“I will raise them up a prophet from among their brethren, like unto thee; and I will put My words in his mouth, and he shall speak unto them all that I shall command him” (Deuteronomy 18:18)
As I watch the sky pale from outside my home office window, enjoying a cup of my favorite Chai tea, I cannot help but say a prayer for my Muslim friends who, by now, have finished sohour and will not eat or drink–even water–until after sundown this evening. This second meal of the day during Ramadan is called iftar and often begins with dates and/or sweet drinks. These give Muslims, who have been fasting since before sunrise, a boost.
Sohour is the meal that Muslims eat together in the earliest hours of morning–or perhaps latest hours of night, as some may view it–before the sun rises. Families awaken super early to share this meal, something I cannot even imagine. I struggled–and failed miserably–to give up only sweets/sugar during Lent. Abstaining from all sustenance from sunrise to sunset elicits a slight shudder; I am the proverbial bear when I don’t eat. Which also leaves me questioning where my own faith lacks. Could I endure such? And, perhaps, “endure” is not the operative word here. According to one source, Muslims are supposed to fast with niyyah, or intention. This means that they must not simply abstain from food but “intend in heart that the fast is meant to be a worship for Allah alone” (Klein, 2021).
I am always amazed at the beauty of traditions that are followed by each religion and/or culture. Though I am born-again Christian, and a practicing Catholic, I have always been intrigued with what others believe and how they worship the God of their consciousness…even to “practicing” some of these traditions myself for short periods of time. Not to make light of such traditions, but because I have always believed that the true way to peace is to learn about each other. And the best way to learn is to submerge yourself, as least as much as one is comfortable, in that culture, tradition, religion, and/or language.
Case in point: I studied at the Rhode Island School for the Deaf for several semesters. After the first couple of weeks of introduction with a hearing/speaking instructor, we were assigned to a Deaf teacher. We learned Sign quickly…if for no other reason then to get our next homework assignment. I learned so well that I found myself reading body language even outside of the classroom…much to the chagrin of an over-eager swain in a local night club one night who laid on the b.s. like peanut butter.
But I digress…
So what is Ramadan?
According to the Encyclopedia Brittanica, it is celebrated, or observed, as the “commemoration of Muhammad’s ‘receipt of the first Qur’anic revelation towards the end of the fasting month of Ramadan’,” (Brittanica, n.d.). Like my own tradition of Lent, it is a time for drawing nearer to God (or so it seems in it’s willing sacrifice for Him). (And, I hope, if there is any error here, that any Muslim brethren reading this will post a comment below to enlighten us further (smile)).
That being said, Ramadan Mubarak to all of my Muslim brothers and sisters.
And, to all of my brothers and sisters of every faith and tradition, no matter your calling, or beliefs, as always, may God bless you & keep you!
“And now, dear brothers, I want you to know what happens to a Christian when he dies so that when it happens, you will not be full of sorrow, as those are who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and then came back to life again, we can also believe that when Jesus returns, God will bring back with him all the Christians who have died.” (1 Thessalonians 4:13-14)
My heart is heavy yet again.
Snow is drifting and blowing about outside my window. There’s at least 10-12 inches on the ground, more still falling, and a prediction of up to 20 inches before it is done. Usually my heart delights like a little kid over a big snowfall like this. Instead, I keep thinking of a childhood friend: Paul “Peewee” Shelton.
Paul’s family rented the apartment above my family’s in St. Louis, Missouri about a year after we moved there in 1979. We were neighbors and friends for a number of years afterwards; have remained friends forever since. I went to school with his older brothers. His niece, Amey, played with my baby brother, Shaun. Our families went to Six Flags together and I saw my first concert–Johnny and June Carter Cash–with them at Six Flags. Our mothers became the best of friends, their birthdays a day apart, and every night (weather permitting, of course) like clockwork, the two of them would sit outside together on the stoop and chat about everything under the sun. They were like family.
They were family.
And always will be in my heart.
So that heart broke a little last night to learn that the youngest passed away yesterday. He’s younger than me. That just seems off balance for some reason. It’s hard for me to credit him as being 50-something (I’m 54; he was 2-3 years’ younger). I still see the gangly string bean of a boy who teased me throughout my teen years. I’m also reminded of a time–I’m not even sure how old we all were–but Peewee, as he was known then, had broken a window. It was an accident but, he was sure he was going to catch hell for it. He ran off and hid. When his mother got home I went looking for him. I found him sitting on the retainer wall by the basement door. He was still working off the mad, or fear, and told me to get out of there. I braved the mad to let him know she had said he wasn’t in trouble; she knew it was an accident. My heart went out to him in that moment of time. I’m guessing he was maybe 12 or 13. Later, he dumped the “Peewee” nickname, but I had to translate for Mom when I told her last night; she never knew his first name was Paul. He was always Peewee to her. She also caught herself thinking of him as that youngster, too; long distance will do that.
It sucks having loved ones scattered all over the country. One of the drawbacks of homesteading, or farming, is not being able to travel as readily as others; your animals always need care. I don’t begrudge it; they are God’s gift to me on this earth and they keep me going. But, when something like this happens, I wish I lived closer to hold a hand, to cook a meal for his siblings, to help them in whatever way I can to get through this hardship. They were always there for us when we were neighbors; it would be nice to return the love.
The best thing I can do from this distance is pray: for Paul, for his family, for everyone who loved and knew him…and at least offer my ear if they need to talk to someone who shares at least a little of their pain.
Rest in Peace, Paul Shelton…we will meet again. May God bless you & keep you! Love you always, my old friend!
“I will lie down in peace and sleep, for though I am alone, O Lord, You will keep me safe” (Psalms 4:8)
I turned 54 yesterday.
I woke up this morning to find another beloved feline had passed away overnight. No sign of illness or injury, but her son, Alice Cooper, died of a heart defect when he was a little over a year old–on November 22, 2016; his mama left either late November 20, or early November 21, 2020, almost 4 years to the day. Perhaps Mama Priscilla had a heart defect, too.
Priscilla was a very pregnant stray dropped off here 5 years’ ago. Mom and I kept all three surviving kittens, Ozzy Osbourne, Alice Cooper and Emmylou Harris, got everyone spayed/neutered and they have all been a joy. It broke my heart to find Priscilla lying on the floor of the rabbit room. I wondered where she was last night when I went to bed. Usually she gets up on the bed for her nightly cuddle, rubbing her cheek as tightly against mine as she can possibly get it. I assumed there was a mouse brave enough to visit a home with 9 resident felines. Now I wonder if she was already gone by the time I went to bed. Not the most auspicious way to begin your 55th year of life.
Caught the next door neighbor–the same one who challenged zoning back in June and July–hiding in the bushes bordering our properties last week, craning her neck over the stone wall looking for…something. When we pulled up in front of the house to turn into the drive, she had the startled-deer-in-the-headlights look when she realized we were home and had seen her. She left rather quickly.
Mom smokes. When she goes outside at night for a cigarette, if the outside light pops on because she’s walked in front of the motion sensor, someone in this neighbor’s house walks over to the upstairs window and stands there, watching. What are they hoping to see? What is it about us that they find so fascinating? It’s a fixer-upper home. It didn’t have curb appeal when it was up on the market in 2004. It’s definitely gotten worse over the last 16 years. And, though my Mom is an attractive 74 year old, she’s still 74 years old. What do they care if their elderly neighbor sits outside at night?
It’s going to be hard leaving here…well, it would be if not for these neighbors. Perhaps that is His plan to break the sentimental hold this home has on me. 5 dogs, 11 cats, 1 goat, 3 guinea pigs, 1 pet rat, 3 parakeets, 20 rabbits, 4 ducks and 29 chickens have their final resting place in the pet cemetery out back. I kept a reflexology practice here; have planted trees and shrubs, fruits, vegetables, flowers and herbs; learned how to can food, bake bread from scratch and a host of other homesteading skills here. More importantly, I’ve shared a lot of laughter and tears, both good memories and bad, and a whole lot of loving within these four walls…even if the roof does leak and a host of other updates need attending.
But I’m leaving.
The remaining goats, chickens and ducks probably qualify for contraband these days since the nosy neighbors raised a stink. I’ve had some acquaintances suggest contacting Legal Aid to see if there’s help with the zoning issues–help that I engaged long before any farm animals arrived–but I’m thinking, while I may inquire, the biggest part of me is tired of the struggle. The mortgage is high, the repairs many and costly, and the job market in this area is one of the worst. The zoning issue is the straw that broke the camel’s back.
It won’t be easy. I’m looking to homestead, as I had been doing here, but I’m looking to do it on a larger scale. Not necessarily a larger property but a greater attention to self-sufficiency and environmental protection. So that will mean unrestricted use. Land only…to start with.
Even that little bit is daunting to this weary heart. But to give up is inconceivable. I’m getting too old for nosy neighbors and their drama, or living a life that barely scrabbles by rather than living a life that will bring me joy and a sense of security that will be the first I have ever known since I was a very wee child. A life lived with intention and a sense of purpose. It is too short, as Priscilla’s minute time on this earth has reinforced yet again, to waste it on drama and stress.
“Let not your heart be troubled. You are trusting God, now trust in Me. There are many homes up there where my Father lives, and I am going to prepare them for your coming. When everything is ready, then I will come and get you, so that you can always be with me where I am.” (John 14:1-3)
The Herbal Hare Homestead may be moving. In fact, I believe it is almost a certainty. I’m not sure where. Or exactly when. I definitely don’t know how but I feel like He has been conking me over the head repeatedly, one hardship after another here, to finally light that fire under my backside so that I start actively looking.
And planning.
And taking one step after the other, trusting Him to see us all through.
A couple of weeks ago I received a letter from the local zoning officer. One of my neighbors complained about my roosters crowing. And they don’t like living next to ducks either.
Now before anyone jumps in with recriminations, before I ever brought chickens, ducks, or goats to this property I contacted the zoning office and then a zoning attorney. Strictly speaking, this is considered part of the commercial district of town, even as the whole town is zoned agricultural. However, after reviewing my deed, the attorney determined I didn’t need to get a variance or anything because the property has grandfathered use. He did warn it could be challenged but, to safeguard that, I wrote a letter detailing my plans here, made copies, and got each and every one of my neighbors’ signatures that they were okay with me raising these animals. I promised not to include a buck as they smell bad. I also have a doctor’s note stating that I’m supposed to be drinking goat’s milk.
Fortunately, I save everything.
Unfortunately, we have new neighbors. They didn’t sign that letter. And I get it…even if we were here first. The country is NOT as quiet as one thinks if one has never lived in the country before. And I will not be the first homesteader to be adversely affected by the city-slicker-turned-country-wannabe.
Ironically, there was no mention about the goats in their complaint. It was the crowing of roosters and, apparently, the occasional honking-quack from some of my female ducks when the males are being overly-amorous that my new neighbors are protesting.
We also have a new zoning officer, who is a delightful woman, and we hit it off immediately. She raised sheep until her husband’s passing last year; it liked to have killed her to give them to another farm but she was unable to care for them by herself, owing to some health issues of her own, so she was sympathetic to my plight. But she also has a job to do. Having worked for a local municipality last fall as a temp, I got to witness first-hand the b.s. stories people fabricate when they knowingly violate a zoning regulation. I think the new zoning officer thought that’s what I was about when I called her in response to her letter and told her I’d had a zoning attorney out here 11 years’ ago. When I was able to show her the doctor’s note and the signed letters from all of my neighbors stating they approved of my raising these animals, I saw her expression change to one of even deeper sympathy…and a sudden willingness to push back against these complaints. This was not the usual b.s. but someone who actually took the steps to do this all legally and ethically…and who willingly allowed her access to inspect the premises without giving her a hard time about it (That’s the key, folks! Work with, not against…even if the outcome isn’t exactly what you’d hoped it would be).
She read the letter, checked each address to ensure that each of the homes directly affected were included, then inspected the barn (I hadn’t built or added another building but re-purposed one that already existed here when I purchased the property in 2001). She inspected the animals, too, and wrote in her report that they were happy and well cared for. As she was a farmer previously, there was a moment’s pride that she found no fault with any of them. Though there is no pond here, there is a large kiddie pool for the ducks with a ramp for easy access in and out of it. There’s a 6-foot chain link fence to keep them all from roaming off-site…and for keeping predators out. That Chester (goat) came over and immediately rubbed his face all up and down her leg for affection said volumes about how well they are cared for.
Will she be able to swing it so my babies can stay?
There’s no way of knowing just yet. And she did say the roosters would have to go but, if I showed a willingness to comply with this one part of it, this new neighbor might relent about the rest. But, there’s a big part of me saying, do I have to go through this every time I get a new neighbor??? Do I have to perpetually fight to keep what matters most to me outside of faith and family? And, to be honest, I regard my animals as part of the family.
So I’m looking further afield, further ahead.
The animals may go to a friend’s farm as boarders until I can scrape together enough for that relocation. I’m thinking Maine, upper-state New York, Vermont…maybe Tennessee (though I would hate the heat!), as my brother and his family live there so we would have family nearby. It would be nice to see them more than every couple of years when we can afford to travel. And I will be looking for farm land…or at least a property that is actually zoned for agricultural use, or maybe an unincorporated town where there aren’t any zoning regulations. They’re few and far between but it’s worth looking into.
Of course, my main concern is how to finance all of this. Before the pandemic, I was staring foreclosure in the face owing to an injury in January 2019, a subsequent job loss, and the inability to find full-time work again to sustain us. My credit sucks…no polite way to say it. But, even if I get to keep the animals here, that issue still exists. Will I be able to save the home? Will He provide that job at the last moment? Or will He slide everything into place once I set my sights in the direction He wants me to go?
Because that’s how He works.
When you obey His commands, when you follow His direction, He moves those mountains completely out of the way. So, now I wait, and I do the work I must do in the interim, and in the meantime, I ask for everyone’s prayers. This ain’t going to be easy…
“Lord, you know the hopes of humble people. Surely you will hear their cries and comfort their hearts by helping them.” (Psalms 10:17)
I know I said in a much earlier post that I would save “those” kind of posts for New Year’s Eve only. “Those” being the posts that mention a loss here on The Herbal Hare Homestead. For the most part, I’ve stuck to it. The reason being there was a particularly dark period of time here where it felt like I was making one of “those” posts every other week. In sooth, there were 8 losses that year. Still a lot…and I could just hear all of my friends remarking how lately every time they read it, they get depressed. Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know. But, I confess, I started to feel depressed every time I sat down at the keyboard.
However, every once in a while, though homesteading conditions you to expect the occasional loss, there’s that “one” that truly clubs you off at the knee.
That happened Friday.
About a week earlier, Pearl went off her feed and started looking a little lethargic. This went on for almost a day with me deciding that, if she was still looking “droopy” and not eating the next morning, I would call the vet (she had had similar situations over the years and within a few hours, maybe a day, she’d bounce right back; we even visited the vet once in regard and he had reassured me that if it was only a missed meal or two, not to worry too much but simply keep an eye on her. He did a thorough check, took blood tests then, and could find nothing “wrong”.) Anyway, the next day she was eating again and seemed fine. In retrospect, I wonder if I should’ve taken her in anyway…even without any specific symptoms showing. Hindsight is always 20/20.
Last Thursday afternoon, I came in from dropping my car off at the garage and saw Pearl sleeping on the sofa. When I went over to cuddle her, she responded but something seemed “off” about her. I made a comment to Mom in that regard. As I told her, “she’s not showing any symptoms of anything but she doesn’t ‘look’ well”. I recalled that Pearl had eaten that morning, not as vigorously as usual, but it was also not one of her favorite flavors so I hadn’t been too alarmed then; perhaps I should have been. I sat down beside her on the sofa and she curled up in my lap…until Ozzy did his usual horn in on the action and she moved over to the afghan she’d been sleeping on when I came in. Then, maybe 15-20 minutes later, she got down and went into the bathroom where we have a water bowl sitting under the drippy tub faucet. Again, nothing too unusual except, over the course of the next couple of hours, she made multiple returns. I suspected she probably had a kidney infection coming in but, by then, it was evening, after hours for the vet, and the closest emergency facility is in another state (not to mention, I was without transportation) and I’m not overly trusting of this emergency facility in the first place. I brewed an infusion of parsley as a first aid and fed her some in an eyedropper, only as much as she would willingly take, knowing parsley’s gentle healing properties for anything kidney/bladder related. I also kept checking for dehydration. As the night wore on, she had started showing symptoms of the latter. By early morning, she was actually sleeping in the tub by that water bowl and there was no doubt about it: she needed to go to the vet immediately.
Of course, the car was still in the shop and, to be honest, the vet wasn’t open yet. I ran through the usual morning feeding routine, texted a friend to see if she was available to drive us up to the vet hospital, and then called the mechanic. Low and behold, the car was done so I walked over and, by the time I got home (1/2 hour later), the vet hospital was open. I called, got their answering service, and told them I was bringing her in; I wasn’t arguing about it. A few minutes’ later, we were waiting in the parking lot for one of the techs to bring her in for examination. They took her in almost immediately and confirmed what I had suspected: a kidney infection. They asked permission to keep her overnight. They were starting her on subcutaneous fluids, as she was dehydrated by then, and antibiotics to kill the infection.
I got a call a few hours later to give them a call back as Pearl was not responding to treatment. For some reason, the call had gone straight to my voicemail so I called them immediately back.
Dr. Lambert apologized the moment the receptionist put the call through to him: Pearl was gone. They had given her the sub-Q fluids but they discovered when they went to administer the antibiotics that she was still dehydrated. When they went to give her more sub-Q fluids, she started convulsing. They tried to save her but her heart just stopped.
And my world just stopped.
I am devastated. This was my little shadow. I haven’t been at the keyboard any more than necessary (homework only) because I know I won’t have her chirping at me to get in my lap…and then getting all indignant when my fingers are banging away at the keyboard instead of scratching under her chin indefinitely. I haven’t been on the yoga mat because little Miss Pearl would lay on the floor and stretch with me. I’m expecting a little white kitty with black patches to get in my lap when I’m eating my breakfast cereal, waiting for me to finish and leave her the last few drops of milk. Going to sleep at night has been a challenge. I no longer have 9 lbs. of kitty sprawled across my belly and chest, front paws encircling my neck, head tucked under my chin.
So where does the answered prayer come in? Because you know I was praying right along for Him to heal her, to bring her home safe, sound, healthy, etc–ALIVE!!
Four years’ ago, I came home from work, Pearl came running to greet me at the door, lost her balance, and flopped over. I took her to the vet. They treated her for an inner ear infection but Dr. Blakesley (other vet at same hospital) had cautioned that, if she didn’t respond, they would have to do a biopsy as they suspected Pearl might have a brain tumor. However, Pearl responded. When I was burying her beside her sister, Megan, I remembered praying that night that Pearl was too young. She was only 12 (then). Please, would He give me just a few more years with her? Let her at least make it to 16, which is a very great age for a cat, but Ariel had made it that far; please, could He let Pearl make it till at least 16, too?
She did.
Of course, I also remember telling Him that I knew when that day came at age 16, I would probably beg for a few more years with her…and I did…but that I would accept it, knowing that 16 is quite elderly for a cat and that I couldn’t expect too many more years with her.
Heavy sigh.
No matter how many years we have with each other, there is NEVER enough time. As I posted briefly on Facebook last week, who would’ve thought one little cat could have this big of an impact on my life? I feel so lost without her; I look for her everywhere…and even feel a twinge of guilt every time I cuddle one of the other 6 felines that share my world. I also apologize that, even though I love them all dearly, well, no, they aren’t Pearl. They’re Kirby and Ozzy and Emmy Lou and Priscilla and Whitney and Rosco, this last one actually traveled cross country with Mom 6 years’ ago, and they are each special in their own way. I wouldn’t trade them, would mourn them just as fiercely, but I’m still looking for a little sassy white cat with black patches and a black tail, leading me upstairs for some one-on-one cuddle time together, and listening for that sweet little voice talking to me at every opportunity.
But despite this empty, aching hole in my heart, I would do it all again, Miss Pearl. Maybe I would’ve adopted you the very first time I saw you and Megan in the cage at the vet hospital awaiting a forever home (I had visited the vet hospital a few times before finally deciding to take them home). Maybe I would’ve taken you to the vet the week before when you went off your feed that first day last week. Would it have made a difference? Would you still be here with me? Or would I have lost you a week sooner because your little heart was simply done and would’ve given out that much sooner with the stress of being in the vet hospital? I’ll never know. But I do know that Celine Dion was right: the heart does go on.
And, ironically, there is a mixed blessing in this stupid pandemic. Though I had to wait out in the parking lot while the doc examined Pearl, I got to spend these last 1 and 1/2 months with my girl almost non-stop because being a librarian is not an essential worker and we have been home since mid-March. I’m actually grateful for that today.
R.I.P. my little Pearlina Wilhelmina…I love you, Sweetie, and I’d do it all again.
“There are ‘friends’ who pretend to be friends, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.” (Proverbs 18:24)
I had one of the most heartening experiences yesterday morning.
Mom and I rarely get visitors here even when there isn’t a pandemic. Though we live in Connecticut, we are transplanted Rhode Islanders. And Rhode Islanders are a rare breed. Because you can literally drive from one end of the state to the other in, roughly, an hour’s time, anything more is the equivalent to living on the moon. Mom and I being, roughly, that hour away from most family members, live all the way “out there”. So, you can imagine my surprise when I heard a knock on the door around 8 a.m. during a pandemic.
Sadly, I didn’t answer. I was still in my pj’s, on my way to take a bath, and Mom was still in bed. I also didn’t immediately recognize the truck parked behind my car (single female).
So I waited.
And then felt a moment’s perplexity (as well as a twinge of guilt) when I finally did recognize the woman walking back from my mailbox in the pouring rain: the owner of my local feed store. By the time I could throw my Wellingtons on and a jacket, she was gone. She left a note in my mailbox. As I hadn’t been into the store in a while, she was concerned and checking to make sure Mom and I were okay. I called her back to reassure her.
I know it sounds like a little thing but, especially in this pandemic when everyone is afraid of reaching out, that someone would make such an effort warmed my heart. She didn’t have to stop; in fact, she could have put herself at serious risk if either Mom and/or I hadn’t been feeling okay. However, her concern was stronger than caution. She told me when I called that she had actually had someone post on their website that we might be in need of help. However, I hadn’t been in because I did a little panic shopping for hay and feed a few weeks’ back. Not hoarding, just giving myself a little bit of a buffer until this thing passes. Apparently, people have noticed the fewer visits than normal and some, like my neighbor from the store, cared enough to check.
We may be quarantined, distancing ourselves, but we humans were not meant to be islands unto ourselves. We are a community. And never does that community rise with warmth and intention more than when we face a crisis such as this one.
“Now the report of [Jesus’] power spread even faster and vast crowds came to hear Him preach and to be healed of their diseases. But He often withdrew to the wilderness for prayer.” (Luke 5: 15-16)
The last few days the introvert went into a sort of hibernation from, well, this enforced hibernation. Too much information, too much “in-your-face” news coverage–both accurate and inaccurate–regarding this coronavirus pandemic. And, of course, our media, our government, etc. has set out on a course to make it all political. It became sickening.
So I took a break.
For the last two days I’ve been working on some more character development for my book, fleshed out a potential short story, and submerged myself in one of the novels that I checked out two weeks’ ago to tide me over during this hibernation…and now I’m wishing I’d checked out the whole series because it was good and I’d like to continue on (Angie Sage’s Magyk, 2005, Harper Collins, Young Adult). I got back on the yoga mat (I’ve been seriously lax), the exercise bike, the inversion table and I’ve started meditating. I’ve also been paying more attention to my spiritual life, praying the rosary for the victims of this pandemic…which is all of us one way or the other…and praying for true leadership, for divine guidance for our leaders, when we need it the most. It’s been a grounding experience and I’m feeling better mentally, emotionally, spiritually.
I turned on YouTube this morning to catch up…and was pleasantly surprised that The Late Show with Stephen Colbert appears to be back up and running to some degree. A little laughter over the first cup of tea of the day can never be amiss. There was an added chuckle as Miss Goldie, one of my Buff Orpington hens, put her two cents’ worth in from time to time from her cage in the kitchen.
Miss Goldie has been acting rather lethargic lately. That’s really the only “symptom” I’ve had that there might be anything “wrong” so I’ve been checking on her a little more often. I had also been contemplating separating her from the flock and even a call to the vet. It is not unusual for chickens, because they scratch and peck in the dirt, the compost pile, the barn floor, etc., to also pick up a parasite. Or develop some sort of intestinal worm.
However, I should have separated Goldie a little sooner.
I found Miss Goldie curled up on the floor of the barn the night before last, her head and beak a bloody mess. After the initial gut punch as I assumed the very worst, I reached to pick her up and she turned her head and chirped at me. The wounds were still running freely so I had obviously just interrupted what would have been curtains for Goldie if I hadn’t walked into the barn when I did. Chickens are notorious for pecking to death any of their flock who is sick, or weak, in some way. Though it has yet to happen to me, I know other farmers/homesteaders who have found an indistinguishable bloody pulp in the barnyard. I didn’t think Goldie had reached such a place but, apparently, I was wrong. I can only be grateful that things had not progressed to that level of cannibalism (yes, that’s exactly what they resort to when they sense a sick, or weakened, flock-mate; they turn into sharks. Incited by the scent of drawn blood, they will often keep going until there’s nothing left of the sick one).
Fortunately, there was more blood than wound once I cleaned her up. She wasn’t sure about sitting in my lap but she bore my ministrations and, after I got the bleeding stopped, I gently dabbed the wounds with my “bunny” salve. This is equal parts of comfrey (Symphytum officinale) and plantain (Plantago spp.). I use a double boiler, add the dried leaves, cover them completely with olive oil, and a lid, and brew it on low heat for 20 minutes (do NOT bring to a boil). It is then strained and, in this case, because I want a creamier consistency, I only put 1/2 to 3/4 squared of beeswax into the 4 oz. container I just strained the oil into and stir until the wax dissolves (please do NOT use your best utensils/pans for stirring beeswax…and NEVER try to wash them in your sink or dishwasher but take hot water outside and scrub/dissolve away the beeswax over a patch of dirt; you will never unstop your sink, or the lines in your dishwasher again…). And, as you can see from the pictures below, the plantain is NOT the banana-like fruit found in most major grocery stores. This is that little patch of “weed” or “crab” grass that we choke out with all manner of harmful herbicides (PS Please reconsider…even if you’re not an herbalist; many pollinators visit those long, spindly “flowers” reaching up in the middle).
COMFREY (Symphytum officinale)
PLANTAIN (Plantago major)
Anyway, after cleaning Goldie up, I also found an eyedropper and popped open a jar of strained spinach, zucchini and peas (I always keep jars of baby food on hand for such emergencies) and hand-fed her. Then I placed her in the cage with a bowl of water, and another bowl of chicken feed with some birdseed mixed in to try and tempt her to eat on her own, and a clove of garlic minced up to kill any parasites that may have started the whole issue. Yesterday, I repeated said process and actually picked up a piece of the minced garlic, opened her beak, dropped it in and then chased it down with more of the spinach mix.
My biggest concern has been her right eye. It was swollen shut when I found her, and for all of yesterday. However, in addition to eating on her own last night/early this morning, both eyes are now open. So there is hope. And I am grateful that Miss Goldie does not seem to have lost her sight by this ordeal…even if she does still resemble Rocky Balboa a little bit…in chicken form, of course.
As Goldie, hopefully, continues to heal…and get pleasantly spoiled with all the hand-feeding and handling…I’m going to keep hoping that our nation continues to heal as well. Though I’m not 100% sure how accurate each source is, it appears there is finally a flattening of the curve, as they say, in the spread of this coronavirus. This is not a license to become complacent, or to relax our vigil, in controlling the spread of Covid-19…anymore than this marked improvement in Goldie’s condition is a license for me to become lax in continuing her treatments. As signs of improvement continue to show, this is actually the time to be even more vigilant.
Stay safe.
Stay home, if you can.
Wash your hands frequently…as well as door knobs, steering wheels, etc. anything that might have some of those Covid-19 germs on it.
Keep the world in your prayers; He’s got this…He truly does.
May God bless you & keep you!
The FDA has not evaluated these statements. The information contained is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any diseases.
“Remember to observe the Sabbath as a holy day. Six days a week are for your daily duties and your regular work, but the seventh day is a day of Sabbath rest before the Lord your God. On that day you are to do no work of any kind, nor shall your son, daughter, or slaves–whether men or women–or your cattle or your house guests. For in six days the Lord made the heaven, earth and sea, and everything in them, and rested the seventh day; so He blessed the Sabbath day and set it aside for rest.” (Exodus 20: 8-11)
So this feels just a little awkward…so I guess I’m on the right track. God loves to take us out of our comfort zones. He wants us to trust Him…even in the midst of coronavirus. Actually, I should amend that: especially in the midst of coronavirus. And, while this isn’t exactly a traditional service, I’m going to start by sharing a song by Christian artist, Zach Williams, called “Old Church Choir”. Though I can carry a tune myself, just for today, I’m leaving it to the pros. Let’s lift the somber mood of these past few weeks just a little bit:
For everyone reading this today, I hope that the prayers and Scripture I offer, even the music I share, will enrich your day, your week, and bring you solace and hope in a seemingly chaotic situation. Truly, faith in Something–Someone–greater than one’s self is the only thing that does bring hope in the face of chaos and adversity.
And the adversities we face today are unlike any that we have seen in 80, 90 years.
I don’t share that to overwhelm, or to spread further terror. It’s to bring this situation into perspective. There’s been so much anger masking fear and uncertainty, so much finger pointing–something of which yours truly has been guilty–and it only excerbates the situation…both in our hearts, and in our communities. Yes, we are seeing who the *true* leaders are, and those whose hearts the Adversary’s lies have settled into as well. And, no, they’re not the ones closing down even the churches. The officials that have closed nearly every door are doing so to save lives, to prevent the spread of illness. However, the Adversary is watching this, wringing his hands together at the opportunities he sees before him now that so many of us are not coming together in prayer, to receive Communion and fellowship, to confess our sins of the previous week(s), and to seek forgiveness. I say we pray without ceasing, giving praise to the One who is truly in control and has our backs in all of this, effectively binding those wringing hands from doing their dirty work. We have enough to contend with in Covid-19. That’s enough chaos for one community, one country, one world. And, without God, without a belief in Someone greater than ourselves, where will we find the strength to get through the weeks ahead and their endless challenges? Or to resist those adversarial lies?
Yes, you read that correctly: give God praise during this epidemic. He knows what He’s doing, and why. It is our job to trust Him, to believe Him, when He tells us He loves us, that He has our best interests at heart. Though it may not seem apparent at the moment, He does. He truly does. If we give in to the doubts, and I know it’s difficult not to at a time like this when so many are sick, scared, dying, but this is where He needs us to follow Him ever more closely. He needs us to be steadfast and stand together in solidarity with Him, to root out the lies and bring them into the Light, to bring comfort to those who are afraid, or have suffered loss.
You know, we talk about pulling together during this crisis. And yet, we are being asked, for safety’s sake, to stay apart. It seems a bit of an oxymoron but, while we may not be together physically, we CAN be together in our hearts, in our minds, in spirit…in Spirit. It is, in my opinion, the only way we will get through this crisis.
And that brings me to another point of this post. I’ve talked a lot in previous posts about being an introvert. Truly, it’s not all that difficult being an introvert in America. Our society encourages distance even when things are “normal”. Look at how we are structured. Most people travel to work solo. In fact, I know of plenty of people who look down their noses at people who carpool, or utilize public transit. The auto industry touts independence, freedom of spirit, etc. to sell their products. If you don’t have an automobile of your own, people are scandalized (I have first-hand knowledge). In short, we’re encouraged to be alone in our commutes. Though “tiny houses” are all the rage today as sort of a grassroots’ movement that is gaining some traction in the mainstream, our housing/construction industries push the mantra of bigger being better. Our streets are lined with countless McMansions, surrounded by acres of well-manicured status symbols of lawns that rob us of clean air, clean soil, clean water…even home-grown food so, if for no other reason, we do not starve during an epidemic. We’re disconnected from the earth, from our food, from the animals that sacrifice theirs that we might have life (oftentimes under horrible conditions). More importantly, we’re disconnected from each other. Again, in short, I see millions of “islands”. I get needing elbow room…and we don’t always find “good” neighbors, but in these Islands of Suburbia, we might never know. How many of us, when there isn’t a pandemic, have walked across those acres of useless grass to extend the hand of friendship to those whose multi-acres of McMansion border ours? And, sadly, even within the walls of those McMansions, we remain islands of humanity. Every child must have its own bedroom. We must have a man-cave, or a she-shed. Every human in the house must have their own bathroom, too. I suppose during a pandemic such as this one, we might conclude that the distance between us, even within our own communities, is a good thing to help slow the spread of infection. But do we know how to sit down as a family and share a common meal? Do we even know how to cook a meal without zapping it in a microwave? We’re not running off to countless after-school sporting events, clubs, extra-curricular activities right now. How has that changed the dynamics? Do we know how to entertain ourselves as a family? When was the last time we pulled out a board game? Or a deck of cards? When was the last time we prayed together as a family…outside of our church, temple, synagogue, or mosque? For those of you who have been sitting down together as a family to share a meal, a game, or a prayer, you are truly the wealthy during this crisis. And that’s something we can all appreciate, whether introverted, or extroverted.
Dear Heavenly Father,
I praise you in this “storm”. We truly are at “war” with an enemy we cannot see. But I know that Your Eyes do see this “enemy” and You’ve got this! I praise You for that knowledge. I praise You for the knowledge that You are giving to doctors, nurses, first-responders, scientists, etc. to help heal those who are ill. I praise You, too, for protecting these healthcare workers from contracting the Covid-19 virus themselves; we need all of their expertise. I praise You for lifting every healthcare worker up, relieving their fatigue, and for giving them clarity when it is most needed.
I praise you for every grocery, pet and/or feed store worker, for every pharmacist, for every essential worker who is also on the front lines during this epidemic. I praise you for protecting them also, and the families that they go home to each night.
I praise You for our government officials. I pray that sound minds and compassionate hearts will prevail in this crisis. I praise You for guiding the hands of those who would lead…and showing us just who those people are. I praise You for touching the hearts of those who would profit from the sufferings of others that they might repent and seek You in all future endeavors, bringing Light, instead of the darkness that our world has become.
I praise You for lifting up the hearts of all people everywhere during this epidemic. Where hearts are hungry, provide them Your sustenance. Where hearts are frightened, give them courage. Where hearts are angry, bring them peace. Where hearts are in doubt, fill them with Your grace. And, for those who have lost a loved one to this illness, I praise You for comforting them in their hour of sorrow and loss. Help them to remember that when we are a part of the body and blood of Christ, we are never truly alone. I praise You for the hope that is forever Your name, in Christ Jesus. Amen.
Our Father, who art in heaven
Hallowed be thy Name.
Thy Kingdom Come, thy Will be done.
On earth, as it is in heaven.
Give us this day, our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses.
As we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.
For thine is the Kingdom, and the Power,
And the Glory, forever and ever…Amen
May God bless you & keep you!
REFERENCES
Casting Crowns (2008). “Praise You In This Storm (live).” Lifesong (2005), producer by Mark A. Miller, Beach Street/Reunion Records. Neyolov. Retrieved from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ype1xE0wzsg
For King and Country (2015). “Shoulders (Official Music Video).” Run Wild. Live Free. Love Strong, producers Ben Glover, Matt Hales, Seth Mosley and Tedd Tjornhom, Fervent Records alongside Word Records. Retrieved from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TfiYWaeAcRw
“A cheerful heart does good like medicine, but a broken spirit makes one sick.” (Proverbs 17:22)
We are overwhelmed.
As a nation.
As a people.
As a world.
It’s like we took the flu epidemic of 1918 and The Great Depression of the 1930’s, mixed them in a bowl, tossed it into a microwave, and let it explode out. It’s all too easy to imagine martial law, and even the outbreak of another civil war, as fear and worry and, sadly, blame takes hold…and fights to stay.
There is no one person to blame for this. It simply is. We can charge that maybe this elected official, or that one, didn’t act swiftly enough, didn’t take things seriously enough, etc. I understand. How many times in the past has our media hyped up a flu virus only to have the hype be so much larger than the reality?
This time is different however.
We’ve never shutdown our whole nation over a pandemic before…at least not since 1918. Businesses are closing. People are out of work. We don’t know when we might safely return. And we have bills to pay. I get it. We all do…at least I hope so, even if we would rather deny it.
We also have loved ones who could easily be listed among the most vulnerable. Maybe they’re elderly. Maybe they have asthma. Or emphysema. Or COPD. Maybe they’re on dialysis or chemotherapy. Maybe they’ve had a spleen removed. Or struggle with diabetes or an autoimmune disease. Now is not the time to get overly optimistic. Such optimism, taking the stance that we can go out again in a couple of weeks, could put those loved ones at risk. Again, I get it. We still have those bills to pay, a roof to keep overhead, etc.
Please…breathe, just breathe. Worry is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to “do” but it doesn’t get you anywhere…even during a pandemic.
Despite this grim outlook, we really are all in this together. Though Congress seems intent on making this a political thing…no matter which side of the aisle we stand on…still, Congress members, our president, the White House, our local officials, etc. have all been risking their own safety to work round the clock to find a solution to these challenges. Have they succeeded? It may be too early to tell. I believe the efforts have probably fallen short of the mark. Do I trust that all of them have our best interest at heart? No. However, we haven’t seen either a health pandemic, or the risk of an economic depression, this strong in over 90 years. I’d wager our elected officials are as overwhelmed and frightened as we are.
If you’re reading this, you’re alive and, hopefully, still well. I’m going to also hope that, at least for the moment, you have enough to eat, a roof overhead, etc. If all of this is true, give thanks…to God, to Allah, to Buddha, Goddess, etc. It’s one day at a time, one step at a time. If you’re reading this, you also probably know someone who is taking this pretty hard. Pray for them and, if they’ll allow it, with them. Now is not the time to argue religious doctrine anymore than it’s the time to further political agendas. Do you have extra canned goods/non-perishables? We can safely put together care packages by washing our hands carefully first and then washing/wiping those cans and packages before packing them into a box, a tote, a bag and leaving them anonymously on the doorstep of a friend or neighbor in need. Make sure to include a note stating the precautions you took to keep everything clean. If you’re one of the people hoarding toilet paper, you might also include a couple of rolls of that (chuckle). By such selfless acts, we can inspire hope in those who are beyond scared.
Including ourselves.
Such acts of kindness make us feel better…which can actually boost our immunity. It also breaks the cycle of scarcity and want in our communities. It lets others know that their neighbors are watching, seeing their added struggles, their fear, and reaching out to help in the best way possible right now. It chases away the loneliness in our isolation, inspires hope for a new day tomorrow.
If nothing else, I am offering up a challenge to everyone reading this. If you are spending a lot of time on social media, you know that there is a lot of negativity being shared throughout. Instead of sharing the negativity, lets look for the news’ stories of the heroes in our communities. They may be few and far between, because coronavirus is getting the bulk of the coverage, but keep looking. If your mayor, your governor, etc. has stepped up to the plate in a way that is above and beyond the call of duty, share it. If you know of any programs in your state, or community, that might help those in need, share that information. Start a prayer chain via email, text message, etc. with those in your worship community, and share that. If your neighbor left that box of groceries on your doorstep, share it. And keep sharing it. It may not do anything to heal coronavirus, but it may be enough to heal anxious hearts and get them focusing on the positive. We will get through this! We’ve got to believe. Do you believe? Are you up to the challenge? I have faith that you are. Again, we’re all in this together…and together, we can be unstoppable.
The Herbal Hare Tomestead and Animal Sanctuary 
