Category: Animals

Animals, Ghosts, Gratitude, Hauntings, Supernatural

Haunted Scavenger Hunt

Lisa Burbank

There was an afternoon, shortly after Dan & I purchased this property, that Dan came home from work, having just cashed his paycheck, and placed $300.00 in an empty sugar bowl that was on the kitchen table. This was mortgage money and he did not want to carry it on him while he ran some errands. So he put it in the sugar bowl, placing the lid over the bowl, for safe keeping until he returned.

A short while later, Dan returned from his errands. He had one more. That was to make a deposit of the cash he’d placed in the sugar bowl. He walked in the house, walked over to the kitchen table and lifted the lid on the sugar bowl. It was empty! What the –?

Of course, anyone’s reaction would initially be panic. The table sat in front of a large picture window. Did someone see him “hiding” the money through that window? His first reaction was that we’d been robbed…even though the doors were locked and none of the windows showed signs of having been jimmied open. Eh, we’re not living in Mayberry anymore; crooks are getting craftier by the minute. But before Dan could call the police to report it, Woody, our gray tabby, came running around the corner with a $20 bill in his mouth. Phew! Relax. Breathe. The cats were simply into mischief…

…and somehow managed to take the lid off of a sugar bowl, remove fifteen $20 dollar bills, and place the lid back on the sugar bowl as snugly as Dan had initially left it? Somehow, Dan just couldn’t wrap his mind around this one but there wasn’t any other answer. Thus, began his scavenger hunt for the other fourteen $20 bills.

The first few that he found fit the story of the kitties being responsible. Two or three were wadded up and “rolled” under the couch, a chair, even the bed upstairs. However, the rest were inexplicable–unless you have a few restless ghosts roaming around the house. One $20 bill was peeking out from between the mattress and box spring, perhaps an ode to a common, antiquated practice of hiding your savings under your mattress. Another was peeking out of a dresser drawer. Still another peeked out between the cushions of the sofa. He found one in a jacket pocket–and, as these were crisp, new bills, we were both fairly confident that this wasn’t a forgotten bill from another time. The strangest one, and one that couldn’t be easily explained whether from kitty capers or otherwise, was found folded lengthwise over the rod in our bedroom closet, held in place by a couple of hangers.

Dan had just found the last one when I came home from work. Needless to say, he was quite flustered due to all of the strange places he found the money, places that no cat–even were any gifted with a pair of thumbs–could accomplish. Trying to wrap our minds around it, we considered the teenage boys we’d seen up on the hill the day the cats were found out-of-doors. But would teenage boys create a scavenger hunt? More than likely, if they were gifted enough to break and enter without detection in broad daylight, in the middle of a commercial district on a major interstate, they would likely have pocketed the $300.00. And what would be the point of the scavenger hunt? None would be able to watch and laugh at their joke…unless thieves and pickpockets from another era had played such a plank.

Whoever, whatever it was, I am simply grateful the money was found. But, as any “mother” will tell you, even her “fur” babies are a cut above the rest. Maybe Paz, Woody and Ariel played a practical joke after all.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Healing, Herbs, Holistic Health, Homesteading, Nature

Wednesday’s Weed Walk with the Crazy Cat Lady

Lisa Burbank

That title should make it obvious what herb I’m going to write about today: Nepeta cataria, or more commonly known as, Catnip.

Catnip typically conjures up cartoon images of helpless felines languishing about in the sun, looking like someone on a healthy dose of Cannabis…and, in this household, with 10 felines, that image is pretty accurate. I keep a quart-size mason jar in my pantry full of dried catnip; the moment I unscrew the lid, every feline comes running. And the effects are almost instantaneous as even my geriatric felines start rolling around like young kittens, only to nod off into dreamland shortly thereafter. They also like to eat the dried leaves and, as it is very good for them, I allow them to take all they want.

Catnip is a mild sedative and is an excellent remedy for nervousness and hyperactivity in children (m. Tierra 114). It is also a carminative (relieves gas and bloating) and a diaphoretic (induces sweating), helping to ease fevers and colds. However, it is the analgesic properties to which I have lately been putting Catnip to use (M. Tierra 32). Catnip relieves pain. And, as the mammary tumor grows under my Ariel’s right front leg, keeping her comfortable is important. At her age (she’s 16), surgery is no longer an option and, to be honest, I am not overly-confident it is the best course of action anyway. It is highly-invasive and extremely painful for them; I’ve witnessed it time and again. Ditto for many allopathic pain-relievers that eventually shutdown the major organs. Fortunately, our vet’s sister is an herbalist and he approves many of the herbal alternatives, carries many of their tinctures in his clinic. She is under his care, just not under the knife. And the Catnip does appear to ease her pain and discomfort. What’s more, it is a lot easier getting her to drink an eyedropper-full of Catnip “tea” than some of the more orthodox remedies with their medicinal tastes.

For humans, Catnip tea is very good for easing headaches, toothaches, and the deep-down body aches and pains of fever and flu (Tierra 114). It also tastes good so give it a try. Your cats will love you.

May God bless you & keep you!

**These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. This article has been presented for educational purposes only; it is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent disease.”

Works Cited

Tierra, Michael. The Way of Herbs. Pocket Books, New York: 1998

Animals, Ghosts, Gratitude, Hauntings, Supernatural

Haunted Kitties

Lisa Burbank

The first Christmas season here in Brooklyn, CT, I came home from shopping one afternoon to see a black-and-white tuxedo kitty running around the back of the house. My first thought was “That looks like Pazzy” but Paz, Woody, and Ariel, the three cats that shared our home back in 2001, were strictly indoor cats; I never let them outside so I simply assumed this was a stray that looked like Paz. I didn’t get that good of a look at him. So I went about my business of unloading the car and carrying my bags to the door. By the time I had opened it, the stray cat had completely slipped my mind except for a vague wish that he or she would not find Route 6 any time soon.

Setting down my bundles, I noticed that none of my kitties came to greet me at the door. That was very unusual because they always did. However, I still wasn’t making the connection between the Pazzy-lookalike and my own precious felines. I called a greeting. Still no response. That’s when it hit me. That “stray” didn’t look like Pazzy; it was Paz!

My first thought, because I assumed Woody and Ariel were still somewhere in the house, was that he’d slipped by Dan when Dan went out to visit his friend, Timmy, and play some cards. After all, the door had been locked tight. But where was Arial and Woody? I started searching the house. Nobody sleeping on the bed, the sofa, any of the chairs. I checked all the usual “haunts”; then even scoped out the closets and every other possible hiding place just to rule them all out. Finally, I had to concede that somehow they had all gotten out and there was no way that all three could have slipped by Dan together. I ran outside and around back where I’d last seen Paz.

Calling his name, I looked everywhere for all of them. Suddenly, Paz flew out from under the back deck, streaked by me and scurried under the shed. This wasn’t going to be easy and I needed help. I ran back inside and called Dan.

“By any chance did you let the cats outside?” I asked because I still couldn’t fathom how all of them had escaped at once.

“Of course not. Why?”

“They’re not in the house. I saw Paz running around the back of the house when I got home. And none of the other cats are in the house either. Paz just crawled under the shed. I can’t find Woody or Ariel anywhere.”

“I’ll be right home.”

Dan and I spent the better part of two hours trying to find them. After another careful sweep of the house, we ascertained that none of them was inside. We checked all of the doors. All of them were latched and locked tight; there was no way anyone could get in or any possibility the wind could’ve blown a door open to let them out. We headed back outside.

Flashlight in hand, Dan started shining it under the shed. Nothing.

“Are you sure this is where he went?”

“Yes. He was under the deck before that.”

A light bulb went off in both our heads. Maybe they were all under the deck. Outside was probably a scary place for three inexperienced kitties. But how were we going to get them back out? There was no access for humans under that deck unless we started taking it apart.

Suddenly, Dan grabbed the garden house and turned on the water. Walking backwards and forwards he started hosing down the back deck. Within seconds Paz came scurrying out. I managed to scoop him up and put him inside, rejoicing that I had one little bundle of joy safe at hand again. Dan kept the hose running, concentrating on the back corners now. Ariel excavated some of the dirt away from the bottom of the deck and seemed to grow out of the ground like a giant mole. I caught her up and took her inside, too. That left Woody. And, as he was the most skittish of the three, after another 20 minutes of hosing the deck, we were both forced to conclude that Woody had not joined his siblings under the deck. Where was he? Dan turned off the hose.

By now, I was in hysterics. Where was my Woody? Though I love all of my cats, Woody held a very special place in my heart. Though all three are/were extremely affectionate, Woody was the ultimate cuddle bug. Got lap? Have Woody. He just couldn’t be lost. I started praying, an endless litany of the same thing over and again. “Please don’t let him be lost for good, Lord!”; “Please help us find him.”; “Please don’t let him get out on Route 6 or let anything attack him.” Shuddering at the thought, I walked to the edge of the road and looked up and down it, breathing a sigh of relief that no little gray and black tiger-striped cat was “gracing” it. I started walking towards the woods. I would overturn every rock and branch in those woods if I thought it would help me to find him. I noticed some teenage boys sitting atop the hill and wondered, briefly, if they could have let them out as a prank but how did they get in to do so? Again, all three doors were locked, as were the windows. It was December, after all. More likely, they were drawn to my big mouth calling for my cats and were simply getting a show.

It was then that I heard Dan call out, “I’ve got him!” Woody had chosen to hide in the front bushes. Dan searched them on a hunch and Woody came right to him; he didn’t like his trip outside.

“Thank you, Lord!”

I never ran so fast in my life.

Later, after all three felines were safely inside again, Dan and I started wondering how they had gotten out in the first place. We checked the doors again. They were all closed tightly. All of the locks on the windows were set and there was no sign of any forced entry. Though I still don’t rule out a teenage prank entirely, it is only because I hate thinking that some “other” entity had a hand in their escape. Though I am by no means an expert on the supernatural, or ghosts, I’ve read, watched and studied enough documentation to know that pets are often innocent targets during a haunting. And would teenage boys hang around after the fact? It is more likely they would have lit out of there, not wanting to get caught as suspects in a breaking and entering.

Today, I’m just grateful we found them all. Paz and Ariel are still beloved blessings in my life; Woody was likewise until his passing in 2012. And his memory is something I will cherish until my own dying day. I am also grateful that “my” ghosts have not seen fit to let the cats out again…

Perhaps it was a teenage prank after all…

May God bless you and keep you!

28936_113750781995484_900142_n ariel

Animals, Nature

I am One with the Grizzly

Lisa Burbank

No, I’m not in a bad mood. As always, when I’m at the keyboard writing and/or blogging, I’m in my “zone” and all is well for as long as these fingers keep typing.

Outside, rather than the crisp, fall air that one would expect for early autumn, it is chilly, damp and overcast. I keep waiting for the leaves to really start changing, heralding that autumnal splendor that defines autumn in New England. Trees ablaze with glorious bursts of color: brilliant red, myriad shades of orange, warm gold, and sunshiny yellow. Such vivid colors warm the heart and, despite poetic references of trees dying, in autumn I feel that much more alive. Of course, it is only September and that autumnal splendor doesn’t usually hit until sometime in October here in Connecticut so I sit and wait, somewhat impatiently, for the change…even as I look at the mountain of chores still to be done in preparation for the long winter ahead.

I’m not bemoaning the cooler temps; I feel blessed by them after such a humid and intolerable summer. However, I’m finding that, like the trees that go dormant (not dead) for the winter, paradoxically, though I feel more alive, I also want to make like the grizzly and curl up for a long winter’s nap. I confess to sleeping a little later the last couple of mornings…and trying not to berate myself when I do, knowing my body is telling me clearly what it needs. The summer’s humidity made healthy, deep sleep next to impossible; now my body is trying to make up for all the loss. I try to curb my impatience with this cycle, knowing that not paying attention to it may trigger another bout of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and I’ll really be one with the grizzly!

In addition to sleep, another part of this autumn wind-down is the sudden cravings for heartier foods. I haven’t given much conscious thought to the whole macrobiotic diet thing–eating with the seasons. It is supposed to be one of the healthiest ways to eat and, when I’m paying attention, I find that my body instinctively gravitates towards the seasonal foods. Where I looked to more fresh fruits and juices in the summer months, now I’m turning to squash, pumpkin and turnips–my favorites. Instead of snacking on a wedge of watermelon, I want roasted pumpkin seeds or pecans, all of the flavors of the fall harvest.

I don’t know much about a grizzly’s eating habits but it makes sense to me to consider that they probably consume a considerable amount of food before they go into their hibernation; humans, also being animals, following suit makes perfect sense–even if we don’t sleep through the whole winter wonderland.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Alcoholism, Animal Rights, Animals, Environment, Faith, Frugality, Gratitude, Herbs, Homesteading, Minimalism, Organic, Spirituality, Writing, Zero Waste

Connecting Alcoholism with Homesteading

Lisa Burbank

Homesteading. The phrase conjures up images of “clean” living: home-grown organic fruits, vegetables and herbs; hand-spun yarns and woven fabrics; beekeeping; permaculture gardens; wildlife habitats; green energies; zero waste; compost–the list is endless but, again, it typically equals “clean” in most people’s minds. Alcoholism–or any kind of addiction, really–typically conjures up that stereotypical waif with the rheumy eyes living in a doorway. What our society doesn’t see is the priest/clergy, the school teacher, the lonely old woman, the star athlete, the average Joe working the deli counter in the supermarket. In short, it is an insidious disease that affects millions of people, either directly or indirectly–people who still manage to lead productive lives, who still manage to make meaningful contributions to their community. My paternal grandfather was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize while being an active alcoholic; not exactly the rheumy-eyed waif. There’s no cookie cutter definition or description.

That’s actually true for homesteading, too. I’ve read numerous newspaper and magazine articles that typically define it as simply growing your own food yet they miss the myriad goals of reducing one’s carbon footprint; the utilization of antiquated farming methods; raising animals for fiber, as well as eggs, dairy and, in many cases, meat. As a pescetarian, my homestead will never be used for raising meat and that actually raises some eyebrows because of the goats, chickens and ducks that grace the land. To me, the dairy, eggs, pest-control (chickens love bugs; slugs are duck delicacies), and rich, free fertilizer are enough.

As for alcoholism, I’m in the latter category with being indirectly affected by alcoholism. Though I enjoy a glass of mead on rare occasions, maybe a glass of wine at a toast, or, on even rarer occasions, a shot of Sambucca, overall, I’m pretty much a teetotaler. I can sit with friends who are enjoying a glass or two of Guinness or an Irish coffee after dinner and not be nervous or uncomfortable, while sipping a glass of pineapple juice or a cup of Salada tea. But as soon as the blurry-eyed stare, the loud voices, etc. rise to the occasion, I’d rather be anywhere else but. Too many frightening memories get triggered.

Growing up, the violent temper tantrums were only part of the picture. Dinner came out of a box labeled Rice-a-Roni, Noodle Roni, or Hamburger Helper; in leaner times, it was white gravy on toast (gravy made with flour, water and a little bacon grease). Dinner was often paid for with food stamps after a touching story was given that the step-father had left us high and dry. He hadn’t; he had simply lost another job due to too much time missed. Shut-off notices and bill collectors knocking on the door to which we pretended we weren’t home were part of the picture; name changes to the accounts often followed as if a new tenant had moved in–once, the electric bill was even in my name though I was only 13 or 14. Winters were always toughest. When we could get heating assistance, it was a little better. And one apartment actually had a working fireplace + a separate chimney that we were able to install a woodstove; a neighbor allowed the use of an old garage for storing wood. When my step-father was working, things were also better. But poor money management meant they didn’t stay that way. A steady paycheck meant we shopped every weekend for more “stuff” we really didn’t need. We treated every kid in the neighborhood to a trip to the zoo, an ice cream cone when the truck came down our street, or the amusement park. In many ways, as a kid, these aspects were fun and I encouraged these rare treats; I was suddenly a popular kid. I didn’t realize it for the poor management it was until many years later. And, of course, there was always money spent on beer. All of it would’ve been better spent in saving for leaner times or getting out of debt. We moved a lot. Beloved pets were disposable at the local pound, as were the endless litters of puppies and kittens because spaying and neutering was either too expensive or we could “always” find homes for them so why bother(??!?); cherished possessions were tossed or left behind for someone else to clean out–if they didn’t get destroyed during one of those temper tantrums. Beloved pets sometimes went hungry during the leaner times and were abused along with their humans when the temper tantrums started. The sound of a pop-top opening still sends me into shivers.

As a kid, I was always eligible for free lunches at school. In high school, we actually had a salad bar and I frequented it as my body craved the vitamins and minerals these fresh foods provided. I confess to often feeling guilty as I enjoyed these salads because I knew everyone at home was living on something much poorer. We often received baskets of food from local charities but it was almost always more of the same–packaged, processed foods because they retain a longer shelf life. This poor diet, as well as the stress that went with it, has led to some digestive health issues: Irritable Bowel Syndrome, gluten-sensitivity, lactose-intolerance and, in more recent years, some acid reflux. In learning about these health conditions, I’ve also learned how important a healthy, balanced diet really is. I’ve learned about food additives like High Fructose Corn Syrup and Monosodium Glutamate and how really bad they are for the body; the former being a leading culprit in the development of IBS. I learned about artificial sweeteners like Sweet N Low, which is saccharine and a leading carcinogen; Equal, which is aspartame and has its own health issues; Splenda, a by-product of the pesticide industry. In short, I learned the difference between organic foods that are grown without the use of chemical pesticides/herbicides, without any Genetically Modified Organisms (GMO’s) vs. the Franken foods that dominate most supermarket shelves. The desire to grow my own food, for homesteading, was born.

Of course, once you get started down that road to homesteading, if the itch takes hold, food production is only part of the picture. Yes, growing that food in a manner that conserves water, builds up the soil and maximizes space is a major part; canning and preserving, making everything from scratch, making one’s own bread and condiments. From there, as an herbalist, I’ve branched off into making my own medicines, health and beauty products, and even some natural cleaners. Because of all those lean years, there is also a deep desire to become more self-sufficient, to not be dependent upon the grid, to minimize the cost of living as much as possible while also taking better care of the planet. Because of the neglectful animal care, the desire to implement more humane practices–well, this is at the heart of it all because I owe it to the memories of so many pets to make sure current and future generations don’t suffer similar fates. Spaying and neutering, regular check-ups, adopting rather than breeding, and simply seeing these animals as the living, sentient beings they are complete the homesteading package. In many ways, homesteading has been the vehicle for curing the hurt and the ills created by that alcoholic upbringing. With each new skill, with each new and positive practice, with the care that goes into a homestead, my confidence and self-esteem rises. Therein lies the link.

When I started this blog, I was determined that it would only be about homesteading endeavors. Many false starts, and years of dormancy, led me to simply start writing whatever came to mind–even if it didn’t have much to do with homesteading at all. I’m finally finding my voice and the direction I’d like to take it. And, oftentimes, as I write, I find that blogging has become a sort of therapy. It is a hope that, by sharing my own experiences with alcoholism–and abuse–that I might help others to heal; knowing you’re not alone can be the most liberating experience. I have considered creating a separate blog, one that deals only with the alcoholism and abuse, and leaving this one to homesteading, animal stories, and faith-based postings but they are all part of the same world and I fear I might neglect one over the other. Besides, homesteading brings about its own liberation.

As I read back over this post, and realize where I’ve been, and how far I’ve come in life, suddenly the over-grown yard; the fact that this homestead has a long way to go before becoming a “working” homestead; the fixer-upper status; the less-than-perfect conditions that I often bemoan or shy away from fall away. Both homesteading and recovery from addiction/the affects and/or abuse from someone else’s addictions are journeys. You’re never quite done; there’s always room for improvement, always room for more growth. And as I plant those seeds for more growth, I also plant a few seeds of faith because, above all else, homesteading and recovery need a daily dose of that.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animal Rights, Animals, Environment, Faith, Homesteading, Nature, Spirituality

For the Birds

Lisa Burbank

Many years ago, when I bought the present homestead, there was a bird feeding station outside the double windows over the kitchen sink. The previous owners of the property had set it up and I continued the tradition. Bird feeding–and watching–has always been a favorite pastime. I remember my paternal grandfather keeping a feeder in the backyard as well as a birdbath for his avian friends. It is a lovely sight each morning to see the variety of feathered friends zooming in and out for their daily sustenance. No matter how tired, depressed, sad or lonely I may be feeling (eh, we all have those feelings once in awhile…), the sight of their aerial antics lift me up. Sometimes I wonder if that old wives’ tale is true about them being God’s messengers–like little fluttering angels in disguise; it would seem so at times.

Of course, when I first moved in, that variety had me stymied a bit. I could recognize the mourning doves, the cardinals, robins, sparrows and the chickadees but what was that little gray bird with the crest? What about that black bird with the brown cap? And that little yellow guy is adorable but I haven’t a clue what kind of bird he is. So I bought a Peterson’s Field Guide for Eastern Birds. This book has received a lot of use.

Today, I can easily identify the titmouse, cowbird and finch (respectively, from the above paragraph). I also delight in the nuthatches, the starlings, woodpeckers, hummingbirds, and the occasional oddity. This can be a unique bird that’s come to visit or else a non-avian visitor. Toads, chipmunks, squirrels, and baby bunnies all come to dine from time to time. Of course, last week Mom and I entertained a visitor of another sort that, while not entirely unwelcome, did leave behind an unpleasant aroma. We see larger friends, too: deer, wild turkeys, the occasional fox or hawk.

Despite the noisy Interstate that runs almost through the front yard, it is particularly gratifying to know that this lonely, little acre provides a safe-haven for so many creatures. If I stay, there are plans to develop some wildlife habitats here–above and beyond the bird feeders–in the form of native plant gardens as well as bird gardens that provide food for our avian friends. I’ve added birdhouses over the years; every spring new birds are born here, providing a gift beyond measure. With so much natural habitat being destroyed by over-development–especially in northeastern Connecticut–it is important to provide a few oases in the midst of such chaos. We share this earth with so many beautiful–and sometimes not so beautiful but equally important–species; it seems selfish to the extreme to keep taking without giving back. God made all creatures. Not for us to exploit or destroy, but to share this great planet with in harmony.

If I relocate? A wildlife habitat will be created in the new digs; it’s a plan that can be readily implemented but I do worry about the creatures here, especially with so many properties on this Interstate being sold as commercial. This is a fixer-upper. There’s no doubt in my mind that, if I sold, it would be bulldozed down to make way for some sort of strip mall. And then where would these creatures go?

In the meantime, I watch their daily flight in for their breakfast. I delight in the occasional friend who finds shelter from the storm either in one of the birdhouses or else in one of my feeders (one has a rooftop). And I pray that, whatever choice I eventually make, my feathered friends will still find their oasis.

May God bless you & keep you!

Works Cited

Peterson, R. T. Peterson Field Guides: Eastern Birds, 4th Edition. Houghton Miffler: 1984.

Animal Rights, Animals, Environment, Gratitude, Homesteading, Nature

A Home-Based Business

Lisa Burbank

I am hoping that “someday” my writing, artwork and, of course, the eventual development of a working homestead, will all negate the necessity of working a “job” off-site. And, with that spirit in mind, I decided to spend some time today dusting off (figuratively-speaking) the Go Fund Me campaign that I have had for several months’ now to try to raise start-up funds for a home-based business using goats to clear land.

With the first version of this campaign write-up, I used the term “goat wrangling”. I obtained this terminology from several similar businesses out West but, apparently, it has scared a lot of people off. The term wrangling seems to be conjuring up visions of a rodeo with goats instead of horses and bulls–the latter of which I would never condone, so why would anyone think I’d start a business doing the same thing with goats??? But it’s okay. I got some recent feedback bringing this concern to light so I am happy to oblige and change my future occupation to “Goat Handler” rather than “Wrangler”. No lassoing. No roping. No taunting with red capes or any other rodeo stereotypes. It’s all humane here.

I baby all of my animals. A couple of winters’ ago, Connecticut was hit with a blizzard that dumped nearly 3 feet of snow on us within a 48 hour time period. Prior to the storm’s arrival, local news stations were predicting power outages for most of the area. Knowing my only source of heat in the barn is from electric heat lamps, I cleared everything that might possibly attract a goat’s interest out of my laundry/rabbit room, set up every travel cage I own and made 30+ trips from the barn to the rabbit/laundry room, relocating chickens, ducks, and last but not least, the goats. We used a child safety gate (set on its side to make it taller) to keep said goats from straying through the rest of the house. I threw a piece of old linoleum onto the floor, covered it with wood shavings (the goats never figured out it was there…or maybe they knew they wouldn’t like the taste of linoleum), and there they stayed for several days until I could effectively shovel a decent path from house to barn, and clear a decent-sized area for daily exercise outside again. Am I loony-tunes? Maybe. But my babies were safe and that’s all that mattered. Amazingly, they gave little to no trouble throughout their stay but, I confess, they try every tactic, now that the threat of blizzards and power outages are over, to come back into the house. I guess they liked it better inside with us.

All this being said, I think it’s safe to say that these guys–if I can ever get this campaign up and running, ever get this business up and running–will be loved and cared for…even on the job clearing land of unwanted vegetation in an earth-friendly manner. I hope whoever reads this, and/or my Go Fund Me campaign page, will consider a contribution–or, at the very least, be kind enough to share it so that more will see it and, possibly, make it a success. I thank you for your support!

May God bless you & keep you!

https://www.gofundme.com/akt2hu9s

Abuse, Alcoholism, Animals, Creativity, Faith, Gratitude, Herbs, Homesteading, Nature, Organic, Religion, Spirituality, Writing

Is it Wasted Time or Time Well-Spent?

Lisa Burbank

I have spent the better part of this morning searching through a directory of towns in Maine for a list of towns with the least amount of population. I’m looking for unorganized townships with less than 500 people. Next, will be to research their locations. If I decide to relocate, I would prefer being near the ocean. Not necessarily a waterfront property; they tend to be grossly over-priced, but I would like to be within shouting distance of the ocean…or a lake. Somewhere that I can plunk a canoe down in the water and paddle away. Is that possible with goats in tow (not in the canoe but farming in a coastal region)? Or are coastal towns all zoned into tourist trap submission? These are things I am hoping to find out. The mingled scents of clean farm animals and salty sea air would be the sweetest perfumes. And the cry of a gull amidst a chorus of bleats and neighs and cock-a-doodle-doo, the sweetest of songs. This will be my paradise here on earth. If I can find it. And if I can afford it when I do.

As I type this I am also thinking of all the improvements I’d like to make here on this little one-acre homestead in northeastern Connecticut. Being influenced by the folks at Path to Freedom (please Google for more information) in knowing that it is possible to have a sustainable homestead on a smaller piece of land–i.e. quoting Jules Dervaes in their excellent film, “Homegrown Revolution”, I decided years ago to “start with what I have”. But I worry about things like carbon monoxide from Route 6 settling on my herbs and vegetables, and the increased development of this Quiet Corner town. It’s becoming too commercial and yet the job market is scarce, public transport is so poorly planned as to be almost non-existent, and, despite being on this main Interstate, I feel like an island unto myself anyway. There is little by way of a “community” feeling.

Of course, I do little to encourage that community feeling. My yard is always overgrown. When someone knocks at the door, I seldom answer–unless I’m expecting someone. And I walk around with the feeling that I’m sitting in a fish bowl. The Thujas bordering the front of the house offer a great privacy screen but it is not enough; I’m that eternal hermit-in-the-woods. Not exactly the most encouraging attitude for an ordained minister but I crave solitude like the flowers crave sun and rain. It’s one of the reasons I’ve had such a difficult time adjusting to having a roommate–even though that roommate is Mom.

Whine, whine, whine…

Or maybe that should be wine, wine, WINE!

No, I seldom partake of the latter. Having felt the effects of alcoholism many times as a child–from watching a beloved grandfather vomiting blood each morning, and losing him all too early, to a stepfather’s drunken rampages and pedophilia–I’ll take the fruit of the vine in the form of some organic grape juice instead. (Albeit, I wouldn’t say, “No!” to a wee drop of mead though…)

As for the whining? The best remedy is gratitude. No, I am not where I really want to be. And I am feeling the shifts everywhere in my life right now, shifts that say change is coming and it is time to move on, move forward, get out of this rut that I’ve been “stuck” in for the last several years. Despite my hermit-in-the-woods mentality–which is another side effect of having grown up with alcoholism–I do desire that sense of community, that sense of connection with others. But I also want that oasis in the middle of it all, that place of quiet retreat where I can recharge my batteries–literally and figuratively speaking. We all need that.

So, as I draw a ragged deep breath and prepare to send Wendy Whiner on her way again, I make a short list of all of things I am grateful for right here and now:

I am grateful for the air I breathe, the water I drink, a roof overhead, the food on my plate and the clothes on my back.
I am grateful for my roommate, my Mom; grateful that I am fortunate enough to still have my Mom with me.
I am grateful for family and friends, my community of loved ones–whether they live in this Quiet Corner or not.
I am grateful for all of the myriad animals that share this home with me–both domestic and wild.
I am grateful for the gifts from God of being able to write, sing, play music, paint, draw, create and homestead.
I am grateful for my job, for being employed, and for the wonderful co-workers who share that part of my week with me.
I am grateful for my garden, for the herbs, fruits and vegetables growing there.

And I am grateful, most of all, for my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, who died for my sins and gave me everlasting life.

Now what the heck was I whining about?

May God bless you & keep you!

Works Cited

“Homegrown Revolution Quotes.” Quotes.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2016. Web. 22 Sep. 2016 .

Animals, Homesteading, Nature

Creatures of Habit, Beauty and Stench

Lisa Burbank

Last week I posted about tearing down the mesh covering my chicken coop. Now comes breaking that “creature of habit” who automatically hunches over to avoid hitting her head and, potentially, getting her hair caught in that mesh–the mesh that no longer exists. I have spent the better part of the week reminding myself to simply walk into the coop upright; it certainly makes things easier. However, tearing down the mesh didn’t necessarily stop Ms. Kiel, the Polish hen, from roosting atop the chain-link fence. She’s still there, huddled under the over-hang of Japanese Knotweed. The only difference is I can easily pick her up and carry her into the hen house when I get home from work; before, I spent several minutes tickling her feet through the mesh until she got irritated enough to cackle and squawk, and slowly walk, stiff-legged, to the edge of the mesh, where she would finally flutter down and run into the hen house. Though you’d sometimes swear I was torturing her when I pick her up, this way is infinitely preferable. The “creature of habit” will adapt.

But not necessarily to the other creatures who have visited this week.

I thought we had another Mousecapade, volume 9…or 10…whatever sequel we are on now. However, it was an adorable flying squirrel that found its way into the house. Adorable to look at with his/her silky tan fur and the soft, stretchy webbing between his front and back paws, making “flight” possible. How he got into the house had me stymied a bit as I’m fairly certain I would’ve seen him following me indoors on one of my trips to the barn or elsewhere. Emmylou found him in the rabbit room; and I found her, batting at him with her paws, as he scaled down the back of Alys’ cage and then leaped to the back of Rhys’ cage, scaring the poor buns, and then scampering behind the feed bin. Not wanting to be bitten, I grabbed a plastic pail I have, that also has a flat lid, and then pulled out Rhys’ cage, intent on over-turning the pail on him so I could put him back outside but he was too quick. Mr/Ms. Flying Squirrel crawled under the clothes dryer instead. And there he stayed…smarter than the mice who sometimes come to visit and don’t have the sense to stay in a place where slap-happy felines are waiting without.

Was the hole under the dryer? Did he come in through the exhaust somehow? I finally gave up the “hunt” and went about my business for the day. That evening Whitney didn’t come into the kitchen for dinner. I found her sitting on the shelf behind the dryer, staring intently at the ceiling. I walked over to the dryer and followed her gaze to a small hole that now existed in my ceiling. I didn’t see our friend, the flying squirrel, but I can only assume this to be his entrance/escape route as this hole was not there the day before. A cleaned lid from a cat food can has been tacked over the hole until I can get to the store to buy some patching plaster. Let’s hope our friend found his way outside again…without eating anymore plaster, insulation, or, heaven forbid, wiring. Oi vey!

And then another creature of beauty came to visit…

Mom and I were sitting in the parlor enjoying a cup of tea together on Saturday afternoon when suddenly Mom looks up and asks, “What’s going on out there?” A cacophony of squawks, quacks and the clattering of newly-trimmed hooves over the rough boards of the back deck interrupted our afternoon tea. I looked out the picture window that overlooks the barnyard and saw all of my beloved animals huddling as close to the backdoor as they could get. All eyes were fixed towards the left of my view towards the chicken coop and back gate. Throwing on a quick pair of slip-on shoes, I ran outside to find yet another unwanted guest: a skunk.

For a brief moment, I watched in wonder. They really are beautiful animals, striking, with that stripe of white over a rich, black background, but that’s where the admiration ended as his or her musky scent filtered across the barnyard–even without any spraying! Then a little bit of fear-factor kicked in. A.) Though it was late-afternoon, the sun was only just beginning to set; I wouldn’t even consider it twilight. What was he doing out so early? Was he rabid? Or just hungry and drawn to the scent of healthy laying hens and their cache of eggs, one of his delicacies? And B.) how was I going to get him out of the yard without getting sprayed or bitten? He seemed to wonder that, too. He scooted under the hen house and then moments later, started running the back fence line, looking for a hole to crawl out. While he was still running the back fence, I ran to the barn and chicken coop and closed both doors; the last thing we needed was that lovely perfume in the barn. Then, as it was getting on to twilight, I decided to shut the animals into the barn early. Keeping an eye on our visitor, who seemed to be keeping his distance focusing solely on a way to leave, I ran inside to fill the feeders then raced back out with them. By now, our little “guest” had decided to turn up the western side of the fence, sending chickens and ducks scurrying in my wake towards the barn, only too happy to escape. Getting a headcount, I closed them safely in for the evening then turned my attention to the goats.

Felicity is a bit of my problem child. Instead of following me to the goat barn where I could shut she, Domino and Chester safely in, she had a bead on that skunk that I know well–it’s the same one she has on Mom’s dog, Max, whenever she sees Mom walking him on the other side of the western fence. She was getting ready to charge him. Thank heavens I have few, if any, neighbors–and those I do have, aren’t right on top of me. My shout of “Felicity!” did get her attention, if only briefly, but it was enough for me to reach her side and start turning her towards the barn. She’s stubborn though. It took everything I had, plus a handful of carrots, to coax the three goats into the barn where I could close them in; by the time I got them in, our visitor had found his way up onto the back deck. I watched as Mom made to open the back door to see if she could help and gave another shout, “Don’t open the door! He’s right there!” Needless to say, I spent a few moments in the barn with the goats, hoping our visitor would find his way off the back deck before I had to brave the yard again.

Dusk had officially fallen by the time I crept outside, watched him running the back fence again. I opened the back gate wide, hoping he would find his way out the way he’d come in, and then I went inside. Mom took Max out front on his leash rather than risk any chance encounters out back.

Yesterday morning I crept outside in the pre-dawn darkness to see if our visitor had left yet. The gate was open wide as I had left it the evening before and no black and white presence could be seen. I went back in, got dressed, made breakfast and then started filling the morning feeders. I took another trip outside. Still no skunks in evidence, I filled waterers, scattered grain, seeds, and the contents of the “chicken bucket” (leftovers, vegetable peelings, etc.) outside then opened up the hen house. Without a trace of fear, the ducks and chickens left the coop, the ducks plunging into the kiddie pool while the chickens scavenged my leavings for them. I let the goats out, fed them, watered them, re-filled their minerals and the little cup of baking soda I leave out free-choice (baking soda reduces gas in their rumens…i.e. bloat, which we strive not to create conditions that might lead to it but it’s good to have the baking soda on hand, just in case). Anyway, everything looked good. And all seemed back to normal.

Until around 1 p.m.

Mom and I were, again, enjoying a cup of tea together. I had just come home from a run to Agway to purchase more hay and the supermarket where I picked up fresh greens for the rabbits. Suddenly, the chickens, ducks and goats were all flocking to the deck again.

I ran outside.

This time, I didn’t see any black and white bodies running the fence line. Instead, the three goats were standing shoulder to shoulder along the edge of the deck, looking at their barn. Grabbing a shovel, I tiptoed to the barn door, peeked inside, and it appeared empty. I walked in, looked around. Nothing. I tapped the shovel on the floor, thinking maybe the skunk had crawled under the barn again and I could scare him out–if I didn’t cause him to spray underneath, which would be almost as bad as having him spray inside the barn. That’s when I heard a little high-pitched chattering behind me. I turned around and Mr. Skunk (or Ms, begging your pardon, if…) was scavenging a clutch of eggs in the corner by the barn door (I have 3-4 hens that prefer to roost overnight with the goats and use the fallen hay under their platform and in the corners for nests). I think I could’ve beaten our Olympic champions in a marathon in the time it took me to vacate that barn. I joined the goats, chickens and ducks up on the deck and waited for our visitor to have his fill of eggs and then leave.

He started running the back fence yet again as I ran to the barn and closed the door in his wake; I didn’t want him going back in and staying.

Of course, it was broad daylight. My doubts about him and why he was out so early in the day magnified. And, as it was day, the animals were not likely to want to go back in–even with two handfuls of carrots. I couldn’t leave the gate open with them free-ranging, especially the goats, so how was I going to get him to leave? To make matters worse, Felicity had that bead on him again as he angled up the western fence and crossed to the deck again. While the chickens, ducks, Domino and Chester all took their leave, Felicity didn’t just stand her ground, she put her head down then raised up on her hind legs and slammed down on the deck just behind him. No amount of shouting, calling or coaxing even phased her. And, of course, Skunky did the expected. He sprayed. Fortunately, not a full blast; he saved that until he was off the deck again and under the bathroom window as he raced back for the fence line in vain hope of a opening from which to escape (my bathroom has a very interesting aroma right now that no amount of candles or lighted matches can relieve…eew!).

By then, I had managed to get my arm around Felicity’s chest to hold her back from another attack but, it seemed, she’d gotten a whiff of what he could do and decided maybe she didn’t want to tangle with him after all. That didn’t keep her from keeping a watchful eye on him as he continued his quest to escape. And that’s when inspiration struck as a flock of chickens, ducks, and goats crowded around my ankles to stay out of his way. Running into the house, I grabbed an X-pen and then raced back outside. Skunky had just waddled under the barn again. I opened the X-pen and stretched it from the back gate to the barn. Hopefully, he would not waddle out from the other side; I’d have to form a Plan B if he did. But, thankfully, serendipity played a hand. Skunky waddled out from under the barn, to the gate, and scooted back under, revealing his hole in in the process. I filled the hole with rocks and then stretched the X-pen across the gate, hooking it on either side for added protection. So far, so good…

As for Felicity, while Skunky sprayed, only a single droplet managed to hit her on the back of the head. A washcloth dipped in vinegar and cool water quickly cleaned it up and there is little to no scent lingering on her fur. I can’t say the same about my bathroom.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Environment, Herbs, Holistic Health, Homesteading, Nature, Organic

Friday’s Flora and Fauna: Eat Your Weedies!!

Lisa Burbank

I’m talking about Chenopodium album, of course…or more commonly known as Lambs’ Quarters. This stuff pokes up all over the place, being almost as common as the dandelion (Taraxacum officinale). And just as nutritious:

(Values based upon a 2000 calorie diet)

Potassium………..12%
Vitamin A……….232%
Calcium………….30%
Vitamin C……….133%
Iron……………..6%
Vitamin B6……….15%
Magnesium…………8%*

As I tend to let the yard overgrow, I always have a number of these “weeds” growing wild. I often pick the leaves while weeding the garden beds and eat them straight off the plant (as always, before doing so, please be sure that no pesticides or herbicides have been used in the area). They have a mild taste, similar to spinach, kale or Swiss chard and they make a nice addition to any salad. The leaves do contain oxalic acid so raw consumption should be done in moderation. However, all of the aerial parts (leaves, stems, flowers) may be steamed; thus, removing the risk of the oxalic acid. A little pat of butter, a light sprinkling of salt and/or pepper–or perhaps a pinch of garlic powder/salt and you’ve got a nice little pot-herb to serve beside any main dish. A Google search for recipes will provide some delicious dishes as well.

Of course, you will want to be certain of positive identification.

lambs-quarters2

Lambs’ Quarters has grey-green leaves that closely resemble a goose foot. From a distance, they appear dusty and the plant may grow many feet tall. The flowers grow in spiky clusters of what looks like small balls of pale green (de Bairacli Levy 95-96). And, while the young plants tend to be full and lush-looking, as they mature they become more ‘leggy’. A good field guide will provide more of the particulars; I am including some photos to aid in identification.

lambs-quarters

Lambs’ Quarters gets its name from being a good fodder for sheep but other livestock enjoy it as well, including goats, chickens and geese. I often cut back some of its growth and toss it over the fence. My goats, chickens and ducks go wild over it; they know its many health benefits. Lambs’ Quarters may be used as a “pasture tonic herb” and may improve digestion as well as provide an anemia remedy (de Bairacli Levy 95-96).

As it is good for us, and for the animals, it is also good for your soil and a homesteader/gardener’s friend. Lambs’ Quarters tends to spread rather quickly wherever the soil has been contaminated by car fumes, pesticides, etc. It restores much-needed nutrients. Though we often lament its invasiveness, Lambs’ Quarters in the garden is a sign of a healthy garden bed, of soil rich in vitamins and minerals. It tends to grow wherever Gaia decides it is most needed but I’ve actually been considering creating a bed just for Lambs’ Quarters as, knowing its virtues, I can appreciate it better. I’m hoping everyone will decide to find a spot for it in their garden, too.

May God bless you & keep you!

*These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration (FDA). The information shared is intended for educational purposes only; it is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any disease.

Works Cited

de Bairacli Levy, J. The Complete Herbal Handbook for Farm and Stable, 4th Edition. Faber and Faber, New York: 1991.

Wild Edible Food. Lambs’ Quarters. 16 September 2016. Retrieved from: http://www.ediblewildfood.com/lambs-quarters.aspx

Photos retrieved from: http://www.google.com