The Gift of Animals

  • Spiritual Disciplines,  The Gift of Animals

    Blessed Be the Tie That Binds

    He arrived one morning in a cat carrier, the last duck at  my son’s farm. His destiny was the chopping block if I did not adopt him. Why could I not make room for one more fowl?  I reasoned with myself. I have three white chickens and a little hen-house.  One more body would fit comfortably, and they could be a family. Gently placing the carrier on the ground,my granddaughter Lillian suggested that since he had hung out with her chickens, he would feel right at home with my chickens. With trepidation, I opened the door to the carrier. Will he stay here on our little patch of Kansas, or will…

  • notes from the farm,  The Gift of Animals,  The Gift of Community

    A Divided House

    I have two chickens and two cats. The chickens hang together; not surprisingly, the cats do not. Whenever I hear hisses and growling coming from the garage, I know Bob has probably invaded Missy’s space. Or, sometimes it is after he has intentionally stalked her and jumped out from the bushes as she walked by. Bob is having fun; Missy is never amused. But, in general, my little farm is quite the “racially” mixed environment. The duck, the goat, the chickens, and the donkey move about the barnyard in a happy little community. When I go to the barnyard, I will be greeted by the whole community at once:  duck,…

  • notes from the farm,  The Gift of Animals

    A Surprise Visitor

    The wind howled outside, and icy snow pelted our double glass door. Judd and I sank a little deeper into our matching brown recliners and enjoyed the warmth of the wood stove. I had decided earlier not to go out in the snowstorm to check on the barnyard menagerie. I could see from the dining room window that the chickens (my two new red hens) had already disappeared into the coop; the absence of Donqui and Goatie at the gate was evidence they were already settled snug in their stalls. All was well and there was no need for my mothering. Yes, I could have shut the door to the coop, but who…

  • Life Goes On,  The Gift of Animals,  The Gift of Community,  The Gift of Vision,  Uncategorized

    Re-Collecting in the Pasture

    Today I needed to walk the old familiar trail in the pasture again.The thoughts and feelings swirling in my mind and heart were and are disconcerting. Thirty-eight years ago, this pasture was new to me. My body was younger. I was filled with anticipation of what could be, Things in the world were . . . just different. Yes, we were on a down-swing in our culture, but there was hope of changing it. Yesterday we were young, God was with us, we could carry out the vision under God’s direction. We were a community with one heart. Today, we are not so young. Our  community living here is of…

  • The Gift of Animals

    Lessons in Lambing

    The clock on my dresser told me that it was two am.  I reached for my old red bathrobe draped by the bed and sleepily made my way to the back door.  Stepping into my mud boots and warm jacket, I grabbed a flashlight and slipped out into the cool night air. With each step I took, I could feel my bathrobe softly wrap around my bare legs. Turning sleep-hungry eyes toward the starlit sky I whispered, “So, God, what lesson am I learning…or supposed to learn…through this new adventure?”   Getting up every two hours should have some reward, I reasoned.  Maybe it will be twins…two prize ewes or grand…

  • The Gift of Animals

    Beside the Still Waters

    I would say that Peg and I bonded completely, shepherdess and docile sheep, one frigid and icy New Year’s morning. An ice storm had come in on New Year’s evening.  Judd was gone on a retreat of solitude and silence, and Sara and I were holding down the fort.  We woke up to at least an inch of ice covering the trees, grass, and road. Despite the frigid weather, chores still had to be done, so I bundled up in my heavy-duty Army jacket and pulled on the black insulated Air Force boots. With a wool hat and warm work gloves, I was prepared, or at least I thought I…

  • The Gift of Animals

    Wounded by Love

    The weeds at the farm  proved to be more than my first ewe and her lamb, Priscilla and Aquila, could clean up by themselves.  This job was going to require more wooly weed-eaters.  So we went back to the wooly weed-eater supplier, Diane, for our next pregnant ewe.  We chose Peg to join our little flock. “Peg” was short for peg-leg, a descriptive name already given to this ewe because of her limp.   Peg exhibited an independent spirit in her young life.  Her shepherdess kept losing this wandering sheep.  Not content with the pasture Diane offered, Peg was continually getting out of the sheep fold. One morning while Diane was eating breakfast…

  • The Gift of Animals

    Blind Mama: The Solution

    (continued from last post) At the point when I began calling her Blind Mama, she was following the flock by listening to the sound of their movement, but when they stopped to graze, she would lose them.  Hence, in order to figure out where they were she would constantly bleat.  At first several would respond to her.  I could hear them calling back to her, and hear her responding until she was once again in proximity and safety with the others.  But occasionally they would leave her alone in the pasture and come back to the barnyard for water or shade. This day, evidently, none of the flock was responding…

  • The Gift of Animals

    Blind Mama: The Problem

      I was making my way across the yard from the garden when I discerned a faint bleating floating down the hill from the pasture.  Listening for a response from the rest of the flock, I heard nothing.  Blind Mama was in trouble again.  The house had been my destination, but instead, I turned to the hillside and made my way up the rocky path to the pasture.  As I rounded the rise of the hill, on my right I could see the flock of sheep quite unconcernedly grazing in tall green prairie grass.  The sound of the bleating was coming from my left.  Poor Mama.  She was lost, totally.…

  • The Gift of Animals

    The Barnyard Nursery

    Journal Entry  for July 1990 The morning is cool – a refreshing change from the upper nineties and low one hundred degree weather of this past week.  Its  “due time” for Lucy, Reppert’s Jersey mama.  We are keeping her in our barnyard for the time being since I can keep a close watch on her while I tend our own calves.  I have been out several times to check on her and the other three,  Emma, our Jersey, and her two calves. I have taken some time to sit on the hillside to enjoy the drama of this barnyard nursery.  Lucy and Emma are contentedly tossing small piles of strewn…