Category: Animals

Animals, Environment, Gratitude, History, Nature, Religion, Spirituality, Writing

First Decent Snowstorm

Lisa Burbank

First big snowstorm hit last night and I became a little kid again. Though an inch of snow fell in December, it barely coated the ground. This is different. According to Channel 3 News, 8 inches in some areas. I’d say we’re pretty close here in Brooklyn, CT. The snow hadn’t finished falling last night when I went out to the barn around 7:30-8 o’clock to feed, water and check on the animals, and it was over the back of my calf.

I love it!

Of course, I’m not looking forward to the clean up this morning. My driveway’s not super-long but my shoulder will be screaming abuse at me before the job is done. Thankfully, this is the light, fluffy, sugar-snow…as opposed to the heavy, wet variety…and I can push more than actual shoveling. That’s a little easier on the back and shoulders but, though I am scheduled as a Eucharistic minister this morning, I doubt I’ll get shoveled out in time for the 8 a.m. Mass. No burly young men to sweet talk into doing the shoveling for me (and I’m not really lamenting that, just stating the facts) nor do I own a working snow blower. This ought to burn some calories. =)

But, aside from these practical considerations, and a deeply-felt gratitude that we did not fall victim to the power outages that were predicted for the area (we were woefully unprepared for such; we have plenty of bottled water, candles, oil lamps but no wood for the stove), I’m feeling that childhood magic that comes with the first big snowfall.

And, yes, I do feel that it is magical. Those first few moments, before any of that snow is disturbed, that pristine blanket makes everything feel safe, clean and fresh, and makes me think of some sort of fairy land, like Narnia. I sincerely hope the White Witch doesn’t come riding up on her sleigh, but the artist and author in me sees a thousand pictures, paintings and/or stories hidden in each and every flake. I see a snowman on someone’s front lawn and think of Frosty. I see a pattern of hoof prints in the snow by the woods and, despite the yuletide season being over (unless you’re of Ukrainian descent; yesterday was Ukrainian Christmas (or Eastern European)), I think of Santa’s reindeer and their white-tailed cousins who live in those woods behind my house. The big kid in me wants to follow their trail, roll one of Frosty’s cousins into existence, throw a few snowballs at someone and lay in that snow to make an angel.

Of course, for those of us who grew up in Rhode Island, there’s still that little kid inside, hoping to hear Salty Brine’s voice singing out over the radio: “No school Foster/Glocester!” (I always wanted to live in either Foster or Gloucester as a kid…they had more snow days than every other town/city in RI combined!) God bless him; he will forever be a Rhode Island icon, his voice forever recorded in my memory.

I’m praying that these magical snowstorms will never be “forever recorded” in just a memory. Eight inches on the ground today; temperatures in the 50’s Tuesday through Thursday this week. As a kid, this sort of snowfall would last weeks. Guess I’ll have to do the angel thing on my way to the barn again. Might not get another chance.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Creativity, Faith, Gratitude, Prayer, Spirituality, Writing

Reflections

Lisa Burbank

As the last 28 minutes of 2016 wind down to the first seconds of 2017, nostalgia for what has been, both the good and the not-so-good things, of this year kindles.

I am liable to start blubbering. I lost a lot of fur- and feather-babies this year and I feel those losses keenly. I keep looking for Alice and Ariel, Trooper and Jillian, Blessing, Patience, Squire and Charity. It doesn’t help that Ariel, Trooper and Jillian were all geriatrics. No matter how much time you have with someone you love–human or humane–it is never enough. Trooper was my problem “child”, always into mischief and squabbling with the other cats–especially Pearl. And every day we shared was a gift that I wouldn’t trade for all the tea in China. Nor would I have wanted him any other way. Ariel…she and I go way back. I was blessed with 16+ years with her; I couldn’t have asked for much more but, again, there is never enough time. That was especially true for Alice, who died too young and unexpectedly, but who graced my life with so much love and hope while he was here. (Yes, he. Alice was named for Alice Cooper.) Jillian Bunny was probably the least skittish out of all of my bunnies and patiently put up with regular groomings and haircuts. Though the latter was always a little stressful due to the constant worry about nicking her, it was also a bonding time with us, a time where she was the focus of all of my attention. And my chickens all greeted me with their songs each morning–except for Squire. I confess, though it saddens me that he also died fairly young, Squire was the meanest rooster I have ever known. I did everything the “experts” suggested to tame him but he was a nasty boy. I’m saddened over any loss but was more relieved than anything else when I found him in the barnyard last summer…suspiciously so after he challenged Sargent Feathers earlier in the day. Just saying…

That’s true for humans, too. There is never enough time and I am more grateful than any words can express that friends and family are all hale and hearty this year.

As midnight creeps ever closer, I’m looking back not only at the losses but also the triumphs of this year. I had a lot of good classes, wrote some good pieces for those classes and kept the 4.0 grade point average in tact. Yes, I am boasting a bit but I’m proud of what I have accomplished. I also worked with a wonderful woman named Farnoosh Brock this year, taking her Smart Exit Blueprint course–it helped me to focus on what matters the most in my life, my passions, hopes, dreams, and gave me the courage to step out of the comfort zone and follow my heart’s desires. I’m not changing careers so much as simply giving myself permission to pursue the one I have always wanted. That has been writing, of course. And this blog is another triumph. It’s no longer collecting dust and I have been blessed with new acquaintances along the way. Lastly, through the SEB program, and a fundraiser at church, I discovered a love for painting. I use acrylics for the moment; hoping to branch out with watercolors and oils, too.

New Year’s Resolutions? I blogged this morning about overcoming my tendency for procrastination. And that’s a big one, one I can’t ignore. I think I’m also going the more traditional route and add “losing weight” to my list. Forget the 20 lbs. by November 20th. The goal is to lose 30 lbs. this year, to get into better shape, improve my circulation and eat better, healthier. That will do for starters.

And, as it is now 12:05 a.m., I say ‘goodbye’ to 2016 and welcome a new year filled with hope and prayer and faith. It will be a good year.

Happy 2017!

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Faith, Gratitude, Homesteading, Nature, Religion, Spirituality

Winter Wonderland

Lisa Burbank

The unmistakable smack and part-scrape, part-screech of a metal plow hitting and running along the pavement caught my attention yesterday morning. I had forgotten all about the 1″ of snow Mom advised me of the night before. Eh, how often are the weather people right? I looked out my office window and discovered that, this time, they were. Most of the ground was coated and, looking towards the massive spotlight in the parking lot across the street (even in darkest night, my house is lit up like a Christmas tree), I could see flakes still falling.

The child in me lit up like that Christmas tree. No, it’s not a “No school Foster-Gloucester” kind of morning, as Salty Brine used to say, and was the hero of every school age child in Rhode Island throughout the 1960’s and 70’s–and probably a few decades before. Snow or not, my college studies continue. But the memory of what the first snowfall used to mean clung to me like one of those icicles that form in late-spring after a perpetual cycle of thaw and re-freeze. Forget that I am a 50 year-old woman and that snowfall now equals back pain and muscle aches from endless hours of shoveling. It’s the first snow for Pete’s sake! And only an inch of it; no shoveling required. I couldn’t wait to get outside and experience it.

And neither could Max. Max, the lily-livered Blue Heeler who will hide behind every chair, on the stair well, any place he can squeeze his bologna sausage-shaped body to avoid going out in even a light mist of rain, catapulted himself off of the sofa yesterday morning, all tail wags, to go out in the fluffy white stuff (sorry, S-N-O-W is regarded as a disgusting swear word in the office at the dealership…LOL!). There was no hesitation. He pranced out onto the back deck and immediately put his nose down into it, sniffed, sneezed, snorted and then bounded off the deck, on the deck, and fairly skipped with me to the chicken coop.

That’s the spirit…

While the ground coverage was thin and actually spotty in some places, still, it was like someone magically transformed my backyard into that proverbial winter wonderland. Everywhere I looked, I saw pristine white. And the still-falling flakes made me feel as though someone had stuffed me into one of those snow globes…you know the ones, those kitschy ornaments that you shake and watch “snow” over whatever plastic, painted scene is protected under dome. And I loved every moment in it.

A few trips back and forth with Max to fill the smaller winter duck “pool”, scatter leftovers and birdseed for the chickens under the overhang where the snow didn’t fall, and replenish the outdoor waterers, and then Max went back inside the house so that chickens and ducks could come out to play.

Normally, I open the door of the hen house and take a quick step out of the way as 18 chickens and 3 ducks explode out of the house. Yesterday morning, Duncan, Dweezil and Dixie Ducks–affectionately and collectively known as The Quackers–waddled right outside and straight into their minuscule pool, obviously overjoyed to see this winter wonderland. Eh, snow’s only frosty water after all. However, there was a log jam of chickens at the door of the hen house. Goldie, the barking chicken (yes, she barks; she does NOT cackle or cluck. Whether this is learned “speech”, a mimicry of Max, or just her natural “singing” voice, I don’t know but Goldie barks…most convincingly…like a dog), squealed her brakes at the door jamb. Every hen and rooster in the chicken marathon behind her plowed into the back of her. Amazingly, she kept her footing and stayed just inside the door jamb. You could almost see the cogs turning as she took in this strange yet vaguely-remembered phenomena. Nope. She didn’t like this at all. It wasn’t until Sunset, Tank and a few others grew impatient and flew over her and into the yard that she finally resigned herself to cold feet for the rest of the day. And only Taffy ventured beyond the coop at first. In her usual pell-mell way, she came racing out of the hen house behind everyone else, squawking and cackling at the top of her lungs and racing, well, “normal” would be racing across and back again the yard but, with snow on the ground, her “race” was a wide arc around to the door of the goat barn. Race around in the snow? Maybe not…

A half hour later, goats, chickens and ducks all watered, fed and wandering free, the snow turned to a mix of snow and rain. The pristine whiteness rapidly gave way to the mud and muck of the barnyard again. But, for a few shining moments, I walked through magic, a magic that makes all things new again…just as Jesus makes all things new again.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Environment, Frugality, Gratitude, Minimalism

The Minimalist Challenge

Lisa Burbank

An article about the Minimalist Challenge was posted on Treehugger.com last month. My interest piqued right from the get-go but, as I had fallen behind on reading my Treehugger newsletters, we were halfway through the month and, rather than play “catch-up”–which seems to be the story of my life–I decided I’d meet the challenge in December instead of November.

So, what is the Minimalist Challenge? Every day for the month of December, I am purging my home of unwanted or unneeded items based upon the date. In other words, on December 1st, I removed one item. On December 2nd, it was two. Today is the 5th so I will be removing 5 items, and so on, and so forth. By now, you get the picture. By December 31st when I remove 31 items, all total for the month, I will have donated, recycled, re-purposed or, as a last resort, disposed of almost 600 items. Can I do it? You betcha! But why not just pick those 600 items up front? Because that would the most daunting task. By selecting only a certain number each day, it breaks the task into smaller, manageable bites.

Why would I do all of this though? Because, unless we’re talking homeless, unwanted, abandoned, abused and/or neglected animals (within reason, of course…and insert cheeky grin here), my philosophy is “less is best”. While I joke that my dream home is in either Alaska or Maine, the truth is, my dream is simply a much smaller house. I really love the concept of a tiny house and this is just a step in that direction, a step towards living with much, much less. It is a much more inexpensive way to live. The less you have, the less you have to maintain. A larger living space equals bigger repairs, repairs that will almost always require a professional that I can seldom afford to pay. As a single woman on a single income, well, those of you who drive by the black house on Route 6 every day (and I seem to have started a trend as I keep seeing more and more black houses cropping up on Route 6 and many of the surrounding streets, too…lol!) are privy to the unkempt fixer-upper that never seems to get fixed up. Less is also easier on the environment. Less living space means a smaller area to light, to heat in the wintertime or cool in the summer. Lower energy usage is always good for the planet. And good for all of us who share it.

However, I’m not relocating to a tiny house…at least not for the moment. Tiny house living has been relegated to that never-reached point in time called “Someday”. Minimalizing today is simply to remove the clutter that distracts, irritates, stresses me out; clutter that loses important items in a sea of useless or unnecessary “stuff”. This is “stuff” that, oftentimes, could benefit others if I simply took the time to go through it and donate it to the appropriate places. For this purge, many of the items I’m purging are books that I know I will never read again; clothes that no longer fit, or else I never really liked the way they fit in the first place; extra jars that I saved for storing dried herbs in but I have a few too many taking up much-needed kitchen storage. I have old cellphones that could be donated to women’s shelters. And a mountain of knick knacks that always seem to end up in my possession after someone else’s purge. These will go into a box labeled “Yard Sale” for next spring. While I have a few choice what-nots, I prefer a very select few to a mountain of fancy dust collectors. I guess I’m a bit Amish at heart because I like plain, simple living. I’d rather have utilitarian items hanging on my kitchen wall–like measuring cups and pot holders and colanders.

I’m enjoying this challenge. Looking around me, going through items that I haven’t thought of or used in a long time, is proving to be liberating. Not only in the amount of space that is being freed up, but also, I am finding myself wandering down memory lane, remembering people and events in my life tied to some of these items. I confess, that can make some of this purging painful but, anything with a strong sentimental attachment, can stay. The idea isn’t to tear a hole in my heart. But allowing myself these memories is proving a great way to celebrate the yuletide season. I spend most of my year hustling and bustling about so much that, to quote Jewel’s song “Deep Water”, my “standard of living somehow got stuck on survive”. If nothing else, the house is also getting a good cleaning. And I’m remembering a book I read about the art of Feng Shui, about how doing these sort of purges, giving things away to those in need, opens the door for you to receive as well. I sincerely hope that doesn’t mean more knick knacks but I think this philosophy falls in line with the biblical truth of it being “in giving that we receive”.

Either way, I am accepting this challenge. And I am doing so with a smile. It’s actually fun. And I am looking forward to seeing those select few momentos taking center stage on their own little shelves…instead of hidden amidst the “busy”.

Are you ready for the minimalist challenge? Maybe more so than you know.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Faith, Homesteading

Goodbye, Alice Cooper…

Lisa Burbank

Alice Cooper the Cat, that is; not the rock star. Yes, this is one of those blog entries again. I’m too shocked and angry and blubbery to really register how abysmally tired I am of making these kinds of posts.

I came home last night from the dealership and went about business as usual: feeding and watering the goats, chickens and ducks, and settling them into the barn for the evening. I finished up in the barn, came inside and opened a couple of cans of cat food. After scooping the food into their bowls, I turned around and noticed Alice was missing.

“Oh, no!” my heart screamed. Alice never misses a meal. I smothered the panic rising and tried to rationalize. He’s asleep upstairs and didn’t hear the can opening. It would be a first but it might be true. Or, as I strode to the bathroom door, he’s shut in the bathroom. I opened the door. No Alice. I gave a quick, cursory glance around the rabbit room, knowing that if he was in there, he’d have come running for dinner. I guess some part of me already knew but didn’t want to believe. Still rationalizing, I ran upstairs. Maybe I closed him in my office…even as I knew I hadn’t been in there since early morning and he’d been down to breakfast since then. He’d played with the rabbits later that morning, too. I remembered him chasing the blue feather on a stick, the cat toy I bought, I think, for Samantha and 8-Ball and that has entertained nearly every feline since.

When I got to the top of the stairs, something compelled me to go into Mom’s room and turn on the light. I went straight to the new bed she’d created out of a cardboard box; cats love boxes, love any hidey-bed they can find. I looked down and saw a fluffy, white tail. Even before I reached in to touch him, stone-cold and hard as a rock, I knew. I knew he was gone. Didn’t stop the major freak out that followed as I picked up my beautiful, blue-eyed baby boy and gave in to hysterics. I went racing downstairs with him. Mom came running.

“What’s wrong?”

“Alice!”

“Why? What’s wrong with Alice?”

“He’s dead!”

Poor Mom. I think she aged 20 years in the span of about 20 seconds. No sign of illness or injury. Happily running around with his litter mates, Emmylou and Ozzy, Mom Priscilla, and pals Whitney, Kirby (surrogate father), Rosco, Paz and Pearl right up until the end. Other than a couple of fleas–and we’re not “infested”, just overdue to pick up more flea prevention–he was fine as frog hairs. Or seemed to be. After I calmed down enough to talk without babbling, I called my best friend, Mary, who works at a vet hospital in the Midwest. Without actually seeing him, but based upon my description, it is likely he had some sort of congenital heart disease or defect, possibly something he was born with but wasn’t detected earlier in the year when he went in for neutering, shots, etc.

I am devastated. I lost my cool last night after I found him, railed at God, yelled, swore better than the best truck driver or sailor, raged. He was only 15 months’ old. And such a sweetheart. When he wanted attention, he planted himself at your feet, looked up, blue eyes squinting as he grinned up and purred loud enough to shake the floorboards–or almost. My last moments with him were in the rabbit room that morning, a brief playtime with the feather and a quick cuddle before I ran out the door to the food pantry.

I got Jeremiah 29:11 again yesterday, too. To paraphrase, it says that His plans are to give us a hope and a future. I’m not sure if I believe it now. I’m not sure it truly is a good future without Alice. I do know I was blessed for the 15 months that we shared on this earth. I just can’t wrap my mind around the why of it though. When they’re older, like Ariel, though it cut to the core, I knew it was coming, expected it. At 16 years of age, it was inevitable. But with Alice, well, I guess this is an example of that limited understanding of humans. I know when I signed on to this homesteading thing, when I signed on to rescue and care for as many unwanted and unfortunate animals as He gave me the means to do so, that heartache was a part of the deal. But I’m angry right now. That beautiful flame-point, double-pawed, blue-eyed sweetie was beloved of everyone in this household…and everyone who visited. I had more offers to give him a home–even from another best friend, whom I know would have cared for him as well, if not better, than I could…from the moment he was born. He was impossible not to love. There’s the blessing, that such a creature should grace my life at all. I’m about out of hope though. That’s 3 in as many weeks: Ariel on November 1st, Charity the Chicken was found decapitated a week later in the barnyard (owl hunt) and now Alice. I feel as though I’ve been clubbed to my knees. Though I try to hold onto my faith, wanting desperately to believe that I may one day see all those–human and humane–that I have lost, that’s lagging a bit, too. Awful thing for a minister to say but I’m lucky even to make a coherent post through the tears.

I love you, Alice Cooper Burbank…heaven must’ve needed another angel.

May God bless you & keep you!

PS I have pictures of him but they’re all on my cellphone. As soon as I figure out how to download them, I’ll post them. =O

Animal Rights, Animals, Environment, Faith, Gratitude, History, Nature, Politics

Congratulations

Lisa Burbank

“Then Daniel praised the God of heaven, saying: Blessed be the name of God forever and ever, for He alone has all wisdom and all power. World events are under His control. He removes kings and sets others on their thrones. He gives wise men their wisdom, and scholars their intelligence.” Dan 2:20-21

This morning I turned on the PC, went directly to MSNBC’s website and swallowed my disappointment. My gut was telling me last night, before I turned off the TV (yes, we have TV now; Mom can’t get along without it…), that Donald Trump would be the winner. And, while it is a disappointment, because he has little to no stand on the environment, thinking only with his pocketbook rather than the safety and good health of the people, animals, and our shared planet, I have to concede to God’s wisdom in this and give thanks. We have a new president. And, before I went to bed last night, I prayed only that His wisdom prevail and that whoever He thought would be the better candidate would win.

Astonishingly, to those who know me best, Hillary Clinton was not my first choice of candidates. I have been following Jill Stein of the Green Party, which is just as the name suggests–one concerned with our environment and the very real threat of global warming. However, she did not get my vote. And, I confess, it was a bit of a dilemma all the way up to the ballot box. While I felt she would have been the better choice, I also knew, like our Independent and Libertarian candidates, she wouldn’t even be a consideration in the overall big picture. It is sad, because we really can’t call ourselves a democracy if we narrow our views to the same two parties each election, but that is the way of it. And, as I debated about my decision, knowing that maybe a few more votes might put the Green Party in a better position for later elections, I didn’t want Donald Trump to get into office. I didn’t really want Hillary either but, in my opinion, because she at least she has some sensitivity to the environment, she was the lesser of two evils. My vote went to her only because I wanted it to truly count against Trump and, maybe, just maybe, give Hillary a little more edge over him.

But who am I to question God’s wisdom?

While disappointment is a bitter pill to swallow before 4 a.m. in the morning, I give my heartfelt congratulations to Donald Trump. I don’t really think he’s “evil”, per se. I think he is an intelligent man, even if he lacks the finesse and tactfulness that should be a leading quality in any position of authority. We already have a reputation in many other countries for being greedy, wasteful and arrogant, even as we provide aid and support to many countries, especially in times of crises; before Donald Trump is through we may have to add crude to that list as well. I do think he is a good businessman. He knows how to manage big money, how to handle large debts, how to balance a budget, and he has the strength and courage to make tough decisions where it comes to job creation and the economy. For me, those things are almost as important a concern as the environment, as full-time, decent-paying employment opportunities are few and far between these days. However, I also think, as a businessman, he leads from a corporate perspective, meaning the growing gap between the haves and the have-nots is going to get even wider. No, I don’t expect anyone to be handed anything but I do hope he truly can create more and better-paying jobs so that Americans may stand proud again from having earned those wages. Somehow, though, I think we are going to see longer unemployment lines, and longer lines at our local soup kitchens and food pantries. I hope I’m wrong. If I am, in four years’ time, I’ll eat some humble pie and sing his praises.

In the meantime, I’m sending up prayers for our environment, that his decision to start extracting oil from tar sands and oil shale might change before he is sworn into office in January. I hope that, somehow, he manages to pull his head out of that sand and stop denying this very real threat–not only to America, but to the whole world, and to every living being that shares it with us. As the US currently is responsible for 25%-40% (depends who you ask but it’s a large number either way) of the energy usage in this world, I think we would better serve it–and even ourselves–if we moved to greener energies rather than mining for more petroleum. That’s my personal utopia speaking but I dread the next four years; I dread what they will do to this great planet. Somehow, America the Beautiful is more of a history lesson now than anything else–or it will be once this mining begins.

Last night, before she went to bed, I half-jokingly told Mom that if Donald Trump won the election, we were moving to Canada. Amazingly, she laughed and said, “That’s right!” I doubt she truly meant it but it has been a consideration. However, as our polar ice caps continue to melt, and knowing Donald Trump will likely not use this new authority he’s been given to try to at least help slow it down, moving is not really an option. If they melt, and our oceans rise the 40 feet scientists predict, there will be nowhere safe. And, in the meantime, as our planet continues to heat up at an alarming rate, I’m going to join some of those doomsday preppers. Greater temperatures mean bigger and stronger hurricanes, tornados, earthquakes, tsunamis and volcanic eruptions. Again, nowhere safe.

And, yes, I am a little ray of sunshine this morning. I told you it was a bitter pill to swallow at such an ungodly hour.

So, a truly heartfelt “Congratulations!” to Donald Trump. Again, despite my fear for the environment, I will not question God’s wisdom in setting you in our highest office. You fought the good fight, maybe a bit down and dirty, but that’s politics. And you won. That’s an accomplishment in itself, for any candidate. To Hillary, an A for effort; you hung in there until the end. As I felt Bill did a decent job in office, I am sure you would have done well, too. And I would have liked to have seen a woman–finally–in our highest office. Just because. Thank you to all our candidates! Maybe our next election will be one of true change–a change in parties; can’t hurt. The last few elections have been more about choosing that “lesser of two evils” rather than a candidate we can truly feel good about. Sad, but true. And, as we begin the march towards that next election, may Donald Trump, and all our political leaders, lead with God’s wisdom and love…for all creatures great and small.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Alcoholism, Animals, Creativity, Faith, Healing, Homesteading

In Limbo

Lisa Burbank

“Yes, the Lord hears the good man when he calls to him for help, and saves him out of all his troubles…the good man does not escape all troubles–he has them, too. But the Lord helps him in each and every one.” Psalm 34: 17, 19

I’m struggling. I just can’t seem to make up my mind whether to stay or to go. I’m talking about my property, of course. Northeastern Connecticut is an expensive place to live. I’ve only part-time work. I’m still on mortgage assistance and I would really like to get off of it, which will take either full-time employment or a break where business is concerned. Going deeper into debt is definitely NOT a good thing. But, while I have this assistance, I am grateful for it, for the help that it is providing until I can get my financial feet under me.

And then I wonder why I care when every third day I think about moving.

In the upper right-hand corner (or maybe it’s the left…) of my brain is this little picture. It is a property in Maine, somewhere along the coast. I’ve been painting it on the mural that is slowly taking shape on my office wall. I don’t know if this property really exists or not. And I do know I would likely have to win the lottery to afford it–or any property at this moment. But, deep down inside, there is a large part of me that wants more land, wants the ability to follow all of my dreams. It’s a part of me that wants to shrug off the advice to start with what I have. Yes, I know I can do great things here; the wheels are already in motion to develop this little just-under-an-acre property into a working micro-homestead. But then I hear another 18 wheeler zooming by, just outside my window, and I long for even a tent pitched in the middle of the Maine woods.

Of course, leaving would mean moving away from family and friends. And that’s nothing to sneeze at. It also means that this property will likely become commercial once I leave. As this house is a fixer-upper, any business purchasing the land will likely bulldoze it down. That doesn’t bother me as much as they might pave over–or worse, dig up–the myriad fur- and feather-babies who have been laid to rest here. As I just laid Ariel to rest a week ago today, that really bothers me. And yet, as this area of Connecticut becomes more and more commercial, the noise, the traffic, and the restrictions that come along with it, will also increase.

I feel like now is the time to be taking some action. And I realize that I’m waiting for a “sign”, a sign that may never come. I’m waiting for “perfect” conditions to point me in the “right” direction. I’m looking for guarantees in life. And there aren’t any…except through Him. The only way out of this “rut” of indecision is to make a choice and then follow through with it. If I keep sitting on the fence, I will still be here 10 years from now wondering if I should stay or go. If I finally make a decision, He will allow everything to fall into place. Perhaps by my indecision, my lack of faith and trust, I am standing in the way of one of His miracles.

“For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. They are plans for good and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. In those days when you pray, I will listen. You will find me when you seek me, if you look for me in earnest.” Jer. 29:11-13

Hasn’t the good Lord brought me this far? Why do I doubt? Why does that little girl who was abused and molested, called stupid, and suppressed still doubt her worth? How far reaching are the effects of someone like me who has been affected by another’s drinking? After over 20 years of therapy, fear, doubt, mistrust, and self-esteem issues still ripple through with the effect of a tidal wave, keeping me “stuck”. This is where I must step out in faith. After all those years of therapy, I have the “tools”; it is time and past to finally use them.

Wow.

I feel like I’m looking over the edge of a precipice, one toe inching towards that edge but I’m already feeling that aching “drop” in the pit of my stomach. Feel the fear and do it anyway? No, He won’t let me fall–at least not to go “splat”; if I drop at all, it’ll be to learn something important. Right?

“And the day came when the risk to remain in a tight bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom” Anais Nin

That’s becoming more true by the minute. I know what I want and where I want to go. The bottom of that precipice is a long way down but, maybe that is the key. If rock bottom is so far below, then, as I stand on this precipice of doubt and insecurity, perhaps I’m closer to the top of the world than I have allowed myself to believe. Perhaps that precipice is really a mirage and what’s under my feet is rock solid.

I take a deep breath and glance up at the mural on my wall. It’s not complete yet but the extensive gardens filled with herbs, fruits, vegetables and flowers; the sailboats gliding along the water; the Shetland and Border Leicester sheep being herded by the Border collies yet to be; the Angora rabbits waiting to be groomed and sheared; the canoe tied up at my own dock; the goats nibbling at the bottom of an apple tree; the multiple hives full of honey–all of them beckon. And I know it is only a mural if I keep hanging in limbo.

Who cares about the drop if I learn to fly?

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Environment, Faith, Nature, Politics

Getting Political

Lisa Burbank

“O Kings and rulers of the earth, listen while there is time.” Psalms 2:10

It seems ironic that I should pull this passage out of the Bible this morning as I was researching biblical passages pertaining to the election–or appointment–of a king, or ruler. Would that every candidate this election year take heed in regard to our environment and the very real threat of global warming.

For me, it is all about the environment. And my vote will be won or lost depending on where each candidate stands on environmental concerns. Yes, I know there are other issues. And they are all important. But how productive can one be in an improved job market if we are all dying of cancers and other diseases due to the increased carbon emissions produced by oil shale mining and the pollution of our precious drinking water? And what good is higher education if we continue to stick our heads in the sand and ignore the destruction of our dear planet, and the life contained therein? Yes, I want to bring our soldiers home. I want to decrease our dependence on foreign oil. But we can do that with the production and implementation of greener energies–energies that respect all life forms and will leave a cleaner, healthier world for future generations to enjoy.

So, a little background on oil shales. Yes, the largest reserves of this fine-grained sedimentary rock are found right here on domestic soil, in places such as Utah, Wyoming and Colorado (McDermott). And that makes it attractive because it will certainly decrease our dependence on that foreign oil. However, while there is a vast store of oil contained in these oil shales, the cost for extracting it far outweighs the benefits. Compared to conventional crude oil, the greenhouse gasses created by oil shale are nearly two times greater, most of them being created during production (Herra). And the Bureau of Land Management states that it would require anywhere from 2.1 to 5.2 barrels of water for each barrel of oil produced. This is water that will no longer be safe for drinking, or even bathing, and such a process will seriously deplete the annual flow of the Colorado White River. This river has been voted one of the most endangered rivers in America (American Rivers). The loss of it would threaten many species of wildlife, as well as the many citizens of Colorado, who depend on it for their drinking water.

There are two potential processes for extracting keragen (the petroleum-like substance found in oil shales). The first involves either open-pit, underground or strip mining to extract the shale. It would then have to be crushed and the oil distilled at temperatures of 800 degrees Fahrenheit or more (Herra). The second is called an “in-situ” process that involves heating the shale underground to liquify it but this is a very untried and untrue method. The former method–mining–has proven time and again to be a hazardous occupation. We use open-pit mines to extract various metal ores, coal and other minerals from the earth. One of the largest of these is in Utah, the Bingham Canyon copper mine. There, enormous “lakes” have formed within the pits from groundwater seepage. These “lakes” are filled with the waste from mining, waste that often includes toxins such as mercury and uranium. Sadly, birds and water fowl are attracted by these “lakes” and lose their lives stopping for a drink, unaware of what’s contained within these waters. And, as groundwater travels underground, these toxins may also seep into nearby farmland, contaminating the soil. Underground mining, like the mining done for coal, has a history of dangerous explosions; cave-ins; with coal, the creation of black lung in the miners who work to extract it; and the emission of carbon dioxide from the many fires and explosions that result from this type of mining. Strip mining involves the removal of mountaintops, with all of the topsoil and earth being pushed down into the valleys below–along with the mercury, cadmium and other toxins. These valleys, along with their homes, farms, cemeteries, forests and streams, are often buried (Cunningham and Cunningham 309, 429). Valley filling has actually been banned in the United States but many of these mines are grandfathered in and continue to operate as usual. Below is a photograph of what land looks like after a strip mining operation moves in.

strip-mining

While beautiful forests and lush greenery surround this scar on the landscape, this strip mine plateau is devoid of life and beauty. The Appalachians are filled with these scars and the ratio of cancer victims in these areas far exceeds the national average (Cunningham & Cunningham).

tar-sands-rupture-arkansas-cropped

The picture above was scanned from a textbook I have entitled: Environmental Science: A Global Concern, 13th Edition by William P. and Mary Ann Cunningham. It shows what happened in 2013 when the Pegasus pipeline ruptured across yards in Mayflower, Arkansas. This is from tar sands, rather than oil shale, but both resources present a greater hazard to our environment than conventional oil drilling (Herro; McDermott). Imagine what it would be like to wake up one morning to find your yard flooded with this smelly, viscous lake of poison. These homes are forever lost, homes where people lived and loved and laughed. People who lost everything that they’ve worked for in life due to our greed and selfishness. Only a fool would trust that this ground, and the water within it, could one day be safe enough to live on/near, the water safe enough to drink again. And what of the beloved pets who also made their homes in this area? Or the wildlife? This is not just birds and squirrels and chipmunks, though they love life, too. Our soil and water are both teaming with life–microscopic life that plays a huge role in cleaning, rejuvenating and aerating our natural resources. What are the chances any of these organisms survived this spill? And, sadly, as water and soil both move, this spill is not contained to this one area in Arkansas. Neighboring towns got to share the wealth. So will mining oil sands and/or shale really be a way to cheaper fuel prices?

And, as I type this, I am reminded of the opening song to the old sitcom, The Beverly Hillbillies: “Come listen to my story about a man named Jed, a poor mountaineer barely kept his family fed, and then one day he was shooting at some food, and up through the ground came a bubbling crude. Oil that is, black gold, Texas tea.” (Flatt & Scruggs) For many of our political leaders, this is the real motivation behind wanting to mine these oil sands and shales–they see the money and power behind it. But they, too, if we allow our vote to allow the progression of this mining campaign, will also feel the effects of these “accidents” in time. I can only hope that whoever is elected to office tomorrow will realize this while there is still time.

May God bless you & keep you!

Works Cited

American Rivers. “Colorado’s White River Among America’s Most Endangered Rivers of 2014”. 9 April 2014. Web. Retrieved from: http://www.americanrivers.org/conservation-resource/colorados-white-river-aong-americas-endangered-rivers-2014.

Cunningham, William P. and Mary Ann Cunningham. Environmental Science: A Global Concern, 13th Edition. McGraw-Hill, New York: 2015.

Flatt, Lester and Earl Scruggs. “The Ballad of Jed Clampett” 26 November 1962. Web. Lyrics retrieved from: https://www.quora.com/What-are-the-lyrics-for-the-Beverly-Hillbilly-theme-song

Herro, Alana. “Plenty of Shale, Plenty of Problems”. Eye on Earth, Worldwatch Institute. Web. Retrieved from: http://www.worldwatch.org/node/5167

McDermott, Mat. “Fossil Fools Gold: Tar Sands & Oil Shale Eco-Impact Explained”. Treehugger. Web. 12 October 2010. Retrieved from: http://www.treehugger.com/clean-technology-fossil-fools-gold-tar-sands-oil-shale-eco-impact-explained.html

Strip Mining. Photo. Earthjustice. Retrieved from: earthjustice.org/slideshow/images-of-mountaintop-removal-mining.

The Living Bible, Self-Help Edition. Tyndale House Publishers, Illinois: 1971.

Animals, Faith

The Boss Lady Says “Goodbye”

Lisa Burbank

I hate making that decision. But, as I blogged about a couple of weeks’ ago, my Ariel–affectionately christened “The Boss Lady” by Mom–was diagnosed with a mammory tumor last winter (end of Jan/early-Feb). Back then it was only about the size of a marble. As she was rapidly approaching her 16th birthday, I elected to simply keep her comfortable until “that” time. I knew the usual treatment was surgery and, at such a great age, I wasn’t confident she could or would survive it. Not to mention the painful recovery. I did not want her last days on earth to be filled with pain. The vet was in complete accord.

Up until two weeks’ ago, Ariel seemed almost unfazed by the tumor. It grew slowly. And, other than a slight limp that developed as it grew, she stayed active and alert. Eating, drinking, elimination, breathing, etc. were all normal. And then two weeks’ ago, she took a downward turn. The tumor seemed to grow almost overnight. Her weight dropped and she developed a wheeze. It was a Sunday; the vet hospital was closed. The herbalist plied her with an infusion of elecampane root and catnip–the first, to alleviate any congestion (I’ve treated myself successfully of pneumonia with it); the second for pain relief and to help her rest until the doc could be called on Monday…for “that” call.

Or so I thought.

The next day, her almost skeletal frame was back up to the same level of activity. Albeit with a slight decrease in appetite. Mom and I simply fed her smaller meals but more frequently and she seemed to thrive, climbing up and downstairs, jumping on the bed, etc. She slept with me this past Friday and spent Saturday evening curled up on the rug in Mom’s room, watching the younger cats playing.

Sunday she took another turn for the worse, becoming lethargic and refusing to eat. Yesterday I made “that” call. She was scheduled in for “that” appointment for 3 p.m. today; she passed away on her own at 12:30 this morning. The Boss Lady until the end, leaving on her own terms (and His!), surrounded by those she loved and whom loved her. I had just picked her up to place her back on the pet bed she had shifted off of (she kept shifting around, trying to get comfortable) when she suddenly let out a cry, stiffened and then went completely limp in my arms. Though bittersweet, I consider it the sweetest of gifts to have held and petted her as she left.

At times like these, there’s a story about the Rainbow Bridge that circulates. I don’t know if there really is a “Rainbow Bridge”; I hope so. But I do know that I felt her old pals, Mr. Byron V. Bunny, and Gizmo (another bunny) nearby as she passed, as well as my Trooper, who loved her like no other. I hope that her litter mate, Woody, and friend, Megan, were also there to greet her on the other side. I think they were. I think they’re happy to have the Boss Lady with them again. I know I would be. Sixteen years is a great age for a cat but, even were we given sixteen more, it still wouldn’t be enough time together.

I love you, Ariel!

ariel

Ariel Burbank June 2000 – November 2016

Alcoholism, Animals, Healing, Herbs, Homesteading, Nature, Writing

Odds and Ends…and Apologies

Lisa Burbank

First, the apology. For being “absent” for the last two days and sporadically posting this past week in general. A recent resignation by our Titles’ Clerk at the dealership, just days before our supervisor’s week-long vacation, has provided some much-needed extra hours (and pay!) to keep things running, well, maybe not “smoothly” but certainly running…period. And I am happy to pitch in and help. But it’s certainly thrown a curve ball into my daily routine. I’ve even fallen off of the wagon, so to speak, with my 3:30 a.m. rising time; the longer days requiring some extra ZZZ’s to stay on top of things. However, this morning I awakened at exactly 3:44 a.m., which isn’t bad considering I forgot to set my alarm last night, so maybe this is a sign we’re getting back in the groove again–a good groove. My apologies for allowing myself to fall out of that groove in the first place. While this is a free blog, there is an old saying that “paying customers deserve prompt and regular service”; my regular readers deserve regular posts to keep reading.

Anywho, now that I’m back–albeit, my work schedule is still fuller than usual for the rest of this week–some updates on the homestead.

I hate making these reports. I lost one of my Plymouth Barred-Rock chickens Saturday evening. My Patience started looking “off” a few days’ before, back roached, stomach distended. One of my other chickens started pecking at her–not brutally, more like a nudge to say, “Hey, are you okay?” but I decided to bring her indoors, lest, some of the more aggressive birds decide to have a real go at her. After checking to be certain she wasn’t egg bound, I heated some olive oil in a sauce pan, added a tablespoon of minced garlic, and let it simmer for a while. After it cooled, I filled an eyedropper and gave it to her. Garlic is a fine antibiotic as well as being good for expelling worms, and chickens fairly love it. I added a bit more of the dried, minced garlic to her feed, along with some fennel (good for digestion) and dried parsley, which is also good for worms. Parsley has the added benefit of being good for constipation and obstructions of the intestinal tract (De Bairacli Levy 118-119). She balked at these treatments at first but, over time, I would say she at least resigned herself to them. I even gave her an olive oil enema because she was not passing her waste but it was to no avail. I found her when I came home from work Saturday night. Patience was one of my older hens but, losing beloved pets, is something you never quite get “used to”. Albeit, I have noticed a certain thicker skin happening where my chickens are concerned. Despite a healthy, varied diet, plenty of room to stretch their legs, dust baths, and good, clean housing, they tend to go down rather quickly and, sometimes, unexpectedly. They can be quite stoic, not displaying any symptoms of illness or even injury until those final moments. They are also pretty high on the food chain and predation can also be a problem. However, I never considered, when I first took up homesteading, how many times I would also adopt the role of “gravedigger”. I know that nobody–human or humane–lives forever but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier–and I hope it never does become “easy”; that’s when I quit.

Today would have been my paternal grandfather’s birthday. He would have been 111 years old so not likely I would still have him in my life even if alcoholism hadn’t ended his time here on earth at only 68 years’ old, but I always mark this day as special, remembering him and the legacy he left behind. Calef Burbank (and that’s pronounced with a long A: KAY-lef) wrote for the Providence Journal for 40 years as an investigative reporter. He was even nominated for the Pulitzer Prize for his writing. Some of my earliest memories of him are watching him bang away at the old manual typewriter and emulating him. I loved that old typewriter and, though I prefer the speed at which my fingers can fly over this modern PC keyboard–a speed that can keep pace better with my thoughts–there will always be a nostalgic love for the manuals. In addition to his writing, he was a gifted pianist, guitarist, taught me to play chess at the tender age of 3, enjoyed learning, bird watching, and ginger snap cookies. I can say “ditto for me” with the exception of piano playing. He tried teaching me as a little girl but I was too impatient, preferring to bang away with wild abandon and a lot of discord; he finally gave up on me. Today, I wish I’d absorbed those teachings as readily as I did the chessboard.

Lastly, I spent an hour yesterday morning building four more raised beds for the herb garden. I am hoping this wonderful Indian summer lasts long enough to build a few more before the cold creeps back in. With a little luck–and a lot of hard work–next summer may be the first of many physical “weed” walks. Keep your fingers crossed!

May God bless you & keep you!

Works Cited

De Bairacli Levy, Juliette. The Complete Herbal Handbook for the Farm and Stable, Fourth Edition. Faber and Faber, New York: 1991.