Category: Gratitude

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!

Abuse, Alcoholism, Faith, Gratitude

Technical Difficulties

Lisa Burbank

This morning I finished my yoga practice and jumped in the chair behind the PC, intent on adding a new blog post. Lo and behold, Hewlett-Packard had different ideas. My PC was midway into a major update from Windows 8 to Windows 10 (not sure what happened to Windows 9…) so I sat here reading a booklet that I found while organizing the office last week that deals with being more assertive. There’s no cover page so I don’t know the actual title or author but it was an interesting read while I munched a couple of slices of whole grain toast slathered with peanut butter. (What 20 lbs. by Nov. 20th???)

One thing that stuck out for me was a passage that read: “Some [people] are unconcerned whether you agree with them and share their views. Others are rabid in demanding that you fall in line with them. They feel that they know best and this gives them the authority to tell everyone what they should be doing and saying. It is their way or the highway.” (Anonymous) I think we all know a few people with this mindset; having been afflicted by alcoholism and abuse as a child, I, too, can get on my high horse about certain subjects. It is learned behavior. And this is where that Al-Anon slogan of “Live and Let Live” comes into play. I don’t have all the answers and neither does anyone else; we can only do the best we can with what we have…and allow others the same courtesy. However, this is where the term “boundaries” comes into play…and the need to assert those boundaries.

The booklet goes on to talk about how women, especially (though not confined to women; just more common), tend to be people-pleasers. Old-fashioned values passed down from previous generations instill in us a belief that standing up for ourselves is unladylike, unfeminine. And then we wonder why we keep finding the same situations over and again: being over-whelmed by too many responsibilities/social engagements or commitments; being passed over for better job positions, or lower pay scales; or finding the same abusive and/or controlling partners ad nauseum.

Some of this is simply that innate desire to be loved and accepted. We want to fit in so we say “yes” to every request made of us; we give in to keep the peace; we give–because it is better than receiving, or so we are told–and we give and we give until, like that old children’s story about the giving tree, there is nothing left to give…except maybe the built-up resentment and anger that stifling our own needs–and even our core values–has developed. In seeking to please others and neglecting our own needs, we actually give others an unspoken permission to treat us as doormats; to ridicule us; to continue to assert their “control” over us. In short, we allow unacceptable behavior. And, as a result of this tolerance of unacceptable behavior, that anger and resentment eventually spills over until we resort to some unacceptable behavior of our own.

Boundaries. This one is a tough one for me. I grew up in an alcoholic home. Frequent, violent arguments often made sleep impossible and left a little girl quaking in her shoes. The one time I remember standing up for myself was when I was around 17. It was over a chair that my stepfather had picked up at a yard sale to replace the old rocking chair my mother had reupholstered for me years before. The rocking chair went hurtling across the floor and Mom barely managed to stop the incessant stomping that would have reduced it to smithereens in another moment. My assertion was simply to suggest couldn’t we put the new chair in the living room instead of my room (which was only, roughly, 10 x 8)? Today, I can understand that this was not an unreasonable request but, the reaction to that request, set a precedent that my feelings, thoughts, opinions had no value and, in fact, asserting myself might bring about some serious consequences. This is a little extreme but even those from unbroken homes often struggle with asserting themselves. What good is it to establish healthy boundaries if you don’t maintain them? Saying “no” is not a bad thing. It doesn’t necessarily mean “never”, just “not right now”. Or it means I find this behavior unacceptable and I’m not going to tolerate it anymore. Setting boundaries, and asserting yourself to maintain those boundaries, says that your time, your money, your health and well-being are all valuable and important–as is the time/money/health, etc. of others. Setting boundaries is not the same as building walls; setting boundaries doesn’t shut everyone out–and isolate you in; they simply provide guidelines for protecting yourself. Boundaries are a way of saying “No” with love rather than the hostility that characterizes aggression. Aggression builds walls. Aggression threatens and tries to manipulate others. Boundaries protect you from that aggression.

After over 20 years of therapy, I am learning–finally–to set some boundaries and also, to assert myself in maintaining those boundaries. I’m also learning that sometimes the people closest to you do not like this sudden change from the church mouse mentality to, well, not exactly the lion ready to roar, but at least the cat who stoically goes their own way regardless. I have a mind of my own. And, while I strive to respect the feelings and views of others, I am also striving to have my own feelings and views respected–even if those views are not shared. I recently had someone give me an ultimatum because I did not share their views about something. Ultimatums are unfair under almost any circumstance–unless you’re a soldier or police officer giving someone the ultimatum to come out with their hands up. For once, I stood up to this unacceptable behavior because to give in to it would go against some pretty solid principles. I did my best to maintain calm and simply stated my feelings, and that I was not going to conform to what they expected me to do. It didn’t go over well but I expected it. It hurts. Talk about reinforcing some negative, learned behavior but I also know that my standing up to this negativity is much healthier than any conformity to another’s expectations. Though it hurts, in some ways, taking that stand has also been liberating. The outcome of my being assertive may not have been the one I was hoping for, the intent misunderstood, but I realized my own worth. The little girl is no longer quaking in her shoes.

May God bless you & keep you!

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 .

Faith, Gratitude

Road Trip

Lisa Burbank

Every April, my friend, Karen, and I take a road trip to the Connecticut Sheep and Wool Festival in Tolland, Connecticut; it is tradition, and one that both of us look forward to greatly. Sometimes it is just the two of us; now that Mom is living with me, she comes along, too. And there’s always room for more. This past April it was my friend, Heather, who volunteered with me at Old Sturbridge Village, and her friend, Lisa. In previous years, other friends have joined us. And it is always a good time.

I love all things fiber; albeit, I like creating fibers best: spinning and weaving, though I only know the rudiments at present. Whether spinning or weaving, once you get the feel for spinning yarn or the rhythm of the shuttle when weaving, “The Zone” takes over and you go into that happy place. It’s as good as any meditation practice I’ve ever experienced.

At the CT Sheep and Wool Festival it is not so much a sheepdog trial but simply a demonstration of how Border collies herd and little bits of advice in regard to their training and care. It doesn’t matter. This is the highlight of the CT Sheep and Wool Festival for me. To me, watching these dogs herd is like watching poetry in motion, and I am working towards that day when I have my own flock of sheep and a pair of Border Collies to enter into some competitions myself. That day may be a long way off; I’m still on the fence about whether to sell this property and relocate, or to stay and relinquish this dream of sheep herding. As it is a little itch that refuses to be scratched and is growing ever larger, I think everyone can guess which decision I’m leaning towards.

However, that’s neither here nor there.

The Connecticut Sheep and Wool Festival is the spring road trip. I didn’t think I had a fall one until earlier this week when Mom asked about going to Salem again. Last year, Mom & I, my cousin, Amanda, and several of my aunts, traveled to Salem, Massachusetts a week before Halloween. While it was wonderful sharing the day with so many loved ones, a missed exit, over-crowded parking lots and numerous blocked roads made for a rather stressful event. By the time we found parking–and each other, as we traveled caravan-style with multiple vehicles–nearly everything was closing, which was a disappointment. It was also freezing by the harbor and we visited the local gift shops, not for souvenirs, but for gloves, hats and extra sweatshirts at inflated, tourist-trapping prices. It seemed we no sooner arrived then we were making the long trek back home again.

This year, with the family splintered again, there will likely be fewer going; it saddens me. I love every member of my family and I hate the thought of anyone being left out–even by their own choice. But I have to respect that choice. And, more, I have to respect my own, knowing my own heart and why I made the choice that I did. A recent meeting with Father Elson helped center me. He advised not to burn the bridge, but to let everyone know it is there, and that all are welcome to cross over at any time as we are all one blood, one family–Christ’s family. In short, don’t isolate anyone. Don’t give up on anyone. Let them know you love them, but the choice is theirs if they would be part of your life–and each other’s; it’s not something I can control as, in doing so, I risk greater injury to all. So, I use my blog posting today to do just that…extend that invitation to cross over the bridge. And, in the meantime, I set my sights on enjoying a beautiful day in Salem and what may be a magickal new tradition.

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Gratitude, Writing

Another Quickie…

Lisa Burbank

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

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

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

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

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Gratitude

The Boss Lady

Lisa Burbank

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

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

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

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

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

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

May God bless you & keep you!

Animals, Gratitude, Homesteading

A Labor Day of Love

Lisa Burbank

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

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

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

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

May God bless you & keep you!

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

Friday’s Flora and Fauna: Chamomile

Lisa Burbank

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Works Cited

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

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

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

Goodbye Humidity…Praise God!

Lisa Burbank

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

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

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

May God bless you & keep you!