Category: Homesteading

Faith, Gratitude, Homesteading, Religion, Spirituality, Yoga & Fitness

Unsolved Mystery…

Lisa Burbank

My new class started yesterday so I spent most of my day holed up in the home office…which smells a lot like acrylic paint right now due to the mural-in-progress but that’s neither here nor there. It wasn’t until later in the afternoon that I went downstairs and found the mail that Mom had brought in and laid on the counter for me. I was both puzzled and surprised to find a package addressed to me. Puzzled because the yoga DVD’s I had ordered last week arrived on Saturday and the textbooks for this new term had arrived the week before. So I wasn’t expecting anything.

There was a moment’s pause before I opened it. Though it was addressed to me, the sender was someone who called themselves “Lipstick Librarian” (!??!!) and there was a reference to Ebay. This was definitely not something that I had ordered; I think I’ve only been on Ebay once. So all sorts of things went through my head. My birthday’s not for a couple of months–and as I’m reaching the half-century mark, I’d rather not think about that at the moment–and it’s definitely not Christmas. Sad, in this day and age with so much violence and terrorism, that my next thoughts turned to the anthrax scare of several years ago even as I grabbed a pair of scissors to open the package. Eh, an unexpected package with no known sender? My vivid imagination was in danger of getting the better of me.

Inside was a copy of Rodney Yee’s A.M. Yoga for Beginners in VHS form–just like the one that was eaten last week. Again, sad, I assumed, momentarily, that Gaiam had sent me duplicates. But the package said Ebay and this wasn’t another set of DVD’s. Was I being charged again? I thought briefly of identity theft but usually the victims of such do not receive a gift in exchange. So how did I receive a set of VHS tapes identical to what I’d recently lost? There was no invoice or paperwork of any kind saying where this had come from…or who was “Lipstick Librarian”. So I went online to Ebay. I did find a seller named Lipstick Librarian so this is obviously the name of someone selling merchandise through Ebay but not necessarily the person(s) who sent it to me. I had to create an account on Ebay to find this information…and to find contact info for Ebay. I called Ebay and, I must say, they were very helpful and courteous. The young lady I spoke with suggested that maybe the package had come to me in error. When I reiterated that it was addressed to me, she seemed surprised. She asked if I had an account with her. I told her, “Yes, I just created it 5 minutes ago; that’s how I got your number.” That rocked her even more. She did some checking and assured me I was not being charged for the tapes as they did not have any billing information for me. So, for the moment, it is still a mystery though she assured me that Ebay would look into the matter, contact the seller, and see if they could find out who sent them.

So, now I have a mystery on my hands.

When I went back downstairs after talking to Ebay, Mom and I both agreed that it was definitely too much of a coincidence (of which I don’t believe) that a replacement set of VHS tapes arrived only days after I posted here about losing one of them. I confess, now that the threat of alien abduction is out of the way, I am more than a little touched that someone thought to send them to me. I just wish I knew who it was so that I could thank them personally. However, as it is fairly obvious that the gift was prompted by last week’s posting, I am hoping that this friend is also reading this post today. Thank you very, very much for your kindness and generosity; you made my day! I don’t know if the anonymity was intended or not but it makes the gift all the more special. I don’t know who you are but He does. And I am asking the good Lord to bless your life even more richly than He has mine. I hope that someday the mystery will be answered so I can give you a big hug of thanks; for now, here’s a big cyber hug coming your way.

May God bless you & keep you!

Faith, Gratitude, Homesteading, Religion, Spirituality

Gratitude

Lisa Burbank

First of all, I have to give credit where it is due. The good Lord has blessed my life so richly and I am eternally grateful for the family and friends–both human and humane–who have stood by me through thick and thin. Though there are times when I am tempted to give in to despair, I know He will always bring me through whatever crisis that arises. Sometimes I may not always think so because His plan isn’t exactly according to my plans but, no matter what, He always gives me what I need. Lately, those blessings have been pouring in as each lesson is learned. There’s an old saying that when the pupil is ready, the teacher will arrive. I’m probably paraphrasing that one a bit but the intent is there. He has been bringing me teacher after teacher–and I’m not talking college professors either, despite my recent submersion into acadamia, though I am grateful for each of them and what they’ve taught me each term. It is lessons for living that I am talking about, lessons for getting out of this “stuck” place that I’ve been inhabiting for the last several years and, as my favorite REO Speedwagon song says, “Blazin’ My (your) Own Trail” again.

As I begin my third straight week of blogging, I have received so many words of encouragement and support that I am actually feeling a bit humbled. And thrilled. It is a bit gratifying to know that folks are reading what I’ve written, to know that so many are enjoying it. I’ve also had a number of strangers within the Word Press community start following my blog, some of them reaching out with words of encouragement. I want to thank each and every one of you–friend, family, or new acquaintance–for the kind words and support, for the motivation to keep going. I also want to thank you for your patience as I continue finding my feet in this world of blogging. I know where I want to go but it will take a while to get there.

Of course, while I’m feeling the love and at risk of becoming misty-eyed, I would like to take a few moments to thank a few others who have helped start me on my journey. You see, the last few years have been a bit rough. Financial burdens have definitely taken their toll and I’m still taking 3 steps backwards for every half-step I take forward in getting back on my feet. I’m not complaining, really. I’ve been working with some wonderful people via some financial workshops. One was a partnering between The United Way and the Women’s Business Development Council. I worked with a gentleman named Howard Haberern who definitely helped me to get a better handle on my time management–especially my penchant for always being at least 1/2 hour late to everything. He really helped me to look at this penchant in a different light and I will always be grateful for his guidance, though I confess to silently bristling when he first spoke. I still fall off the wagon from time to time but I am definitely making better strides towards punctuality. I also appreciate the words of encouragement he gave regarding finances, his assurance that it wasn’t my inability to manage money but simply being under-employed. Now that I’m not beating up on myself so bad, my focus is shifting towards the positive and I’m learning to go more with the flow; life always comes in waves. And I know, in time, I will be back on top again. Thank you, Howard! (Not sure if Howard is reading this, but the gratitude is definitely heart-felt)

Last December I decided to take a risk. Though things are still tight, I decided to invest in myself. I have been following the Prolific Living blog by Farnoosh Brock for a couple of years now. I have also been on her emailing list. I’ve participated in a number of free programs that she offers, as well as a small investment back in 2014 in her Positive Affirmations for Life program. Farnoosh is a student of author, Louise Hay, who wrote “You Can Change Your Life” and she has developed a wonderful audio program that I have been listening to almost daily. For those of you not familiar with affirmations, they are simply statements that you say to yourself every day to help overcome negative programming, self-esteem issues, and/or to manifest certain goals. You say everything in the positive. as though it is happening right now. Some examples would be, “I use my skills and talents in the best possible way” or “I am always on time to every event”. Having been battling a bit of depression with my under-employment issues, this program has proven to be a sound investment–as has the Smart Exit Blueprint plan, the program I took a leap of faith into in December. This one has been a bit more of an investment but I have no regrets. It has really helped me to prioritize, to commit to my lifelong goals, and of particular benefit to me, to weed out all of the “busy” work so I can focus more clearly on those goals.

I love writing. But, over the last several years, I have done very little of it because a.) I was always too busy with other stuff to sit down and actually write and b.) I didn’t carve out any specific time each day to write–despite being in a degree program with Southern New Hampshire University to receive a BA in Creative Writing with an Emphasis on Fictional Writing. Thanks to this Smart Exit Blueprint program, I am much more focused on those goals. And here I am writing each morning before most of the rest of New England is even thinking about awakening. (Okay…so I am a little OCD but I’m learning to work with it)

And, before I thank Farnoosh for her excellent program, and the SEB community for their encouragement and support, I do want to say that this “plug” I’ve just given for Farnoosh’s programs is being done independently and not as some sort of required endorsement of either program. Having had a private practice in holistic health in recent years, I know how important positive feedback and word-of-mouth is to a business. It is also my way of giving back a little. This program has real value and I want to share that with my friends and family. If you do the work required, it is worth the investment. We all have dreams. Taking the time to invest in them, to invest in yourself, is worth every effort. If the good Lord has put a dream on your heart, maybe it’s His way of telling you where He wants you to go. I firmly believe that.

Incidentally, the Smart Exit Blueprint is about taking those steps towards doing work that you love…and earning a living from it. You become part of a community where everyone is on a similar journey and so you can support each other. And, what’s nice about the program is that Farnoosh is always actively involved. This isn’t a program where the coordinator/creator comes up with some videos and/or literature and says, “Okay…you’re on your own.” Instead, I received a phone call from Farnoosh when I started and she has answered every email, has answered every question herself in her live webinars. For that I am truly grateful so, Farnoosh, thank you very, very much for this excellent program. Since I started–and I took a lot longer than I thought I would to complete it because this program really made me think and to tackle certain “blocks”, something I was avoiding and, thus, procrastinated on some of the modules–but I’ve definitely taken some strides forward, strides I’m not sure I would have taken, not sure I would have had the courage to take before this program. Some of them include starting a crowdfunding campaign to help start a potential business; contacting a career advisor through SNHU, who has helped me to connect with others in the writing industry, especially, those for the environment; I started blogging; I’ve been taking some baby steps towards developing my homestead and, though it has little to do with either writing or goat wrangling, I’ve found a bit of creative genius inside that has had me painting and drawing again. I actually started a mural in my home office that I know will eventually prove to be an effective vision board (it’s a work in process…just like homesteading). Anyway, I’m not sure I would have shifted my focus to art at all if I hadn’t worked on Module 3 and discovered my passions. Again, thank you very much, Farnoosh, and to all the SEB community! I am honored to be part of such a community.

And, at the risk of this looking like the acknowledgements in the inside of a book or CD sleeve, there are some individuals that have gone above and beyond the call of duty in helping me on my journey: Mom, Shaun & Stef & the girls–my immediate family is always there…they may not always “get” me, but they love me anyway; ditto for extended family; especially Auntie Cheryl for the girls’ days, the holiday dinners and for always being my surrogate big “sister”; to Unc & Cousins, too, for everything; Aunt Sandy and Uncle George–the two of you are so very special to me, I wish we lived closer to each other; Aunt Debbie and Aunt Sandy D. for helping me when I was down and out; Aunt Donna for caring enough to go to therapy with me; to Aunt Judi, I am so happy to have you in my life again, to be in touch again–growing up, you always made learning fun; to Karen, Donna, and Mary–having 3 best friends is wealth, indeed; and I have a wealth of friends everywhere who make my life so special. No, I’m not planning on going anywhere, nor am I near any tragic anniversaries…just expressing my gratitude for each of you. I don’t always express my appreciation. Of course, there are many others who are no longer here physically to thank but the gratitude is no less for the gifts they have given me in life. Of life. And, of course, once I hit “publish”, I will likely remember skeighty-eight hundred more that I would like to thank for their encouragement and support through the years. My apologies to you all; your blessings are just as greatly appreciated and you are loved beyond your ability to comprehend.

May God bless you & keep you!

Environment, Homesteading, Nature

A Quickie

Lisa Burbank

I had 3 alarms set last night and not a single one of them went off this morning. How is that possible? And, before anyone assumes I simply slept through them, well, possibly–anything is possible. But I tend to be a very light sleeper. Field mice walking by will awaken me. Fortunately, I awakened on my own but not until 5:35. What’s up with that? On any other day I would still have 2 hours to sit here and blog but today is Saturday, my early day at the dealership. Hence, the title: A Quickie.

First, most have probably noticed the lack of blog postings on Fridays. That may change; I have something a little different planned for Fridays–more about that next Friday–but suffice it to say that Fridays will start to have a theme. Friday is my one day off from pretty much everything: dealership, religious responsibilities, volunteer work, etc. There may be–and usually is–homesteading responsibilities as it is the one day I don’t have to “be” anywhere by a specific time so I can get a lot of chores done (I guard my Fridays fiercely…). But I am really growing to like blogging and, over the last couple of weeks, I have been thinking that I’d love to write something with a little more substance. Again, more on that in the coming weeks.

Yesterday, instead of blogging, I went outside and began trimming back the bittersweet that has been twining itself around the big Rose of Sharon bush in back of the house. Bittersweet is more than just a nuisance. It will strangle everything else in the yard if not kept in check. Despite the overgrown status of the yard, I really strive to keep this one at bay. During the Master Gardener program in 2011, bittersweet was in the top 10 of invasive species. And for good reason. Yesterday, after pruning it back from the Rose of Sharon, I happened to look over to my left on the way back inside. The western boundary of my property is marked with a line of evergreens. I noticed a line of pale green leaves twining up amidst the pine needles. On closer inspection, I found more bittersweet–and, if the thicker, woodier branching is any indication, this one has been here for awhile. I managed to clip all of it back and away, which I know may spread it more, but I didn’t want it to kill the evergreen. And, if this boa constrictor of the plant world has its way, it will.

Definitely have to get some portable fencing for the side lot; my goats have a job to do over there.

May God bless you & keep you!

Homesteading

They Make Me Laugh

Lisa Burbank

I am speaking of my furry and feathery roommates, of course. They never cease to amaze me and bring me joy. This developing homestead is home to 3 goats, 20 chickens, 3 ducks, 1 cockatiel, 1 Blue Heeler, 6 rabbits and 10 cats so there’s always something going on. And I usually find myself in the midst of deep belly laughs as a result.

Tuesday morning I was sitting in the easy chair in the rabbit room for bunny playtime. Bunny playtime is just what it says. It is a chance for each of the bunnies to have some time outside of their cages to stretch their legs a bit. While they play, I “supervise” while eating breakfast, doing some Bible study, journaling and/or studying one of my herbals; it’s a bit of quiet time for the human. There is a child-safety gate in front of the doorway to keep Max, the Blue Heeler out (dogs and bunnies are typically not a good combination…) but the cats have free run of the room. And, over the last 18 years of raising rabbits, I have witnessed some pretty amazing bonds between my cats and rabbits. However, Tuesday morning, unbeknownst to me, Emmylou was already in the rabbit room hiding under an old crafts’ bench. Blizzard the Lionhead came hopping out of her cage and, after greeting her sire, Rhys, who was also hopping around at the time, she crawled under the crafts’ bench. Suddenly, I heard someone squeaking and squealing, and saw a flash of white and gray paws. Thinking the worst, I stood up to investigate when Emmylou streaked out from under the bench and dove behind one of the feed bins. A moment later, Blizzard hopped out, unscathed, but the squeaking could now be heard from behind the feed bin.

Uh-oh…

For everyone who has been following my blog, I had some “visitors” last week that Emmylou and Whitney quickly dispatched; last week’s mouse-capades was being revisited. Yes, we’ve had the occasional field mouse get in before; it’s an old house. But not this steady of an invasion. My only guess is the intense humidity is driving them indoors where, thanks to the AC unit, the temps are more agreeable. The aforementioned feed bin is a metal trash bin and the lid is well-sealed so there shouldn’t be anything to attract them otherwise–especially with 10 cats in residence. Anyway, confident that Emmylou had it under control, I went back to my reading.

A little later, Blizzard and Rhys were back in their cages; Alys and Sweet Pea were now hopping around. I heard another squeak from behind the feed bin. This time it was loud enough to attract Alice (named for Alice Cooper) who came running from the kitchen to assist his sister. And, amazingly, Sweet Pea. I’m not sure he was really intent on helping the cats catch a mouse but he followed right along at Alice’s heels and, together, they dove around the other side of the feed bin, trapping our unwanted visitor. I was reminded of the movie, “Babe” where Mrs. Hoggett comments to her daughter and son-in-law that “if it isn’t a duck that thinks its a rooster, its a pig that thinks its a dog”. Incidentally, in keeping with last week’s mouse-capades, one of the cats decided “Grandma” needed a new present. Mom found the remains on the rug beside her bed that afternoon. Somehow I just haven’t been able to convince any of them that mouse remains are not everyone’s idea of a good present…

Yesterday the amusement was in the barnyard. Taffy–short for Taffeta–the Silkie hen, has been broody all week. While all of the other chickens have been seeking the cooler temps under the multi-flora roses or else under the deck, she’s been in the hen house setting on a nest of eggs (which I doubt are going to hatch and will likely wind up in the compost bin before too long). Anyway, Taffy finally decided to leave her nest yesterday morning. But Taffy has to announce it. She went from zero to 60, streaking from one end of the barnyard to the next, cackling and squawking at the top of her lungs. Then, spotting Corporal Denim, she circled back and rubbed up against him much like the resident felines do my ankles when they’re hungry. After all this time, how was I to know these two had a budding romance and the poor boy was finally “getting some”? Corporal Denim has been a bit of the barnyard joke. He is a Cochin rooster, a beautiful boy with fiery-red feathers. But he’s a Cochin and considerably smaller than most of the hens. L’il Peep was also a Cochin but she preferred my big Polish Crested rooster, Sargent Feathers, to Corporal Denim and so she ignored him. Time and again, I’ve watched Corporal Denim try to mount one of the larger hens, only to get thrown off as easily as one would swat at a fly. He would get so excited–excited enough that, once thrown, he would start humping the ground in his frustration–a sort of chicken masturbation, I’m guessing. But not anymore. The poor boy was strutting and preening yesterday to put the proverbial peacocks to shame. I’m not sure where all of this leaves Tank, the third rooster, but he frequently dances around the Polish “twins”, Kiel and Basa; hopefully, he can hold his own with them.

And, if Taffy’s squawks weren’t enough to wake you up around here, they are suddenly being echoed inside the house as Smoky the Cockatiel, the master of mimicry, has learned how to crow like a rooster and cackle like a hen. Mom called me into the kitchen one morning, thinking Smoky was dying or something because he was hunched over in the corner on the floor of his cage, emitting this squeaky sort of screeching. Was he in pain? I wondered the same thing myself but, as I approached the cage, he stopped and hurried over to where I was standing, singing and strutting. He was all proud of himself about something. When I walked away, he went back to the corner making this squeaky, screeching sound again. There seemed to be a pattern to it but it took Mom and I a while to figure it out; Smoky’s voice isn’t quite as bold as the chickens. The amazing thing about it though is that he also has started pecking the floor of his cage while making this screechy chicken cackle and crow. His cage is in the kitchen, which is at the front of the house; the barnyard is in the backyard. He has no visual of the chickens at all yet he’s got a pretty good impersonation of them. And, when he’s mimicking the hens, he seems to be mimicking the high-pitched “ba-gok” that signifies an egg being laid. Who would’ve thought? I guess he’s branching out from the once-endless renditions of the themes to “The Andy Griffith Show” and “The Odd Couple”. His previous owner had to go into a nursing home, which is how Smoky came to me, and I’m guessing the gentleman watched a lot of TV Land. He may have also had either a scanner or “Adam 12” and “Emergency” were other favorites; Smoky is rather fond of suddenly squawking out, “Rescue! Rescue!” followed by a perfect rendition of the static created after the dispatcher stops talking.

These are just some of the antics, recent ones that have had Mom and I in stitches. With this menagerie, there’s always something happening at the modern-day homestead. They make me laugh…and that is the sweetest gift of all.

May God bless you & keep you!

Alcoholism, Environment, Frugality, Homesteading, Minimalism, Zero Waste

Tiny Houses

Lisa Burbank

I am going to have to nix the Monday night Tiny House fest. There is no way I can rise and shine at 3:30 in the morning after staying up past 10 o’clock. Sleep depravity does not a good blog post make.

I love tiny houses. I love their creativity. I love the significantly lower carbon footprint tiny living makes. I love how everything has a place and everything is in its place because such a tiny area would become quite cluttered in a very short time without such organization. I love how everything has multiple purposes and can transform almost like magic. And, I guess, if I really think about it, there’s still a little girl inside of me looking at them as a sort of high-end playhouse. I love the mobility of them, too. It speaks to the free spirit within me that wants to roam at will but not lose the creature comforts and sanctity of home. If I had a tiny house, my menagerie of pets could travel with me and, thus, I would lose the anxiety that inevitably pops up whenever I am away from them. This last part I questioned when I first learned about tiny houses but, over the last couple of years, I have seen some great designs–some that have included chicken coops, rabbit dens, and even a goat pen (for a very small amount of goats). I lean more towards the re-purposed school bus though. There have been some great conversions on HGTV and some of the buses are 40 feet long–much longer than the traditional tiny house. Either way, there is something infinitely appealing about them. I’m a minimalist at heart. And tiny houses definitely promote minimalism.

Watching all of the Tiny House programs on HGTV has been a weekly routine ever since Mom had cable TV installed. For the most part, I abhor television. I consider it a waste of time and there’s very little by way of real entertainment on it today. Insipid sitcoms and reality shows just don’t appeal. Too much violence, too much promiscuity, too much greed and materialism. I’m old school. I want a compelling story line with characters I’d be proud to welcome into the living room each week. Today, such a program might just create a new trend. It would certainly be a novelty.

But I am digressing as always…

As stated in other postings, Mom watches HGTV religiously so, when she saw the advertisement a while back that there were programs dedicated to Tiny Houses, she brought it my attention. She doesn’t quite understand my aversion to television and keeps trying to capture my interest. Because I do tend to favor the articles in Treehugger about tiny houses, I started watching them with her on HGTV. Again, I enjoy the creativity, the thought, the planning that goes into the building of each one. Like most of the other shows on HGTV, eventually, when you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. But the tiny scale still amazes me. Besides the animal accommodations I mentioned earlier, I’ve seen some clever hydroponic systems for growing vegetables and herbs; love the rooftop decks; and one woman made an archway out of hanging planters filled with plants that have been proven to improve air quality–not that all plants don’t filter carbon monoxide and purify air, but these were plants that she had studied that do the job best. It was really an attractive feature.

While I do enjoy watching all of these clever designs on how to bring big living into a tiny footprint, when Mom is away from home, the boob tube typically stays off. And I don’t miss it at all. So I am confident that nixing Tiny Houses will be easy enough. Perhaps I’ll take some of the ideas I’ve learned there and build a story around someone who lives in one…

….or maybe I’ll build a tiny house of my own “someday”. Of course, Mom and I always joke that we would each need one because our relationship is strained enough trying to live together in a house that’s, roughly, 1500 square feet; under 400 square feet might be the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. Maybe we’ll start our own tiny house community instead. How cool would that be?

May God bless you & keep you!

Environment, Faith, Homesteading, Nature, Religion

Heatwaves

Lisa Burbank

I nixed the church picnic yesterday. Some of it was pride; I had nothing to bring to this potluck. Some of it is because I am still trying to get right-side up financially and have had a recent setback or two; the rest, because I refused to cook/bake anything in this infernal heatwave. In retrospect, I realized I could’ve brought a beverage–a nice herbal sun tea, maybe a couple of varieties. But I didn’t think of it until after Mass when I was driving away from the fun and fellowship.

Of course, five minutes outside in this heat is enough to reduce me to a puddle of sweat and that was the greater reason for nixing it; I’m no fun at all in this heat. I’m a fall through spring kind of gal. I always joke that my dream home is in Alaska. That’s only partially true. Yes, I would love to visit Alaska–it’s definitely in the Top 10 of places to see before I leave this planet–but getting Lisa of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom across the Canadian border would be a bit of a challenge. I’ve heard enough horror stories about quarantined animals when they cross the borders; I’m not willing to risk it. Northern Maine would fit the bill just fine; as long as I’m near the sea, I will be happy.

Befittingly, I saw a recent photo on MSNBC of what the US will look like if our seas rise 25 feet. This is due, of course, to our polar ice caps melting, as is happening at an alarming rate despite all those individuals in Washington, and otherwise, who would rather wallow in denial about global warming than actually try to do something about it. Anyway, it showed the Capital building with only its dome sticking up above the water level. Maybe something inland might not be amiss; who knows where northern Maine will be if those seas do rise from all that melt-off. It’s a scary concept. And while the cowardly side of me hopes I never live to see it, I also don’t wish it upon future generations. I could fall back on biblical truths, about God’s promise not to destroy the earth with flood again, but this wouldn’t be total destruction as it was in Noah’s day; there would still be land mass, just the boundaries would dramatically–and tragically–change. And the loss of life would be astronomical. When I really think about it, I am tempted to join the Denial crowd and pretend everything is fine, that there aren’t species of plants and animals rapidly going extinct due to shrinking habitats, or that it’s not that important. I want to forget that every life form is vitally important and duck my head into the sand. I want to give up this mission, this passion that consumes me–not quite to the point of fanaticism, but close–and let someone else make a difference. But, I am reminded of another biblical truth: if He leads me to it, He will lead me through it. He has put this dream, this passion, in my heart and there’s no going back.

There’s also this infernal heat again that makes denial impossible. Though we had heatwaves even when I was a child, they have grown steadily in their intensity. That scares me, too. But I counter that fear with gratitude that, so far, all of my loved ones–human and humane–have weathered this heatwave unscathed; I hope the same can be said for you and yours. Stay cool!

May God bless you & keep you!

Animal Rights, Environment, Homesteading, Nature

Of Mice…and Mom

Lisa Burbank

I am hoping today’s search and seizure mission will prove successful. Otherwise, Mom may be in for a few surprises when she comes home from Auntie Sandy’s house. She’s been petsitting this week so that Auntie Sandy could go to Atlantic City with both Aunt Debbies and Cousin Amanda. In her absence, the cats have been extremely busy.

This soon-to-be-modern-day-homestead (we have a long way to go before we are a working homestead, providing all, or most of, our food supply ourselves) comes with a fixer-upper house that was built in 1915. Not being of the handy sort, it may be awhile before that fixing-up is done; financial constraints have put much of the work on hold for the moment. But that’s neither here nor there. What is here is an old house with plenty of little gaps to allow in the occasional field mouse (and that wasn’t meant to rhyme even if it does…). Considering mice can flatten themselves enough to get through a hole only the size and circumference of a dime, those little gaps can be easy to miss–for mere humans, of course. The mice seem to have little trouble spotting them. What is curious though is why they would choose to go through those gaps in the first place.

Having raised mice, hamsters and even rats–yes, rats!–for pets, I can tell you they are intelligent and affectionate creatures. Zady, Clara and Lulu would all climb into my hand for their nightly fix of sugar snap peas with Zady scurrying up my arm afterwards (these are rats, not mice) and onto my shoulder where she would reach up, plant a gentle ratty kiss upon my cheek then climb up my braid to sit on top of my head for awhile. Rueben loved baked mac and cheese, and rather than run on the stupid wheel going nowhere, devised a method of racing down one of his ramps and pouncing upon the wheel, causing it to shimmy and rock back and forth. He could do this over and again for hours. Anyway, their intelligence, also their low-cost maintenance (I could feed them for less than $10.00 a month–counting the special treats like sugar snap peas) is one of the reasons they are often chosen by science to participate (without their consent, of course) in behavioral studies. Like most animals, with love and patience, they are capable of learning and can be trained, or taught, a wide variety of tricks and/or habits. Amazingly, they also have their own individual personalities, something most people don’t consider whilst standing atop a chair, screaming like banshees, while said rodent scurries around on the floor. This is not my folly but it may be Mom’s–even if the mice in question are no longer capable of scurrying.

Of course, there is a distinct difference between the mice and rats found in either a laboratory or a pet shop. Mice and rats have long been considered vermin–and for good reason. In the wild, they are host to all sorts of diseases and, especially with rats, if not domesticated, they will think nothing of taking a chunk out of human flesh. I am reminded of a display at King Richard’s Faire many years ago. Now I’m not certain how much time, effort, and research King Richard’s Faire put into this display; many of these torturous devices may simply be the fancy of Hollywood and pop culture. However, it is part of their wax museum, a museum displaying the many different forms of torture and punishment inflicted upon the supposed criminals of the Middle Ages. One display shows a man with a cage over his head with a rat trapped inside said cage; the man has multiple bite marks upon his face and scalp. I do not doubt that a rat would do such a thing if trapped in such a way. I had a chunk taken out of a finger that I lightly tapped along the side of cage in a pet shop once. The cage was high up on a shelf and appeared to be empty, save for the fact there was a water bottle hanging inside about 3/4’s full. Even on tiptoes (and I’m a tall woman), it was impossible to see inside so I was hoping to attract the occupant to the side of the cage that I might have a look at them (going to the pet shop for me is the equivalent to taking a little kid to the zoo; I love all creatures great and small and each are deserving of at least a moment of my time and admiration). Anyway, the occupant was a rat, one that obviously had not been handled much because he (or she) struck with the speed of a viper, pushing his snout through the bars to grab said finger. Perhaps it was a lactating female–I don’t know for certain because she/he was too high up–protecting her young (could be the reason for the high location especially if the young were still in the cage with her to keep her from being disturbed–duh), but I am quite certain he/she was also a future candidate for some viper’s dinner, as the majority of rodents kept in pet shops are typically part of the food chain. Again, neither here nor there. However, while I am convinced of their intelligence as displayed in captivity, I find myself questioning that intellect in the wild. Sure, they are clever enough to find their way inside but, in this case, why would they even bother? Could they really be that desperate for food (of which none is left out for their consumption) and shelter?

I am in line with becoming the next “crazy cat lady”. There are 10 felines sharing this domicile with me. Can a mouse be suicidal? Or, in this case, it might be best to ask if “mice”, in the plural, can be suicidal, as in the past 24 hours I have watched first, Emmylou, and then Whitney, racing upstairs and into Mom’s room with the limp body of a mouse dangling from her mouth. Trust me. The first one that Emmylou caught did not get back up, race downstairs and allow itself to be re-captured by Whitney. So the first one had a friend or mate that blindly followed her inside.

I’ve come a long way. In years past, my affection for rodents, owing to their domesticated cousins being beloved pets, would move me to follow my lucky felines and attempt to save the poor mouse. Though thoroughly traumatized, those that were still living and breathing were placed outside (where they likely were stupid enough to come back in later on…); those that didn’t make it, received a proper burial, complete with a brief prayer. I still give them a proper burial but I’ve learned to let the cats do their proper job in dispatching said mice; I have no more love for their filth than the next person.

Today, it will likely be a “common” grave; there are at least two corpses lying in wait for Mom’s approval when she gets home tomorrow. Though I know Emmylou and Whitney intend them as gifts, I doubt they will be appreciated. No, they won’t be scurrying around anymore but Mom might still be climbing on that chair, shrieking like a banshee. So let’s hope my search and seizure mission is a successful one, lest, Mom be the one thoroughly traumatized.

May God bless you & keep you!

Homesteading

An Unlikely Inspiration

Lisa Burbank

As a dyed-in-the-wool metal head, Dolly Parton being an inspiration seems a bit unlikely but, here I am, at 5:14 a.m., having been awake since 3:45 this morning, pounding away at the keyboard. Actually, despite my love affair with metal (and, I confess, at nearly 50 years of age, I tend to gravitate towards symph (or lighter) metal rather than today’s I-can’t-sing-but-only-growl heavier metal), Dolly really is a favorite of mine. In interviews she has a plucky sense of wit and humor. She’s intelligent. She’s down-to-earth. She’s also God-fearing. And I have always considered her music well-written, the gentle delivery of her songs resonating deep within. I am not the least bit ashamed to admit that some of her CD’s are tucked into the shelves between Megadeth and Within Temptation. But that is neither here nor there.
In trying to establish myself as a writer, I have been kicking around different times of the day to devote to writing; midday always seems too fraught with distractions in the form of “to-do” lists and chores. With a homestead to care for–more specifically, the goats, chickens, ducks, rabbits and cats that will often make their own schedules each day–working an evening job, a very modest practice in Reflexology, Reiki and Touch for Health, and being a full-time student working towards a degree in Creative Writing, finding that time has been a bit of a challenge. Because I work evenings, I have been leaning more towards writing after work when all of the chores and “have-to” obligations are completed but, by then, the brain is toast and I can’t seem to string two words together that make sense even to me, never mind someone else trying to decipher them. And a recent interview with a career coach emphasized the importance of blogging today in the literary world. So I’ve been kicking around those times, hoping to develop a more consistent blogging routine.
And that’s when I saw the little blurp in a magazine. I can’t even tell you which one. I was either in the laundromat, or else, reading it during lunch at work, but it was an article about the effective habits of successful people and rising early in the morning was dubbed as a fairly universal habit of successful people (early bird catches the worm?). In this article, Dolly Parton was quoted as saying that she does her best writing at 3:30 a.m. Now the quote could have been bogus; I have no way in knowing whether or not Dolly Parton really does get up at such an early hour to write her songs and such but, it seemed a hopeful choice. And one that actually resonated with me.
I tend to be an early riser no matter what hour I go to bed. The early mornings are a great time to do some gentle yoga stretches, pray, meditate, visualize and recite some positive affirmations. It’s a quiet time. Most of the world–at least the local one just outside my door–is still abed, the crickets are still chirping outside my window, and there’s a certain peace that settles over the soul with the first rays of light coming over the horizon, heralding the opening notes of daily birdsong. (Can you tell I just finished a course in Nature Writing???) It is a good time for allowing the creative juices to flow as the inner critic seems to slumber on at least until sunrise.
I’ve only been at this super-early rising routine for a few days but, I confess, I haven’t really needed the alarm; I’ve been awake before it goes off. That’s a good thing because it tells me that I’m not depriving myself of sleep and, to deviate a little from the subject, one of my psychology textbooks linked the common practice of many of hitting the snooze bar repeatedly with the increased potential for developing Alzheimer’s. The text recommended not using an alarm at all, if possible, because it is that startled awakening that does some of the damage.
Anyway, I am digressing…
But I am also blogging.
Allowing Dolly to influence me in this capacity is perhaps a good thing. She has long been a part of the eclectic mix of music that helps fuel my inner muse…and, at this hour of the day, a little less offensive playing in the background as I write the next bestseller than, say, Doro–whom I love just as much–but we’ll save the queen of metal for that much-needed jolt of energy in the afternoon. At this hour of the day, it’s a little overkill.
The sky is just beginning to lighten now so I will sign off and say, “Good morning to you all!” And may God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Alcoholism, Animal Rights, Environment, Faith, Frugality, Homesteading, Minimalism, Nature, Religion, Zero Waste

Sunday Laments

Lisa Burbank

28 people attended the 11 o’clock Mass this Sunday–and that was counting members of the choir, the Lector and Eucharistic Minister.
28?
And Father Elson (who would make 29 people in church on Sunday) made an announcement that every 5 years the Diocese of Norwich does an evaluation of churches to determine if there is enough attendance to warrant keeping them open. This year is the 5 year mark again for Our Lady of LaSalette. If we fail the evaluation, our doors may close forever.
What is wrong with this picture?
I remember as a little girl that St. Rita’s Catholic Church in Oakland Beach, Rhode Island would be full every Sunday morning. We’re only talking the mid-1970’s so what has happened in the last 40 years to take people away from church? Away from God? I am speaking, primarily, to Christians, because I do not know if attendance has fallen in the synagogues, mosques, or any other houses of worship. And, though I spoke of Catholicism, it does not matter the denomination. I have visited Baptist, Methodist and Episcopalian churches in recent years and their attendance is down, too. I think that it is truly sad that our modern-day society neglects Him so greatly–especially with all of the violence and degradation that seems so prevalent in this society.
Okay. Maybe it is not that folks are neglecting Him. Maybe the kids’ soccer/softball/badminton practice isn’t taking precedence over keeping the Sabbath Day holy. Maybe we’re not worshiping St. Mattress either. Maybe we’re not being influenced by all the anti-God media that laces our society. It could be that it is just the whole “organized religion” thing that has turned folks away. And I understand the myriad reasons that might happen.
Though this would fall under the category of “hearsay”, I have friends with parents who used God–or their religion–to punish their children when they did something wrong. I know of two such individuals who talk about having to kneel on popcorn kernels and pray the rosary for whatever offense they committed. Personally, I think this would be one of those individuals that Jesus said “woe unto them” for keeping the little children from coming to Him, not to mention a form of abuse. If a child associates the divine meditation of the rosary (or any other religious practice) with punishment, it is little wonder that their relationship with Him would be tainted from the very beginning. I know of one individual who was denied food for her children because she was not a regular member of the parish that she visited for help. Okay. I have visited the local food pantry in recent times and I know they have specific towns that they serve; their pantry is stocked only so full. So, on the one hand, I can understand this position, but children were starving. At the very least, a point in the direction of someone who could help might have been appreciated. Another refuses to attend because a beloved relative was denied a eulogy due to their civil union with a member of the same sex. Yes, I can pull Scripture that supports this stand. But I believe we are born with our orientation. I am hetero. If I were to date again, it would be as natural as breathing for me to date a man. It is not something I consciously think about and choose. And I have to believe it is the same for someone in a same sex relationship. If I am wrong, somehow I do not think continuing this modern-day witch hunt against the LGBT community is going to help the situation. The Bible also teaches us not to lie and to deny one’s orientation would be the same as lying. We do not know His plan for anyone else but we do know He also commands us to “love our neighbors as ourselves” and to “judge not lest ye be judged”. Sadly, in taking this stand, the loved ones who came to say their last goodbye were denied the healing closure of bereavement and worship. And, truly, a funeral or memorial service is for the loved ones left behind as much as for the soul of the departed.
Yes, someone (parents? grandparents?) rammed religion down your throat as a child. Perhaps they used a religious practice to punish you. But it was not God who used religion to punish you. Yes, you and your child were denied food but it was not God who denied you. It was a person. And it doesn’t matter if it was someone of the cloth. They may be a representative here on earth of our heavenly Father but they are still human, with all of the fallacies and short-comings of the human race. Yes, a loved one was denied a Sacrament. Again, it was a human being who denied it.
Something else I hear a lot of, too, is questioning. And the questions all boil down to the same thing: why does He let bad things happen? He gave us the Bible as a road map for living a good life here on earth. He also gave us the right to choose whether or not we will use that road map to continuously seek Him and to obey his commandments. He had to give us the right to choose or our faith would be meaningless if we did not seek Him for ourselves. I know it sounds like a platitude to say that others choose NOT to follow Him and so they commit these atrocities against the earth, it’s creatures and, most especially, our fellow Man. That doesn’t give much solace for the loved ones of victims from our fallen world, or even when illness takes those loved ones away. The truth is, I don’t have a better answer and I would to God I did. As a survivor of child molestation, there have been many times in my life that I have asked “Why?” myself, times when my anger has gripped me and left me railing at Him for forsaking me in my time of need, as I remember all the times as a little girl that I knelt beside my bed and prayed that the abuse–and the alcoholism that helped fuel it–would end. But it didn’t. However, I do believe that He has a plan even for that. And I do know that whenever I choose to follow Him, despite the loss, the horror, the pain of bad things happening–even to good and godly-people–that somewhere along the line, His grace does lead me through it and there is always that little nudge to take that pain and make something happy and positive from it. Maybe it’s a specific action to alleviate future sufferings. Maybe it’s simply a command to listen more to others, or to pray. Maybe it’s a command to listen more closely to Him…and to obey those instincts that alert us when something is wrong. Or perhaps it is simply a command to understand that in order to love my neighbor as myself, I have to learn to love myself enough to make that a valid command.
God commanded us to “remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy”. A bad experience in one church or with an individual from a particular church or denomination–a bad experience, period–should not prevent us from coming to Him each week in worship and prayer. It should not deny us the fellowship and support of a worshiping community either. God simply is. God is enough. And that should be reason enough to keep that Sabbath Day holy.
May God bless you & keep you!

Homesteading

Contemplating the End…

Lisa Burbank

…of my life in living history. Not the end of this 1830’s living history museum itself, mind you; the museum is a wonderful place that will always be near and dear to my heart. However, I am considering whether or not to stay “employed” there as a volunteer.

Surprised?

Me, too…sort of.

You see, I filled out a volunteer’s application almost 5 years’ ago because a.) I loved the museum and thought that, as an herbalist, and a history enthusiast with a photographic memory, that I could make a positive contribution to the establishment, b.) I was hoping to eventually be employed there and c.) I wanted to learn as many of the antiquated practices as I could in exchange for 7 hours of my time every other Sunday. Unfortunately, nothing has worked out the way that I had hoped. Their pay scale is an insult to the many gifted and intelligent paid employees that also populate the museum and I have since decided that I would rather stay as simply a volunteer; I earn more part-time at a local dealership. However, while they still have my free labor for 7 hours every other week, I am not learning any of those antiquated skills. And I’m losing heart because of it.

I have been straining at the bit to learn spinning and weaving. These skills are typically delegated to just one house in the museum; I have also been straining at the bit for training in said house. When I first applied, I was told that I would have to work in the country store for at least 1 year before they would train me for any other station. Fair enough. I jumped right in and, I have to admit, the store is a lot of fun. There is so much to learn there about the economical, political and social climates of the times. There are also numerous and curious items, both on the shelves and in the many drawers, to enchant the history enthusiast. What is this? What was it used for? How was it made–or used? Of course, if we were really in 1838, the store would not be open on the Sabbath and I, being a woman, would likely not be working the counters at all. This was man’s work in 1838. But interpreters are needed in the store, so we simply work that in as we share what we know with our visitors. Finally, this past January, training opened up for the house where spinning and weaving are done. And I was pumped. After 4 years of working the store and, in the summer months, the Herb Garden, I was finally moving elsewhere–and not just anywhere–but this was the prize I had been hoping for.

And that’s when the bubble burst.

Yes, I did get training. Yes, I am now working in this house. But I am not spinning or weaving. I’m carding wool. That’s it. Yes, one of my all-time favorite books is “The Witch of Blackbird Pond” by Elizabeth George Speare. And I love the scenes where Mercy and Kit spend the afternoons talking while they card wool. Nice. Peaceful. I think I understand though how truly dreary it was for Mercy, who usually did this work by herself. Granted, there are frequent visitors to the museum. And young children, especially, are eager to try their hand at carding. The way their little faces light up is a sight to behold and many of them come back later to try it again. It’s hard to resist this level of enthusiasm. This aspect of it is so much fun and so rewarding that sometimes I wonder what I’m complaining about…

…until I start talking about how carding was a step in the process of getting the wool ready for spinning and, possibly, weaving. There is typically no one demonstrating on either the loom or the Great Wheel. This is something that even the visitors lament, many of them expressing regret that they cannot see the whole process. And I cannot stop myself from gazing at both the Great Wheel and the loom with longing whenever there’s a lull in visitation. It’s not at all what I bargained for and I cannot help wondering if I will have to card wool for another 4-5 years before they will consider me competent enough to spin it.

Okay. So I did consider that maybe my lack of knowledge and skill here is why the hold up but a fellow docent and friend just quit the museum for the same reasons. She, however, did have experience with working fiber; she, too, was only allowed to card wool.

As for other skills?

I would love to learn how to cook on the hearth. Not sure how long it would take before they would give me training. I’d love to learn to interpret in many of the other houses, too. Of course, the rebel in me would dearly love to learn pottery and tin smithing but these were strictly male-dominated fields in 1838 and everyone pretty much just scoffs at the idea. The same narrow-minded chauvinism that afflicted our many-times-over-great-grandmothers also afflicts the museum even in 2016. Funny, though, how the rules can so easily be broken in places like the country store, where women interpreters are used–despite this not being “woman’s work”. Funny, too, how some volunteers have moved right through, learning everything and anything without a hitch…but that’s another story altogether…

Another factor that has me re-thinking my tenure there, one I learned about shortly after I started but, never really faced fully, is that the museum slaughters the livestock that calls this museum “home”. They strive to be as period correct as possible, or so they claim. And I suppose farmers who neglected to work with their oxen on a regular basis in the 1830’s would also slaughter that pair if they became unruly due to that neglect. Such was the fate of Doc and Blue. Though, in this case, Doc and Blue were sold at auction. The end result was the same. Yes, I know. People eat beef, steak. I know how this works. And I’m at least grateful that I didn’t have to see the roasts and racks of ribs that ultimately came from their demise. It doesn’t make it any easier to accept. I know I’m in the minority but I can’t help thinking that the museum is in a place where they can make a difference, where they can demonstrate a more humane practice and allow these wonderful beings to live out their lives in peace but, again, I know I’m in the minority. However, the magic that was living history for me has been broken with the loss of Doc and Blue. And I can’t seem to get it back.

And so, while I lamented in my previous posting about being laid up due to a rib injury, a part of me is happy to take that step back and really reflect on how important volunteering at the museum still is to me. I think of having my Sundays back and how much I could accomplish at home with that time. I think of the many projects I have planned–both here, or in Maine, if that’s where we eventually end up. Of course, if we do move to Maine, I won’t be in a place geographically for the museum to be practical for me anyway. So maybe it is time to sever the ties, so to speak…especially if I’m not learning all of those things I had hoped to learn. I mean, I know I tend to be impatient but it’s been 5 years; how much more patient do I have to be? Especially with an hour’s commute each way. The pros and cons are being weighed. And the cons’ list is growing longer than the pros. Many of these skills could be learned elsewhere, either for a minimal fee, or by bartering some Reflexology or Reiki in exchange for the lessons. Where there’s a will, there’s way.

Yet another factor that is weighing on my decision is how much is my time there taking me away from the path to my dreams. I have been working with a career coach, whom I adore, and who has opened my eyes considerably to all of the “distractions” I have created in my life. These are distractions that are taking me away from the things that I really want to do in life: writing, homesteading, goat wrangling, and training Border Collies in both agility and herding. And living history is starting to look like one of those “distractions”.

God bless you & keep you!