There were at least six or seven, if my memory serves me correctly, and they made the most delightful little grunts whenever I came to visit.  I would stick my nose right up to their little noses, their nostrils pushing up and down to smell me as best they could.  I visited those piglets nearly every day of our vacation, never wanting to miss the chance to see them.  These were stolen moments for me, away from the stress of my cousins (of whom, I was the youngest at the time) who constantly teased or ignored me, depending on the cousin and the day.  The pigs, more than any one else on those vacations, were my best company.

Waterford says hello.

So, of course, I was delighted when Winslow Farm invited two new pigs into their family.  The first pig that came aboard was Waterford, weighing in at around 300 lbs and only a year old!  Waterford joined Winslow Farm by way of a family who “won” him. 

The story is that the family were at a fair in Waterford, Maine and there was a contest to see who could catch some piglets.  A little girl caught Waterford and then learned that, for a sum of money (that I can’t recall of the top of my head), they could take the pig home–saving him from a sadder fate more common to pigs than I’d like to admit.  Being good-hearted people, they paid for the pig and rescued him from slaughter. 

But Waterford grew quickly and became more than the family could handle.  He lived outside where the family was unable to provide him with good shelter.  This Spring, they did not know what to do when Waterford became ill.  They did not want to spend the money for a vet visit and, finding a vet to help out a pig proved to be a challenge, anyway.  Luckily, they heard about Winslow Farm and gave the owner, Deb, a call.  Deb went into action, creating a pen for Waterford to live in–as well as injecting a dose of penicillin into the pig when no veterinarians were willing to, themselves.  And so, Waterford’s life was saved.

He now has a huge space and a house to roam around in.  Waterford lives up to his aristocratic name by being very neat, keeping all of his food in his dish and going to the bathroom every time in the same location.  After the farm is closed to visitor’s for the day, Deb even takes him out and lets him run all over the farm.  They chase each other and have grown very close.  Waterford is a happy and friendly pig who greets all visitors with hopeful grunts as they approach.

Napolean is released into his new forever-home.

WInslow Farm’s second new family member, Napolean, just arrived today.  He is a skinny, little thing with big eyes who is always wagging his tail.  Deb is currently building him a house to go with Waterford’s but, in the meantime, he is staying in the goose area.  Today, I had the honor of watching him get acclimated to his new environment.  He sniffed the ground endlessly and even enjoyed a treat of strawberries. 

I am not exactly sure what Napoleon’s story is, but from what I’ve heard, it sounds similar to a lot of pig’s stories when they end up in Sanctuaries like Winslow Farm.  He ended up being more work (and bigger) than his owners expected.  I remember when I was little, I wanted a pot-bellied pig, myself, thinking it would grow to no bigger than a cocker-spaniel.  Sadly, that is not the case and many optimistic pig-owners find that out the hard way.  Thankfully, places like Winslow Farm can help in such cases!

These two pigs are wonderful new additions to the farm and visiting with them brings me back to those days on Prince Edward Island.  Today, I ran over to Waterford, like I was six years old again and I held back giggles as he rushed over to me.   The smell of hay and the pancake nose brought me back and I felt as though I was with an old friend.

Napolean enjoys his first feast on the farm; strawberries.

In hindsight, I’m not exactly sure what it was, way back when, that made me fall in love with those piglets.  Maybe it’s because their eyes always seem to be smiling or maybe I just needed a few friends in those days.  Whatever it was, the love affair continues!

Our first home-made loaf of bread, cooling in the window sill and filling our apartment with the smell of home.

“[Breadbaking is] one of those almost hypnotic businesses, like a dance from some ancient ceremony. It leaves you filled with one of the world’s sweetest smells…there is no chiropractic treatment, no Yoga exercise, no hour of meditation in a music-throbbing chapel. that will leave you emptier of bad thoughts than this homely ceremony of making bread.”
-M. F. K. Fisher, The Art of Eating

Recently, Jonathan and I tried our hand(s) at making our own bread.  We started with this simple recipe.  It turned out fantastic and it is true what the author says about the bread making excellent toast.  It was crispy, yet moist.  It also had an subtle sweet flavor that made you want to eat the whole loaf all at once.

From there, we went on to try a rosemary bread recipe found here.  This bread wasn’t the raving success I’d hoped it would be, but I’m pretty sure that was my fault.  I didn’t follow the directions as closely as I should have–missing the salt and adding all of the rosemary and butter at once.. oops!  Not only that, but we killed the yeast because the water was too hot and had to add another packet to the mix (it did rise eventually!)… I’ll try the recipe again later and let you know how it goes when I’m actually paying attention!

Both times we made the bread, however, were magical.  It’s funny, but bread-making is something I’ve always imagined myself doing when I was a grown-up, earth-mother type of woman.  Whenever I imagined the life I wanted, I’d be standing in a kitchen somewhere, throwing dough around and feeling serene.  I’ve been a woman for quite some time now and I don’t know why I never tried making bread before.  Maybe I just never thought I was quite ready to take on that earthy role… until now.

After only two loaves (one successful, one eh), I can tell you that I love to make bread.  The act of kneading feels timeless.  I do this and feel linked to millions of people throughout history who have come before me to do the same.  As the dough toughens beneath my hands, forming its glutenous connections, I am completely in the moment.  I pinch the dough, I squeeze it, I punch it, I throw it down violently on the counter, laughing.  I watch Jonathan do the same and I can’t stop smiling.  We are both in the moment; connected.  Even if there was no bread to show for all of our hard work, the act of making bread alone would be worth it. 

Thich Nhat Hanh says of washing dishes, “I enjoy taking my time with each dish, being fully aware of the dish, the water, and each movement of my hands. I know that if I hurry in order to go and have a cup of tea, the time will be unpleasant and not worth living. That would be a pity, for each minute, each second of life is a miracle. The dishes themselves and the fact that I am here washing them are miracles! Each bowl I wash, each poem I compose, each time I invite a bell to sound is a miracle, each has exactly the same value. One day, while washing a bowl, I felt that my movements were as sacred and respectful as bathing a newborn Buddha.” 

This completely captures how I feel when I make bread. 

Yesterday, I put a dish of water and flour, mixed together, on my counter to create what is called a “starter.”  This starter attracts wild yeast in the air and is used to make my favorite kind of bread; sourdough.  Historians believe that yeast was first discovered through water and flour that were left out too long and this is how leavened bread was born. And now I get to use the age-old “accident” to make my own bread.   Isn’t that just wonderful?

Athena before she was shorn.

Those of you who read my post, Love on the Farm, may have already heard some of Athena’s story.  Athena, like the Goddess she is named after, became born through a leap.  While the goddess was born leaping from Zeus’s head, this Athena leapt, instead, from a truck that was bringing her to slaughter and was born to a new life.   She jumped out on Route 495, a highway, in Middleboro, Mass.  There she lived, for two years, escaping the local authority’s attempts to capture her and dodging traffic.  It is a mystery how she survived–especially through the winters.

Eventually. the town bought a special trap and captured Athena.  She was brought, along with a goat (now named Gulliver) that they also caught, to Winslow Farm.

When I first met Athena, I knew very little about her, but I could see that she had a storied past.  Many of the animals at Farm Sanctuaries like Winslow Farm do have such pasts, but Athena stood out to me.  There was something in her stance that made me smile.  Some one at the farm told me she was shy, but I didn’t take Athena’s stand-off attitude for shyness.  To me, she was bold, suspicious and angry.  Athena had a “what the heck are you looking at” attitude that I can’t resist.  There is an aura of experience and power around this little sheep that I could not write off as anything so meak as shyness.  

Athena is a survivor and, if it weren’t for her bravery and the help of Winslow Farm, she wouldn’t be alive today.  She saved her own life by running away from a terrible situation and, pretty much, not trusting people.

Which is why I was so proud of her last week, when I found out she had been laying with the sheep in the sheep house.  Normally, Athena chills in her own area, near where some of the horses are kept.  She keeps to herself, mostly, allowing only Gulliver (her cell–and soul–mate) to play with her.  Athena was closed off to the other animals and definitely to the people.  But, that’s all starting to change.  Even today, as I cleaned the sheep’s area, Athena hung out.  Yeah, she didn’t want anything to do with me and she ran right past me whenever I got too close, but she still stuck around.  There is certainly something to be said for that. 

The capacity to heal and forget is a thing worth noting in animals like Athena, who have been through so much.   There are people who say that animals don’t have memories, but I’ve been around enough abused animals (and loved ones) to know that they do remember.  They remember the people who give them treats and the people who hurt them. 

When I volunteered at Maple Farm Sanctuary, there was a sheep who just started living there named Tara Anna.  Tara Anna’s story is a little disturbing so, if you’re squeemish about these things, feel free to jump to the next paragraph.  She was rescued from a horrible situation.  A group of women were planning to slaughter her, but before they did, they decided to have a little “fun” I guess… they tied her, by the neck, to a riding lawn-mower and dragged her around their yard, beating her with sticks as they did so.  Tara Anna struggled to break free but could not.  Luckily, there was a nursing home nearby.  The people living there saw what was happening and called the police.  The women explained to the cops that they were going to “use her as a pinata” and then eat her.  Luckily, their plan was thwarted and Tara Anna was rescued. 

When my husband and I met her at Maple Farm, she was terrified of everyone and everything.  It was horrible to see the pain and mistrust these women put her through.  I never thought Tara Anna would trust another human again.  Over the months we worked there, though, she did start the healing process.  She even took crackers from my hand one day.  It was amazing. 

Athena with her new haircut.

Seeing that transformation and the transformation Athena is going through now is a healing experience for me, too.  Knowing that animals who cannot speak or stand up for themselves, and who have been through things worse than most people I know, are able to trust humans again is wonderful.  Since there is no way that we can apologize to them to make things better, only time and trust can heal those wounds.  Giving an animal love and a safe environment allows them to blossom again.  Watching this process slowly unfold is a magical thing.

Of course, Athena has not completely recovered from her own feelings of mistrust. By the end of the day, she was back in her area with the horses, bleating with the best of them.  But, I know that over this Summer, she will make many breakthroughs and be full of surprises.  Who knows?  Maybe someday I’ll even be able to brush her.

I followed the recipe nearly exactly, only I used a couple less garlic cloves, because mine were huge, and I also precooked the fries in the oven instead of the microwave. 

Precooking fries is something I’d never heard of until I saw this recipe.  From what I’ve read online and heard recently on the American Iron Chef, precooking fries helps them to get a uniform cook the second time around.  On the Iron Chef, Sam Mason (the challenger) cooked his fries for a couple of minutes in the deep fryer, removed them to cool completely, and then cooked them all the way through later.  In working with this recipe, I tossed the fries in a large sauce-pan filled with oil and garlic (per the directions) and then put the pan, covered, into the stove for about 5 minutes.  I can’t say whether or not this precooking made a huge difference, but the fries were out of this world.

They reminded me of the garlic fries that Flash’s, a restaurant in Boston, serves.  For years, I’ve been on a quest to figure out how to cook them, myself.  This is the recipe I’ve been looking for.  These fries have a wonderful texture, not too crunchy or to dry or soggy.. they are a Goldilocks dream come true; just right.  The garlic flavor doesn’t hit you over the head (though I expected it to, with all of the garlic this recipe calls for), instead it permeates the fries creating a rich flavor.  The fries also call for cayenne pepper, which gave an extra kick–but, again, it was just enough. 

After trying this recipe, my husband and I vowed to throw away all of our old freezer-fries and never buy them again.  Why would we when we have such a wonderful, easy, and delicious fry recipe to make any time we want?

Image of Walden Pond courtesy of Mass Department of Conservation and Recreation

As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler; solitude will not be solitude, poverty will not be poverty, nor weakness weakness.
      -Henry David Thoreau

Last night, I had an interesting dream.  I was watching a live production of Saturday Night Live when I noticed that a soloist in the chorus (it was a dream, afterall) was a girl I went to high school with, Tara.  Watching, I thought about how much I disliked her.  We were always competing for the star role in plays or for solos in chorus and, much to my chagrin, I was always on the losing end.  Still, Tara seemed to hate me for even coming close to beating her.  After the song was over, Tara rushed off the stage and I decided to call to her because I was proud of my life.  I was proud that I owned my own business and that I did something interesting like reading tarot.  So, I called after her. 

She turned around, looking mad–disgusted–at being bothered.  “Hi, Tara, I’m Cathy Hughes–” I gave her my married name and then switched to my maiden one, pleased that I accidentally told her I was married without bragging about it. 

“I remember you,” she was not impressed.

I told her she sang great.  She replied, “I know.”   She went on to tell me all of her accomplishments.  “I’ve written a book,” she said. 

I thought for a minute, I kind of wrote a book on nanowrimo two years ago.  I decided to tell her I’d written one, too, and that I was now working on my second.  She said, “A paperback mystery, no doubt.” 

“No, it’s instructional,” I hoped she’d ask me more and I could tell her it was about tarot, but she just looked confused and then the dream changed and the part with Tara was over. 

When I awoke, I started writing in my journal and thinking about what Tara symbolized in my dream.

Something told me that Tara was really me.  I felt as if the struggle to gain her approval and attention was the same struggle I’ve been experiencing with myself these days.  I’m seldom impressed with my accomplishments.  I compare myself to others who seem more successful than I am.  But, truth be told, I’m not even sure I know what success, for me, is anymore. 

Before I was self-employed, I always had a boss, a raise, and promotions to confirm I was doing a good job–and, even then, it required someone else pointing that out to me.   At times when my boss wasn’t the type to compliment me, I lost motivation and felt like a failure no matter how much work I did.  Oftentimes, I would swiftly find another position when these bosses came into my life.  These days, I am my own boss and the structure of praise is quite different and, as a result, challenging for me.  I’ve been left to my own devices and I often default to common-held definitions of success when evaluating my life.

Success is money, having your own home, having a family, etc., etc.  Mainly, success is something gained through achieving ownership.  As much as I don’t want to believe society really feels this way, I am faced with it every day.  I get emailed newsletters from marketing “gurus” claiming that abundance and money are interchangeable and that you are “worth” more, so you can charge more money.  Abundance always seems to be linked to finances and not to abundance.  No, as much as I want to believe that money doesn’t equal success for most people, it does.   This constantly messes with my sense of self-worth.  I’m always vacillating between fighting against and embracing the representation of success that society offers. 

The real kicker is that money is not much of a problem for us right now, but I feel like if my wallet isn’t growing at a rapid rate, then I’m a failure.  Tough stuff.  But, That’s the Tara in me.  I don’t care if I’ve had over a hundred hits to my tarot site.  I don’t care if my class at the BCAE is full or if my book is going really well or if I’m happy in my marriage–unless I can put a dollar amount on it or view myself as in league with “successful” people.

But, there is another side to all of this.

Somedays, I catch myself thinking this way and force a step back.  Am I happy?  Do I feel fulfilled?  Isn’t that success more than anything else?  I may not be making as much money as I was when I worked a full-time job (yet!), but I get to hear the birds sing in the middle of the day.  I can enjoy the sun and take breaks from working whenever I like.  I get to spend quality time with my dog.   This life that I’ve got is a big accomplishment.  I’ve broken free.  I no longer toss and turn at night worrying about work the next day and Sunday afternoons are a delight instead of a source of anxiety about the next day.  When I stop and think about it, these things are the part of the American Express commercial that would be coined, “Priceless.”  Not too shabby, if you ask me.

Now, if only I could remember that…!

For years, I was a girl without a working deodorant.  I tried a myriad of natural products with varying–but unsatisfying–results.  I tried Tom’s of Maine deodorant a few times which always resulted in sticky armpits that didn’t smell any better and even seemed to sweat more.  There was an Amber Paste perfume that I used for several years which did the trick (people near me would ask, “What smells like cookies?”), but also left brown stains on the pits of my shirts.  And, of course, there was regular deodorant which worked, but always freaked me out when it came time to wash it off and I had to exfoliate my skin for it to feel normal again.

Then I found Lush’s deodorant bars and I was sold.  They worked wonders and left me feeling fresh and optimistic.  Finally, something out there cut the odor without potentially putting my health at risk and without staining my clothes.  But, even the charm of a working deodorant can be neutralized by pushy salespeople. 

Yes, I abandoned my Lush deodorant bars because I HATE going into Lush.  (Warning!  Rant!)  The salespeople are aggressive, pushy, and annoying.  One time, I was accosted by a representative and forced to try his stupid glitter handwash, warning him that I didn’t have the money to buy anything but the deodorant in my hand.  When I did not buy any additional products, he became rude and arrogant.  It’s like he didn’t believe that I didn’t have money and I owed him for his quality time with me.  Grrrrr.  Sadly, this was not one isolated instant and I’m pretty sure that the staff at Lush are trained on how to be jerks and force people into buying things they don’t want.  I am writing this now, in the hopes that some exec in Lush will read this and realize that they’re tactics are actually losing them money.  I will NEVER go into your stores again.  You boundary-haters don’t deserve my business! 

…anyway!

Lush did give me one, final gift that I realized a couple of days ago.  I remembered a pesky salesperson mentioning that the main ingredient in their deodorant bars is baking soda.  Aha!  So, I decided to try baking soda and see what happened.

Who knew the answer to my armpit woes was in my kitchen all along?!  The baking soda doesn’t keep me completely dry, but that was never too big a concern.  What it does do is neutralize my body odor in a clean and healthy way.  Just what I was looking for!  Inspired by this discovery, I went online to find a few recipes for deodorant using baking soda and have settled for a very simple solution. 

My yummy-smelling, home-made deodorant.

So, for anyone who might be interested, here is the deodorant solution I’m using (courtesy of this site):  It’s one part baking soda and one part cornstarch (I find it keeps you drier and it also cuts the graininess of the baking soda) and a few drops of essential oils (optional).  The oils I used were cinnamon and tea tree, but you can get creative and make whatever scents you like.  Put your mixture into a tupperware container, shake and voila!  You have deodorant.  I put it on using my hands when my skin is still a little damp from the shower.  It works like a charm.

Not only does it work, but it’s inexpensive and a cup of the mixture will most likely last me for several months.  The packaging is limited and the ingredients are natural, so it’s good for the environment, too.  I can’t tell you how relieved I am to have found this solution.  If you have also had this struggle, I hope it helps you, too!  And, if the people at Lush drive you as nuts as they drive me (nuts enough for me to stop buying “Love Lettuce” or “Cupcake”, two of my favorite masks), maybe if enough people blog about it, they’ll get the message!

Recently, I decided to relive those days and, hopefully, improve my Garfield drawing skills.  So, I started looking online for instructions on how to draw my furry friend.  I was disappointed with links that promised to show how to draw Garfield step-by-step and turned out to be videos of people drawing garfield pretty quickly.  While entertaining, they weren’t the instructions that I needed!  Still other sites seemed to have step-by-step instructions, but they were way too challenging!  In step one, you’d already be halfway through the picture!  Those were not the baby steps that this feldgling cartoonist needed.

Then I found Melane Newman’s site, which had a few tutorials for cartoon characters, including Garfield (Warning!  Don’t let the thunderclap when you open her site startle you!).  The directions were easy to follow and I had a lot of fun learning how to draw Garfield.   Here are some shots of the process below:

My Attempt at Drawing Garfield

Alright, so he still looks like he’s been hitting the sauce.. I know.  I knew it wasn’t very good when my husband saw my Garfield pictures and then the picture I later did of Thumper and he said, “Oh, you’re Thumper is great!”  Sorry, Garfield, no props for you!  Oh, and here is my Thumper from this part of Melane’s site:

My Thumper

 Drawing Thumper was a lot more challenging, but I think that was a good thing.  It made me really pay attention to what I was doing and the result did turn out much better, as my husband so gently pointed out! 

No matter what the result, however, I am grateful that Melane’s site exists as it’s the only one I’ve found with instructions that I can follow.  If you are interested in trying out drawing one of her cartoon’s for yourself, I highly recommend it!  When you begin, make sure you click the link for “Download White Paper” for the full set of directions, as the ones that appear on the first page are not complete.

I had so much fun drawing these little characters.  I think I’m may go out and buy a set of colored pencils so I can keep working at it.  If I do, I’ll continue to share the results with you.  And, please feel free to share with us your own results with, or websites for, drawing cartoon characters!

It seems like everyone who grew up at the same time as me was as big a fan of Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead trilogy as I was. And I was always happy for Sam Raimi’s subsequent Spider-Man jackpot, but honestly never really liked those films. They were square. I never felt that he was having a lot of fun making them; not like Evil Dead.  So I was excited that reviews for Drag Me to Hell said it was throwback, vintage, laugh-out-loud-disgusting Sam Raimi. They weren’t wrong.

So why didn’t I love it?

Image Courtesy of Indiewire.com

Things start off very promising with a failed exorcism in which the soul of a young boy gets taken downtown and a Mexican priestess vows revenge against the evil spirit who takes him there. Alison Lohman plays the not at all oddly named Christine Brown, a meager farm girl turned loan officer at a local bank who, in the hopes of impressing her boss and winning a promotion, denies an old gypsy woman an extension on her mortgage. Things don’t go well after that.

At the end of a jaw dropping, epic brawl, out comes that gypsy curse. And it’s here when the movie should be kicking in to high gear. It’s here, as well, where Raimi lost me. Christine is told by a psychic (or something?) that she has been cursed with a an evil spirit that will torment her for three days and ultimately drag her to the fires.  From this point, the movie settles for scares of the loud sudden noise variety and a series of repetitive scenes culminating in geysers of blood flowing from noses, maggots being vomited up, and the like.

Once the movie gets back on track with our Mexican exorcist and a pretty great seance scene (when was the last time you saw one of those?), I realized it was too late. I was bored, and nothing was going to bring me back. The final twist is not a surprise and the climax of the film depends on you not seeing what’s coming. It lacked kick.

As much as a lot of this movie was a real return to Evil Dead territory for Raimi, CGI blood and guts is no substitute for gallons of the red corn syrup. It’s a perfect illustration of what I found disappointing. I liked the sentiment, but I like my blood spattered, maggot infested bile with a bit more flavor.

Yummy Oatmeal-Raisin Bars (only two left after last night!)

Wanting to make oatmeal-raisin cookies, but not wanting to go through the trouble of separating out each individual cookie and baking and cooling in shifts, etc., etc., I went online in search of an oatmeal-raisin bar.  I found this recipe on Martha Stewart’s site and was thrilled that I had all of the ingredients.

This recipe was very simple and easy to follow especially for someone like me, who has little experience with baking.  I did make a couple of changes, using golden raisins and dried cranberries in the recipe instead of just using raisins.  I also added some chopped walnuts which I definitely recommend! 

The batter was delicious (salmonella be damned) and both my husband and I enjoyed spooning it up after we had put our bars in the oven to cook. 

During cooking, we did have a problem that was probably the result of my limited experience with baking.  The recipe calls for using parchment paper  under the bars with overhang on either side, to make it easier to life the bars out of the pan when you’re done.  We did not have parchment paper, so I decided to use wax paper instead.  Of course, I looked at the package and it said that you could use it for baking, so I thought all would be fine.  Well, apparently (and I blush saying this, knowing that some of you already know what happened) wax paper smokes when it is just out and about in the oven.  Our whole apartment filled with waxy smoke.  I almost aborted the baking attempt, but perservered, opting to just cut the paper down mid-bake.  Luckily, this worked out fine and the bars did not taste like burning wax, which I feared.

No, the bars tasted excellent.  They were like a big, chewy oatmeal raisin cookie, which is what I wanted in the first place!  I must say, for anyone who tries this recipe, they were even better the next day.  So, if you make it, be sure to keep some hidden from your friends and family until the day after, when the ingredients seem to start a conspiracy of texture and flavor just to make you want more.

Overall, this was an easy and yummy little recipe that I definitely recommend!

This sheep, Athena, lived on a stretch of Highway in Middleboro, MA for two years after escaping from a slaughter truck. She was finally caught and brought to Winslow Farm, where she is still learning the challenging art of trust.

Each Friday and Saturday, I volunteer at Winslow Farm, a sanctuary for a wide variety of farm animals in Norton, MA.  On Fridays, I greet visitors, clean the sheep area, and hang out with the animals.  On Saturdays, I sit at a picnic bench, near a blazing campfire, watch the animals, and offer tarot readings to guests that stop by.  I have to say this is my favorite place to give tarot readings because the atmosphere is so natural and inspiring.

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve loved working on farms.  In my childhood, I would visit my cousin on Cape Cod for two weeks each summer and work with him at a stable.  We would groom the horses, clean the stables, give out pony rides, and, sometimes, I’d get to ride the horses.  The sweet smell of hay filled the air and I was hooked.  I never wanted to go home!

Years later, I found out about farm sanctuaries and immediately wanted to volunteer at one.  I started volunteering at Maple Farm Sanctuary with my husband on the weekends.  The work was hard and messy, but I loved it.  Hearing the stories of the goats, sheep and llamas and how they escaped death or abusive situations was inspiring.  We cleaned out their pens, feeling like boddhisatvas helping these animals in their fateful second lives.  Sadly, we only spent one summer at the farm before we moved to Mansfield and the commute to the farm became too much for us.  That said, if anyone reading this lives near Mendon, MA and is interested in volunteering at Maple Farm, I know they need all of the help they can get!

This is Murray, who greets me whenever I come to the farm. He is a deaf dog (who I also think is Def!) whose owners could no longer keep him. He's as sweet as can be!

Then, I found Winslow Farm Sanctuary, which is less than twenty minutes away from where I live.  The 60+ acres of land is gorgeous with plenty of places to sit and enjoy the scenery as well as places to interact with the goats, sheep, chickens, etc.  Not only has it rekindled my love of working with farm animals (especially ones who don’t have to worry about getting slaughtered), but it has also rekindled my love of photographing animals (as you can see!).

I had forgotten how much I love volunteering and how it changes my attitude towards life.  So often, and especially in the current economic climate, getting money for my work takes precidence over everything else.  I tend to get caught up in judging the value of everything, including time spent with friends, etc.  While this is understandable, it’s also very stressful!  I stop living in the moment.  My focus becomes selfish and jaded.  The enjoyment gets sucked out of life pretty quickly when I put a price tag on everything!

This emu is one of two at the farm. Emus are the world's second largest birds and they're a wonderful reminder of their prehistoric ancestors!

And, if I had all of the money I wanted, what would I buy?  I would buy things to make me feel good about myself; things to fuel my creativity and my sense of wonder.  Funny enough, that is exactly what volunteering on the farm gives me for free!!  I have new friends (animals are the best kind!) and I’m getting a nice little tan just by giving.  It’s an instant exchange and it is most joyful!

I know a lot of people mistake having an abundant life for having money.  There are people who won’t even barter because they feel like that would somehow be saying your services aren’t worth money.  I can’t help but think that this is the exact opposite of abundant thinking!  Placing money as the most important thing we can receive for our hard work seems too limiting, especially if we can get what we need without those little slips of paper.  I would much rather view having an abundant life as having so much joy that it flows over naturally and enables us to give to others without hesitation or strings attached.  Living abundantly means being able to give abundantly–with ourselves and our boundaries in tact. 

For me, volunteering at Winslow Farm has been a wonderful way to get in touch with this part of myself.  It’s something I’m just starting to learn, but I’m enjoying it heartily!