Winter Solstice, and the star in the East

The 21st of December, I spent the day being a goat midwife to a momma goat that wasn't supposed to be having kiddos in the cold. But nature had different plans.

My sister and I had been checking on our goat night and day, over and over. Our goat, Sugar Plumb (A name picked out by my niece) was looking as big as two boats. Yet she still wasn't hatching.

 Anyway, Bess and I thought she was due two weeks ago.

So we'd wake up, pop out of bed and check on her, first thing, because, well, it's freezing, bitter cold, and our barn is not that warm. It would get us out at the wee hours of night, where the sky is the clearest, and the frost is the coldest.

Some mornings I would get up just in time to watch the sun to peak up over the frosty mountains. And I got some very beautiful morning sun-gazing in. We'd check on that goat so much it was getting tedious. We started calling her, Mrs. Potts, as a watched pot never boils.

But the day of the winter solstice, the 21st of the 21st century, of the 21st year. She decided to give birth. Which I'm very happy that it was in the afternoon, and not three in the morning.

A few hours before she officially hatched, my sister asked me to go get the hack saw for the kitchen pipes that she was helping my brother fix, as the sink decided to be plugged, and frozen. Which is another story entirely.

The hacksaw was by the barn, so I decided to check on the goat as I was getting the saw.

 Sure enough, she---the goat, was in labor. I brought my sister the saw, and while she messed the clogged sink with my brother, I winterized the barn, while watching over the goat. Though she did take her time, and was very vocal in her sufferings. When she finally got something showing, it was rather odd.

It was the baby goats bum. Its little tail was sticking out of the mom's behind. A tail within a tail. It was not something I had expected. It caused me to panic, as baby goats are supposed to be born head first, not butt first. I tried pulling that little butt out, but it wouldn't come. It's quite frightening as they can get their feet all tangled up, and it's not so nice.

 So I yelped out for Bessie's assistance, but her hands were super dirty from messing with sink pipes. So she left to clean herself.

Meanwhile, momma goat decided she was going to push. So I decided to pull. I was talking to God this entire, time, and asked for assistance, and thankfully as I pulled, momma goat pushed, out that cute, white, little baby popped. Bum and all.  No hours of struggle. Whew!!

A perfect, white baby boy.

 I was super happy, and giddy. I started giggling, so glad, because it could have been a lot worse. And as it was just me, God, and the goat. I was very glad.

 Then after toweling off baby number one, baby number two decided to show its head.

And it was a big, big head, with a hoof.

That is also not too good. As they are supposed to come out with both their feet and head first.

 I tried pulling it out, but I was worried I was going to cut off its air, as it was feeling rather jammed in there. It was so big!  I yelped for Bessie's assistance, once again, and she came, and we both waited until the goat pushed, and Bess who is super strong, pulled that bugger out.

 This one was a huge, cream colored boy. Perfect as well.

We were all glad the goat finally hatched, and all was well.

I thought that momma goat was finished. 

Bess left. And I toweled off the little goat, then started stapling tarp over the barn, to keep it warm.

 Meanwhile, I heard Sugar Plump being vocal again. I peered back into the barn, and screeched. Baby number three's heads was getting squished up against the barn wall as it was poking out the momma goat's bum. And the momma was also smashing her other two babies, in the process. I swooped in, grabbed the babies, and set them out of her way. Then I pulled on baby number three, which also had only one hoof out with its head showing. But I pulled anyway, and out it popped.

 This one was a cute, little black and white girl. By that time, it was getting dark. I was cold, my feet wet and soggy, and we, myself and I, were ready to go inside.

 Since they were born on winter solstice, and since it was the 21st of December. And around that exact same date, last year, Jupiter and Saturn aligned to form the great conjunction, the Christmas star. I'm thinking of naming them, (though Bess might not agree) Gaspar (or Caspar), The white goat, Melchior, (Milkior) the creamy one and Balthasar. (Zar) The girl.

In honor of the three kings who followed the Christmas star to Christ. This time the tree little kid kings are born in a stable. Not a very warm one, at that.

 

Maybe the second coming will be a bit like that. We're all tired. Sick of gearing up. Going out freezing our hinie's off, and nothing's going on.  All of us tired of waiting. Getting up at the butt crack of dawn. And going numb because it's so nose hair freezing cold.

 

I remember watching for the Christmas star, last year, going out many, many times so I wouldn't miss it. The funny thing was, I pretty much missed seeing it by a stitch, as it was something that took its time coming, and then when it came, it went fast.

 It's hard to be a wise person, when you don't know exactly when to look, where to look, and what time. And it does get tedious.

I've been reading books by Paramahansa Yogananda, "The Yoga of Jesus," and several other of his books. He has a unique view of the Wise men when they came to visit Jesus.

His view of the wise men, following an eastern star, was that they were, in fact, wise men from India. Who were following the inner light. Their third eye. The star in the East. To Christ. To the light of the world.

He also said, and I'm paraphrasing---what would be the purpose of Christ second coming if his consciousness had not been born inside you? If all our hearts were not changed? 

It got me to thinking that his second coming, perhaps, will be not so unlike his coming of old. Plus, seeing how much we all can't seem to enjoy peace that much, and get bored with it, what would be the propose of a second coming? Unless his spirit was born in all our hearts. How else would we know him, even if he did come back, physically? What would it change?

Maybe his second coming will be subtle, when we are all sleep. Not how we picture it at all. When it is spit freezing cold outside, and super uncomfortable to keep our eyes open. At midnight. Coming like a thief, not to steal anything, but to take back what was already his.

The light of the world hidden in the most unsuspecting place. Tucked away in your own "stable." And only the wise find him. 

Coming at a time when men's hearts are literally failing them. A time when the entire world is being taxed by fear, bullied into submission, conditionality, made to bow to an egoic power not limited to governments, and the Caesars----but internal Caesars, and those closest to us.  Ourselves. Every person is making a sojourn to their place of origin. Seeking. Trying to procure something...

            We don't want to miss the event. But goodness, we are pretty tired. And try as we might, it's hard not to close our eyes. It's hard to see through the fog, and frost.

Our Inns, and our Outs are all very full. Psychologically all our outbuildings are brimming over as well. Even when we clear out space, people, events, our thoughts fill it up faster than we can keep it spacious. Objects, clogged sinks, Christmas, and life pulls you into object consciousness, all spare rooms become taken. We don't even have room in an old dog house, or something that he could perhaps squeeze him into. All our storage units are full. All our rentals taken. All real estate of the heart, rented, bankrupted, over drawn, repossessed.

If anyone comes knocking, beggar, thief, or the king of kings. It's not like we're especially wanting to answer. It's probably somebody wanting something. And we're just worn out from it all. And for good reason.

            But perhaps, if you're watching, peeking out your blinds, trying your best to make room, maybe we'll be able to be like the shepherds and wise men again. If you open your stable doors, full of cows, and sheep, and pigs, and poops, and make room for his light, your unassuming, mortal self, will remember the light within.  And you will be reborn.  Our consciousness will remember its immortality of its own soul. Christ will come again.

We are all little lamps. Some burning bright. Some a bit shaky. Some being lit, one by, one, until peace on earth is ultimately restored, and goodwill is all we will wish for everyone. A second coming that changes us all from the inside out.

One of my favorite gurus, Shunaymurti, mirrors a lot of my own thoughts in one of his beautiful videos.

Three baby goats. The star in the east. The wise men. The second coming. This is my simple Christmas message. But in closing, I thought I'd just share something I scribbled out in the middle of the night.

 

Aligned

When all crumbles, and the patterns of my life shatter. When all the bits I thought were me are scattered.

When the masks come off, and the veil is lifted. When grain is gathered, and the chaff is sifted.

When all I knew is seen clearly. And all who I loved so dearly.

When the real is seen, both good and bad. Will I let go of what I once had?

Can I let all the old stars fall that have lost their light? How will I know when to turn left or right?

 God be my Zodiac chart. Align my life to your loving heart. Fix my eyes upon your light, give me a second sight. Plant my soul in your galaxies, eliminate my mind's endless complexities.

Where moon and star dance above, fix me to your sunlight of love.

Predict my future, and move me at your will. You are my compass, my only thrill.

Like the star in the eastern sky, bring me into your all seeing eye. 

         Teach me the wisdom of the wise, where I can see through all the lies. Guide me to the king of kings, where men and angels sing. 

           Where the gold of grace, and love are found, where all are brought into your harmonic sound.

Marko Polo

 

            I've been reflecting on this year. It's gone by in a blink. It really doesn't seem like it's been a whole year. Time seems oddly different to me. More so than ever before.

            Days, seem like minutes. Weeks seem like days. Months weeks.

            Years, merely months.

            I'm not sure what timeline I'm in, but time seems like an old crusty relative that comes to visit once in a while, but one that is stodgy, stale, full of woe. Stuck in the future, or the past. And when it finally goes home, I'm glad that it finally left.

    Never in my life have I felt more like a tree, or a shrub, or a rock, or a river.  And am glad of it.  Never have I spent more time with myself, meditating, clearing my own internal clutter. Never have I been still enough to know that my own vibe is lovely as it is. Like a forest full of life, but only a life one can see if one is absolutely still.

    Sometimes I find myself startled by the noise of what we all call normal life. Like a simple bird on a tree minding her own business, when someone lights up a firecracker and tosses into the air.

        It seems more than natural to feel a little ruffled by it if you're not used to such noise.

            The other evening, Bess and spent the evening watching some amazing talented dancers. I really enjoyed some of their acts. It was loud, and quite lovely. They were excellent.

            But the funny thing was, for all its glitter, and excellence, we both came home, and sighed in relief, and stared up at the night's sky.

            The glittering there was subtle. Quiet. And far more grand, and in harmony with our souls.

            So we both got on our bikes, and moon biked, as we have taken to doing at the most darkest quiet hours of the night. And enjoyed that ever so much more.

            Night biking has been a lovely addition to our life. I wonder why it's taken me so long to discover this.

            Why have I not given myself permission to bike in the dark?

            I don't know.

            The stars were clear, and wonderful.

            Biking at night is like being in your own spacecraft. Fast, quick, beautiful. Your focus is always on the light. And when the moon is out, you can see nearly all you need to.

            Here you can explore your own souls galaxies, while the starlight lights up parts of yourself that were hidden.

            You're much more likely to see falling stars, as your eyes will always be looking up.

            When it's darkest. And the moon is nowhere. And biking in the dark makes us invisible to one another, that is when Bess will call out, "Marko."

            I'll hear her to the side of me, and know exactly where to steer. And I'll answer back. "Polo."

            This way, we can keep a steady course.

            Biking in the dark.

            Though we do have bike lights.

            It's far more interesting to be intuitive. And keep our eyes on the stars.

            That way you just know where to go.

            When it's midnight.

            And the roads are dark. And everyone is asleep. And the stars are the clearest.

            It is the best time for moon biking.

            The witching hour. Where cast we cast spells with our words by speaking our deepest truths without judgment or censor. Lone dogs bark in the distance, the only souls aware of our passing. Like two specters in the night, drinking in the moonshine, and dipping our souls in starlight.

            Here, we are invisible.

            Yet we can see everything much more clearly. And most of all, the days static, if there has been any acquired, melts off.

            It's strange to realize that who knows how many lifetimes we have all spent collectively adding to the static of each other.

            Noise.

            Never giving stillness a chance.

Instead of quietly being in harmony with ourselves, and our own natural rhythms, pointing to the stillness we all seek, like a tree, or calm lake, we pound on our drums, demanding attention, creating conflict, and chaos. Noise.

            Static.

            Friction.

            And the hunger of both performer, and audience, is doubled by the concert, instead of feeling connected, at home, and closer to God, we feel more isolated, envious, and hangry for something else.

            The comforting thing to know is that every single one of us is biking in the dark, in the sea of humanity. We can't really tell where we are going, or how far we are from home.

            Nor do we realize that home is inside our own hearts. Nowhere else. So there's nowhere to really go, except within. 

            We can't even see ourselves, or each other clearly.

            We can turn on our man made headlights. But it will drown out the sky. And we can't really see far ahead with them, anyway.

            But if you quietly let the sky to be your guide, the you that gets is in the way of steering, disappears. You gradually feel your way through the night. And every once in a while, if you're unsure, you can call out, "Marko."

            And if you're lucky, you'll hear a shout back. "Polo."

            You'll know that you're not alone.

            And that is quite enough.

            You can be at peace in darkness.

            We are all where we need to be. Placed perfectly in our orbits, like soul stars. Rising and falling according to the divine pattern of life.

            And the ride is far better, than arriving.

            We are all steering as best we can.

            We are all just fine doing our moondance.

            Stardance.

            Bikedance however it needs to be.

            We can boom out our lives, loudly, hungry, adding to the collective hunger. Or we can pass like stars in the night, quietly. Silently. Happy. Full, adding our own bit of light to the sky. We can be steady, like a compass, or we can fall, and burn beautifully.             

            There is nothing lacking.

            Only our awareness of our own inner light, that can be easily lit as soon as we tune in. And when we are in harmony with that light, we are in resonance with the entire cosmos.

 

 

Crystal Singing Bowls

 So I've bought several singing bowls in the past, and I was never satisfied with the sound.  This time around, I decided to see if crystal singing bowls sound better than metal ones. 

My summery is. Yes. 

There are some metal ones whose sound is really amazing, as well. But the crystal singing bowls sound is ethereal, I can't help but be biased and like them better. Other than they can break a lot easier than metal ones.  I'm probably going to fill my room with them, much to my family's horror, as the sound drives them nuts. Hence, I may have to migrate elsewhere, as I could do this for hours---or until my arms get tired, and still enjoy it without getting bored. The more you play, the better and louder they resonate. 

The sound just fills the room. 

As an experiment, I put sand in them to see if the vibrations changed the patterns, but the sand all just globed into a pile. Then I tried filling them with water. The water was much more responsive. The water rippled with the most beautiful patterns, and the water bubbled and looked like it was boiling. Much like a humidifier effect. You may have to turn down the sound on your device, as the sound is all encompassing, and may buzz out your speakers.

These crystal singing bowls make a chord together---E solar Plexus, C Root Chakra G, Throat chakra.

                                                       

                                         

Bees and do's

 Sitting on my back lawn, with my mom in a chair, me plopped on the grass, sitting by my sister Bess with folded legs enjoying the evening sunset.

This is a conversation that ensued, all started by Bess, noting that there were lots of flies shooting around, their wings lit up in the sun, just flying in squares, "measuring the air," as my mom would say. 

"Bee's should be called dos, and tree's or rocks should be called be's. Because Bee's are busy all the time, hence they are totally not Bees, they are do's. or dos'

It would be much more appropriate to say when looking at a bee on a flower.

"Look there's a bunch of doos, doing their thing." 

And when looking at a forest of trees, wow, "look at that forest of Bee's they are so still, and beautiful."

Horse should be called, runs.

Cat's mews, or purrs.

Goats, should be eats.

Cows, milks. 

Pigs, muds. 

Grasshoppers should be called boings. 

Snakes should be called slithers.

Flies----they can still be called flies. Someone named them right.

Birds, wings.

Giraffes, would be longs, or Talls.

Squirrels, nuts.

Stephanie's would be butterflies, or dandelions.

Bessie, violins, or music.

Mom---books or words. Probably books. Religious ones. 

Elephants would be called hose noses. 

Monkeys, arms. 

Dogs, Barks. 

Lions, Roars. 

Fish, swims.

Worms, wriggles. 

Ladybugs, reds. 

Flowers, colors, or perfumes. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Butterflies

 I just had several of these beauties hatch out. The chrysalis on my window, and on the power cord in my bedroom. There are about five more about to hatch, though one caterpillar snipped off a leaf that had a chrysalis on it, so I had to prop the leaf up so the butterfly could hatch better. I'm just posting pictures, as they are so beautiful, I have to share. It's so magical how fast they turn into butterflies.

 

Floods! Rain! Lightening!

Crazy floods last night! 

 

And More hail and crazy, crazy rain today (Aug 19 2021) 

https://kutv.com/news/local/delta-officials-ask-residents-not-to-use-water-or-sewer-due-to-city-flooding

https://www.facebook.com/fox13newsutah/videos/427274031942748

So prior to this bizarre storm, I kid you not. My sister, Bess and I had a conversation as we were milking our goats. The air has been hot as heck. Everyday, for several weeks, you can't hardly see the mountains because of the smoke that's been thick, and heavy. Everyday the sun is ruby red because of the fires, and smoke. It's been so, so, hot and miserable, I just getting sick of it. Anyhow, I was talking to Bess. I said, I was ready to manifest rain, or something to that effect, and we proceeded on talking about how it would feel, and how my plants would all get watered in great detail. I imagined water coming down in torrents, and just felt the feelings of the rain coming down. It was very nice. 

Then I went about my day.

 Then....

Then...towards evening the most phenomenal, crazy, amazing, blue, green, pink, lightening/rainstorm happened. Lighting all night! It was like someone had turned on a strobe light of lightening. It was so hard to sleep. Thunder clapping. Zig, zag, blinding lightening. It was terrifying. Bess even crawled into bed with me because she was afraid of the trees outside her room getting hit with lightening. We had a total, favorite things moment.

Then rain! Rain! RAIN!!! Crazy, wet, wonderful rain. Shooting out of the rain gutters, spilling everywhere. Water filling up our irrigation ditches that had zero water in them. 

This morning water buckets we have for our animals were filled to the brim with water. Water was everywhere! Puddles, motes, crazy, huge lakes. We rode our bikes past a cornfield, and it looked like it had been irrigated.  Delta city, where there's lots more cement is super flooded. Parks are flooded, they look like lakes. People are sandbagging their houses, because their window wells are flooding, and toilets are not flushing. 

  Oh my gosh. 

So yeah. Be careful what you visualize in depth. Coincidence.  Probably. Most likely. But a crazy, interesting, one. One I shouldn't be super vocal about----because this storm isn't all that great, as so many houses are flooded. I feel bad for all the people who are flooding away, much worse than us. 

One lady has 8 feet of water in her basement. People are sandbagging, and ripping out carpets. So that's not so good. And the rain is still coming down.

 The air is so much clearer. My lawn. Well, is very watered. Flooded.  I only wish I was able to capture the lightening last night! It was up there with one of the most amazing lightening storms I've seen!!!!

I'll probably be back with more pictures, once I can step outside. But for now, it's very, soggy. Farmers had to cancel their irrigation turns because---well, nobody needs water right now.

And all I can say right now. Rain! Oh my!

Magic

I believe in magic.

I believe in the kind that you can't see. Like wind, or light waves, sound, all the invisible stuff we take for grated. 

I believe that water has memory. I believe trees are my friends.

I have one tree, I like to hug every time I see it, and I think it likes me too.

I believe there are invisible forces so subtle that connect us to each other, and God. A magic that defies our human mind, and puts science to shame.

A magic that you can only be in alignment with in order for you to perceive it. 

I sat on the grass, today, at play practice, watching everyone interact. And I realized something. That most of us don't know that this magic is inside of us, we spend an awful amount of time seeking a validation that can only be found on the inside. And once you find it, you're never, ever alone. Even when you want to be. People find you in your solitude. It's weird. 

This magic is so beautiful, but nobody seems to know about it. We think our wi-fi is powerful. 

Try the wifi of the human heart.

Try God's Gps system.

Try tuning into his power grid. It puts our little ego games, and power grids to shame. 

It's funny because our little egos try pretty dang hard to compete whenever we feel threatened by something more powerful than us. Take for instance  the installation of the 5G internet that they've been trying so hard to get working. 

    In esoteric circles they say that the earth itself is evolving into a higher frequency, and whatever the planets are doing---is mirrored in ourselves---where we drop our 3d egoistic paradigms and flow into the 5D golden age, where true unity, and love, and real power is taking its rightful place in the cosmos.

I feel like right now, there's two huge choices. 3d or 5d. And there's so much crap trying to pull us into our old way of being.

Tonight, it struck me on a deeper level than before. Seeing so many people I care about following so very obediently, doing the "right thing," getting va##inated. And once they do, I look into their eyes, to see the magic in their soul, but something feels off. Their them, their real them, feels distant.  Maybe it's all in my head, but I feel it, maybe even more than seeing it.

So many people are getting sick---and not just sick sick. People are literally dying hours after having their Va##ine, they are getting heart attacks, strokes, and palsy and so much more. And most people are just bullied into getting it. Following the heard. 

I have never been one to follow the status quo. Ever. And this whole thing screams cult. A cult of fear, and division, and darkness. Something pulling us away from ourselves.

I know that by saying this my blog most certainly can, and perhaps will be blacklisted, and shut down.  I thought it was high time I said it. And if my blog's time is up, then I'll accept that. It's been a good run. And if people are banned from going anywhere unless they conform, then I guess I'll be okay with that too. Just as long as I can have peace of mind, I'll be content.

I could go on, and give examples---personal stories from people, friends who know friends who've been seriously harmed from the Va##ine. 

All I will say is that when I was a kid I nearly died when I got my first set of Va##ines. And am not going to tempt fate again. No.

I've spent a small fortune on cleaning my temple, and many years, sweeping it out. I know what a stark contrast it is to have a clean temple verses a dirty dark one. And to see the contrast is a beautiful, beautiful gift, I can only thank a higher power for, and all the sand in my oysters. Without which, I may have never found the pearl.

I know with every fiber of my soul, that this is something designed to keep us from flowing with the earth into a higher state. To keep us stuck in ourselves, away from our hearts, and true unity, to keep us isolated from with the deepest magic of love, the light of God.

   

Corona actually means crown.

Our crown chakra is said to be the portal which God--frequency, light, and unity flows. 

Let no man take your crown---a scripture that I believe was a guidepost for times like these.     

There is real magic out there. A power that is divine, and good, beautiful and full of love. It's not something we can earn, or wear like religious cloak, or creed. A purifying, powerful, sword, that cuts away all the dividing lines, of race, religion, gender, and whatever thing that we've held up as a barrier to the light. 

A burning sword that slices through disharmony, with truth and love, from within, extending in all directions. 

It functions outside of any label.

And I believe the "egoic power" doesn't want to be dethroned, as it knows it's time is done.

Period.

So it's trying to keep everyone small, from knowing their sovereignty.

One last stand to take the crown. 

A dark power, that doesn't want this good, and pure power to overthrow it. A soft, beautiful power, with a magnitude, grace, and strength that is so subtle I don't think any of us can comprehend, define, no religion could explain, no force could contain it, and no mind could grasp it. That's why it's so amazing.

A frequency of light. That works here, now.

Something no mind could grasp, because the mind is just a program, something meant to separate us, to keep us on our isolated planets. Something that will eventually fail---as most old folks homes, with professors and religious people can attest to.

It is a power that functions outside of time.

And all we need do is tune in.

Be in harmony with it, surrender to its holy power.

And maybe, the world will change one heart at a time. 

One peaceful person at a time.

End greed in ourselves, end it in the world. 

Building a bridges so others can cross. 

Stop listening to the darkness, giving it power. Start tuning in to the frequency of goodness.

Step into light, and be the light-workers that the world so needs. 

Heal the planet by healing ourselves.

Solve the political imbalance of power in our own families, in or own hearts. Promote peace. Seek peace. Be peace. Let our mind's agenda of control fall, and allow whatever spirit shows you to dissolve the shadows.  The subtlety of God's handwork will clean you from the inside out, if you let it. Because that is where he lives.

Live from the hegemonic power of love, instead of ego. As one of my favorite guru's Shunyamurti has repeated over and over again.

Because that is the only thing that will be left standing, that is the only real and lasting currency. 

Any investments in that kind of currency will never be lost. 

A crown that must not be taken, bartered, or given away in the name of "the higher good." 

There is no other higher good, than knowing who you are, who God is, and tapping into that power.

Maybe the fire we perceive as hell is just the pure love and essence of and image of God burning and purifying our being and incinerating anything that is not real, is not love.

A love that burns away everything else, because there is nothing else.

And if you haven't cultivated that, allowed it to grow in your own soul, and instead have plundered and planted darkness---taken the crowns away from others. The karmic smoke may just be all that is left.

We may feel isolated.

We may feel disconnected. 

But that is all an illusion. The only real thing is unity.

Fires may be burning. 

People may be trying to take your crown.

Don't let them!

We may be in a drought. Thirsty. Wanting rain.

But to end it, I think we all have to look inward. Always. The outside will always reflect back, just as the planets and stars, and the earth, will reflect our own pulse, and ultimate state our hearts are in.

 Just think how fast the earth could transform if we all collectively tuned in to a deep inner harmony? What if our souls were well tended, and watered, and looked after? What kind of seeds of light could be planted there.

What kind of garden would grow in the outside world if we ended dryness in our own beings? Perhaps, it could end starvation of spirit and body, and feed an entire world from our well watered soul-soil because the harvest could be ten fold. 

Hold onto your crown. It is yours.

 Even if it means living like a monk for the rest of my life, I will gladly keep mine.

 

 

Hungry Irish cats getting their breakfast on the farm

 

 

 

So yesterday my cats were being particularly cute. They like to reach out and try to grab the milk as it comes their way. They love their morning breakfast ritual. I thought it was fun, because as I dubbed the music over it, the goat's hoof sounded like it was in time with the music. I never knew we had a river dancing goat, but I think we do. And some Irish cats. 

And just because I'm feeling a bit Irish, or Celtic, and love listening to some good bagpipes, I have to share these pictures of my red shamrocks dressing up in irish plaid. The wind was blowing just right through the window, creating a vacuum effect, so the pattern of the screen made them look something like an irish kilt.

A skunk's tale

Last month a skunk ate all my chicks except for two---that I had locked away from the rest so they wouldn't get picked on. 

Prior to this, I knew there were skunks about, as one evening my sister and I both went out to the chicken coup to gather eggs in the pitch dark because I hadn't gathered them during the day. 

I had a flashlight, and was just about to open the chicken coup door, when Bess pointed in front of us, and screamed---the worse scream you can imagine. The first thought that came into my mind was of a huge black dog that had been roaming the field. I pictured it foaming at the mouth, eating one of our goats. As we had a pack of dogs do this before, and it made a vivid groove in my mind.  I shone my flashlight looking for, "the dog."

Bess screamed more intensely, pointed with shaking fingers, unable to spit out what it was she saw. It obviously was so terrible that words would not come, only a scream of all screams. She bolted, but I stayed put, ready to bop whatever it was on the head if it came after us. Bessie screamed again, running in a terrified dance circle, trying to get me to follow her.  It was such a deadly scream I thought for sure we were both going to be eaten. 

Instead of running, I took a step in the direction of where she had pointed. Bess ensued with more screams trying to get me to understand, as she was at a loss for words, and terror could only escape her lips.

Then I saw it. Down on the ground, only a few feet away from me. The size of a large-fat cat. It actually looked very similar to one of our black cats--except it wasn't a cat.

It was a skunk, with its fluffy butt raised in my direction. 

This time I screamed in lovely unison along with Bessie, both of us running wildly. 

The poor skunk was startled as well, disoriented as both of us. I don't think they can see very well in the dark, so it bumbled around in a confused circle, just as terrified.

After sufficiently getting a safe distance away, we both stopped, coming to our senses. I flashed my light at the skunk, and watched as waddled off, confused. 

 Bess and I both began laughing hysterically, nearly as loud as our screams. 

I'm sure our neighbors must have thought us crazy. It felt like it. We laughed long and hard, and once we caught our breaths, I turned to Bess and made fun of her screams. And began laughing again, mimicking her dance of terror, and jerking screams.

More laughs. 

Then justifiably she laughed, and made fun of me not being able to understand what she was trying to communicate, horrified that I started walking in the direction of skunk. 

All in all, we got some serious screaming, and belly laughing out of the whole thing.

Though the skunk did come back. And what a greedy guts it was. It got into one of our sheds, and ate several dozen eggs that my sister had taken out of the fridge---to toss, as they were old. It also got into several other food items near the house, in addition to eating my chicks. 

At the time, I didn't have a skunk trap. I put motion light censors up, hoping it would keep it away. And also smelly salts.

But nope.

It was not deterred.

After the greedy stinker ate my chicks, I was determined it wasn't going to eat my hens.  I bought a live sunk trap, shaped like a little tube, that is supposed to keep adult skunks from spraying you when you come up to the trap. This is the trap for those interested. https://www.amazon.com/Tuff-Trap-Spray-Proof-Skunk/dp/B01EZ4GBS6/ref=pd_sbs_3/142-2362646-7760146?pd_rd_w=VCcMU&pf_rd_p=f8e24c42-8be0-4374-84aa-bb08fd897453&pf_rd_r=6HFMERZWXH5KR05QPAHD&pd_rd_r=cc65ef41-f8a0-4be9-baec-11841917ad23&pd_rd_wg=0thoy&pd_rd_i=B01EZ4GBS6&psc=1&fbclid=IwAR267PtnO5h2jJqbsdPofV7ilZN0p-Hy-nu5msjBAwAFLIJ-qyK_vu4uCAM#customerReviews

I put marshmallows, and peanut butter, and an egg at the back, set the trap where it had been trying to dig into my chicken coup.

Three days latter.

Boom.

I caught the fart!

I peered into the little holes where the door was, and its little nose scrunched up next to the hole, as if it was like, "Hey, I's in here just eating some sweets, and I would like out."

"Are you sure you're a skunk?" I asked. 

I got a flashlight and shone it into the holes.

Yep. It's eyes, and black, gray hair were very much a skunks. 

Then what to do with it?

Everyone I talked to said that it had a death sentence on its head. And I agreed, as its trespasses were very dire. It should be court-martialed for its crimes. But Bess and I concluded that there is already so much pain in the world, there has got to be grace, even for  stinky ole' skunks.

It couldn't help that it was a greedy little stinker, though I did not feel any endearing feelings for it. 

We decided to try our luck, and release it into the wild.

The problem was, the trap wasn't designed for easy opening of the trap door in order for you to get a running start, if you wanted to release it safely somewhere where it wouldn't harm anyone. 

No.

It was designed for you to place it in the river, and pretty much drown whatever was in it. 

Not so good if you didn't have the heart to do that. So I hauled the trap into the back of my sister's truck, and my sister and I both brainstormed how to safely draw the door open with a string, and tape the latch so we could pull it open, and run.

In theory everything works better. No snags. 

But reality is a different story. 

We took the skunk trap to a place uninhabited by humans, and tried raising the door with a string. But our string was too flimsy, and broke on the first try.

So then, I was like, I'll just unlatch the back and run---like a skunks at my back. 

This I did. 

Once I unlatched the back. And this I could only do, because somehow I hadn't set the trap properly. So this was a one time deal.

I ran and hopped back into the truck. 

Bess and I waited. 

And waited. Apparently, the little sinker was too scared to come out. And we couldn't leave the trap out there and come back. How would we know it had left? I wasn't going to pick that trap up unless I knew there was zero skunk in there. 

So we got out of the truck, and began tossing rocks at the other side of the trap, to get it to come out---which was a very dangerous idea, because we were so close.

And at this point, it wasn't really a very inspired idea. And neither of us were very good aims.

So much for that. 

The skunk was not coming out.

It obviously felt under attack. 

So we got in our truck, and sat, with our eyes glued on the trap.

Waiting.

It wasn't very long until it poked its little nose out of the door, and waddled out of the trap.

It unfurled is huge fluffy skunk's tail, and made its way off.

The stinker. 

Bess and I both looked at each other. Well, why didn't we just be still and waited for the fart to come out in the first place?

Lesson learned. 

I felt like a mighty warrior. We had caught the skunk, and released him without too much violence. 

I gloated about this for several days.

Yet.

About a week later, I noticed something else had began digging at my chicken pen.

Another skunk?

Dang it. 

I began setting the skunk trap nightly, adding marshmallows, and treats each evening. One morning the trap was set off, and a bunch of skunk fur was inside it, though it had managed to get out the back.

Then my cat, apparently likes marshmallows and peanut butter, because one morning I found her in the trap.  At first I really thought she was a skunk. I peered carefully into the trap, and she pressed her cat eye right next to the hole, looking very odd, her cat whiskers sticking out.

After I gave her a good talking to, I let her out. And was sure to feed the cats well in advance so they would not be tempted.

A few days later, I caught---another skunk. This skunk was not so docile. It smelled very bad. Stinker, skunk juice bad. And it was heavy, and moved around a lot in the trap. The skunk was not very thrilled.

Neither was I, because I wasn't too keen on getting sprayed if we kept our non violent approach. Plus I wouldn't be able to unlatch the back, like I had done before, because I had really secured it tight. This trap, brilliant as it was, needed some upgrades----releasing part being the most difficult. 

I picked up the trap, and it was heavy, and left a trail of stinker behind it.

I set it in the shade, wondering what to do with it as I was watering my garden. The way we had released the last skunk wasn't ideal. We had to improve on this, especially if I was going to keep catching stinker bombs---or buy a hazmat suit.

I gathered a bunch of strong bailing twine, and tied it to the trap door. Then Bess and I rummaged around the yard trying to find objects to use as a pulley so the door would slide open easily. 

We settled on a little green chair to lace the twine through.

We loaded the trap into the back of the truck, and took off into the wild places far away from humans to release the stink-maker in better place where he could not harm anyone.

And it was gassing off the whole time, so badly that it made the air feel sticky around it, and my hands and face felt polluted by its juices. 

I was not so sure this time. I knew the dangers, and this trap was not so easy to open. Plus this skunk was more aggressive than the last. Probably a male. 

Anyhow. Once we arrived at the fart-makers place of release, I realized that as I had remembered to bring scissors but forgot to get tape, to tape the lock away from the trap door. Luckily, after digging around in the truck, we found some black tape, and were able to tape the lock out of the way. Then I placed the little green chair over the trap, and laced the twine through the bars, and pulled. 

But the door would not come up. I pulled hard. 

Then I realized I had taped the latch wrong. So I redid that.

Okay. Now, I was really ready to pull the latch. Bess scooched out of the way, and I pulled the door hard, it started sliding upon, but caught on another latch. 

Crap.

I tip toed to the half open trap, and realized that the skunk was so heavy, and big, it was sitting right on top of the leaver inside, that made the latch catch on the sliding door.

I pushed on the leaver that the door was catching on---there was a lot of resistance as the skunk was obese. Then while doing that, I pulled the string hard.

The door began sliding open. 

Yes!!!! 

I pulled so hard, that the trap tipped sideways. Yikes! But I pulled again, and the door stood open on its own. I wedged the twine on some sage brush, and then ran to the truck.

Bess and I sat in the truck, waiting.

A moment later, the door of the trap slammed shut, before it could get out. Apparently it walked over the leaver inside, and made the door shut. 

I guess I  hadn't secured the string tight enough to keep the door open.

Okay.

Round three. 

Once again, I pushed the leaver keeping the door jammed shut, opened it halfway, scooched back, pulled harder, tipped the trap even more on its side, and yanked so hard the trap door just popped out of its socket.

Bam.

I ran to the truck.

Yes!

I was just happy to get the dang door open. Bess and I waited. 

It took a while, but it finally popped its head out, and just kinda stood by the trap, then it waddled, away, then circled back to about two sagebrush's length away from where it had started from.

Bess and I were not thrilled that it didn't want to go very far. 

But we ran to the trap, grabbed our gear up, and tossed it back into the truck, and watched as the little fluffy farter pretty much ran along side the road, as if to say goodbye.

 My conclusion.

I hope there are no more skunks. I have a feeling that there are baby skunks floating round. And I know that this trap won't keep them from lifting their little baby skunks tails and sending me into the land of tomato juice, and total isolation from anyone that has a nose.

There are only so many times you can tempt fate, and fart makers. I feel that...one can only outrun farts so many times before one gets farted on.

 And though they can't help that God made them into walking stink tanks, I would prefer that they find somewhere else to fart, and catch a meal. 

We don't like catching and releasing farts. 

It's a stinky business. 

Who in their right mind willingly unleashes farts out into the wild, especially when the chances of getting farted on are extremely high.

Yes. Please dear skunks. I know you like marshmallows, and eggs, and chickens, and peanut butter. But the thrill of catching you---has worn off. I no longer wish to be the mighty fart---catcher---or fart releaser.

No fart sequels.

No new fart chapters.

I need no more skunk tails, or tales.  

Let us live in an ascended world where fart makers, and those who don't wish to get farted on can live in peace. Where there is enough clean air for the both of us.