Bunny Tracks (No not ice cream!)

We moved to the farm in the fall of 2007. Our daughter’s home was built out in the pasture beyond the riding arena and they moved in the fall of 2009. Our house is about 100 yards away. Duties have been given and changed around several times but my responsibility is to feed the horses Thursday, Friday and Saturday mornings between 6am and 7 am, rain or shine, 100 degrees or minus 10. Of course it is easier in the summer but the winter, with snow has its charm.

To our delight we have rubbed elbows with a beautiful red fox who I have not forgiven for taking one (or two) of my cats and lots of coyotes that ‘sing’ and yip almost every night. My daughter has seen them but I haven’t yet. There are hawks that circle over the fields from time to time and once I saw a great horned owl when it landed on the roof of my daughter’s house. It was huge! I hear the owl often in the trees outside my window. I am very glad I can keep all my cats in now.

Of course there are mice. And that is why we experimented with keeping some barn cats. We actually have had 5 in the barn (not all at once). I have discovered that life on the farm is real stuff, not a dream you read about in Country Magazine. Even at an urban farm it includes joy and sorrow, life and death. It has been a hard lesson for me to learn.
This spring our neighbors mare foaled and we were there to see it when it was only a few hours old. We have seen her grow up to be a beautiful young horse with a springy step. She looks like she is tip toeing around the pasture. It is a joy to behold.

But my favorite time is in the winter just after a snowfall. When I get up in the morning I layer several shirts and some coveralls over my p.j.s I am ready to go out and greet the horses and bring them their feed. As I walk out there I’m trying to figure who has visited. I see dog tracks and cat tracks and I am most curious to see if I recognize coyote or fox tracks.

More than anything else I see bunny tracks. I can tell because they are distinctive, two prints close together and just above them are two prints a bit apart, and they are pretty small. I could just see them hopping around in the snow, foraging for food. We have lots of bunnies around. It’s probably why we see the foxes and hear the coyotes. It doesn’t seem like they have made a big dent in the rabbit population, though. I see places where small paws have brushed the snow aside to get at some grass or leaves. I have seen where it looks like one has been chased by a dog or coyote, and I see places where they seem to have been playing.

It is a wonderful way to begin a day. Even the days when it is hard to think about going outside in the cold or snow it is a chore I love. And I add my tracks to the bunny tracks as I listen to the horses nickering for their breakfast

Looking Back: A Christmas Memory

I remember well the first Christmas after I got married. My husband and I had moved from Iowa to Lancaster, PA at the end of November. It was just before the holiday season. Everything was feeling very strange. We had rented a house-trailer, a nice one at that, but it was the only thing that was available in that rural Amish community.

The night we went searching for a Christmas tree it was clear and cold, with many stars in the dark sky, similar, I suppose to the way it was on that night near Bethlehem when the shepherds saw a bright star in the heavens. I can remember the place we stopped. It was around a bend on one of the curvy roads that fanned out from Lancaster. We didn’t spend much time at it because it was so cold and we didn’t have much money. But it was a beautiful tree that fit well in the back seat and out the windows of our red and white 1956 Oldsmobile convertible. We had driven it all the way from Iowa only a few weeks earlier.

When we got to our trailer we found we were going to need to cut the bottom of the trunk off so it would fit in the tree stand. When we separated the branches we discovered that our tree already had a gift in it. We found a nest, hidden down in the thick branches at the bottom of the tree. All of a sudden that nest made us feel like this really was our new home.


It turned something that was so new and strange and different into an experience that welcomed us home to our new life. We would build a new nest, have children and learn to be the best we could possibly be together. And we still have that nest. It is a little bit worse for the years, like all of us, but every year for the last 30 it has perched in its own special place in each tree, reminding us of that first Christmas
Written Christmas 1994

In Memorium

Polka Dot

rescued August 31, 2009 - disappeared November 13, 2010

It was inevitable. At least I say that now. When I agreed to keep three rescued feral cats in my barn as barn cats I didn't think enough about how vulnerable they would be to the coyotes, fox, hawks and Owl we see around our urban farm almost daily. No, I wanted to help the Northern Colorado Friends of Ferals with placing some of the cats that had been rescued from a hoarder. Once feral cats have been spayed or neutered they can go back to their homes, called colonies, familiar areas and other cats where they are comfortable. But these cats had no other home to go to.

I have had them for a year now. They must have been 4 or 5 months old when I got them, so they matured while they were in my care. I thought I did everything I could to keep them safe and warm.

I set up a warming house in a stall in the barn with a pet heating blanket that kept them warm during the coldest nights. I was given a large enclosure that another cat rescue group didn't need anymore. Once I got that set up I kept them in it at night. They soon learned who their caregiver was and even if they kept their distance from other family members by the time I had them 6 months or so they were letting me touch them and even pick them up. It is not surprising when you consider that I was feeding them canned food at night and they knew it. I fed them insidethe enclosure so it was easy(for me) to close them in. As time went by they became friendlier and friendlier. Soon they were sitting outside the kitchen door meowing for me to go to the barn for their feeding.

The neighbors gave me glowing reports about what good mousers they were in their barn. They kept our barn rodent free as well. On our daily walks to the barn they would stop, roll over and beg to be petted. They would follow me whenever I was out working around the barn.

Off and on they had spent a night or two outside, but they always showed up the next day. That's why I was not too worried when I went out to feed the horses a few weeks ago and I found the door to the enclosure standing open. Polka Dot was gone. Moonbeam was still inside. (The third cat, Lollipop, disappeared several months ago)

It has now been over two weeks. I am still looking for her. I have convinced myself that she has found a warm place and some cat companions to hang out with. The reality is that she probably has not. I know this but I can't accept it. I think she could still come home. The bad news is that we have seen a coyote hanging around the fields nearby. However, there are lots of rabbits and mice around.

The neighbors did not see her. In fact they have two cats that they have had for several years. So that keeps me looking. I miss her terribly.

Poetry

Since I have decided to start including poems in my blog from time to time I thought I would begin with this one.


POETRY

When you wonder,
at the startling beauty
of a scarlet sunrise,
over an endless horizon
of mountains in winter,
or tiny snow puffs
mounding like whipped cream
on the relishing fingertips
of pines,
you know about poetry.

When a lovely turn of phrase
restores old memories
and invites
a flowing of words
tumbling from afar,
joining you with souls
of ancient dreamers
and asking you to
be a friend,
you know about poetry.

When you know passion,
loving words with abandon
as if they are long lost lovers--
or knights in shining armor
releasing you from
demons and
bad dreams
through nights of betrayal
and days of lost chances,
you know about poetry.

When you hear an Easter ringing of bells
celebrating from church steeples,
or when you glimpse--
swallows rolling in waves
through gray sky
like blankets being
shaken out in springtime
filling you with the fresh scent
of life,
you know about poetry.

Pamela Wolf
Ann Woodbury Hafen Poetry Contest April 1, 2003 Honorable mention

Reprise: The Day it Rained Gold

I love Northern Colorado Writers. There are always so many opportunities to learn and to connect with the writing world of creative people working on their dreams. We are partners in our individual as well as corporate tasks, helping each other , cheering each other on to whatever goals we have set. We may want to become published or to finish that manuscript, or just to try new things or to re-try something that has been in a drawer or a file just waiting for the right time to bring it out again.
Well, it doesn’t come out on its own. Something sparks it, something demands you take another look.
This week I had that experience as I attended the Meet the Poets evening and then took the workshop the following evening led by Antoinette Voute Roeder. I discovered that poetry is still a voice within me that has needed to come out of hiding. It really does enhance and deepen my passion for writing. Kerry Flanagan, our director suggested I incorporate a poem a month into my blog. It would be a good way to keep in touch with that side of myself but would not remove me from my other stated writing goals. And it might just infuse some passion into my other writing.
After some review and discussion we were asked to spend a few minutes writing a poem at the end of the session. It felt awkward to me. Like putting on some old worn out shoes I hadn’t had on in a long time that had stiffened up in the previous form. So I’ll share with you what spurted out and then my rewrite. Antoinette said that poems take on a life of their own. The original idea is played with, you think of a different slant, some new words and poetry becomes fun to do. And that is what she emphasized over and over. Writing poetry needs to be fun!

First version
In Fort Collins fall 1965

It was the day the leaves rained gold, boldly dressed breezes
Blew them here and there, they scurried, collected around
Broad tree trunks, sidewalks,across yards still a bit green
From summer. Little voices sparkle through crisp air
While busy feet scoot the pieces of gold into piles
That glimmer today as they did so long ago

Second version
The day it rained gold

The day it rained gold,
leaves fluttered to the ground,
boldy dressed breezes lifted them,
hemmed the sidewalks, wound them
around solid tree trunks like scarves
and danced them across yards
still a bit green from summer.

I remember crisp air ,
busy little feet scooting
the fragile pieces of gold into piles
to glimmer today as they did so long ago.

"My" Desiderata

Many of us have heard the words that begin this prose poem written in 1927 by Max Ehrman.

"Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
....Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and ignorant;
they too have their story.

I wish current politicians would heed these words. How far we have come as our ears are battered every day from angry, exaggerated, and unthinking words that bend information into unrecognizable knots if not outright lies that assail us on T.V.,radio, newspapers and flyers that invade our homes through the mail. I want to know positions of the candidates, but please, lets be decent. Listening is not all that difficult, if you can speak your truth "quietly and clearly", I will be more likely to listen, otherwise I will ignore and turn off the noise. Then sadly the flow of information will be lost.

This prose poem has touched me through the years for different reasons though.
It brings me back to wondering what my desired things are during this season of my life, as I look at my elder years what advice or desired things do I want to give myself?

Believe it or not being honest when you get older is pretty difficult. You have to face up to a bunch of things. Mainly because my experience of "putting things away on the shelf to look at later" just ends up being laziness. Pretty soon those things on the shelf are heavy enough to begin to drag you down. As you get older you already have plenty of things that slow you down. So here is an attempt at my own desiderata. It has to begin with

Go placidly amid the noise and haste:
I have always sought out my own space as I deeply value peace and quiet but now I vow to not use that need as a way to hide from the uncomfortable. The next words: "speak your truth quietly and clearly" is the least I can do. For me it includes advice to myself to stand up for things I believe because the more I stuff them the more bellyaches I get. To be sure I need to speak the words so that I will have the best chance of being :"without surrender (be) on good terms with all persons" (as much as possible)

But in order to do that sometimes I may need to "avoid loud and aggressive persons".It is a way I can give myself a better chance of having a good day. But for me that means I have to look inside to see what messages I have been giving myself that day. Before any of my own internal critique gets going I have to reach out to myself and give myself a hug. It is said we need 3 hugs a day but what if you are not in an environment where that happens. Give yourself a mental hug. Say out loud, "I love you, Pam" (you) then notice something beautiful around you during the day, and speak out loud of the beauty. I think the more messages we give to ourselves (and hear from ourselves) especially during this time of anger and disappointment in the way the world is evolving, the more chance we can truly enjoy our lives and what is remaining of them. and we can decide when to 'speak our mind quietly and clearly' or avoid vexing persons (or turn off the T.V.)

Later on in the poem the line "You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should."

In order to believe it I vow to practice it daily, give myself a hug. I think small things make a difference."Go placidly amid the noise and haste"

(Find the poem on google or something similar, go by the title)

Pilgrimage

The idea of making a pilgrimage back to my hometown caught my attention ever since I spoke with an old friend about his return to our home town. Two years ago, Cedar Rapids, Iowa, suffered what later was called not a hundred years flood but according to some residents, a thousand year flood. Cedar Rapids is unique in that it is the only town in the country that has its municipal buildings including the courthouse and jail on an Island in the middle of a river. The Cedar River.
It was a major disaster, the river rose 20 feet above flood stage and covered the bridges that crossed the island to reach each side of town. Sandbagging there or anywhere near the river was useless. The town was warned that a flood was coming but no one predicted the magnitude of the rising water that hit its peak after six inches of rainfall.
I wanted to return. I wanted to see for myself. I had to in order to really believe it so I could reach out my arms to offer some kind of solace to those I knew and didn’t know too who experienced it. I needed to hold it close to work through my pain and frustration. My broken heart wanted to keep it out of arms reach, to not think about it. But more than anything else I knew I had to make my memories of my home town real. I wanted to remove from my mind the memories that I had boarded up like the buildings still with wood plastered over doors and windows.
I didn’t want to continue to pretend It was the place I remembered from my youth, a pristine place, well ordered, many parks, a family town, a farming town and a place that grew to be the second largest city in Iowa because of its location on the river. It was a crossroads, a destination and a striking out place. I wanted to embrace it, as it was now even in disarray with rebuilding and the cleaning that continued to make a dent in the ugliness a disaster always leaves behind.
A pilgrimage? Yes. A journey to a sacred place, absolutely. A journey of thanksgiving for the people who joined in the recovery effort that has already made a huge difference. And a journey of devotion that brought acceptance and appreciation of the people who lived through the disaster to their town and went on with plans and determination to continue to do what it takes to bring it back and yes, to make some new things out of it. I was not looking for supernatural aid, as some pilgrimages do, but natural healing that belongs to a brave Midwestern town. It was truly an act of devotion and a taking into my soul the beautiful, hurting, healing soul of my home town.
Have you ever made a pilgrimage? If so where to?