Category: Healing

Abuse, Alcoholism, Faith, Forgiveness, Gratitude, Healing, Religion, Spirituality

The Great Divider

Lisa Burbank

“Now it is time to forgive him and comfort him. Otherwise he may become so bitter and discouraged that he won’t be able to recover. Please show him now that you still do love him very much.” 2 Corinthians 2:7-8

The Great Divider, the Adversary, has been working his mischief in my life of late. Instead of being loving and forgiving, instead of swallowing my pride and reaching out to others with whom I have a bit of conflict, anger and bitterness have been welling up inside and a part of me is ready to cut all ties, to slam the proverbial door in the faces of those who have recently hurt me. And I know that is definitely NOT God’s plan.

I am speaking of the family conflicts that have arisen these past few months, conflicts that I have blogged about a few times. I’ve tried to keep mum about them as much as possible but my soul is hurting because, people I have trusted above all others, have lied about me, lied to me, and now accuse me of things that they should know better about me…even to questioning my faith in the Lord and my vocation as a minister. I know the Bible says the world will hate me because I am His but I don’t think that’s the motivation behind it.

Or is it?

I am suddenly maligned because I won’t take a side in this family conflict. I cannot. Even if I wasn’t a minister, family is extremely important to me and, the idea of turning my back on any family member, goes against everything I believe in. Yes, I know there are many who come from families where they’ve been abused and seriously mistreated–I can claim some of that myself, coming from an alcoholic home with a stepfather who wanted too much to do with me. So I understand why some would not want to associate with family if such an association only brings more pain. Finding the strength to walk away from that abuse and mistreatment takes courage. I know. I’ve been there. And I respect those feelings in anyone who has or is walking a similar path. For myself, I’ve come around full circle, finding forgiveness for those who have either abused me, or who saw the abuse and did nothing to try and stop it. Forgiveness does not wipe the slate clean, it does not justify the offense, the act, the unkind words, etc. Forgiveness, however, does cleanse the soul–the soul of the person who is finally willing to surrender and offer that forgiveness. Forgiveness takes away the resentment that has built upon our souls, resentment that opens the door for that Great Divider, Lucifer, and gives him free rein to wreak even more havoc in our lives. By choosing to forgive, we open the door to Jesus Christ and allow the healing of our broken and battered souls, minds, spirits and bodies to be complete. I cannot change what has happened in my past. Holding onto that resentment and anger only hurts me more; it doesn’t hurt the people who have hurt me. It doesn’t stab them with guilt so that they want to repent. In fact, holding onto that grudge, that resentment, only gives others a power over us, a power that is not of God’s way, a power that tears us down and makes us less than what we are. In short, by holding onto that resentment and anger, another person can claim a victory over us. As can the Adversary. Forgiveness gives us the Power to heal. It tells that Great Divider to “get thee behind me” in Jesus’ name.

There are countless references in the Bible about forgiveness. And each and every one of them admonishes us to forgive our brethren because, if we do not, our Father in heaven will not forgive us. And, no matter how much I may try to deny it, I am as much a sinner as the next soul. So I am choosing forgiveness.

And yet, there’s still that little voice, the voice of my wounded self, that still wants to snarl and sneer. I am still looking to lash out, to shout at the selfishness of spirit that keeps dividing us. And, as I do so, I am reminded of the entry I read today in my Al-Anon daily reader, Courage to Change: “Other people can be our mirrors, reflecting our better and worse qualities. They can help us to work through conflicts from the past that were never resolved. They can act as catalysts, activating parts of ourselves that need to rise to the surface so that we can attend to them.” What part of this situation is pointing that spotlight back on me?

I want to be liked by everyone. That’s the sin of pride. I have this unrealistic view of that utopian world, a world where everyone gets along and shares only the best of themselves. Would that this world existed, but by trying to force it to be so, I am in danger of doing more harm than good. And I can recognize that abused little girl inside of me that gets violently shaken whenever voices and tensions arise. I hate conflict. I avoid it to my own detriment because I still struggle with how to assert myself. Speaking my mind, speaking up for myself, was not encouraged growing up. And, really, I’m thinking that this is the conflict from my past that has never been resolved. For the first time, I asserted myself in this situation. I refused to allow myself to be bullied into taking a side. Because that’s what was done. I was given an ultimatum and I refused to give in to it. For the first time, I refused to be a nodding doll, holding my tongue about things that I didn’t agree with simply to keep the peace. I’m sure for some family members this has been akin to one of our resident mice suddenly developing fangs and claws to pounce on my cats rather than the other way around. No, I didn’t “pounce”. I asserted myself calmly. But the effect was the same. While I have never been guilty of trading secrets or bad-mouthing anyone behind their back, because I kept silent when others said things that didn’t sit right, I can certainly understand why others might believe I would. “Keeping silent” has hurt people I care about, has hurt me, and it is akin to lying, even if an untruth was never uttered. By keeping silent, I have given a false impression. I’m not sure if this last revelation is that “mirror” talked about in Courage to Change but it is certainly that catalyst activating a part of me that needs to be attended to. While I would wish it otherwise, and while I know I will never be comfortable with loud voices and angry confrontations, it is better to risk that anger, that disagreement, than deliver another shock to someone later on down the line. And maybe, just maybe, I can finally learn to value myself enough to communicate without harm.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Alcoholism, Creativity, Gratitude, Healing, Writing

The Grateful Journal

Lisa Burbank

“I will praise the Lord no matter what happens. I will constantly speak of His glories and grace. I will boast of all his kindness to me. Let all who are discouraged take heart. Let us praise the Lord together, and exalt His name.” Psalms 34:1-3

I’m not sure when I actually started keeping a grateful journal. Or where I learned about it in the first place. I do remember sharing with my therapist years’ ago that I had started one and she was enthused about it. But, while I would like to give credit where it is due, and use this moment to give thanks to that source, the best I can do is give thanks to the Source who led me to it. It has truly been a blessing in my life.

What is a grateful journal? Or thankful journal, as some may refer to it? It is a journal where you make a conscious effort everyday to write down a certain number of things that you are grateful for. Mine is a simple notebook of college-ruled paper; it doesn’t have to be fancy, just a place to record your entries. I typically keep mine on the nightstand by my bed and write down 5 things that I am grateful for from that day before I go to sleep. I remember when I started, I only wrote 3 things each night. Then one Lenten season, I upped it to 10; I’ve since settled on 5. The benefits of this exercise is that you start to look at your life a lot differently. Instead of your cup being half-empty, it is now half-full. I never realized how much I complained or entertained negative thoughts until I started this journal. And, if you battle depression as I often do, making an effort to count 5 blessings each day (or whatever the number), is a great way to lift yourself out of that depressed feeling. And talk about giving yourself a boost of confidence!

Don’t think you have enough for which to be grateful? I started listing family members, then friends, and pets. I even included those who have departed this earth, expressing gratitude for the time I did have with them. Once started, I began to see the times we shared, the lessons taught/learned, and even some of the myriad quirks they each possess, and suddenly, I had a treasure trove to account. And it doesn’t have to be a litany of every epiphany or Wow! moment. The mundane is just as good. I have several entries where I have expressed gratitude for popcorn. Sound silly? But I have popcorn to enjoy. That’s something to be grateful for. I have even expressed gratitude for some of the not-so-happy times in my life–like illnesses, injuries, heartaches. All of these have the potential to become opportunities for growth and understanding. It is all about perspective. And that slowly changes when you search daily for things to be thankful for.

As we approach this Thanksgiving season, I am going to share a few of the things I have in my journal:

2/5/2016 “I am grateful for the extra 4 hours of work this week”
3/2/2016 “I am grateful for strawberry banana almond butter smoothies”
3/6/2016 “I am grateful for the story I wrote today”
3/29/2016 “I am grateful for the trip to Maine to look forward to”
4/30/2016 “I am grateful they had the border collies at the CT Sheep & Wool Festival this year”
5/26/2016 “I am grateful for Farnoosh and Smart Exit Blueprint”
5/31/2016 “I am grateful Mom has this holiday with Shaun, Stefanie and the girls”
6/18/2016 “I am grateful for books”
6/19/2016 “I am grateful for healthy food”
7/2/2016 “I am grateful for the blueberry bush, rhubarb and cucumber plants I purchased yesterday”
7/4/2016 “I am grateful the blackberries are ripening”
8/28/2016 “I am grateful for the relaxing place that painting takes me to”
8/31/2016 “I am grateful for Smart Exit Blueprint”
9/3/2016 “I am grateful for the day spent at Uncle Ernie’s house”
9/3/2016 “I am grateful for the ride on the pontoon boat”
9/4/2016, 9/6/2016, 9/8/2016 “I am grateful for cool breezes” (must’ve been hot the week before…LOL!)
9/14/2016 “I am grateful for help trimming goat hooves”
10/8/2016 “I am grateful for the safe trip to and from Salem”
11/9/2016 “I am grateful for all future blessings”

Yes, you can do that. You can give thanks for the future and what it may bring. You can give thanks for anything. And, as you keep a grateful journal, you will give thanks for everything. And that puts a whole new spin on life.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Alcoholism, Faith, Gratitude, Healing, Homesteading, Religion, Spirituality

Trust Issues

Lisa Burbank

“For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. They are plans for good and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11

This biblical quote has been given to me twice this week. First, it was part of the readings in church this past Sunday. Yesterday, another member of the Christian Mompreneur Network, quoted it to me after I posted a prayer request on their Facebook page. I don’t really need a third to tell me He’s trying to get my attention, that I need to learn how to trust that He is a loving God and Father. To trust, period.

Ironically, today’s post in my Al-Anon daily reader, Courage to Change, traveled along the same theme: “‘Let Go and Let God’ teaches us to release problems that trouble and confuse us because we are not able to solve them by ourselves.” But maybe it’s not so ironic. Because this is exactly what I need to keep hearing right now. That I am loved. That I have not been abandoned.

I am a chronic worrier. And only He knows how many years I’ve probably sheared off of my life by doing so. You’d think after years of stressing and worrying–and all of the myriad stress-related conditions that I’ve developed from it: Irritable Bowel Syndrome, Acid Reflux, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Chronic Epstein-Barr, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder–that I would have gotten the memo decades ago. Granted, many of these maladies are also a result of a poor diet growing up. Mom has ever been the queen of packaged, processed junk food. But it is the combination of the two that really sets it all off. And, of course, it is a vicious cycle. The poorer the diet, the more stress on the body, and, what do many of us do when we’re stressed? We reach for the junk food.

Why do I worry so much? Because I am a control freak. Growing up, scary things were always happening in my home. Having a cold beer or two, or a glass of wine isn’t inherently bad, and I’m not a tee-totaler. However, the step-father kept going until he was raging drunk. From the age of 5 and up, he skulked about looking for any opportunity to get me alone so he could do things that were frightening and painful. We had pictures hung in odd places from a fist or a foot colliding with the wall. And, on more than one occasion, the police were at our door. I know that I have a choice now. And I choose to live without such a scary environment. Albeit, I do so by somewhat isolating myself from friendships, both new and old; I seem to have forgotten how to make those needed connections. But the scars run deep. And I am perpetually driven to find some worth in myself.

Actually, I’ve gotten better with the self-esteem thing. Around 12 years of age, the skulking thing stopped. For the most part. Albeit I still slept with a pocket knife under my pillow…just in case. The drinking raged on. And we all heard almost daily how stupid we were; how we couldn’t do anything right, etc. All of the little jabs that pepper an alcoholic’s speech. Yes, I understand it is a disease. And this is the disease talking. But, growing up hearing it, you start to believe. It didn’t matter that I was a straight-A student, that my name was often on the honor roll. I was also perpetually laughed at and picked on in school. And my first “crush” in high school? When he found out I liked him, told me he wouldn’t go out with anyone as ugly as me if I was the last girl on earth. By that point, I already believed myself “damaged goods”. I’m divorced twice. In more immediate times, I’ve had family members bad-mouthing me behind my back. I’ve allowed myself to be taken advantage of. People close to me do not follow through with things they’ve committed to–and I don’t always hold them accountable. And, most recently, I’ve lost a lifelong and close family member because I wouldn’t shut my doors and my heart to other family members with whom she was feuding. So, yes, the self-worth thing has been a long road to travel to a healthier self-image.

To be honest, today I am quite comfortable in my own skin. I’m too old to be a candidate for Miss Universe but I am confident I wouldn’t qualify as a blooper either. I don’t write any of this to be wearing my heart on my sleeve but merely to explain where some of this journey started, why trust is such an issue with me.

The biggest thing I have struggled with throughout all of my life is the belief that He is a loving God. Or, more appropriately, a loving Father. The condensed explanation of my life is that my biological father has never wanted anything to do with me, and my step-father wanted too much to do with me, so the concept of a loving Father in heaven has been tough to wrap my mind around. For other victims of abuse, this is quite common (I’ve had 20+ years of therapy). And, where I start to wane, is in the “waiting on the Lord”. I tend to be impatient. I know the best things in life are worth waiting for but the waiting makes me anxious. And I’m apt to sabotage my own efforts if the waiting goes on too long.

This is happening in my life now.

I left work on a Friday in 2008 with 30K in a 401K account to plunk down as a down-payment on a property in Maine. This is when the crash happened. I came back on Monday with only 3K available for that down-payment. I let it go. A year later, I was laid off from the corporate position. Though I would miss many of the friends I’d made in that position, I cheered as I drove out of the parking lot. The last few years there, I’d driven into work raging and miserable. It wasn’t what I wanted to do. As I began the long, arduous journey of unemployment, never suspecting how long and arduous it would be, I turned my focus back on my current property, determined to create a small homestead here. And it definitely has potential but I’m looking to spread my wings and fly; I’ve kept them clipped for way too long now. However, as the world spreads out before me, my lack of trust that He will provide, that everything will work out in better ways than I could ever imagine (i.e. step out in faith), keeps me worrying that when I finally do spread those wings, I’m liable to go splat on the pavement.

Family members and close friends parrot predestination platitudes about things being “meant to be”. While I believe in predestination in some areas, such as death and taxes, falling back on these platitudes keeps one perpetually in a victim mentality. Yes, “Let Go and Let God” but haven’t we all heard that He helps those who help themselves? That means we cannot have a lukewarm faith; we have to have an active faith. And I have to step out in that faith, flapping those wings like ain’t nobody’s business, trusting that I will be airborne, rather than a half-hearted rustling of those feathers that will surely result in that splat I live in fear of. Fear is the opposite of faith. And it keeps me grounded…and not in a good way.

As for wrapping my mind around the concept of a loving Father in heaven? While I may not have an earthly image to compare it to, the scared and scarred little girl often dreamed of what a loving father might look like. While he may have worn the faces of Pa Ingalls, John Walton Sr. or Mike Brady, I believe my Father in heaven is equal to all of these images…and more. My personal God will never leave me. My personal God will not abandon me.

It’s time to fly…

May God bless you & keep you!

“Worry is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but it doesn’t get you anywhere.” – Anonymous

Creativity, Healing, Herbs, Homesteading, Minimalism, Nature

A “Tiny” Drool

Lisa Burbank

I don’t remember his name. I do remember he was a professor at a college in Massachusetts and that he was looking for a slightly larger tiny house closer to his work. His current tiny house was approximately 124 square feet. That’s a bit too small for me; if I were to build a tiny house, it would be closer to 300 square feet. And the loft would be tall enough I could sit up straight without bumping my head. He couldn’t in his loft. I wasn’t drooling over his tiny house. I was drooling over what he’d built around it and the lifestyle he was leading with this first tiny house.

Nestled in the New Hampshire woods, this permaculture farm provided for all of his needs. He grew fruits and vegetables, raised chickens for eggs, and there were even a couple of pigs running around. Albeit, as a pescetarian, I would likely omit the pigs for anything other than pets but to each their own. I may not have a need to fill my freezer with ham or bacon but I can appreciate this low-impact lifestyle, this more sustainable and healthier way of living. As he was growing and raising his food, he knew exactly what was in it, how it was fed. That was worth the drool. He was entirely off the grid. That, too, was worth a drool. And what made me chuckle was the bowl bath he took outside each day. Now I have no aspirations to dance around sky-clad under a full moon or anything but, that he could get away with such, without being hauled into court somewhere for indecent exposure, is a measure of the freedom this man enjoyed. For someone who feels so totally oppressed living on a major interstate with the fish bowl effect, this was definitely something to drool over. I like my privacy. And this man had it in abundance.

Yeah. I am a bit of the hermit in the woods. Don’t get me wrong. I love people. But I also love my solitude. Quiet time for me is how I rejuvenate. Granted, my idea of “quiet” time typically involves the CD player cranking out some Within Temptation or Blackmore’s Night while I paint or draw–and I do plenty of that right here on Route 6. But I’m not surrounded by woods. I’m not walking out my door and hearing nothing but crickets chirping and bird song. I’ve got the perpetual hiss and rumble of traffic zooming by, the growl of a semi down-shifting as it passes through this little strip of residential properties. And, as I type this, I am realizing how much I’m growing to hate the noise most of all.

Yeah. I think that decision I lamented about a few posts’ back is already made. Yes, I can start with what I have right here. There’s land enough to grow fruits, vegetables and herbs, and I have done so in the past. This summer, we grew very little as I concentrated on building and outlining more raised beds. But it comes in fits and starts as I consider the filtering of carbon monoxide which undoubtedly contaminates everything I grow here. There’s also the continuous development of commercial land in this area. This strip of Route 6 is rapidly becoming a big box nightmare. So I procrastinate. I do so, too, because life here is still in financial limbo. I’ve been on mortgage assistance since 2013. While I am grateful that it saved my home and put me right-side up again on the mortgage payments, this is a loan. And it is a bit counter-intuitive in my quest for getting out of debt. But, without it, I’d likely lose even this noisy, little patch of land. So I take a step forward, then a couple backwards. A friend of mine called it projectoral thinking. It’s anticipation of the worst-case scenario. And, in doing so, I trigger the law of attraction and welcome in my worst nightmares–maybe. I’m also a cock-eyed optimist. But I can’t help wondering from time to time, if I throw all of my efforts into developing this property into the homestead of my dreams, that some hotshot developer is going to suddenly want to buy it for a strip mall. At this point in time, I’d likely let him. But, at present, I need to focus in on that decision and concentrate all of my energies on whatever path I eventually choose.

It’s time for a change. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find my own little woodsy oasis in the middle of nowhere where I can dance around naked under a full moon without scaring any neighbors–but only on Halloween.

May God bless you & keep you!

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

In Limbo

Lisa Burbank

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wow.

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

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

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

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

Who cares about the drop if I learn to fly?

May God bless you & keep you!

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

Odds and Ends…and Apologies

Lisa Burbank

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

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

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

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

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

May God bless you & keep you!

Works Cited

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

Abuse, Alcoholism, Faith, Healing, Homesteading

The Right Tools

Lisa Burbank

Yesterday saw me being warmed the first time by the wood for the woodstove. For those of you unfamiliar with the old saying, when you heat your home with wood, that wood warms you twice. Once during the splitting and stacking, the second in the woodstove or hearth. Albeit, this is wood for next year’s heat but I worked up a sweat nonetheless. Primarily because these logs are too thick for the splitter and need to be cut down into more manageable pieces; the little hand saw I have is too small for the job. But I am stubborn woman. I was determined to get some wood cut. So I sawed away and, while the back and wrists screamed abuse at me, I also managed to create at least a small pile of wood that’s just the right size for the stove. When I look at that pile, I wonder how much more effective I would have been with the right tools, how much more progress I would have made.

Living with alcoholism–someone else’s, not my own–is much the same. I was a child growing up with a stepfather who drank heavily and remember my mother cajoling and threatening him to stop drinking. You’d think I had learned a valuable lesson watching all of this but, years later, I found myself in a relationship with an alcoholic and guess what? I cajoled and threatened him repeatedly to stop drinking. I even stayed in the relationship longer than necessary out of that sheer stubbornness–even when the relationship turned abusive. No, he never beat me; he threatened to. But it was enough…along with the verbal and mental abuse that leaves more permanent and painful scars than any physical abuse ever could. I used the wrong tools. And, though there were periods of sobriety and a glimpse at the beautiful person lost in this dis-ease, how much more effective would that campaign have been had I used the proper tools?

Proper tools? “Tools” such as faith; such as “Letting Go And Letting God”; such as detaching with love; such as minding my own business and taking care of myself, despite his drunken escapades. In short, working my Al-Anon program. Instead, every time he opened a can of beer or a bottle of something stronger, I waited and watched, making myself scarce until he nodded off from the effects. Then I did the chores I needed to finish before bed–a bedtime that came much too late for such an early rising time. Doing them while he was awake and alert might’ve incurred some harsh criticism from him; how I did my work was never good enough. And I was liable to take exception and give in to the jabs, to take hold of the bait for another argument. As I went through these nightly routines, I did so on tiptoes, afraid to awaken him. The same result would have happened; we would end up fighting. Sometimes I even went so far as to open a few cans while he slept and poured them down the drain. Did I really think that would stop him if he believed he’d drank 10 cans instead of 6 or 8? Did he really care about the number of cans or the amount of whiskey still left in the bottle? Was he fooled by my pitiful manipulations? Not in the least. He knew exactly how many beers/how much whiskey he’d consumed before he nodded off. We fought anyway. I tried to control him as he often controlled me. I tried to change him, to force my hand. The right “tool” would’ve been to change myself. I eventually did. The relationship ended. And he’s still drinking heavily, night after night.

I’ve learned some valuable lessons about having the right “tools”. While my cajoles and threats might have resulted in a few, brief periods of sobriety in this alcoholic–much like my stubborn insistence to cut wood with a saw too small for the size of the wood, resulted in a small pile of heat source–they did not effect the change that would’ve meant “success” for me. Instead, the alcoholic drank more and the fighting grew worse. This dis-ease is too great for mere stubbornness and manipulation to conquer, just like those enormous trunks of wood are too great to split and stack with a mere hand saw and an aging back. But, unlike the former situation, I can purchase a bigger saw, a better tool–the right tool–and get exactly the result I crave…and my back will thank me for it. Had I used the right tools with the alcoholic, and given the situation to the God of my consciousness, who knows what miracles might have taken place?

May God bless you & keep you!

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

Wednesday’s Weed Walk with the Crazy Cat Lady

Lisa Burbank

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

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

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

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

May God bless you & keep you!

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

Works Cited

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

Faith, Gratitude, Healing

A Perfect Sharing

Lisa Burbank

Four good “witches” from the North traveled even farther North this weekend as Mom, two aunties and I made our annual trip to Salem, Massachusetts. Sadly, we were a much smaller group than last year’s convoy but I’m learning to accept that things are the way they are and, more importantly, I’m learning to follow Father Elson’s advice about the current family situation: Let those who don’t want to associate with you go their own way but don’t burn all the bridges; let them know the bridge is always there if they should ever decide to cross back over. You cannot force someone to cross it if they do not want to; that is their free will, but you can love them enough to keep in contact, whether a holiday card or whatever means, to let them know they still matter to you. And so, I take it to heart. Or at least try to…

However, despite all of this crazy drama, I am not lamenting this Saturday’s outing at all. We had a grand time, enjoying the sites, the beautiful weather, some good food and a lot of laughs.

I have a penchant for always being late. Amazingly, Mom and I were actually about 15 minutes’ early–even with stopping for gasoline and a cup of chai (moi)/coffee (Mom) along the way. And there was no convoy as 4 of us fit quite nicely together in one car. I have to remember next time to bring some tunes but that was the only hitch this time around and we made up for the lack of tunes by catching up with each other. No wrong exits, no ‘bad’ directions, fewer streets blocked off and we found the perfect place to park–at a special education school parking lot that was raising money for the school to benefit the kids that attended it. It was a win-win situation; we found a safe place to park for the day without worry of being towed or vandalized, and the school received a much-needed donation. They also opened the school up for travelers to use their restrooms and provided printed directions for an alternative route out of Salem–one that wouldn’t take you through the downtown area that became more congested as the day wore on. And, though we planned for any sort of weather and temps, it was a beautifully balmy day for sharing with loved ones; the jackets and gloves got plunked into the trunk of the car before we headed downtown.

The usual million dollar question got tossed about for awhile: what do you want to do/see first? We took a walk through the mall where countless vendors hawked their wares and I was strongly tempted to purchase a T-shirt that read: “Never mind the flying monkeys; beware what I might do with this broom”. But I restrained myself, preferring to keep the $15 in my pocket. Instead, I went for a $2 bumper sticker that reads: “I dream of a world where chickens can cross the road without having their motives questioned” That may well become the battle cry for my existence.

We found a lovely little pub down by the wharf for lunch. Initially, we were told it would be a 45 minute wait but, when so many people had left rather than waiting, we had a table for 4 within 10 minutes. Again, we enjoyed the conversation, the laughs and even made plans for the upcoming holidays. It was the perfect sharing: no gossip, no quarrels, no drama.

What made it even more perfect was that the sharing wasn’t just in the conversation. I drove. I didn’t mind; I’ve been to Salem enough times that everything starts to look familiar without directions–almost. But everyone chipped in for parking and gasoline; I didn’t ask, they simply did. One aunt paid for lunch. The other bought us coffee/tea and dessert later on. We gave to each other in an endless ebb and flow of sharing. By doing so, nobody felt left out or uncomfortable.

Now we’re planning for next year. Despite the mutual sharing, pricing was such that we declined a number of events. And some of the tours were rather lengthy so we’re hoping to plan out a few activities before we make this next road trip. The Psychic Faire, The Ghosts and Legends Trolley tour, The Smugglers’ Tour and the Mahi Mahi boat tour were all yearned for but either the timing was off and/or we hadn’t planned on the higher price tags. Also, the usual historic home tours do not happen during October due to the sheer volumes of visitors. Instead, though I assured everyone that Witch House was worth the admission, it proved false as we were left to look around on our own and simply read the lengthy static displays in each room; it’s much better off-season when an actual tour guide provides a good 30-45 minute commentary on the history of the house, and Judge Corwin, who was a prosecutor during the Salem Witch Trials of 1692.

Maybe next year we’ll make two trips–one for a more enjoyable history lesson and another for the special Halloween/Samhain events. Maybe next year we’ll also have a bigger convoy but, again, I won’t lament what is. Gratitude is the way to true happiness.

May God bless you & keep you!

Healing, Herbs, Holistic Health, Organic

Wednesday’s Weed Walk: Do Re Mi…

Lisa Burbank

Singer’s Tea…no, that’s not actually a legitimate product, that I know of, but that’s what I call one of my favorite herbal tea blends.

I don’t sing professionally anymore. Or even semi-pro. While the vocal chords may get a bit of a workout on the weekends when I’m enclosed in my home office and working on the mural that is currently consuming me, rare do I get on a stage–or even in the choir loft at church–to sing. Some of it is time constraint. As a full-time (online) student, minister, herbalist, homesteader, writer, artist, holistic healthcare practitioner and part-time photographer/receptionist most evenings, I have a pretty full plate. But many years ago I fronted metal bands, both lead guitar and lead vocals. I didn’t know about this tea then; I learned about it years’ later. It might have helped in the metal years; however, no matter what genre you sing in–even if it’s only the shower–taking care of one’s vocal chords is important.

In 2007 I took Apollo Herbs’ “Herbal Apprentice” course with Michael Ford and Joanne Pacheco. It was during one of our weekend workshops that Mike mentioned this combination, primarily for sore throats, but he also mentioned that a student from one of his previous classes used this combination religiously. She was a singer, like me, and fronting a local band. I was singing regularly with the Folk Group at Our Lady of LaSalette Catholic Church in Brooklyn, CT at the time so I gave it a whirl.

The blend is equal parts of Echinacea purpurea (Echinacea, Purple Coneflower are common names) and Ulmus fulva, or Slippery Elm. “Equal parts” is just what it suggests. If you measure a teaspoon of Echinacea, you also measure 1 teaspoon of Slippery Elm; a tablespoon of Slippery Elm, a tablespoon of Echinacea, and so on. The combination has a pleasant flavor so it is also palatable rather than tasting “medicinal”. I typically use the dried herbs, purchased from a local and reliable herb shop (organic; responsibly harvested) but you may also use fresh herbs if you have them in your garden or from another reliable source (i.e. one without pesticides). As we are brewing roots and bark here, a standard infusion doesn’t quite cut it. You will need a decoction of the herbs. And how we do that is preferably through the use of a double boiler but a makeshift of setting a slightly smaller sauce pan inside a larger one that has at least an inch or so of water in it will do in a pinch. No non-stick pans for this. The coating may leach into your herbal tea; I don’t recommend non-stick pans for any purpose. Cast-iron will also leach into the herbs and affect the outcome. Stainless steel, or enamel, is preferable. Place the herbs in the smaller pan, cover them with water (about an inch higher than the herbs) and place a lid on the pan with the herbs in it. The idea is to simmer them, not boil them. And you will want to watch that the water is not evaporating too much as you don’t want the herbs to scorch. If you see the water level lowering too rapidly, you may add a little warm water and lower the heat a bit. This takes approximately 45 minutes on low heat. I always add honey to mine, which also acts as a mucilage to the throat but it is optional.

So how does it work?

Slippery Elm** (Ulmus fulva) is the inner bark of the slippery elm tree. This dried bark is rather stringy and may range from a light tan to a light beige in color. It has a sweet, spicy scent and it is a well-known demulcent. “Demulcent” means that it soothes and moistens, usually via mucilage. This particular demulcent is specific for sore throats, cough, bronchitis and for relieving the inflammation of the respiratory tract, including the mouth and throat (L. Tierra, 121). It is also good for soothing the intestinal tract, and relieving the pain and irritation from indigestion and colitis, but it is the respiratory tract that we are most concerned with here, for obvious reasons.

Echinacea** (Echinacea purpurea) is also good for relieving sore throats; all infections and inflammations, and swollen glands. A known sialagogue, it increases the flow of saliva in the mouth. It is also an immune enhancer, helping to prevent and cure colds and flus (Tierra 78-79),; for singers, it makes it a wonderful combination with Slippery Elm. Back in the metal years, it seemed I always came down with a cold and/or upper respiratory complaint whenever there was something important coming up in music. It is a singer’s nightmare. It could be because I tend to be a perfectionist and so pushed myself harder, practicing longer, and depriving myself of much-needed sleep in preparation for whatever I was doing but, regardless, whatever “bug” was lurking around always found its way to me. Again, I wish I’d had this tea in my arsenal then.

One last thought, as both of these herbs are now on the endangered list, please use only the cultivated herbs from a reliable and responsibly-harvested source. For more information about sustainable harvesting, please visit http://www.unitedplantsavers.org.

May God bless you & keep you!

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

Works Cited

Tierra, Lesley. Healing with the Herbs of Life. Ten Speed Press, California: 2003.