Since I have been here, I have been lied to, pushed physically, pushed verbally, taken horrible advantage of and criticized deeply. As much as I love my farm, the people of the area, not all, but enough, have not been welcoming or pleasant. Happiness is being with those who are like minded and I am the oddball out here. So, it is time to disperse assets, liquidate and move on. 
The latest incident was a purchase of hay from Willie Lesyk. He answered an ad I had in a local online site, looking for natural pasture hay with weeds. He told me that he had what I was looking for and offered to bring a bale to try. It was very nice indeed, so I said I would take 40 bales from him. He brought 5 bales and a bale of straw, and I paid him by cheque for those. It was the last week of September and the animals were still out to pasture so I only fed them a little of the hay to see how palatable it was for them. I did not open any other bales. 
Willie brought 3 more loads of bale. His first visit was with his children, three delightful little ones. I gave them a tour of the farm and they seemed like well adjusted happy kids. I believe he did that to lure me in. The first bale was nothing like the other bales. He asked for sum of money, which was for the entire lot of bales he was to bring and I wrote a cheque for it. It was 800 dollars too much and when I opened the other bales I was horrified. 
They were last year's straw, possibly last year's hay too, that had been picked up from the unharvested barley crop. The straw was dirty, mouldy and horrible. There was very little food for the animals in the hay, if it could even be called that. The cows do not even want to eat it. Willie refuses to come and see what he sold to me. He refuses to give back the overpayment either. And he has made no effort to bring the remainder of the bales, even though I have no use for them. At $60 per bale, that is the most expensive garbage I have ever bought , plus I inadvertently contributed to his charity fund, himself. 
I had sent text messages and phoned him, I called his wife too. There is no response. Now they simply do not answer the phone. I posted my dilemma on Facebook on the local forum and many people came forward privately via messenger or phone to tell me that he has done the same thing to many people. He has lied and cheated his entire life and even been beaten up for it, and still did not pay his debt to the ones who beat him up. 
I could take him to court and would definitely win, but there is no system for actually making him pay the money once it is awarded. So what is the point? 
A few years ago, the man who was renting my pasture wanted my calf and took him and his mom, my beautiful Jersey cow that I had brought out from Pink Mountain, BC. She was from a long line of strictly grass fed dairy cows. The farmer was going to breed her for me, saying he had Jersey semen in his tank. I told him that she is not grain fed and must not have grain. I stressed that even. I called him in 2 weeks and he was nonchalant. I called him two weeks after that and he told me she died. He found her belly up in the barn with the other cows. He admitted he turned her out with his cows. She bloated from the grain and died. He would not do anything to replace her and he had 300 some cows . I asked for a heifer. Nothing. And then his son showed up and actually pushed me because I refused to let them rent my pasture after that. I told the young man to get off my property and never show his face again. 
There have been countless incidents with the locals, small and large. I have been taken advantage of over and over. One would think a small rural area would have decent honest people, but it is anything but that here. Yes, the bad ones ruin it for the others. I am sure there are decent honest people, but I have come across more the opposite. 
So, I am getting out of Dodge. It was a 10 year plan anyhow, but I was finally so content with all the hard work I had done to make this place into what I wanted, a beautiful permaculture farm, that I really would have stayed for the rest of my life. Then this final incident with the hay happened. I am done. 
I am angry of course. That man, Willie Lesyk, needs to be strung up by his toenails. He owes money to everyone. I did not know that and he took advantage of my ignorance as his next victim. I do feel so sorry for those 3 little kids. How sad they have him as a role model. What possible future will they have? And the mother is in on the shenanigans as well. Gads! 
There is gratitude in my heart for the many lessons learned here. I am still going to be a trusting naive person, because I want to believe that people are good. But here, too many are not. So here, I do not need to stay. 
In January I will begin the liquidation of the bed and breakfast house furniture and contents and after that, everything else on the farm I am not taking with me, including my beloved animals. I do not want to part with some of my beautiful sheep and goats, nor Elsie my dairy cow. At this time I have no idea where I will end up, however; it is looking like the Gulf Islands in BC might be calling me. That is an organic community of small farmers and artists. Perfect! I should have paid attention to the type of interests people here had prior to moving, but it did not occur to me to do so. 
I feel totally defeated, used, beaten and without the fortitude to continue here. Sad. So sad. 

I have been dabbling in skin products for a long time now, almost 3 decades! Gads, I am beginning to think I must be old. 

There is so much misinformation out there, not only about what is good for skin, but how it should be used. One cannot fix skin problems that stem from ill health. It is that simple. The skin is a very large organ designed to protect the body. It has the most amazing chemical mechanisms to do that, but if the body is not well, the skin cannot do its job either. 

So, first is the diet. The old adage, you are what you eat, remains true. Our North American diet is very bad, leaving the majority of us malnourished. We eat an abundance of refined carbohydrates, and a scanty amount of vitamin and mineral packed vegetables. Eighty percent of what we ingest should come from plant matter, and I am not meaning grains, but real green, yellow, red, purple and in between highly coloured vegetables, locally grown organically, hopefully in YOUR own garden. If you cannot have a garden due to limited space, at least grow potatoes in 5 gallon buckets and tomatoes, beans, peas, or whatever you can in containers, even on a balcony. Sprout organic seeds in the winter for fresh greens. But eat your veggies! 

Lately, I have been on a special diet to kick start my thyroid. It is not working so well for the thyroid, because I don't know just how long that gland has not been at its optimal or how long it will take to repair, but the diet is amazing for inflammation reduction, which is the root of most illness. I suffer from arthritis and this diet has been amazing in alleviating the pain. It does help with my skin elasticity, because, really, when a body is fueled properly and running well, everything is at its optimal. I am so often told I have beautiful skin and look years younger. 

So, once the diet is on track and the body is being nourished well (I like the Specific Carbohydrate Diet, check it out), what is best to put on the skin? Two oils that are easily obtainable, grow with minimum pesticide or chemical inputs and are very skin loving are safflower and sunflower. While I prefer to purchase everything organic that I do not grow, there are some commodities that are safer than others, and these two oils are amongst them. Safflower oil has been hybridized to be high oleic, that is more like olive oil in its fatty makeup, which has changed it. Do not buy the clear, refined safflower oil, nor the high oleic clear refined sunflower oils. What you want is cold pressed or expeller pressed unrefined safflower and sunflower oils that are not the high oleic. The reason high oleic was selected, is to increase the shelf life, because any oil with a high percentage of linoleic acid, does not have a long shelf life and will suffer rancidity within months. Oleic is shelf stable much longer. But it is not as good for your skin. 

Flax seed oil, pumpkin seed oil, evening primrose seed oil, rosehip seed oil and borage seed oil, plus others like sea buckthorn and wheat germ, all high excellent skin loving properties due to a high percentage of good fatty acids. They are also good to eat! Remember, we are what we eat. If it is not food quality, you should not be putting it on your skin. My favourite skin oil that falls in the high percentage linoleic and linolenic category, meaning good for you inside and out, is hemp seed oil. Fresh raw pressed hemp seed oil has a nutty smell and taste and is a pleasant addition to salads and stir fries, but it is prone to rancidity and often is rancid right out of a fresh bottle due to improper storage. Fresh hemp seed oil is amazing for skin and hair, both if you eat it or apply it. But it is also not nearly as inexpensive as sunflower or safflower. 

If you do not like to apply oil to your skin, you can make it into a salve by using 1 part of beeswax to 4 parts of oil. Beeswax is very wonderful for skin in that application as well. Raw, unrefined, natural sweet smelling wax, that is, not the refined whitish scent free wax. Always choose organic, sustainably harvested treatment free apiary products. 

Skin loving oils are easy to use. Simply wash and then apply. Safflower is readily absorbed and does not leave a greasy feel to the skin. IF you can find organic, not refined safflower oil that is also not high oleic, please give it a try. Use it liberally on your foods, for baking and for your skin. Your body will love you for it! Oh, and for those who are in long season growing areas, bees absolutely thrive on safflowers and sunflowers! Grow some!

Fall, a time of surrender and farewells, a time of endings and long rests; it comes on quiet rustles, painting the landscape with golden hues. The harvests must be gathered and processed and preparations made for the icy winter ahead. No time is enough, for the blast of frosty breath comes all too soon, kissing the vines with instant death. Those that are strong attempt to stand steadfast under the onslaught of the cold, but they too, struggle with their last moments to survive. Yet, there is still much to accomplish. 
The garden was generous in some respects, however; with this short growing season, unless the more tender plants are started in kinder housing, no fruits are forthcoming. The short season squash, like the spaghetti and zucchini, did produce well enough, but the 100 plus day winter squash and pumpkins needed more time. Still, there was a small harvest. The skins were not ready for long term storage though and the fruits must be used very soon. The tomatoes are ripening inside, already picked weeks before the imminent first frost. As they ripen, they are frozen whole for soups and stews in the long winter. The carrots did poorly this year, though the fault was my own, having planted them in too little full sun. I am grateful for the stubby, little ones that are available and must be gathered very soon. 
Some folks adore the autumn. I am not one of them. It seems like an incredible rush against time here. There are still carrots and potatoes to gather, and garlic to plant, yet today, snow came just miles south of us. It will not stay, but it won't be long until it does. 
The summer coops were moved the other day, not too far, or the chickens would not be able to find them. Again, they will be moved into place for the winter, just a bit at a time. Insulation  and tarps need to be readjusted or redone. I cleaned the main chicken coop and put in new straw for the floor and nesting boxes. The Muscovy ducks do not enjoy the cold, likely due to their South American origins. They prefer to sleep in the main insulated coop with the chickens and I have devised a way for them to cohabit without being smacked with droppings. There is a tarp under the chicken roosts to direct the droppings to the floor and keep them off the ducks. 
There are about 20 new chicks, some more mature than others and still two hens attempting to hatch young ones. They will be fine with their little ones because the hens stop to warm the peeping babies more so than the ducks do. 4 Muscovy ducklings were hatched just days ago. They will have a more tying time to make it until they can regulate their own body temperatures. 
Several trees were downed in the windstorms at the beginning of summer and were cut for winter firewood. I have started to gather the wood to near the little farmhouse for use in the tiny wood stove. I hope there is time to pick up the rest of it and stack it. A load of gravel was delivered for the new shop erected this summer, but has not been distributed and it is was dumped in the way of the winter route. It is not a priority and falls after the wood and final resting places and tarps on the shelters for the winter. 
I have yet to locate any straw that is from clean grain. No one around here seems to grow without the use of chemical sprays and since the manure is used in my garden, I certainly do not want to introduce that here. Plus the animals sleep on the straw and should not be subjected to the chemicals for their bedding either. I will have to resort to using hay at twice the cost if I cannot find any clean straw. It is one of the major drawbacks of being here in this area. 
And so, the rush is on. Fall has come, not on soft feet treading lightly, but with a roar and a harsh drop on the temperature, a final onslaught to the beauty of summer. A few petunias, close to the little farmhouse, are struggling to stay abloom. One or two Marigolds still want to flower, even though their foliage has turned black from the frost. But, I have to work now too, and my time is more limited, with 8 hours being dedicated to substitute teaching. Time is of the essence. 
The rustling leaves are saying goodbye to their mothers, carpeting the forest floor with their warmth, sheltering the small creatures and tender new growth. Winter is coming! Winter is coming! 
​Stay warm, dear friends. 

I just watched a video this morning on how to fix our health problem. In North America, currently, 1 out of every 2 people will die from their ailments, including children. This generation of children will not outlive their parents. We have really screwed things up, but there is hope. The solution will not correct itself easily, however; it can be done. 
I came to the land 6 years ago. My search was for a farm that had not been conventionally farmed EVER. What that means, is that it had not been plowed, doused with Roundup (glyphosate) and nitrogen based fertilizers made from petroleum. The land was to be as it always had been, untouched by man, except in a light footprint manner of natural farming long years before. Why? 
Well, the soil is the answer to that. The video I watched this morning confirmed my feelings. In North America, the root of our illnesses, be they mental or physical, begins with the destruction of the bacteria in the soil, which began with the introduction of petroleum based fertilizers in the early part of the century and then with the application of glyphosate on most crops, especially grains, which further destroys all life in the dirt, and subsequently in those who eat from the dirt, aka, us. Many of our pseudo foods, such as tomatoes, never see dirt actually, and are greenhouse grown hydroponically in water with artificial nutrients. The result of that is the tomatoes we eat look pristine, perfect and beautiful, but they are devoid of any nutrition which would have been derived from living outside in natural soil teeming with bacteria. As it turns out, the bacteria are the key to our ecosystems, both internally and externally. I mean, they are the key to life on Earth. 
With over 80% of the world's population living in urban centres and eating foods that are not in any way exposed to these crucial bacteria found in the soil, our guts no longer have the ability to create strong defenses against chronic inflammation in our bodies. This inflammation, chronic as opposed to acute (which happens when we get a sudden injury), is the key to our many illnesses from schizophrenia to Alzheimer's or diabetes. There is a scientific mechanism to explain it in detail, and if you are so inclined please go ahead and do some research yourself on the bacteria, gut and brain connection. 
But here is the dirt on the dirt. This land, this farm in northeastern Alberta, has soil bacteria, though not as much as if it were in an area where the water and air pollution did not bring in fertilizers and Roundup run off and precipitation born particulate. Yet, it is better than any other place where the dirt has been ruined by years of chemical fertilizers, pesticides, herbicides, and fungicides and GMO crops.
We need the soil bacteria to populate our intestines so they mitochondria (little cells) can ward off inflammation, which is the key to our mass illnesses and untimely deaths due to such. The pain and suffering in North America is normal. Everyone is taking medication for something. Depression affects 1 in 2 people, children included. Diabetes is almost at that rate too and other chronic illnesses are climbing, including cancers of all sorts. 
Can you fix yourself? Sort of. 
First you need to eat only what your body can readily digest. That means NO dairy (except organic milk made into home made yogurt of kefir), no sweeteners (not even honey or steevia), no grains or pseudo grains (starches such as arrowroot or tapioca or rice flour used to substitute for grain flours) and no nuts or seeds. Eat only vegetables grown organically, not hydroponically organic either, and grass fed pastured meats, nothing processed or out of a package. Start slowly, because it is likely the only foods your guts CAN digest are processed carbohydrates. The rest may cause gas and bloating and other nasty side effects, UNTIL you can tolerate them. Some vegetables are good starters, such as pumpkin or squash. And you need to add some probiotics, like a little juice from home made organic sauerkraut, not the kraut itself initially. Kefir is good too, made from organic milk. By the way, coffee is made from seeds, sorry. Most alcohols are too, drat. 
This is not meant to recommend health treatments. The purpose of the blog is to encourage you to take your health matters into your own hands and learn more. There is a lot of information out there now. Most health practitioners are NOT on board yet and are still pushing medications as stop gap cures without addressing the symptoms at all. 
Do make friends with your local farmers who grow organically in the dirt. Buy all you can from them and eat liberally of the bounty. 
I am considering doing month long retreats at the bed and breakfast accommodation to kick start health. The other components of the retreat would be healing by being in nature and touching the Earth, music, spirituality, relaxation techniques and meal preparation. In one month, I am confident living at the farm will change people for the better. What do you think? 
Anyhow, the old adage, we are what we eat, is never truer than now. Only no one knows how long the soil needs to return to a healthy biome. There is an invasive weed that Mother Earth has sent to help, called Kudza, which will grow in nutritionally empty soil and begin the replenishment of the soil bacteria and nutrients. It is not killed by Roundup, but will destroy Roundup ready GMO crops entirely. I see it as a Godsend, but those making money from the plight of North America are trying their best to eradicate it, of course. If Kudza was permitted to do its work for a few years, it is a highly nutritious forage crop for animals and mediates the chemicals in the soil as well. Instead of growing corn and grain to feed the cows, the cows could be turned out to pasture and eat the Kudza. It would be a win win start to growing healthy soil again, and in turn, helping North Americans heal. 
I am more grateful than ever for my land. At first, it was difficult for me to understand why I was led here, but as the entire story unfolds, I am getting the picture. I feel now, in some way, I need to share this and help others on their healing journeys as well, but the 'how' has not been crystallized in my vision yet. I am sure, without a doubt, that when I am ready, the way will be shown. 
Namaste. May the light and love in you be the light and love in me and mine yours. 

Up until today, I had never even thought of eating pumpkin leaves. Yes, leaves. Of course, I have grown squash and pumpkins most of my life, and waited impatiently for those big orbs to ripen so I could make pies and stews and one of my favourites, curried ginger and squash soup. But I did not eat the leaves. 
Pumpkin leaves are prickly. Anyone who has grown pumpkin or squash knows it is best handled with long sleeves and gloves, for even though the prickles are small, they are very scratchy and pointed. But when the pumpkin leaves are cooked, the texture is very much like any green, such as collards or kale or beet tops. The prickles disappear. That is similar to stinging nettles, which was a first forage food for me this year too. They were delicious sauteed in butter and garlic, with a little salt and pepper, and no sting! 
I picked both young and mature pumpkin leaves, because I was trimming the runners so no more fruits would develop and the plant could send its energy and nutrients to the fruits already on the vines. The animals leave the leaves alone, likely due to the prickles, but I gave them the vines. The goats ate them, of course. They can even eat stinging nettles and Canada Thistles!
The pumpkin leaves were washed well in warm water and then cut into bits. That was accomplished by taking the largest leaf and laying the rest on it, then rolling the whole thing up. I sliced through the roll and voila! the leaves were cut exactly right. Today, I just did a simple dish with them, cooking the cut leaves with buckwheat. The buckwheat cooked before the leaves, because the only one I had was a cereal, similar to instant oats, though still in chunks. I let it sit for a while, but the pumpkin and squash leaves could have cooked a bit longer. All I added was a dollop, a large one at that,  of some butter, salt and pepper. 
It is really good! Next time, I will pre boil the leaves slightly before adding the buckwheat, and possibly sautee some onion and garlic to add as well. Tonight I served the buckwheat and pumpkin leaf dish with 24 hour stove top roast goose and scrumptious gravy. I already ate the coleslaw I made because I was starving waiting for the delciousness to be ready. Tomorrow, I am going to cook carrot tops. 
I had been doing some research on edible plants and learned that pumpkin and squash leaves are regularly eaten in other countries. There is a pumpkin leaf and rice roll I would like to try, maybe adding a little of the farm's own smoked pork to the rice and some Asian spices and flavours. I do not have green onions, but the chives are still going strong, so some chopped parsley, carrot tops, chives and of course, garlic (did I mention I love garlic?) will be included in those rolls. Carrot tops have more nutrition than the roots. Pumpkin leaves are right up there too! I am considering drying some and shredding them for inclusion in winter soups and stews. 
So, how about it? Would you eat pumpkin or squash leaves? 

My dear sweet orphan lambs, except Gina, the Icelandic, are penned separately within the ewe pen so I could keep an eye on them and whilst doing so, tame them so they are comfortable and easy with me. Next will be to halter them. Three of the lambs are purebred Shetlands, one is Icelandic, one is Cotswold and one is Jacob. These lambs were selected to stay on the farm for their very fine fleece and their mother's natures and abilities as well as hardiness. Thus far, I am so very pleased with the little angels. 
At first I would catch a lamb and sit her on my knee, stroking her head and fleece, and speak softly to her. This went on for three weeks. She would slowly sink into my embrace, close their little eyes and sigh deeply. My heart would hold them dear for a few minutes and then they would be set down, but not freed. Standing close to me was a little difficult for them at first, though as time passed, they also relaxed enough that bolting was not the first choice. 
Then I brought some tasty treats, alfalfa, new grass, weeds and dandelions, and held it for them. The Shetlands were already comfortable enough that they came immediately. Gina, the Icelandic did not come at all. I caught her and held her again and it was as though she suddenly realized she was safe, and she gave in to her instincts and became my friend. The next day all of the lambs came to me running! 
They will still require more work, and haltering will be a process, but then the lambs will remain tame and calm for the rest of our lives. They will be easy to shear, easy to milk, yes milk, and their lambs should also have no fear of me because their mothers will be so calm. Although this process will take a couple of months and twice daily visits, the results will last a lifetime for me, or rather the rest of my shepherd career. 
Sitting peacefully among nature, holding a lamb, stroking its fleece and listening to its heart beating, has to be one of the most tranquil events one could behold, and I get to do this daily. I am so blessed here on the Fat Ewe Farm. I wish you were here to share this joy!

How busy those gregarious little swallows are, swooping down to grasp a mouthful of the right mud, dedicating their endeavours to building their nests, then lining them with the soft breast feathers to cushion their young. Both the male and female, she in her drabs and he in his coral breasted finery, join in the labour of love, preparing to raise their brood with the dedication of any good parent. And they both guard the nest with their lives, fiercely swooping down on any bird large or small to come near and on me too. 
I was watching the birds build a nest on my house, on the east side where the morning sun comes, but just enough under the eave to have shelter and shade. Not wanting the swallow mess that comes with the nest, I dutifully hosed it down and with sheer determination, the mated pair of majestic swallows again rebuilt it. I left it then. Swallows are becoming endangered, forced out of their habitats by sparrows and other nasty birds. Perhaps they needed to be on my house for their own protection. So be it. 
And then I got thinking more about my house and my farm. When I came to this forsaken land in 2011, I was devastated. No consideration had been given to a population of like minded individuals. I simply assumed that people would be the same wherever I landed and I was so very wrong. I felt as though I stepped 25 years back in time where though the people were good people, they simply had gotten lost in the way of progressive thinking and country music. Country music! Oxymoron, for music is NOT that twangy horrible sound. My plan was for ten years to allow myself to learn to become self sustainable and thus far, I have. There are more things to learn, but just after the swallow incident, I pondered staying here. Staying HERE? 
Well, I do not really socialize, except a little at work and a little through social media when the folks come to visit the farm . Some have become friends of sorts, not the type one could call on in an emergency, but acquaintances that share some of the same values. That is so nice. 
Those swallows are what made me reconsider my ten year plan. I have worked incessantly to create this paradise for myself and for my family, should they choose to reside or visit with me. My little farm house suffered a sewer back up earlier this summer and as a result, finally I will have my hobby workshop down there. See? Good comes out of adversity! And the steel building is going up and will be completed shortly. At last a place to park my skid steer in the winter and to work iin the sheltered warmth of the woodstove! There will be some stalls for animals too, if the need arises to house any in the dead of winter, plus a wide space to shear out of the weather! 
So much of that adversity had to happen. How would I have grown? The flood in the basement last year at the bed and breakfast house resulted in the necessity of sorting through the nonessential 'stuff' that had been brought with in my move 5 years previously. At last I must do something with the boxes that had not been opened since coming here. Again, adversity was my friend. 
So, now I have a beautiful farm with animals I adore and know by name and the sounds of their voices. My dogs, my wonderful big fluffy dogs can live here in peace, all 7 of them. If I leave in a few years, rehoming older dogs may be near to impossible and would I give up my friends? I simply could not! The apple trees are starting to produce nicely and next year the cherries and Gogi berries should also be available. My heart is full of pride of ownership here and bursting with love for my animals and my land, though I know the land does not really belong to me or anyone else. Walking through the forest, breathing in that smell of the black poplar trees, sweet and green and fragrant is my favourite  summer pastime. Such joy! 
The swallows showed me that the nest they built with love is worth keeping, is worth defending and worth their diligent efforts. I see that now and I have made the decision to stay! Here, right here on the Fat Ewe Farm, I will be until I am too old to manage. I felt like a huge weight lifted from my shoulders upon making this decision, for starting again somewhere new was not really what I wanted to do. 
And this is it! The swallow, the farm , the dogs and me! I hope you have a huge smile for me now. I am content and happy here. I have made my nest. 

It was a bit of an emotional day today. My good friend, Allan, was buried in St. Paul, close to his parent's plots, which house his late father, however; his mother is still alive and well. She just has her place already waiting. 
I was with Allan when he planned his own funeral. When I go into the next world, my wishes are for no money to be spent on my passing. After all, I will be dead and gone and that which is left will only be the body, already starting to decay. Allan had different beliefs and wanted a lovely funeral at the Ukrainian Orthodox church, with a wooden casket and a pretty fresh flower spray, and a luncheon afterwards. He was able to orchestrate his passing quite nicely. In the Orthodox church, the mummified body is open for viewing during the service and friends and family are permitted to kiss or touch or hug the resting soul one last time. I know that sounds absolutely morbid, but I grew up in the Ukrainian Orthodox way and attended so many funerals as a child. Children do not have to kiss the body or the cross, not until they are around 10 or so, anyhow. But by then, death holds no shame, no stigma and no fear. I feel it is a healthy way to say so long to those we knew and loved. 

But, this morning, my dear cousin, my father's nephew from his oldest sister, passed away. Anton was only 9 or so years younger than my father, because in those days families were large and the first born daughter and the mother were often giving birth at the same time. There were 8 in my father's family. Women married young, so Auntie Annie was married and with child when Grandma Wosnack had recently had Peter. 

Anton and my father, who was my real world hero, were much closer than brothers. They shared their hearts with one another and faced sorrows and joys and tribulations and successes together. When the Cat road construction company was disbanded in 1969, and we moved to Vancouver, my father missed Anton more than he thought he ever could, and they called one another and talked every few days and drove back and forth from Alberta to BC to be together. My mother and Anton's wife, Ann, respected one another, but did not match that undying loyalty and friendship Anton and my father had. 

I also lost an Icelandic ram that I loved very much in the past week in the thunderstorm, where I believe he was standing too close to the fence and was struck by lightning when it traveled through the wire fence. Gunnar's skull was all that was left, without a shred of meat of sinew. There were three bare rib bones and some very charred wool in the burned out patch where Gunnar met his demise. I hoped to find him alive and had been hunting for him, but never did I expect to find just his charred remains. Sweet Gunnar, now gone. 
What happens to our hearts when we lose those we love? Of course, they break. Tears flow freely and the weight of the sorrow and loss sits heavy on our shoulders. Those who are dear to us, be they human or animal, are those we do not want to see gone. Instead, we want to do all we can to ensure we have these souls around us, because we love them so. It is not selfish, I do not think, to cling to their lives with every last fibre of our being, until the last breath is taken and even then, we do not want to let go. When my father passed away, I was by his side and I was holding his hand. He gave my hand one last squeeze and inhaled deeply and then he was gone, but I did not let go. I could not. 

With each life that touches our own, be it for a short while or a very, very long time, a piece of our souls remain together with the deceased. I will miss Allan. I will think of him and find him gone too soon. I will miss Anton, too. For he was special to me and the last tie to the Wosnack Brothers (plus Anton, the nephew). None are left now. 

Time does not wait. Time does not slow down, nor does it move too quickly. When the end comes, it is final. All that remains are the memories, and how thankful I am for those. In the cold of the winter evening, I am sure I will be sitting by the wood fire, contemplating life and remembering those I have loved whom are no more on this plane. Yet, in my heart, there will be warmth and in my spirit, there will be fondness, for the singular times I have shared in my life with those too soon departed. 
Good bye Allan. 
Good bye Anton. 
Good bye Gunnar. 
May you all be in a place of love, light and joy. 
Namaste. 

There are quite a few people who raise goats that love the bottle fed babies. Bottle babies, of course, have no aversion to humans and can be easily handled as adults, but at what cost? 
The babies that are removed from their dams and are bottle fed, have no idea how to be goats. They are so dependent on their humans for food, that they do not learn to properly forage. Meals are delivered via bucket or bottle, and grain or other feed comes also from the human caretaker. 
The babies do not have a good concept of where and what to eat. In my setup for summer, the goats and sheep are cohoused and share the pasture. While the sheep mainly prefer to stay on the open grass and find tasty morsels of clovers, blades of grass and various weeds, the goats head to the bush where they demolish with gusto the caraganas, raspberries, roses and any other delicious  shrubs. They do also nibble on the tender grass in the bush. 
The bottle babies will not follow the goat herd out to the pasture. They follow the human. Me. So I walk out to the pasture with them every morning and hope they will find something good and continue with the goat herd, but on some days, they simply stay by my side and even if I wait, the moment I turn to leave, they follow. How frustrating. 
But the worst part is, without their dams teaching them what to eat, they eat the wrong things. Because the bottle babies return to the night pen, where there is grass and clover in abundance, and other weeds, they eat it. The other sheep and goats will not eat there. Their mothers have taught them that eating close to home is bad and it is. That is where the animals defecate and urinate and in the poop are worm eggs, which crawl to the tips of the grass and weeds and are waiting to be eaten so they can infest the goat or sheep. This then leads to worm overloads. 
In my herd of goats and flock of sheep, I seldom have to deworm anything. That is because of several reasons. One, I have only kept naturally pest resistant animals. Those that constantly succumb to worms are sold. Few have died. No matter what I did for them, they simply could not recover well enough to thrive. But they were also the animals that ate close to home. 
There is hay in the night pen because goats and sheep always eat. We tend to think they sleep from night to morning, but that is not the case. They often get up and eat a bit and then sleep again, so it is paramount to keep food for them or they too will eventually eat the grass and weeds in the night pen out of hunger. They know not to and won't if they have another food source. So, they always have hay year round. Ideally, the night pen should be a dry lot, that is a pen where no grass or weeds are found at all and the ground is covered with shavings, or straw or something instead. My night pen is in a small bush area, which provides security and shelter. The goats have a barn and the Guernsey cow has a lean to. The sheep stay outside by choice. But they do not eat the forage there. 
Now, back to bottle babies. I recently added 3 goats to my farm, Swiss Blacknecks, a rare breed in Canada. They are beautiful dairy goats and I want to breed them and further their development in Canada. While I do like that the goats are tame and friendly, I greatly dislike that they are under foot constantly, that they are clueless when it comes to foraging, that they do not herd with the rest of the goats, that they are human dependent and that they are more work for me than they should be. The day before the Swiss Blacknecks arrived, a Nubian doeling joined the farm. She is not bottle raised, but was hand raised and what a difference. She is not dependent on my, though I can approach her and pet her or examine her without her panicking and running away. Hand raising animals with their mothers in place is by far the better way. 
Emma, the Nubian, is friendly, easy going and gentle, but she follows the herd as she would have been taught by her dam. She knows not to eat the forage in the night pen, instinctively, because of her exposure to adult goats as a baby. I wish she would bond with the Swiss Blackneck girls as they are all new and arrived a day apart, but the Blacknecks are too human bound due to their removal from the herd and exposure just to humans. 
I am planning to have milk goats in the next year. I have learned that there is a better way to raise the babies than to remove them. They need to stay with their mothers to learn how to be goats. My plan is to keep them apart at night after a couple of weeks, milk the moms in the morning and separate them again at night. This is for sure more work and at first more stressful for the babies and moms, but it is a win win situation. No bottle babies. Dam raised kids that know how to be goats. Milk for goat cheese for me and milk for the babies too. In conclusion, I just want to emphasize how keeping bottle babies away from the goat herd does a great disservice to a naturalized forage flock. If the goats are in a dairy situation, it likely does not matter much, but on a farm, complete with predators, dogs and dangers, being with the mother and the herd is necessary. At least I think so. Do you?

Every day there is much to be done on the Fat Ewe Farm. From tending the animals to cooking a meal, from loving a lamb to doctoring a chicken, from harvesting the garden to sharing a glass of wine with friends, my hands serve me and those whom I can share with. How often have I sat pondering how life would have been different should I had chosen box B instead of A. How much I would not have known or shared from my life on the farm? 
I am very grateful this day. My lifelong friend is coming to dinner tonight. I am preparing a gourmet feast for our friend and for her and myself. We will have stuffed grape leaves with lime sauce for an appetizer followed by a herb garden salad with homemade balsamic dressing. A savoury tomato soup is simmering away on the burner and long soured bread is proofing in the oven. The main course will be lamb loaf with Portabella mushroom sauce, organic edamame with garlic butter, steamed broccoli, and curried lentils and rice. Dessert is a baked apple with Saigon cinnamon and brown sugar, drizzled in coconut cream. Of course where there is good food, there is wine to sip, and a glass of coconut water to stay hydrated and satiated. I love to create gourmet meals, but not as much as I love to serve them and to share them. The chores are nearly finished and though I planned to paint a second coat on the dungeon (basement) floor, that can wait until tomorrow. 
I got thinking about what I did for the past two days only and wrote this little missive rather than just spell it all out. Mostly, I am just so at peace and very grateful for my life at this time. And, thank YOU for being part of it. Namaste. 

                                                                                       These Hands
                                                                          I am grateful for these hands.
These hands that held a young orphan lamb and stroked her soft fleece, loved and cuddled her until her heart was quiet.
These hands that trimmed the dung from the back end of a ewe so she would remain healthy and problem free.
These hands that gave the gift of pickled eggs to two young men. 
These hands that made some gentle soap so those using it would have soft chemical free skin.
These hands that wrote words to my beloved daughter so far away in a foreign country, though so close to my yearning soul.
These hands the bled while erecting a temporary shelter for small ones to get out of the incessant and unforgiving rain.
These hands that created bread, long soured dough, the old fashioned way, to share with my friends and loved ones.
These hands that planted seeds in the garden so they would grow and be bountiful for my winter sustenance.
These hands, wrinkled, old, misshapen and arthritic, that so tenderly held the hand of an old friend whose last days are nigh.
These hands that are lovingly preparing a gourmet supper for great friends from near and far and will willingly share the nourishment.
These hands that tenderly stroked the fur of a dog imparting much love with every touch.
These hands that Painted the floor and walls of the basement so that it can become a welcoming workspace.
These hands that gratefully gathered the eggs given freely by the farm chickens.
These hands that picked fresh greens for the Angora rabbits stuck in cages.
These hands that combed the gifted wool from my gentle sheep.
These hands that gathered the herbs to infuse in healing preparations and drinks.
These hands that were washed so many times this day, worked and felt so very blessed.