack-o-lanterns and apple pies, skeins of geese flying southward and echoes of “Trick or Treat!” just around the corner. Everything seems to come alive in the fall.

It also heralds the entrance into a long winter, where all but the most essential chores here on the homestead, come to a halt. The garden will be laid to rest; the wood stacked; the barn carpeted in a thick padding of straw for the animals. And, while they won’t be needed for awhile, the heat lamps will be gleaming as they hang from their anchors, ready for service. I’m hoping to get a good supply of hay in for this winter, too, as the Farmer’s Almanac says to expect a harsh one. Two years ago it was quite a challenge finding hay after 3 feet of snow fell on New England; I don’t wish to be caught short again. I’m also hoping the power stays on…regardless of how much snow we receive. Two years’ ago, I had goats, chickens and ducks living in my laundry room as high winds threatened to knock out power and, thus, the only source of heat in the barn. If funds permit this year, I’d like to add another source of heat, such as a propane space heater that mounts onto the wall to keep goatees from knocking it over. We shall see…

Fall is also a time where the mind can rest a bit and make plans. This year, there are plans afoot to finally get out of debt and start looking for new digs. While I love my home, this area of Connecticut is becoming too commercial and I’m looking for quieter, greener pastures–no pun intended. Granted, this fixer-upper has little by way of curb appeal but the possibility of turning it into a business may entice someone into purchasing. I swallow down my worries about all the furry and feathery babies who are laid to rest here. Though it will pain me to see a strip mall over their graves, or to see a bulldozer digging everyone up, this area has also become too expensive for a single income household to handle. And I know their spirits will always be with me; what’s buried is only the shell that carried them through this crazy world.

I say that and then I want to weep. I am more attached to this small plot of land than I give myself credit. Despite the fixer-upper state, so much of myself has been put into it, so many memories cling to the walls like a relentless cobweb. Of course, there is also that old bug bear, Fear. Fear of the Unknown. Fear that leaving will not produce the positive outcome I’m hoping for. Fear of what I might have to give up to acquire that dream of a working, thriving homestead where there is land enough to grow my own hay and room for a herd of sheep for my future border collies to herd; I am obsessed with sheepdog trials. In short, it is a fear of success. But I have a long winter ahead of me to decide. And there are as many positives as negatives: being close enough to walk to work, church, the library, the bank, Walmart, and even the grocery store (though this latter is a bit of a haul…). A bicycle ride to the local Agway is possible, too, though some sort of vehicle is needed for hauling hay and feed home. I have quite a bevy of chickadees, woodpeckers, finches, titmice, sparrows, cardinals, hummingbirds (in summer), toads and chipmunks that come to feed here. And a herd of deer that travel by twice a day through the woods just outside my backyard. There’s the free gifts of wild blackberries, jewel weed (great for poison ivy), Japanese knotweed (though an invasive, the honey bees love it), St. John’s wort, red clover, purslane, lamb’s quarters, cinquefoil, curled dock, and, of course, dandelions. The property came with lilac and Rose of Sharon bushes, too. But much of this may be transplanted. Again, I have a long winter to finally decide.

And as the fears and doubts plague me, I look out the window at the faint pop of color just starting to grace the leaves on the old apple tree across the street, and I listen to the endless rumble of early morning traffic rolling by. Despite my refusal to use any chemical pesticides or fertilizers, and despite the living filter of arborvitaes bordering the roadside, how organic are my vegetables, herbs and fruits with so much carbon monoxide blowing through each day?

Autumn is the perfect time to dream; winter the perfect season for planning…for a spring made for making those autumn dreams come true.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Alcoholism, Faith, Religion, Spirituality

Letting It Go…to God

Lisa Burbank

I am distracted. And struggling not to be. Yes, it is 6:14 in the morning. Yoga, meditation, affirmations, some fictional writing and journaling have already been attended to but I’m losing focus. It makes me realize just how much time is truly wasted with drama.

Mom hit me with some family drama the moment I came in the door from work last night. We had a lovely day Saturday celebrating my Uncle Ernie’s birthday at his home on the lake. We chatted with family and friends, did some catching up here and there. I spent some time on the water, boating, with my Aunt Sharon and Cousin Jenny. And then we came home. Though lies, petty jealousies and childish attitudes have caused some recent splintering in this already fragile dynamic, there was little evidence of this at the cookout. Albeit, fewer faces of loved ones shared the day with us–and they were missed–but everyone in attendance mingled amiably, ate a lot of good food (so much for my 20 lbs by Nov. 20th…), and the gossip and drama appeared to be non-existent. Until yesterday. Apparently, one of my cousins seems bent on keeping the feuds going, posting some rather hurtful remarks on Facebook. I’m not sure why. And I’m not sure I want to know why anyone would get their rocks off of hurting their own flesh and blood; that sort of meanness is just something I can’t wrap my mind around. And, again, I don’t want to. Abuse, no matter what form it takes, is unacceptable.

Of course, this is all hearsay; Mom may have edited a bit to try to keep peace, as I know how deeply hurt she was when the family splintered apart after my grandmother’s passing in 1990. I usually avoid the ongoing dramas…especially on Facebook, where everyone suddenly finds the courage to say things to others they would never have the courage to say face-to-face. While I love many things about the Internet and social media, the use of it as a tool for hurting others is one facet of it I don’t like.

I’m Switzerland. I don’t see “sides”. There is no one member better than I am (or each other) nor do I consider myself better than anyone else; we are all the same in His eyes–and in mine. And there are more important things to worry about than he said/she said. My maternal grandparents had 11 children, 8 of whom are still with us. And, while we may often resemble the Hatfields and McCoys, there isn’t a single member of this family that I don’t love deeply. I may not always like the way they act, but I love them anyway. And yet, becoming that proverbial hermit-in-the-woods is pretty appealing at this point. There are times when I get so frustrated with everyone, it’s all I can do to keep from wanting to sit each family member in a separate corner for timeout so they can get their foolishness under control. This is not at all the way my grandmother raised them to be and yet they continue to dishonor her memory by creating these “sides”. My grandmother’s grave has weeds growing on it. There is an old wives’ tale that this is a sign the person is not resting in peace. I can’t imagine why…

I also can’t imagine that this is God’s plan for this family, that we should fight and bicker and throw hurtful comments back and forth. Yes, I know the old kiddie refrain of “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.” That’s not entirely true. Words cut into the soul; sticks and stones only hurt the flesh.

Sitting back and observing, as only a writer can, it seems as this family tries to get back together–or, if we must put this in past-tense–when the family was trying to get back together, various members came back expecting others to have changed, to be different people than the ones they shied away from before. Yes, people can change. But I am reminded of something in my Al-Anon daily reader, “Courage to Change”, about how we expect others to act the way we want them to and then get angry with them when they act on their own. I’m paraphrasing but it is by-product of alcoholism, wanting to control each other, and having unrealistic expectations. No, neither grandparent was an alcoholic (nor, to my knowledge, is any aunt, uncle or cousin) but both great-grandfathers had a reputation for alcoholism. A. It can skip a generation and B. the coping behaviors learned by one generation often get handed down to another because there’s been no one teaching them a better, more respectful way of treating one another–and ourselves. As one of my best friend’s mother phrased it, “You can only work with the tools you’ve been given.” Yes, there are deeper issues behind the family feuds, but alcoholism lies at the root–the root that prevents the type of communication needed for healing to begin. (Denial is another symptom of alcoholism…)

I grew up in an active alcoholic home. My step-father drank heavily and was a violent man when he drank; he fit most of the stereotypical images of the flaming alcoholic. But alcoholism is often more subtle than that. Growing up with active alcoholism, you learn to keep your thoughts and your feelings to yourself. You don’t want to trigger another temper tantrum in the alcoholic nor do you want to be ridiculed or told you’re stupid for your views. This lack of communication, if left alone, often gets perpetuated through the next generation in a family. How can it not if speaking your mind brought on a string of repercussions? The only difference is, that because there is no visible, active alcoholism in the home in this next generation, it is easy to deny the effects, to be unable to recognize them for what they are. Lying, poking one’s nose in everyone else’s affairs, refusing to take responsibility for one’s actions, placing blame, denial, being overly sensitive, sarcasm, lack of trust, low self-esteem and blowing everything out of proportion are all side effects of alcoholism. There’s a reason why both AA and Al-Anon ask us to admit that our lives have become “unmanageable”; they have. How can this sort of behavior be manageable? And, as I type this, I think of how there is a small part of me that is still feeling the effects of my own alcoholic upbringing: I so want to call that “timeout” I mentioned earlier and “force” everyone to get along, but that would only do more harm than good. And that is not my right. So I leave it in the hands of the only One who can heal it, heal each individual, and lead them either closer together, by making all feel welcome and appreciated as is…or allowing those who have been perpetually wounded too deeply to go their own way so that no further abuse or ostracism can be meted out upon them.

Acceptance is where the healing begins. Acceptance that sometimes families are just not capable of being like The Waltons or The Brady Bunch; that is fiction and, while we love it, we cannot write the script or direct the actions of all the players when it comes to real life. Sometimes, though we share blood, we speak totally different languages. And that’s okay…as long as those different languages aren’t used to hurt and abuse each other. When the abuse exists, there’s every right to step away.

Forgiveness is the other starting point. Forgiveness isn’t about condoning another’s conduct. And it doesn’t mean you have to go back into the hornet’s nest and endure more pain and abuse; “family” is who you choose to care for, and that may not necessarily mean “blood”. Forgiveness is about the person, not the act. And forgiveness is for yourself, for your own soul. Matthew 6:14: “Your heavenly Father will forgive you if you forgive those who sin against you; but if you refuse to forgive them, he will not forgive you.” (The Living Bible)

I don’t know where He is leading this family. Again, I am Switzerland. Nobody has the right to bully another, whether by making them feel uncomfortable, placing words in another’s mouth, or by threatening to withhold their love and friendship for associating with “the other side”; there are no sides. And I had enough of walking on eggshells as a child. I am a child of God as is everyone else on this planet, whatever you perceive Him/Her to be. God did not create us to be perfect. He asks only that we love Him with all of our hearts, minds, souls, and bodies; and that we love our neighbors as ourselves. If everyone in this family can remember that, maybe we’ve still got a fighting chance…no pun intended.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Gratitude, Homesteading

A Labor Day of Love

Lisa Burbank

I awakened early yesterday morning but, instead of writing or blogging (bad me!), I decided to head outside to tackle some of the myriad chores that have been piling up here on the homestead. The heatwave is finally gone (thank God!) and now it’s time to play “catch up”. Haste, due to Hermine’s threat along the Northeast coastline, was another factor in heading out so early. So, with hand clippers, loppers, and wire cutters in hand, I headed outside.

The sky was just beginning to lighten when I started cutting back all of the Japanese knotweed, bittersweet, and smart weed that had been taking over since the start of last month’s heatwave. I had a romantic notion of also watching the sun rise but Hermine and her extensive cloud cover nixed that hope. Instead, I spent the better part of two hours cutting it all back and then heading back inside to begin the usual morning routine of feeding, watering and general care of all the animals, which included cleaning and scrubbing down all 6 rabbit cages. This one was truly a labor of love as I watched each of the bunnies scampering about, stretching their legs and nosing everyone and everything in endless curiosity; if I could bottle some of that energy, I’d be a millionaire. Of course, the cats also join us for this activity. Sweet Pea, one of my bucks, couldn’t wait to leave his cage to greet feline pal, Alice Cooper. The two had a wonderful morning of chasing each other in and out from under the old work bench.

But the biggest project was the removal of all of the chicken wire covering the coop. When I first got my chickens and ducks, I had two St. Bernards that had the run of the property. A friend fenced in a good-sized section of the yard with some old chain-link fencing and ran the chicken wire over the top to keep out hawks and other flying predators. Posts and heavy cabling were used to keep it from sagging but it hasn’t worked very well. The weight of heavy snowfalls over the years has left it bowing in several places, one so bad I had to walk bent almost in two. Of course, these depressions have also seen the accumulation of fallen leaves and it is in one of these depressions that Kiel, one of my Polish hens, has decided to roost every night. Since the loss of both dogs, the chickens and ducks are now free-ranging and it is no trouble at all for Miss Kiel to flutter up to the top of the gate and walk across the mesh to her nest. Not wanting her to fall victim to predation, I have been spending several minutes each night tickling the bottoms of her feet until she finally gets up, walks across the top of the mesh and flutters down and into the henhouse; this routine grew old rather quickly. So I took down the mesh. It took quite awhile, partly because the area is quite extensive, and partly because I had a little help in the form of three Nigerian Dwarfs who were quite taken with the tools I was using. Every time I set one down, Domino would grab it in his mouth and try to run off with it–or consume it, depending on the tool. When he wasn’t grabbing tools, he was climbing up on the fencing trying to get a better look at what I was doing. And all three trailed me everywhere, headbutting my legs for attention and grabbing mouthfuls of leaves as they fell from the top of the mesh. Fearing for their safety–and mine–I finally had to grab a few collars and coax them out of the coop with a few branches of the trimmed back Japanese knotweed and Lambs’ Quarters!

My hands now look like I got in a fight with a couple of alley cats on steroids! My fingers took quite a beating from the edges of wire as I continued cutting it away from the frame. But they’ll mend. And Kiel went right into the henhouse yesterday afternoon–migrating in with all of the other birds, as Hermine and the high winds she brought, set them running for cover early. I am grateful that it seems to have worked, making it a labor of love worth celebrating.

May God bless you & keep you!

Environment, Frugality, Holistic Health, Minimalism, Yoga & Fitness

20 by November 20th

Lisa Burbank

That’s my goal…20 pounds, that is.

Though I am rapidly reaching the point of no return as “middle-aged”, I refuse to give in to the legendary middle-aged spread. I have about 30 pounds of unwanted spare tire around my middle right now, but I’m shooting for 20; it’s a little less daunting. No, I’m not going to start some fad diet. Making healthier eating choices and incorporating some much-needed cardio into my daily routine will help me take it off slowly and, hopefully, help me keep it off. I’ve chosen my 50th birthday in November as my deadline to keep me from putting off taking it off.

With all this in mind, I elected to walk to work yesterday instead of driving. It’s better for me and it’s better for the environment. It also saves wear and tear on the vehicle, and saves some money on gasoline. It’s a win-win situation all around.

Driving I can leave my home 5 minutes before my shift starts and still arrive on time. Walking? It takes about 30 minutes depending on my pace. So I left the house at 8:32 a.m. and reached the dealership at 8:59 a.m. I confess to being a little winded. I’m woefully out of shape–despite the daily yoga routine–but I also enjoyed the walk. Yes, traffic was heavy on Route 6 and I probably traded some of the physical benefits of the walk with a not-so-healthy dose of carbon inhalation, but it felt good to be moving. As I normally work late afternoons, early evenings, and also Saturdays, this will likely be a Saturday only routine due to my aversion of walking a busy interstate after dark; I’m taking advantage of the track at the local ballpark for the rest of the week (I switched with a co-worker to get a much-needed 3 day weekend; I worked her Friday shift in exchange).

You walked??!?

Well, I do work at a dealership where they sell cars so maybe my fitness walk doesn’t exactly jive with the image of luxury they’re trying to promote.

You walked??

Sad that this is such an earth-shattering occupation…

And then the expected call from my Nervous Nellie, Mom. Yes, expected. I did mention the evening before that I was planning on walking to work but I could also tell during the mentioning that she wasn’t really paying attention. I had planned to leave a note to remind her but, in the mad dash to get out the door on time, I nixed the note. The call came in around 11 a.m.

“Welcome to (insert dealership name here). This is Lisa speaking. How may I direct your call?”

“Lisa, it’s Mom. Why didn’t you take the car?”

Of course, the owner was in the building so I couldn’t talk–especially on the business phone–so I had to keep it brief. She and Max the Blue Heeler were waiting for me at the foot of the driveway. Poor Mom! She thought something was wrong with the car. Now what? As Yours Truly just paid to have some major work done on it at the beginning of August, I totally understand her concern but, of course, I had to give her some gentle ribbing for being the Nervous Nellie.

“Selective Hearing? Or Selective Memory?”

She admitted to the latter. After she called me, she then remembered my telling her the evening before about the walk.

“You should have called me,” she scolded, “I could’ve picked you up from work.” (??!!?)

I think 20 pounds instead of 30 by November 20th is going to be enough of a challenge. Don’t you?

May God bless you & keep you!

Faith, Gratitude, Herbs, Holistic Health, Homesteading, Nature, Organic

Friday’s Flora and Fauna: Chamomile

Lisa Burbank

Chamomile (Matricaria recutita) has been a staple on this homestead for many years. Diagnosed with Irritable Bowel Syndrome in my early 20’s, chamomile quickly became a valued friend. It is an effective carminative and considered by many herbalists to be specific for any and all digestive complaints. In fact, it has been proven to be “a good remedy for a number of diseases ranging from the common cold and flu to digestive disorders, diarrhea, menstrual cramps, nervousness and insomnia” (Tierra 110) During my herbal apprenticeship with Michael Ford and Joanne Pacheco of Apollo Herbs in Lincoln, Rhode Island, I came up with what I call my “Digest Tea” as a part of my herbal roadshow–the practical half of our final exam where we actually used herbs to make certain medicines, health and beauty aids and/or herbal products. Chamomile was the main ingredient. I’ve been making this tea on a regular basis for almost 9 years. Yes, it is a very effective tea for someone with digestive complaints, but chamomile also tastes good; not at all like a “medicine”.

I also suffer from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Again, chamomile, with its nervine and calmative properties is the herb of choice. I don’t think it has ever made me so drowsy that I’m a threat to society behind the wheel of a car–but I’ve also never put it to the test and, with tongue in cheek, would advise: DO NOT DRINK AND DRIVE! Instead, it is best enjoyed sitting by the fire on a cold winter’s night or else curled up in bed just before bedtime with a good book.

The aforementioned uses for chamomile are fairly common–even for those not as familiar with herbs. Quite a number of commercial tea manufacturers/distributors have a Sleepy Time Tea (or an equivalent) and, again, chamomile tends to be the main ingredient. However, a recent reading in James Duke’s “The Green Pharmacy” brought to light another effective use for chamomile–one that is proving timely for me.

Every summer my legs break out in this itching, burning rash. It is more of a nuisance than anything else, but I refuse to wear shorts or short skirts outside of the house even in the hottest temps because of its unsightliness. It almost looks like poison ivy but a.) I’m one of those weirdos that usually doesn’t react to poison ivy and b.) in this infernal heatwave that I’ve been complaining about ad nauseum in previous posts, I’m not doing anything to come into contact with poison ivy. It seems most prevalent behind the knees, and around the ankles and feet. Many years ago my doctor gave it a name but it escapes me. However, it is a dermatological reaction caused by the sap from weeds and tall grasses when weed whacking. Another electric weed whacker died earlier in the summer; this rash, once it erupts, stays most of the season. Anyway, I have tried everything–both common anti-itch methods such as hydro-cortisone creams and Calamine lotion to holistic approaches such as a spearmint leaf decoction, which works great for poison ivy rashes but, apparently, not any other kind of foliage-based rashes.

Anyway, in “The Green Pharmacy”, James Duke writes “Aromatherapists, especially in Europe, recommend massaging with camomile preparations to treat skin allergies such as hives and itching”. Yesterday I was desperate. This rash is extremely itchy and I have all of the self-control of a 5 year-old child. If it itches, I scratch it (don’t go there…). I know it doesn’t help the unsightliness of my legs to have bloody runnels everywhere but that is the usual effect after a good scratching. So I decided to give chamomile a try. I brewed a standard infusion of chamomile (1 tablespoon of dried chamomile leaves and flowers in a cup of hot water (turn off the heat just before the water comes to a full boil; boiling water may destroy some of the healing properties of the herb); cover, and allow to steep for 20 minutes) and, after it had cooled, dipped a cotton ball in it and began bathing my legs with it.

Almost instant relief. It was amazing. Of course, I also took a bath in Epsom salt prior to the application and I’m sure that had a hand in helping, too. But it was the chamomile that seemed to provide the most soothing relief. Within moments there was a visible reduction in inflammation. It was wonderful. And I am so grateful that He led me to this passage in James Duke’s book; it is truly a godsend. Like any other treatment, you will need to re-apply it. It stayed with me for about 5 hours and then a few of the worse areas started itching again–not quite as bad as before the first application but enough that it was time to re-apply.

Hopefully, this will help others in a similar situation. I do need to add a few words of caution: chamomile is a member of the ragweed family. If you have a sensitivity with ragweed, you may want to proceed with caution before using chamomile, especially taking it internally. If using it topically, apply the chamomile infusion in your bathroom where there is a shower or faucet where you may quickly wash it off. As with all things, seek professional medical attention if the rash gets worse.

These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. This presentation is intended for informational purposes only; it is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any disease, nor be taken as medical advice.

Works Cited

Duke, J. The Green Pharmacy: The Ultimate Compendium of Natural Remedies from the World’s Foremost
Authority on Healing Herbs. Rodale Press, PA: 1997.

Tierra, M. The Way of Herbs. Simon & Schuster, Inc, New York: 1998.

Biodynamic, Environment, Frugality, Gratitude, Herbs, Homesteading, Minimalism, Nature, Organic

Goodbye Humidity…Praise God!

Lisa Burbank

My dream home is in Alaska. But I’ll settle for northern Maine. I know I’ve said it before but I am the most unproductive person when the humidity moves in. While friends of mine extol the virtues of a winter vacation in Florida, I’m glorying in seeing 3 feet of snow outside my window. Well, maybe not exactly ‘glorying’; digging endless pathways to the barn and chicken coop after each snowfall gets old after the first time. But I can praise God that I’m still fit enough to do the shoveling…even as I listen to Nervous Nellie nagging at me (Mom) that I’m going to stroke out if I keep this up (even while she reaches for the shovel herself–I don’t think so!). But snow is, hopefully, a few months’ away; I still have a lot of prep work before winter sets in.

Not snow, but this morning thunderstorms rolled in, giving a brief shower or two to nourish the land. Looking like Tobacco Road, as usual, I both welcome the rain and lament it. We need the moisture, as everything has been so dry, but the wet grass means another delay in finishing my landscaping as I wait for everything to dry out again. I am hoping the upcoming long weekend will be humidity-free so I can make a good dent in everything.

I want a good, productive garden next year. The last two summers have been minimal, by choice, and I cringe every time I have to buy produce at the supermarket. Not only the prices cause this tightwad to cringe; the not-knowing where it comes from, or more specifically, how many pesticides/fertilizers were used in its growth, cause me to shudder a bit, too. It’s the main reason I decided to homestead in the first place. However, because my garden area is towards the front of the house and visible to Interstate 6, I want to make it attractive. Yes, I know, Tobacco Road is definitely NOT attractive (though letting it overgrow has given me some great wild herbs and delicious wild blackberries, the latter now in the freezer to enjoy through the long winter), but my goal is to do this all without using any sort of power equipment–or, at the very least, only as a last resort. And I’m a stubborn woman. My dream is to combine some antiquated methods learned as a volunteer at Old Sturbridge Village with some modern, alternative farming methods like lasagna (or no-till) gardening plots and the Square Foot Gardening method (Mel Bartholomew wrote the book by this name that started the movement). I’ve been researching something called Biodynamic Farming, too; more on that later, but it’s definitely attracting me. And I am hoping to eventually add Aquaponics to the homestead. But, for now, I’ll settle for the completed landscape this year and the jars of homemade pickles, jams, jellies, salsas and relishes lining my kitchen shelves next year; I miss canning…even if it does increase the humidity in the house. Now there’s an oxymoron for you!

May God bless you & keep you!