Rainbow in the distance
Love The One You’re With
Remember Oreo? She had her first baby this past week! It was a very difficult birth and we had to take her to town for emergency surgery, so she and her calf are in the corral for extra special care. Oreo is recuperating well, but she is still in pain and not making as much milk as she would under perfect conditions, so I am supplementing her calf with Daisy’s milk (I have many, many gallons frozen for instances such as this).
He nurses Oreo, then finishes up with a bottle from me. I filmed it for you. Warning: my video skillz still suck, and, as a precaution against eardrums shattered by my baby-talk, do turn down your volume. You’ll still hear the beautiful sandhill cranes about halfway through. Note his swishing tail as he drinks – all calves do this and it’s so cute! They also headbutt the udder to bring more milk down, and he does this to the bottle as well.
oreosbaby from daily coyote on Vimeo.
We Need A Band Name
I could use some laughs. And you all are the cleverest.
So name my band of punk chicks!
One Week Later
I planted seeds. I planted one tray the day after he died and another tray the following Friday. They’re under lights in my bathroom which has a constant ambient temperature of 80°F, thanks to the heat light for the chickies – who have outgrown their cardboard box and now roam a very large wooden crate. The headdresses of the Polish crested are in full punk rock mode – pictures coming soon. The only time I feel truly OK right now is when I’m hanging out in the bathroom, feeding the chickies from my hand or misting the emerging sprouts. New life, and all that. It’s gentle and hopeful. Thank you all, so much, for your comments and emails over this past week. They have helped me more than I ever expected and more than you will ever know.
In the morning’s hush
Frisco
December 18, 2009 – April 4, 2014
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on the snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
– Mary Elizabeth Frye
MY NEW BOOK!
More, Elsewhere
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