Crazy Is As Crazy Does

Sometimes I can not sleep but it is not a hardship. There are nights when I fondly recall the era of my life when sleep was delicious and coveted and luxurious (when I was young). Delicious sleep belongs to the past, like so many other things. Occasionally when I can not sleep, I go walking. That is what I did last night.

It rained all night Sunday and was snowing hard Monday morning. It rained and snowed all day and continued to rain throughout the night. There was mud and slush and freezing rain coming down, so what better time to go for a walk?

About 3 am I decided to go up to the barn. I found my winter boots, still full of pieces of hay from feeding the horses all last winter, and also full of spider webs. I used the vacuum cleaner to insure there were no live spiders left in the boots, but two spiders crawling on the toe of one boot were sucked into the maelstrom - death by Kirby. I found my winter gloves, trusting no spiders had taken up residence in them, and located the headlamp. It was totally black outside, I needed a light. I bundled up in spider-ridden boots, dirty old work gloves, and my ragged work coat.

Taking up my walking stick, I took off in the dark for the barn. When it is raining or snowing, the sky is entirely black and the silence is comforting. Even though Duke is getting up there in age now and I hate to disturb his sleep, I can never sneak off in the dark without him. He always hears and comes running. The generosity of the dog nation is beyond reproach.

The horses hear me coming as well, and Ginger sometimes makes a low greeting in her throat. Annie rarely makes any noise. She is a horse of few words. She expresses herself in other ways. She chases Duke, plays in the water tank, and routinely scares the bejeezus out of me with her startled stomps and take offs.

The horses are not glad to see me - only if I have food or treats. Otherwise, I am just their noisy servant stomping around in the middle of the night, disturbing their sleep. But, I like going to visit them in the dark. It never ceases to amaze me that thousand pound animals with four feet can silently get within six inches of me to exhale a warm blast of air onto my neck, giving me a heart attack, but they can. Ginger did this to me in broad daylight. She routinely sneaked up behind me when I was cleaning her pen. She worked to perfect her technique.

Duke is never off duty, marking his territory all along the path to the barn, even in the dark. If I am not paying attention I sometimes run into him if he has stopped to claim a spot where a coyote or other intruder left a scent. He always goes ahead of me on the path, peeing on things every few feet. I think it is the canine equivalent of the red carpet treatment.

Once I get to the barn, I turn off the headlamp. I only need it to make sure I do not trip and fall down where Duke can enthusiastically lick my face. Duke will be twelve years old next spring and he still has not learned to not lick and slobber and breathe stinky dog breath all over me if he gets the chance. The four words he always hears: "*#@ *&@$^& #&, Duke!" have no meaning or effect on him. I believe he assumes that is the sound humans make which means "carry on enthusiastically."

Duke snuffles around the hay and usually takes off in the dark while I am at the barn. When I get tired, or too cold, or resign myself to going back to bed, he is often so far away that I can not hear him at all. I know there is nothing in the dark that will harm me, (unless there should be a rabid skunk), but sometimes I hear something big rustling through the prairie and I certainly hope it is the ol' Dukester. It always is. I can never sneak away from the barn without Duke running up to escort me back to the house.

It is a good thing to go out to the barn at night. The warm bodies of the horses are dark shapes silently passing next to me. I run my hands down their soft necks. Sometimes, if Ginger will stand still long enough for me to lean against her warm side, I place my arms around her neck. She only tolerates this because she knows royalty should always treat servants with civility.

Sometimes the wind is what I want to listen to. Sometimes it is the silent snowfall, or the gentle mist of rain. Sometimes it is the stars. Late in the winter, it is the owls calling eerily along the creek. Sometimes it is the moonlight that calls me to the little rise where the barn sits. Sometimes it is simply a restlessness in my spirit and the need to reconnect with the energy of this place I call home. Sometimes thoughts of the future crash through my reverie, ruining my sojourn. There will likely come the day when I will have to move to town - go live in a dinky little apartment some place where the only animal I will be allowed to look after might be a cat, if I am lucky. If I am damned, I will have to go to a rest home. I know what happens to crazy old women who try to wander away from rest homes, or want to roam the night in their nightgowns and winter boots.

Tenzing Norgay

Two years ago, at the farm store, I saw tiny blue chicks for the first time, ever. They were blue with yellow caps, and so tiny! I had to have one, even though I did not know what breed of chicken they were. For some time, I observed the cageful of bantam chicks for sale. There were four or five different breeds mixed together and I did not recognize any of them. One blue chick distinguished itself from all the others by being the most vital. It also seemed to be the most intelligent as it interacted with the other chicks and the limited environment. It was simply more "engaged" in whatever it was doing. So, I chose it. Of course, I was hoping it would be blue when it grew up.

Of the three chicks I chose that day, they turned out to be Tenzing Norgay, the dominate hen of my flock today, and two Partridge Cochin roosters, Big Man and Sweetie Peep. I have chronicled my adventures with them throughout my blog. Big Man was the funniest chicken I have ever known, and I loved him so much, but I had too many roosters. Since I can not eat my pets, I had to give them away. I believe I found a good home for the roosters, but I am not sure how much longer they survived. I no longer ask the girl I gave them to, just in case she might have bad news. Only the little blue chick, Tenzing Norgay, remains of the original three.

As you may recall, Tenzing was able to fly to the cage door as soon as her real feathers came in. She quickly learned to fly to the door the second it opened, and apparently simply liked to sit in my hand because I did not feed her - only petted and talked to her. She was roughly the size of a meadow lark and so cute. The two boys would run around in the cage in a panic and never figured out that my hands were not predators, or that they too could fly to the door for a brief excursion to the "yard" of their prison. Tenzing was, wings down, far smarter than those silly little roosters.

She continues to distinguish herself, though there are five other Porcelaine D'Uccle hens in the flock now. They all started out as blue chicks with a spot of yellow on their heads. Now they are white hens with splotches of blue around their necks. Each one is marked a bit differently so I can tell them all apart. Tenzing is a loner. She found her old cage stacked on the back porch early this summer and began laying her eggs in there. (She can get into the back porch the same way Duke does - through the dog door.) She prefers that cage as her roost at night, so that is where she continues to spend the night. All the other chickens go into the pen at twilight, but Tenzing goes to her solitary roost on the back porch. Since she is not penned with the others at night, she has her freedom during the day. I do not have the heart to throw her in with the others. I understand about needing solitude and space.

Of all the chickens, she seems to understand that I am her friend and protector. She knows to turn her little head and look up at me. The others either can not see well enough to associate my legs with me, or they are not smart enough. But Tenzing knows. As soon as she hears my voice outside, she comes running and tags along behind me. Yes, she knows I will have food but I think she also remembers that I have amazing powers that can expand her world.

Sunday, the cold rain necessitated a change where I store the feed for both Duke and the chickens. I have been keeping the flock penned up most of the time due to the slinking coyote I have recently spotted several times just a few feet from the pen. I am no longer scattering the chicken feed in the driveway so I did not expect Tenzing to be out in the cold rain, but when she heard me, she came running. She followed me around the house several times as I made all the changes. I put a bowl of food out for her when I fed Duke on the back porch, and she readily began pecking through to find the best. What is unusual is how long she chose to follow along behind me. Even a genius chicken like Tenzing only has an attention span of.... well, not very long. And they can be distracted quite easily. Even when they expect food, none of them follow me for more than about thirty feet.

I do not pick her up any more but I still talk to her. I think she would be cold sleeping alone, as all the other chickens snuggle in the nests together for warmth and companionship at night. But, for whatever reason, little Tenzing Norgay prefers a roost of her own choosing, even if it means being alone. I need to find an intelligent, handsome rooster worthy of her.

Riverdance

A bit of Ireland came to Kansas Saturday night and my daughter and I were there. We attended the Saturday night performance of Riverdance - the Farewell Tour. It was a delight. The dancing was unusual and dramatic. The dancers were all so beautiful. I believe the small stage at the Topeka Performing Arts Center limited the production to a degree, but we thoroughly enjoyed it.

The lead female dancer was absolutely flawless, but this being Kansas, she hardly garnered the appreciative applause she deserved. The loudest applause was lauded on the dramatic male dancers. The men were good, but to my eye, the young lady was a cut above them and absolutely perfect. (Uppity women are not appreciated in Kansas - unless you are Sarah Palin, don'cha know?)

My daughter and I had girl's night out. We ate a nice dinner then went to the theater. I even put on makeup, but do not assume I was puttin' on airs. I proved beyond a shadow of a doubt it is true that you can take the woman away from her bike, but you can not take the biker out of the woman. Just as this long awaited and highly anticipated production began, right at the moment the actual dancing began, some late-comers came flying toward their seats to our right. Okay - I am normally patient and understanding. Because a giant (but innocent) man was already seated several chairs inland, and the tardy ticket holder's seats were on the other side of him, the ensuing musical chairs involved about nine people! Eight or nine people, including a giant, milling around within a few feet of us, making noise, blocking the stage and creating an enormous distraction! My irritation knew no bounds. I intended that my whispers would be heard only by my daughter when I hissed, "Jeeeeez - ussss Christ! Sit the **** down!"

Returning to our car after the concert, my daughter brought it up. She admitted that it stunned her at the time. Unfortunately I was much louder than I intended. After the concert, (when her embarrassment had worn off) she was beginning to appreciate it in a different light. I apologized, admitting it was wrong on every level. I pointed out that not a single person stood up in front us the entire rest of the evening. We began to laugh until we both had tears in our eyes. In fact, at one point we were howling.

My daughter has collected a few memorable quotes, things I have said or done over the years that she and my son find funny. I think my son-in-law has been in on this recently, too. The sad thing is that when I say these things they find so funny, I am most often entirely serious. I guess I am a "character" in their lives. It is not that they are making fun of me so much as they are beginning to see their mother as an individual. I am happy they find some humor in a few of the more outrageous things I might say or do, but I think it is Old Woman Tourettes, and they should be more respectful.

Major Retraction!

All three Weird Sisters survived the night! Where the missing one was hiding last night, I do not know, but all three Weird Sisters survived. I repeat: No missing chickens!!

Seems Like the First Day of Winter

It is cold and wet and overcast today. All the leaves are down, but there remains some green - the rose bushes, for example. Undoubtedly the prairie is preparing for winter. Normally the summers are so hot and brutal that I welcome and appreciate winter until at least mid-January. Then I begin pining for the light and warmth of spring. Enough is enough!

Every year, I have the intention of buying special light bulbs from Sweden that are said to offset the depression of winter. If they work, I might make it through the entire winter season as a happy idiot. What would it feel like to be almost in a good mood during January, I wonder? Never have I taken one tiny concrete step toward getting those light bulbs. Like everything else, if I just wait long enough, it will be spring again and I will not need light bulbs from Sweden. I wish I was more proactive but it takes a lot of energy.

I am also a tiny bit sad this morning because one of the Weird Sisters disappeared last night. Some unknown predator had her for supper. Darn it. The little chicks I bought at the farm store have survived and proliferated, but of the eight silver sebright chicks that traveled via United States Postal Service from Back East, only two are left. Kansas has proven to be too wild and dangerous for them. Whatever gets them does not even scatter any feathers.

It was my fault for letting them out yesterday morning. I knew I was going to be gone all evening so I should never have let them out. I was not too worried because it had been overcast all day. By evening the chickens were making their slow way toward the pen. Their speed and distance from the pen correlates directly to the amount of daylight left. As my departure time approached, the sun broke through, illuminating our little valley and invigorating the chickens. They headed back toward the timber, industriously scratching through all the leaves as they made their way. I did not have time to pen them up. As soon as I got home I checked on them, and one of the sebrights was gone.

I knew it was foolhardy to raise chickens in this location without extraordinary measures or permanently penning them. More have survived then I ever imagined. It still depresses me a little bit, especially on a wet cold day like today.

Red Tailed Hawks

The red tailed hawk is a sort of spiritual messenger for me. A red tail feather signaled a major life shift. I was not using drugs or drinking, but my spirit was fading away with a broken heart. I was floundering in a great absence of hope. I had lost faith in all my dreams and did not know how to spiritually replenish myself. That feather came from the North, signaling a new strength building in my life.

There have always been Indians in my life, but none of them were "practicing Indians". There was shame and heartache associated with being Indian, so no one ever wanted to admit to it. Some people I love dearly did not even know they had Indian blood, not until late in their lives.

After that feather appeared, I met people I fondly refer to as "real Indians". It has nothing to do with blood quantum, though I did meet and come to know some full bloods, too. I had opportunity to go into lodge, to sit humbly on the good earth, in the dark, singing those old prayer songs. My spirit rose from the ashes.

When the prairie had been restored on my twenty acres of former farm land, I was faintly hoping a hawk might find the habitat suitable to claim for itself. Amazingly, three summers ago I noticed a pair had taken up residence upstream of my bend in the creek, but they hunted my pasture.

Since all the leaves are gone now, it is easy to see, directly in my line of sight, the distinctive silhouette of a single red tailed hawk perched between me and the sunrise every morning. It could not be more directly aligned within my sight as I look out this east window. If I pay attention, I will see the moment when its mate flies up to perch briefly next to it on the same branch. They sit within inches of one another for a short time, then usually both take silent wing in the faint light.

The Day After Sunday But Before Tuesday

The dreaded beginning of the week... which I will attempt to ignore.

The Spirit, Mind, Body fair took place in Topeka on Saturday. When the Church of the Infinite Source first tried to hold a spirit (new age) fair in Topeka, they had to jump through hoops. All the psychics had to be ordained ministers of some type. The powers ruling Topeka were afraid of witches, I guess.

It was wonderful when the fairs first started. For me, the energy generated by all those like-minded people was like swimming in warm water after surviving the cold desert. I have seldom missed a fair since. There are various energetic healers, exotic stone jewelry, psychics of every persuasion, essential oils, music, books, tons of junk, and my favorite - the quartz crystal vendors. The best vendor is a woman from Mt. Ida, Arkansas. I have bought dozens of her crystals over the years.

Some people attribute special powers to crystals but I do not know about that. I suspect there is much traditional shamanic knowledge in working with crystals. That aside, quartz crystal literally inundates all of modern life - watches, computers, scientific equipment, toys, lcd's - there are few things that do not have some form of quartz crystal in them. Crystals form in a spiral manner and always terminate with six faces, and one face is always a perfect triangle. Quartz crystal is one of the few substances that energy passes through without diminishing. The molecular structure allows the free transfer of energy.

There are dozens of books about the mystical purpose of quartz crystals - healers, transmitters, record keepers, time windows. The list is exhaustive. Perhaps in the right hands, those things are true. Nothing amazing has ever happened between me and my crystals. I just like them. I think they are beautiful. No two are ever the same. Some of them do have natural strange etchings on their faces - pyramids, runes, graceful structures, rainbows and fantastic inclusions within them.

One myth is that when a crystal finds the right person, it will become clear. The first crystal I ever purchased was dirty brown, about six inches long and two inches around. There was an inclusion within it that spiraled up from the bottom. The faces were beat up and chipped. It had been on a long, rough journey. Most crystals are violently broken from their matrix but there was only one tiny little area where mine had been connected to its mother matrix. In effect, it is almost as if it formed whole. As soon as I saw it, ugly and chipped and dirty-looking as it was, I felt an immediate connection to it. I had to have it. For the first several years I owned this crystal, it was cloudy and you could not easily see through it. One day I suddenly realized it was clear. What happened within the crystal to make it become clear is a mystery. It is still brown in color, but it has cleared within.

I do not give much serious thought to all the angel/spirit/space brother/spiritual ray hokiness of most of that new age stuff. Most of the time I think it is harmless imagination. But the tolerance and proliferation of new age thought has opened the door to far more serious mainstream tolerance and study: biofeedback, energy work acceptance in clinics, hospitals and psychiatry, acupuncture, herbal healing - things too numerous to list here.

Skepticism is good, I think. It is healthy. Of course, if a space brother ever contacts me, I might have to reconsider.