Category: Animals

Abuse, Addiction, Alcoholism, Animal Rights, Animals, Appreciation, Christianity, Faith, Frugality, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Healing, Scripture, YouTube

Overcoming “Stupid”

Lisa Burbank

“This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” (Psalms 118:24)

I read somewhere, can’t remember where exactly, but I remember reading somewhere that when you’re under a lot of stress, you get “stupid”. I.e. You make a lot of choices that you wouldn’t be making if you weren’t under so much stress. If your standard of living wasn’t stuck on survive…or even just going through the motions to make it look like you were surviving.

I’ve always hated the word “stupid”. My stepfather called all of us “stupid” on a routine basis. Such is the results of alcoholism and the subsequent abuse that usually accompanies it. But that’s neither here nor there.

“Stupid” works in this situation.

In the last couple of weeks since I’ve gotten my promotion at work, it’s like there’s this part of my brain waking up. “Wow. I haven’t thought of doing that in a long time,” says my brain as I cash my first paycheck in this new position and start labeling envelopes for everything I need to catch up on, or save up for. I’m on top of my billing schedule all of a sudden (maybe because I know I can make the payments?). Household chores are being taken up again. The apathy, depression, and anxiety are being put to sleep again. Problem solving, budgeting, and careful planning are jockeying into position.

Who knew.

Having been in therapy for decades from a childhood of abuse and degradation, my mind automatically starts analyzing everything. I feel like the “stupid” was really a self-defense mechanism kicking in. I lost a full-time job due to an injury (i.e. not my fault as I was laid up for several months) and fell behind on mortgage payments. I have new(er) neighbors challenging zoning…and threatening my goats, chickens, and ducks’ right to be here. My home needs a tremendous amount of work done. I have student loans coming down the pike and an out-of-control electric bill from a flooded basement last fall (well-pump not shutting off due to enormous hole blown in hot water tank…). We’re buying in water to drink due to my water softener dying on me. I feel like that self-defense mechanism kicked in and shut down logic and reason and common sense because maybe it was too much to handle. My mind could only focus on one thing: finding work to sustain me. And that was becoming a near thing.

Now, not only is logic and good reason, common sense and the ability to solve problems, budget, and plan returning, so is hope for a future.

Hence, my post from earlier this week about podcasts and YouTube channels and websites. Yes, I want to run with the wind. But, the perpetual fog I’ve been living under these last few years (yes, years), has tempered some of that run. I’m learning to walk again. Slow and steady wins this race.

And, of course, His grace, which has led me through this. It’s all in his hands. Faith has returned, too. It just took letting go of the reins. Not “stupid” at all.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Books, Christianity, Creativity, Faith, Fiber Arts, gardening, Gratitude, Greenhouse, Healing, Herbs, Homesteading, Memories, Plants, Poverty, Prayer, Spices, Spinning, Straw Braiding, Weaving, Wool, Writing, YouTube

Where He Leads

Lisa Burbank

“Your road led by a pathway through the sea–a pathway no one knew was there!” (Psalms 77:19)

I received a phone call from a realtor a couple of weeks’ ago. It’s not the first offer that I’ve received for my property but, up until this point, they’ve been offers simply to list it and, knowing it’s fixer-upper state, I’ve pretty much ignored the letters and calls.

Until now.

Granted, selling would solve a lot of my financial burdens. Previous realtors talked about “staging” and, in short, wanting to “showcase” it for potential buyers. In its current state, I doubt it would pass an inspection for anyone other than a house flipper. If I had the financial means to make some of the repairs, or the plumbing, carpentry, or construction skills to do it myself, it wouldn’t be where it is in the first place and I probably would’ve sold years’ ago.

This guy was different. After total transparency on my part: it needs a new roof, new gutters, a new hot water tank (we haven’t had running hot water since last November), a new water softener (buying in water every couple of days for humans, goats, chickens and ducks to drink is breaking the proverbial bank), some electrical work, the foundation repaired, and the back door doesn’t close properly due to too much settling, this realtor tells me his interest is in its commercial value. He would like to see the property, of course, but his plan is to remove the house and rebuild for commercial use.

This looks hopeful. There’s even a chance of recouping some of the equity in the home to start over again.

It is also bittersweet. On the one hand, I’m feeling a sense of hope that maybe I have a future after all…beyond pitching a tent in the woods somewhere. There’s an impending sense of relief to be free of the roller coaster emotional ride that foreclosure mediation inevitably brings. On the other hand, I’ve lived here for over 20 years. There are a lot of memories, both happy and sad, and the dreams I had for this place that have never been realized due to the financial burdens that started with the Great Recession and appear to be ending with the current recession. I have many beloved pets buried here, too. I hate the thought of them being paved over or dug up.

However, I’m also seeing how limited I would be to make those dreams a reality even if I stayed. There’s still the zoning issue to resolve…and no guarantee it will go in my favor. The property isn’t big enough to accomplish what I have in mind. There’s no parking for that second-hand book store. No room to grow things like flax or rye straw, or cash crops like elderberries. No pasture for the number of fiber-producing animals that I’d need to raise to truly become “The Herbal Hare Tomestead and Animal Sanctuary: Home of Misfit Animals and Books, and Makers of Herbal, Apian, and Natural Fiber Products”.

“Leaf It To the Goats” isn’t even on the radar here.

I could go much smaller, of course. I could be content with turning much of this almost-acre into an extensive herb garden, maybe add a small greenhouse for warmth-loving spices, like cardamom and turmeric. I could still grow microgreens, maybe get into growing mushrooms. There’s a planned YouTube channel, regardless of where we land, and I could still produce it here as its main focus will be herbs. I could be content with rabbits, maybe a couple of Angora goats (if I won the zoning case), for spinning. And honeybees don’t take much room. However, the latter haven’t done well here. I think it’s in part because I’m so close to a major interstate; they don’t have much of a “fly zone”. But I’ve also heard from more seasoned beekeepers that it can take years to get an apiary up and running…and there’s always Colony Collapse to contend with today. It’s not a bad plan and would leave more room for writing (always a plus).

In short, I’m leaving it all in His hands. I will be calling the realtor later today to schedule a visit. I’m also waiting to hear if I’ve gotten the director’s position I applied for at the library where I work. I had the interview on Friday. I’m hoping I hear something before my foreclosure hearing on Monday. This could be the definitive moment. As the salary of a director is considerably higher than a part-time librarian’s it might be enough to modify.

Again, it’s in His hands. I know what I’d like to do. And I have contingency plans. But, in the end, it’s His plan that truly matters. Talk about one’s faith being challenged.

May God bless you & keep you!

PS Please keep the prayers & positive thoughts/energy coming. And I would be eternally grateful if you would share the Go Fund Me link below. Praise the Lord!

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-this-animal-sanctuary-grow-and-thrive

Animals, Appreciation, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Emergency Preparedness, Exhaustion, Faith, God/Jesus, Healing, Herbs, illness, Prayer

Another Manic Monday?

Lisa Burbank

“Great is the Lord and highly praised in the city of our God: the holy mountain, fairest of heights, the joy of all the earth, Mount Zion, the heights of Zaphon, the city of the great king.” (Psalm 48:2-3)

I’ve started approaching Mondays with trepidation. And yesterday was no exception.

Our new director at the library is leaving. A registered nurse, she is returning to the medical field. I respect her decision but, it leaves me sad, too. She’s done an amazing job, bringing patronage up, implementing children’s programs, and creating a community gathering space that is friendly to all. It has been a pleasure to work with her.

Last Monday I tested positive for Covid-19, the new RA5 variant. A lot sleepy, a cough, some aches and chills the first couple of days and a splitting headache; I’ve had worse. The herbalist eschewed the Paxlovid prescribed and relied instead on the upper-respiratory tincture I use to control my asthma. If it can heal me of pneumonia and bronchitis, as it has in the past, I trust it far better than anything Big Pharma has to offer. And the doc says my lungs sound good so it hasn’t failed me with ‘Rona either.

The week before, I had my final mediation meeting with the attorneys as regards the foreclosure on my home. Though I recently received a significant raise and an increase in hours and will be submitting another application for modification, it’s likely only a matter of time before the mortgage company implements a short sale of the property. We’re measuring a place to lay our heads in months, not years. It’s frightening. And yet, a part of me is also anticipating a sense of relief to get the proverbial monkey off of my back. If I can get the modification, I still have zoning to battle. If I can sway zoning back in my favor, I have a roof that needs replacing, new gutters to consider, a water softener and hot water tank to replace, as well as some electrical and plumbing issues to address. The back door doesn’t close properly due to too much settling. The barn needs the doors re-hung. It’s one thing after another. And, even with zoning in my favor again, I’m limited in what I can do here. The Herbal Hare Tomestead and Animal Rescue may never be realized in this space. So, while I have no clue where He’s leading me, or how we’re going to get there with the menagerie of animals in our care now, I have nothing left but to surrender to His will.

And hope that next Monday won’t be another harbinger of bad news.

May God bless you & keep you!

PS I’d be delighted if you could share this link. The wider the net, the better chance we have of finding a new home. And, please, pray for us without ceasing.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-this-animal-sanctuary-grow-and-thrive

Animals, Faith, gardening, Gratitude, Healing, Herbs, Holidays, Homesteading, Nature, Plants, Self-improvement

Work for Thy Hands

Lisa Burbank

“The good man’s earnings advance the cause of righteousness. The evil man squanders his on sin.” (Proverbs 10:16)

First of all, Happy Presidents’ Day to any U.S. citizen reading this blog; I hope, like me, you were gifted with the day off, preferably with pay. Either way, I’m sending you positive vibes. For me, it’s the first time in a long time that I have had the blessing of paid holidays. I am filled with gratitude for this change in circumstance.

I spent my morning outside, a rarity for this time of the year. The temperatures were mild and the sun was warm. I decided it was the perfect time for pruning apple and crabapple trees. In a couple of weeks, they will be budding out and then it will be too late. I did all four fruit trees. One of them was being taken over by bittersweet. That one took me the longest amount of time to prune, but it was worth it. When I finally went indoors, it was with a feeling of accomplishment.

Those hours spent outdoors were also the first in a very long time that I felt a sense of peace. So many of my posts over this last year or so have dealt with too many financial difficulties, zoning issues, and, of course, the stress of our political and social climates. For the first time in a very long time, I was completely absorbed in what I was doing and I felt a healing in my heart. While a part of me looked at all of the myriad repairs and updates, landscaping projects, etc. still to be done, and felt overwhelmed, another part of me looked at how it could be. I remembered my dreams when I first moved here, wanting to raise animals and herbs here, grow my own food, use the garage for a used bookstore. Of course, this property doesn’t have room for anyone to park; there’s just a driveway and enough room behind my car for one other vehicle so an actual business would be out. And, unless I can find an attorney to handle the zoning issues, that animal dream is lost, too. But it was nice to remember those dreams.

I don’t do a lot of that anymore. I don’t allow myself the luxury of daydreaming anymore. While lamenting such a thing may seem strange when my title talks about “the work of thy hands”, daydreaming is also a sign of hope…as is pruning apple and crabapple trees on a property that may not be my own anymore in the not-so-distant future, if things don’t turn around. I remember thinking, if I have to sell, if I lose this place, if I win the modification but lose the zoning case, I want to leave this place as neat and tidy as I can. There may be signs of neglect from lack of funds but, with a little luck, and a lot of elbow grease, at least the next owners will know I did the best I could with what I had.

Now as I sit here, shoulders sore from this morning’s labors, I’m still feeling blessed. All in all, it’s been a good day. Perhaps it’s a lesson in how idleness truly is the devil’s workshop. Instead of worrying and stressing, these hands went to work and peace filled my soul. It’s good therapy.

May God bless you & keep you!

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-this-animal-sanctuary-grow-and-thrive

Animals, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Culture, Healing, History, Holidays, Nature, Religion, Spirituality, Wicca

Happy Imbolc, St. Brigid’s Day & Year of the Tiger!

Lisa Burbank

“The Lord’s blessing is our greatest wealth. All our work adds nothing to it!” (Proverbs 10: 22)

First, a quick shout out to anyone reading this who celebrates the Chinese New Year, which is today. 2022 is the Year of the Tiger in the Chinese Zodiac. Anyone born in The Year of the Tiger is said to be passionate, brave, possess an unusual sense of adventure, be philanthropic and trustworthy but, also said to be stubborn, opinionated and often rebellious. In truth, I’ve found most zodiac descriptions to be quite general (i.e. many of us can claim traits like these even if we’re not born in The Year of the Tiger) but, it’s fun to read and learn, and wonder about. And greater minds than mine studied and learned and gave us the zodiac as a gift; there is also something to be said for the sometimes uncanny accuracy in these descriptions as well. Regardless, I want to wish everyone a Happy New Year today if you and yours celebrate the Chinese New Year! And, if you’d care to share, I would love to know more about how your family celebrates. Feast? Parade? Dancing? Please share in the comments section below…=)

Today is also Imbolc, Brigid’s Day, or St. Brigid’s Day. This one I know a little more about. Celebrated traditionally in Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man, and amongst Wiccans today, Imbolc is the first day of spring. And, if you’re paying close enough attention to nature, even here in New England where we have almost 2 feet of snow on the ground, you’ve probably noticed the days getting just slightly longer and a softness to the air that speaks of the warmer season just ahead.

Brigid, both the goddess and the saint, is said to protect homes and livestock. She is also associated with the lambing season, spring sowing, the blooming of the blackthorn, blacksmithing, healing, wisdom, poetry and, some sources, also associate her with seamstresses. Saint Brigid’s Day is a traditional Gaelic festival celebrating the midpoint between the winter solstice, or Yule, and the spring equinox, or Ostara. Brideogs–doll-like figures of Brigid–and special crosses are often fashioned out of rushes, or reeds, and displayed in the home. In earlier days, the brideogs would be paraded from house to house, and beds made, food and drink left, to welcome her blessings. Sometimes a wand made of birch may be left near the bed to represent the wand she is said to use to grow vegetation. In pagan lore, she is a fertility goddess. Along with St. Patrick, she is a Patron Saint of Ireland. In Christianity, she has the added virtue of having wet-nursed the Christ child.

Whether Brigid is goddess or saint to you, she is said to visit virtuous households and bless the inhabitants. And I pray that today, she will bless your family throughout the coming new year.

May God bless you & keep you!

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-this-animal-sanctuary-grow-and-thrive

Abuse, Animal Rights, Animals, Christianity, Compassion, Exhaustion, Faith, Healing, Homesteading, illness, Love, Poverty, Prayer, Understanding

Animal Caregivers Hurting their own Cause

Lisa Burbank

“One should be kind to a fainting friend, but you have accused me without the slightest fear of God.” (Job 6:14)

Yesterday’s angst-ridden post had a foundation in a recent bad experience at the local vet office. Though I aspire to become a true sanctuary (i.e. at some point I would like to earn non-profit, or at least, not-for-profit status), at the moment, I have only a simple hobby farm where I have been homesteading and prepping, and, yes, taking in the occasional stray or sob story and providing a forever home. I do this out of love for the animals. The money usually comes from my own pocket, even to occasionally going without myself to provide the care these animals need…and that’s not a complaint. I take great joy in this.

When I had my pet and farm sitting business, which all but dried up during Covid, I received recommendations that proclaimed me as “one of the few people they would trust with their pets” and “my bond with animals was almost spiritual” (almost?). Another close friend, and pet sitting client, refers to me as the animal whisperer, the cat whisperer, because I have managed to befriend even her shyest feline.

Well, Covid has done something else to our way of life: there’s been an influx of unwanted (or, more likely, unable to care for due to home and/or income loss) pets. Shelters, spay/neuter clinics, vet hospitals are being overrun.

As are small hobby farms.

In the 20 years that I have been here, I have had the occasional stray show up. I’ve had a few just dumped off here. Six years’ ago, I actually caught someone running away from the window of my house one night, only to hear a cautious “me-ow!” under the window moments later. That cat became Priscilla, whom I lost in December 2020 to the Seresto collar issue I mentioned in an earlier post. She was pregnant at the time; hence, being left under my window. Ozzy and Emmylou have been beloved pets since they were born in August 2015. They have been spayed/neutered, received their shots, and are now on Advantage for fleas.

Last year, Mossy and Willow, two young kittens, showed up on my doorstep. A little shy, Mom and I watched them chasing leaves in the yard, worked to gain their trust and, using a Have-a-Heart trap, managed to get them into the house. Though I guesstimated them to only be about 5 months’ old, Mossy, the female, had a litter of kittens shortly thereafter. As Willow was a male, and knowing female cats can get pregnant almost immediately after birthing, I called my vet to get him in. The best they could do was book him 2 months’ out for shots; the neutering would be another month or two longer. We didn’t have 3-4 months to wait. By then, the 4 kittens she’d just birthed would be old enough to breed; that was a nightmare waiting to happen.

Northeastern Connecticut’s Petco store has a mobile cat unit that does low-cost spay and neuter clinics. I called. I got an automated message saying they would not be taking new patients over the next couple of months. I called another similar organization out of Hartford; same result. A friend recommended her vet who only does cats and is relatively inexpensive. Score! Willow was taken in, given his shots, neutered, and is now growing fat and happy in his forever home.

That was in May.

In August, I finally(!) managed to capture Zelda and one of her babies, Sox. I say “finally” because Zelda showed up shortly after Mossy had her babies. Extremely lovable and affectionate, I moved to pick her up to take her in and noticed she was nursing. Where were her babies? I tried following her; she wasn’t leading me to them. We kept the food supply going and, in late-June, early-July, discovered she’d birthed them under our back deck. I tried picking them up to get them in the house and to a vet (I live on a major interstate; as young as they were, I feared they might wander out into the road; it’s happened too many times here in the last 20+ years). Zelda went from lovable and affectionate to protective Mama. I put some Have-A-Heart traps out, kept them baited with food and treats…and caught half the raccoon and skunk population, but not any kitties. The wildlife were released without harm…except maybe to their pride.

Sadly, I came home from work one afternoon to discover one of Zelda’s kittens had been injured. I took her to the vet; her leg had been broken in two separate places (no, she did not get it caught in one of the live traps; I only set them up when I was home because I didn’t want anyone getting trapped while I was away at work and spending the day in it during summer’s heat); she had to be euthanized. I ramped up my efforts to capture Zelda, Sox and Shooz. One morning in August I managed to get Zelda and Sox; Shooz avoided capture but, she kept coming up to the living room window, meowing to her mother and brother. Despite numerous attempts, I could not tempt her into the house, or into one of the cages or traps. Then around 11 p.m. Shooz made a running leap, knocked the screen out of window and became my first breaking and entering case; she refused to be separated any longer from Sox (they have such a bond!).

Two days’ later, Zelda had 7 more kittens.

Jerry, the only boy born to Mossy, turned 6 months in October; he was neutered, received shots, treated for fleas and mites, etc; Sox, who is a little younger, was likewise cared for in November. Shooz, and Jerry’s 3 littermates are all female. As there are younger kittens up and coming, I have delayed spaying them. All are indoors and all of the males have already been altered; there is no danger of any of them getting pregnant. The plan has been to get the little boys in Zelda’s 2nd litter neutered then go back and focus on the females.

However, one of Mossy’s daughters, Bootsie, came down with a parasitic blood virus last week. Though we have Advantage for them, according to this new vet, Advantage and Revolution, the only two flea meds safe for both cats and rabbits (we are The Herbal Hare…) are losing their efficacy; hence, the reason we were still seeing the occasional flea. I took her in for treatment.

Because she is not yet spayed, I was treated like a piece of sh** by the receptionist (the vet was wonderful!); there is no polite way to describe it. Even when I explained the situation, the woman gave me such an attitude that, were it not for worry over Bootsie’s condition, I would’ve marched away and taken her back home. Had it been a routine visit, I most surely would have left. I realize, because my best friend is a vet technician, another friend is a retired vet, and countless other friends work in rescue and foster animal care, that they encounter countless cases of neglect and backyard breeders on a routine basis; I am neither. Mossy, Willow and Zelda were either dumped off on the farm (and this is a regular thing that most farmers also experience on a routine basis…), or wandered in from somewhere else, and I’ve been trying my darnedest to give them, and their babies, the best care possible…only to be abused by her attitude and obvious judgment.

It has seriously stressed me out.

I can’t help wonder if this is why they showed up in the first place. Did previous owner(s) keep hitting the same road blocks I did when searching for assistance in getting them spayed/neutered? Did they run up against an attitude by a tech or vet who scoffed at them as being nothing more than a sob story? Again, I don’t doubt they hear them but, even before Covid, I’ve been put off for weeks from getting shots/alterations. I’ve been told a shelter is full and not admitting any new animals. And, the one time I managed to reach a live person on the phone about getting help when Ozzy and Emmylou came into the world, I received a similar attitude by the woman who runs the place.

Isn’t this a little counterintuitive to the animal rights’ movement?

With these new guys, I’m going with the first scenario: they were dropped off. Zelda’s obvious affection and comfort around humans tells me she wasn’t a feral cat. And, while there was no sign of Zelda when Mossy and Willow first arrived, it’s kind of odd that Bootsie is Zelda’s spitting image, while Zelda’s daughter, Shooz and Mossy are often mistaken for each other. Perhaps Sox and Shooz were not Zelda’s first litter. Perhaps she spent nearly a year trying to fend for herself and being depleted while birthing one litter after the other. And, by the way she plays like a kitten herself, I’d guesstimate she’s not more than 2 years’ old. This last litter had to be bottle-fed she was so depleted. It’s heartbreaking. And here I am trying to do a good thing for them all and getting abused for it by the people that are supposed to be the good guys.

I touched yesterday about how the Lord seems to be stripping away all of my idolatry, my judgments, etc. I used to judge others ruthlessly when it came to animal care. Granted, my family seldom spayed or neutered their pets. Even now Mom doesn’t entirely *get* why I’m so driven to get these babies into their respective surgeries, get them vaccinated, etc. I grew up making frequent trips to the local dog pound (there weren’t “no-kill” shelters then), walking by cages labeled Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc. and knowing by Tuesday next, all of the animals in that kennel would be gassed. It was a sobering experience for a little girl and is the driving force behind my commitment to help as many animals as I can.

But I judged just as ruthlessly as I was judged last week.

“They’re lying; nobody dropped that cat off on you.” (happens all the time, especially to farmers)

“That shelter didn’t refuse those kittens; they wouldn’t do that.” (No facility has endless space or bottomless resources to feed and care for these animals)

“Your vet didn’t tell you it would be at least a couple of months before they could do the surgery.” (Most vets are perpetually overbooked striving to squeeze in as many patients as they can, not just for the money (though there are some that do that, too) because they care about their health and well-being and don’t want to turn anyone away who might need their expertise to survive; they know how much you love your pets; they want to help)

And now it’s happened to me…and more than once. It’s created a unique perspective. While I have connections in the animal care sector who, yes, are exhausted and overwhelmed and broken-hearted themselves for all of the hard luck cases they see, I’m also being made aware that, like everything else in life, there’s another side to the story. And, incidentally, if you’re low income, or simply fallen on hard times, I guess you’re not supposed to have any pets at all to bring you joy; that’s only for the elite who can afford to spend thousands of dollars all at once. These same “caring” animal care workers will wrinkle their nose at you like you’ve just trodden in something disgusting.

Yeah, I’m angry. I’m also hoping my post here will shed some light on these two different sides and maybe, just maybe, we’ll offer a little more compassion to each other and realize that most folks are doing the best they can.

Incidentally, Bootsie has made almost a full recovery and is on antibiotics. She’s not the easiest, and I have to call the vet to see if we can get an injectable form of the antibiotics as I believe that will be easier to get in her; I’ve lost almost a pint of blood trying to oral treat her. But she is under their care and we have a new flea med recommendation that will, hopefully, protect any future viruses from emerging.

If you would like to help with Bootsie, or these other babies, please click the link to our Go Fund Me campaign. Please keep us in your prayers. Send positive vibes. Many thanks in appreciation!

May God bless you & keep you!

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-this-animal-sanctuary-grow-and-thrive

19th century, Abuse, Addiction, Alcoholism, Animal Rights, Animals, Appreciation, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Compassion, Creativity, Emergency Preparedness, Environment, Faith, gardening, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Healing, Herbs, Homesteading, Love, Plants, Reading, Religion, Self-esteem, Writing

X to have Z…

Lisa Burbank

“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from you; it is the gift of God; it is not from works, so no one may boast.” (Ephesians, 2:8-9)

I want to be a writer, but I have to have some other career to support it, I have to do something else besides write…well, not all of us can be the next Toni Morrison or Stephen King so maybe there’s some truth to this one…but there must be something defectively wrong with me to not have found another career option that I feel just as passionate about…

Like some of my favorite authors who write 8 hours a day, I have to carve out 8 hours of my own to dedicate to my novel, my blog, etc; I can’t be a writer if I don’t write every day for 8 hours a day…even with a “day” job and a small hobby farm and the need to eat, sleep and, well, you know…

Like a favorite singer/songwriter, I do my best writing at 3:30 a.m. so, if I don’t get up at 3:30 a.m. every day to write, I’m not doing my best writing?

I can’t run a used bookstore; I won’t make enough money from it to support myself; I need another career to supplement it (it’s like the writer thing…)

I want to rescue animals, to offer them sanctuary–and often do–but, I’m a single female and I’m in danger of becoming a hoarder–or so the media tells me. If I was married, or a man, and still took in the occasional stray cat, and the free-to-good-home rabbits and goats, etc., found forever homes for some and offered a forever home to others, because their original humans were being evicted and no longer had a home to offer them, would I NOT be in danger of becoming a hoarder?

I want to homestead, to grow my own food and produce my own clothing, to live as sustainably as possible and lower my carbon footprint, but I don’t have enough land, enough money, enough knowledge, and I have to start right here…well, I have, sort of, but I’m also facing foreclosure myself so there’s a bit of apathy getting in the way. Why keep investing here when here may soon be gone?

In my youth, I wanted to be a rock star but, I didn’t keep my guitar strapped to me day in and day out. I only spent an hour or two each day practicing after work, so I guess I must not have wanted it so badly…

When I worked in living history, I told myself I didn’t know enough about either herbs or gardening to manage an heirloom herb garden. I felt like a fraud and everyone would find out eventually that I didn’t have what it takes. It’s called Imposter Syndrome; I just learned about it in my first class as I work towards my MFA in Creative Writing…

I made a mistake 10 years’ ago and rushed headlong into an abusive relationship with someone. I knew better, saw trouble coming a mile away, heard the voice of Reason in my ear saying, “Walk the other way” and ignored it; gave him a chance. I no longer deserve God’s grace…or His love…or the love of another man should I ever meet him…

These are the lies I tell myself, among others. Having just turned 55, “I’m too old” is another…even with the evidence before me that age has nothing to do with success or love or, well, anything…except maybe wisdom and experience, and the appreciation that usually comes with them.

“I’m not worthy” is the overall underlying message in each of these. I have to *earn* it. And, yes, if I want to write, I have to write. If I want to grow food, I have to plant a garden. If I want to be taken seriously at any endeavor and meet with success, I have to do the work. So, these things I tell myself each day have an undercurrent of truth and practicality ringing through.

The Serpent is cunning, to say the least…

There are conditions to everything, especially when you grow up in a house with addictions and abuse. A loving Father is an alien concept. And, no matter how much love, support, etc. you receive from others, that nuclear family unit that consists of parents, siblings and yourself, has the power to shape your way of thinking for life. So, it’s no wonder I’ve tied myself in knots and can’t seem to get out of my own way. Writing books, selling used books, caring for unwanted animals (or those on the receiving end of someone’s hard luck), homesteading and prepping, even learning an instrument by themselves may not be *enough* income to survive, let alone thrive, but together? Or, even if I still work a “day” job, I’m not allowed the joy that each may bring to me?

They’re idols.

That’s another lie echoing through my mind. The Lord has brought me to this place because I’ve made “idols” of animals and books, and I’m trying to live self-sufficiently, which means I’m not relying on Him…or so I’ve heard said. To punish me for this “idolatry”, He’s going to whisk it all away. Hence, the impending doom of foreclosure and zoning challenges…

Who would follow such a God?

Or am I wrong? Will I be stripped down to nothing? Am I being taught another lesson in not judging others for decisions they’ve made during hard luck circumstances? Again, I don’t deserve His grace because I haven’t always given grace to others…

Praise God we don’t get what we *deserve* for our mistakes. Ultimately, I know there’s nothing we can do to *earn* his grace; it is already freely given but, my faith needs a good bolstering today.

May God bless you & keep you!

19th century, Animal Rights, Animals, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Compassion, Creativity, Environment, Faith, gardening, Gratitude, Greenhouse, Healing, Herbs, History, Homesteading, Plants, Spices, Straw Braiding, vermicomposting, Weaving, Wool, Worm castings, Worm Tea, Writing, Zero Waste

The New “About”: The Herbal Hare Tomestead and Animal Sanctuary

Lisa Burbank

“A home for misfit animals and books, and makers of herbal, apian, and natural fiber products.”

Sanctuary – Focuses primarily on small livestock and pets that are being relinquished due to zoning regulation issues, foreclosure, or eviction.

Tomestead – A different sort of “rescue” or sanctuary, one that keeps used books out of the landfills.  The bulk of the books will be from donations.  Patrons will have the option of in-store credit (20% off purchase) or a check for 20% of estimated resale price.  Campus will consist of re-purposed sheds, RVs, trailers and/or mobile concession booths.  Each upcycled building will host a different genre, or subject(s) and be themed accordingly.  Additional outbuildings will host various natural fiber, herbal and apian products produced on-site and throughout the local community.  topography will include a 9000 square foot heirloom herb garden where walks and talks will be hosted; a petting zoo featuring some of the rescued animals at the sanctuary, and a cafe featuring menu items that would have been popular in the 19th century.  Proceeds from sales will be re-invested into the business, as well as providing for the care of the animals.

The Herbal Hare – Farm side of the campus will host various fiber-producing animals, in addition to rescues, such as sheep, goats, alpacas, and rabbits.  Spinning, weaving and dyeing demonstrations, herbal workshops, and “bee” school are future offerings.  Fibers will eventually expand to include basket weaving, chair caning, and straw hat making, and sericulture (silkworms).  Herb store will eventually be expanded to include a couple of greenhouses for growing heat-loving spices, such as cardamom and turmeric; mushrooms; microgreens, and sprouts.  

     Planned fiber products – primarily yarns and some woven products to start.  Straw hats, baskets, silks and linen in future.

     Planned apian products – honey, beeswax, candles

     Herbal products – seeds; dried and fresh herbs; young plants; skin care products; scent mixes and tea blends

All facilities will be zero-waste.  Reusable bags, boxes, upcycled Mason jars will be available for patrons.  We will also seek out compostable wraps, containers and utensils for our envisioned cafe. Compost will be re-purposed in the herb garden and future greenhouses.

Where is this wonderful place?  For now, it’s on the drawing board awaiting either an angel investor (or two) to help with start-ups, or a great, big pot of luck!  

What expertise do I bring to this endeavor?  Besides being a writer, I am a certified herbalist who worked in living history, both as a volunteer and as paid staff, for many years where I learned spinning, weaving and caring for natural fibers, and straw braiding for the making of hats.  I am also a Master Gardener with the University of Connecticut, and a librarian.  I have been rescuing and giving sanctuary to unwanted animals for much of my adult life–over 35 years!

This is my dream. With God’s grace, it will one day be a reality.

May God bless you & keep you!

PS The link to my Go Fund Me campaign to make this a reality:

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-this-animal-sanctuary-grow-and-thrive

Abuse, Animal Rights, Animals, Appreciation, Bereavement, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Compassion, Culture, Diversity, Emergency Preparedness, Faith, Family, Forgiveness, Friendship, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Grief, Healing, Holidays, Homesteading, Human rights, Humanity First, illness, Open-mindedness, Politics, Poverty, Prayer, Prepping, Religion, Scripture, Social Media, Spirituality

Happy New Year 2022!

Lisa Burbank

“For you have a new life. It was not passed on to you from your parents, for the life they gave you will fade away. This new one will last forever, for it comes from Christ, God’s ever-living Message to men.” (1 Peter 1:23)

I find myself unable to think of a word, or biblical phrase, to define this year. I’ve thought of “Intention”. “Trust”. “Discipline”. I need to work on all of these…and a phrase/verse from the Bible to help remind me.

Wow.

I guess I really am mired in depression. See? I need to work on that trust issue for sure!

But, as always, on New Years’, I like to take a moment to reflect on the year past and remember those loved ones who will never again grace The Herbal Hare in life.

Praise the Lord, my human family has been hale and hearty this year. =) However, we did lose the boss of the barnyard this past spring. Sgt. Feathers, my Polish crested rooster, is protecting his ladies in heaven these days. And while his sons, Radar and MIG, and grandson, Jeep, are doing their best to carry on with protecting our living flock, it seems strange not to hear his trumpeting anymore…followed closely by a little, squeaky half-pint of a crowing. Tank, the little Silkie, who, having followed so closely at Sgt. Feathers’ heels in life, followed his commander closely in death, too. I lost them within a few days of each other. With Sgt. Feathers, it had been expected; every day was a gift. He was quite old for a roo (10) and had started walking almost hunched over like the old man he was. Tank, however, is a mystery. No sign of illness or injury. But, because they like to peck the ground, parasites are always an issue…no matter how clean and careful you are with their environment.

Sgt. Feathers
Tank

We also lost two beloved felines this year.

Only a few days after I posted last New Year’s memorial, Mom’s cat, Rosco, left us. Rosco had an interesting life. He was found atop a house in Illinois during all the flooding in the Midwest over a decade ago. No clue who his owners were, he was brought to a local shelter. Mom and my stepfather were shopping at PetSmart one weekend. The store was hosting an adoption clinic this day. Mom saw Rosco and fell in love. But my stepfather said, “No, no more cats!”. She worked on him as they wandered the store and, as they reached the checkout, he relented.

But Rosco had already been adopted…

…by their upstairs neighbor in the apartment complex where they lived! Said neighbor did not take good care of him though. Mom watched in horror as this declawed kitty had his front paws intentionally raked over the rough bark of a tree, lost weight due to inadequate feeding, and lastly was kicked by the neighbor’s boyfriend. Mom saw them outside with him on a leash, marched over, picked Rosco up and walked away with him. When the couple protested and threatened to call the police, Mom challenged them to go right ahead so she and the other neighbors could all tell the police how cruel they had been to this little guy. Poor Rosco had to have his jaw wired from the kick. And had to be fed frequent, tiny meals for awhile until his shrunken stomach could handle more substantial amounts of food. He grew to expect the frequent feedings though. He was quite fat by the end of his days…except his tail, which stood up skinny and reminiscent of the wire used to guide the bumper cars at a fair. He rode shotgun on the dashboard of Mom’s minivan when she traveled across country from Missouri to Connecticut to move in with me back in 2014. His “hoot” will be missed (Rosco’s jaw remained misshapen due to the abuse he endured before Mom rescued him and he could not articulate a more traditional “Me-ow!”).

Rosco

Lastly, Kirby. We lost him in May 2021. Kirby came to “visit” for the first time in the spring of 2014. I heard some of the resident felines howling in protest in the kitchen, went to investigate, and saw a bright-eyed little face peeking in over the window ledge. He did this for several nights…all while I protested I did not *need* another cat. He probably belongs to a neighbor, he’s just passing through, etc. But he kept coming back. And, finally, I determined that, yes, God had planted another stray kitty in my path. I started feeding him, gaining his trust. It took a few months (!!??!) before I was able to trap him and get him indoors. And then another couple of weeks of him being isolated in a room by himself until I could get him to a vet.

He howled all the way to the vet office, ripped open his toes trying to claw his way out of the travel cage, and then shot out of the cage and placed bloody runnels down the exam room walls as soon as the doc opened the cage. He had to be sedated so she could examine him, patch up his mangled toes, neuter and give him his shots. I seriously thought this was one baby who was too feral for a forever indoor home.

He proved me wrong.

Mom had just arrived with Rosco and Max, her blue heeler we lost a couple of years’ ago, and Kirby and Rosco became bosom buddies, along with Paz, my geriatric tuxedo. Then, a few months’ later, when a pregnant Priscilla was dumped off on the farm, he minded her babies like the proud surrogate Papa he became to them. He, Ozzy, Emmylou, and Alice Cooper became inseparable, and he was a sort of ambassador to every poor feline this farm has taken in since.

However, I proved him wrong, too. I told him he would love laps someday…and I was right. Once he was reassured that he was loved and there would always be someone to care for him, he was the ultimate cuddle kitty. =)

Kirby with his adopted “sons”, Alice Cooper and Ozzy Osbourne (l to r)

Both Rosco and Kirby, Priscilla late last December, and earlier in 2020, my Pearl, all developed kidney and heart disease rather suddenly after using Seresto collars. I don’t know if there is a correlation, though I did see an article in USA Today in regard, stating that these collars are being linked to possible kidney and heart disease; I have not found the link to that article today but, I did find a more recent news article about how certain lawmakers are asking that these collars be recalled. There have been reported incidents in the thousands as regards these collars so, please, proceed with caution if you are using them for your pets. I have included the link below so you may read it for yourselves. My then-vet suggested the kidney and heart failure was simply due to their age. Granted, Pearl was 16 when she passed; Kirby and Rosco both estimated at 12-13 years’ of age. Priscilla, however, was only 7, a bit too young, in my opinion and experience, to be struck with organ failure. No sign of illness in any of them prior to these sudden downturns…and I do mean sudden. Rosco had been playing with me like a young kitten just 3 days’ earlier when all of a sudden, he just stopped eating and started shutting down. We have since found a new vet as the “old” one refused to take my concerns seriously when I voiced them to him. I may be wrong about the collars but, it seems, I am not alone in my concerns with them.

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/seresto-flea-collar-recall-pet-deaths/

Kirby; the best ones are the ones who choose you (sigh!)

In addition to these memorials, I think it is safe to say that 2021 was even more challenging than 2020. I’ve alienated a lot of friends due to my stance as regards mandating getting jabbed with something that neither protects one from contracting an illness, nor prevents one from spreading it. I’ve been a Democrat all of my life; I am seriously considering at least becoming “unaffiliated” as I cannot abide the hate and vitriol being spewed about by others of the party. The fear-mongering by mainstream media; the attempts to force us into a police, or authoritarian state; the lack of respect for others who do not share the same views have left a bitter taste in my mouth. I actually owe President Trump an apology for being so anti-Trump during his tenure. While he will never be a favorite of mine, yeah, it really was a witch hunt…one, I am ashamed to say, I contributed to widely on social media.

I don’t know what this new year will bring. The media continues to cry for the arrest, ostracism, and abuse of those who either cannot, or will not, take their (in my opinion) poison**. Gasoline is up to $3.60 per gallon here in New England for regular unleaded; I’m sure it will rise even higher as we approach summer. Empty shelves grace the local Walmart and grocery stores, and there’s sticker shock when you do find what you’re looking for. On a more personal note, while foreclosure is still eminent here at The Herbal Hare, I find myself even more committed to homesteading, and now prepping, than ever before. I cannot help but think a collapse of some sort is eminent. I pray I am wrong, but it doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing. Perhaps you’re all thinking, there goes another whacked out conspiracy theorist. But, maybe, just maybe, there’s something to those conspiracies. (No, I don’t think little green men are injecting tracking devices under our skin, but I do see changes in government, in our society, that make me think I may have to carry around special papers proclaiming myself “free” (passport anyone?), or don a special band marking me as some sort of enemy (face masks?))

However, I am committed to building a community of like-minded people, too. None of us are islands unto ourselves; we need community. Perhaps the word I’m looking for this year is “tribe”. Regardless of whether or not you agree with me on a social or political level, when all is said and done, this year I feel it is especially important to at least be kind to one another. We are all struggling during this turmoil. And our tribe, or family, is who we choose to care for.

But this is all just what I think. I invite you to share, whether you agree or not, in the comments below. I do ask that you be respectful of others, and of this blog, by refraining from profanity, name-calling, bullying or belittling; again, we are all one family, each a very special part of the body of Christ, none of us whole without the other. That being said, regardless of what you believe (or not!); how you look; who you love; socioeconomic status, or current “jab” status, all are welcome…to this blog, to this community, in my home and in my heart. We got through 2021 together, we can get through 2022 as well…and, hopefully, come out the backside of it in a much better place than we are going in.

Wishing everyone much love, much hope, peace, prosperity and, above all, a deep and abiding faith for the New Year! May God bless you & keep you!

**A note: though my opinion leans towards choice when it comes to matters of health, to everyone who has been *poked*, please know that I respect your choice to do so. It is your body and you have to do what is best for you and yours. I am not “anti” pokes; I am anti mandating personal autonomy. For everyone obsessed with forcing others to do as you do, stop for one moment, please, and think how you would feel if suddenly a mandate was issued that said you were no longer *allowed* to get poked, even though you feel in your heart it is the right thing to do for you and yours.

Again, may God bless you & keep you! Stay safe & stay free!

Abuse, Addiction, Animals, Compassion, Exhaustion, Faith, Healing, Human rights, Nature, Poverty, Self-esteem

Of Mice and Women…

Lisa Burbank

“I am leaving you with a gift– peace of mind and heart! And the peace I give isn’t fragile like the peace the world gives. So don’t be troubled or afraid.” (John 14:27)

This morning I watched Luna, Jerry and Sadie totally absorbed in catching a mouse. The tender heart here has learned just to let nature take its course. While I feel badly for the mouse, another part of me can’t help thinking, “What was that mouse thinking?” I am the crazy cat lady! Did he/she not smell the scent of feline before entering this house??? And then, if I gave in to the tender heart, captured said mouse, and set him/her free, he or she would only run right back in through whatever crack it came through in the first place. Mice are supposed to be intelligent creatures. That’s why we use them, and their rat cousins, in all kinds of mental health and behavioral studies (grrr…I hate vivisection!).

And then, for some strange reason, and it’s funny how these things come to you, I realized there’s a metaphor here.

You see, I was questioning the sanity of a mouse, the logic with which this tiny creature sought entry into a house, knowing by his/her quivering, whiskery olfactory that death awaited them inside. However, autumn is upon us. Chilly winds blow. Rain is falling, making everything wet outside. The scent of feline was overrode by the necessity of warmth that other senses undoubtedly picked up along with the scent of eau de ME-OW! Desperation for a warm place to over the coming winter won out over common sense (if mice even own such a thing as common sense; even most humans seem incapable of it these days…).

Again, I’m not sure how my mind went off on this tangent, but people do the same thing when it comes to abusive relationships. Maybe it’s not warmth (i.e. we may already have a roof overhead for the winter), but companionship. A fear of being alone. It could be economic struggles and the very real exhaustion that comes with it, wanting someone else to share the burden of this mortal life. And so…and while I know men also find themselves in abusive situations, I see more women friends going back…that seemingly intelligent woman either enters into a new relationship out of some sense of need, or worse, goes back to a relationship that had already proven itself abusive.

It’s this last where the mouse metaphor comes from. Like the mouse who’d been cornered by several felines, being batted about like a ping pong ball, who runs back in to those felines after being set free of their abuse, so often does the human run back. And, like the mouse whose intellect and sanity I questioned, those of us seeing this return to abuse, often question the sanity and intellect of the human who did likewise. Shame on us!

The good Lord humbled me several years ago with an abusive relationship. I used to judge those harshly who never seemed able to leave their abuser. I would scoff at their defense of, “But I love him/her!”

Until it happened to me.

No, I wasn’t physically abused by this person, though he threatened to do so at one point, but I endured a lot of mental and emotional abuse. And, still, to this day, wonder why I did. I, too, am an intelligent creature. Yet I stayed. And, yes, while it definitely wasn’t “The One”, there was at least a level of infatuation with this person. No, I don’t think the mouse loves my cats, or is even infatuated with them. But, like the mouse, I kept hoping things would change for the better…until I finally realized the only way that would happen was if I made the change happen by ending the relationship…instead of repeating the same actions and hoping for a different outcome.

I was able to do that. Not everyone has the courage to do so. More importantly, not everyone has the confidence to do so. Not everyone can reach the point where I did of thinking, “Even if I struggle harder financially, I will be better off without this person in my life” and so, I released the toxin. I also had the advantage of owning the house so I wasn’t faced with any practical considerations.

I was lucky. He wasn’t obsessive. He didn’t keep coming back, harassing me, or threatening me in any way. I haven’t heard from him but once since and it was brief. For many, their abuser is obsessive. Their abuser is a lot like my cats who, even after I have put said mouse outside in the hopes that he/she will seek safer enclaves, will continue to search this house high and low for their prey. Hours will pass with such single-minded purpose…until either the mouse comes back, or another victim crosses their line of sight. In short, we can’t change the abuser, unless they want to change. Put a mouse in this house and my cats won’t even come down for breakfast, an event they usually won’t miss on pain of death (no pun intended). And, for the mouse, unless he/she actually finds a cozier spot to occupy, will eventually meet that end. His is a simpler need of simple warmth and a food source. For humans, it’s a bit more complex given human emotions, the usual brainwashing of the abuser, etc. But, often, once a human is finally free of that toxic relationship, those who supported them on their journey out of it, forget about them. Yes, maybe they seem “needy”, and we find ourselves exhausted by that need, but loneliness can erode even the most iron will or confidence.

No, I’m not thinking of going back to any toxic relationships. I have shared often about my own financial difficulties. And, yes, occasionally, I do find myself thinking, “I wish I had that partner to at least bolster me up when my confidence–and faith–flags”. But, because I’m in such a place, I refuse to even entertain such a thing. It would be extremely unfair to another human being. And neither of us would ever be sure if we chose each other because we liked each other…or because we needed each other. That’s often how toxic relationships start in the first place. Like the mouse in this metaphor, I would be better served focusing on the scent of feline.

Now, what the heck was in my Chai tea this morning??? Lol!

May God bless you & keep you!

https://www.gofundme.com/help-our-farm-is-being-foreclosed