Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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friday 5 at the farm: inspiration lately

ONE: The way Dusty, Chanta, Scarlett and Rhett wander and graze calmly inspires me to slow down and savor things more. They still get the zoomies occasionally and do move with a bit of urgency at actual meal times; but most of the day, these four legged babies are placid and measured. Watching them drops my heart rate and causes me to breathe deeply, which creates space for fresh ideas.

((Dusty with sunglasses. Our girl likes to dress her horse fashionably. He loves it. xoxo))

TWO: A week ago, some extraordinary writing crossed my path, and it left me rethinking careers, vocations, and how we apply and employ talent. I had always regarded professional business writing as a completely separate skill set than creative writing. I had always understood one to produce clearly expressed facts and opinions to the end of good decision making or informing and the other to use language to express ideas and explore nuance and beauty, imagery and imagination. What a revelation to me that the two might intersect. I am so inspired by this writer who uses his talent in flexible ways. The piece I read left me craving more, as if it were a novel; and it reminded me of the power of creative writing, how truths can often be more powerfully conveyed through allegory and metaphor. Thrilling, really.

THREE: I am inspired by so many of my friends’ gardens. The focus people have and the many varied themes and ideas they bring to life are amazing to me. We all are drawing from a similar pool of suitable plant life for this growing zone, but somehow every single garden looks completely different. And that is wildly inspiring. How wonderful to pause and shuffle the mouthwatering images in my memory and imagination and settle on something I want to create here. How exciting to think that God gave us these brightly colored flowers and vegetables as little finger-paints to do a craft for Him to put on His fridge.

((foudn on a sidewalk in a small town near a cute antique shop))

FOUR: I love to see women out in the wild wearing anything that obviously makes them feel great. Bonus points if it also looks comfortable, ha! I love seeing women walking alone, wearing unusual jewelry or flowy skirts, accessories that don’t seem to “match” but look incredible. I like tattoos that are only partially colored in. I like imagining the stories behind them, the lives being lived by the owners of those bodies and how things might evolve over time. These glimpses inspire me to escape the confines of my jeans-and-black-tank-top farm uniform and wear my beautiful dresses and necklaces more often. Will I get a silhouette tattoo and only partially color it in? That seems like a very Freshly Fifty thing to do. But no. Probably I will just opt for even more turquoise pendants.

FIVE: I am deeply inspired by my husband every time he musters the mental energy to spend a few hours in his car shop. It is part of his DNA, being a car guy, and it fulfills him when it goes well. Caring for classic cars is a multifaceted labor of love. It requires artistic vision, ever increasing technical knowledge, patience, physical stamina, and a little money. It can require lots of open ended time, collaboration with others, and complex decision matrices, too, which are tall orders in a life already saturated with heavy responsibility, emergencies, and long days being tied to others’ schedules and needs. So when BW changes out of his suit and into grease stained jeans and a worn out t-shirt, I am so happy. I am inspired by his conscious choice to invest in something that has historically brought him lots of joy. I am inspired by his ability to problem solve and pour his creativity into such needy beasts. Lately the needy beast has been his 1968 Camaro, the one car of his fleet he has owned the longest. Last weekend after several hours of labor, he said calmly, “She lives.” And it might have done more than just inspire me. ; )

What is inspiring you lately?
Let’s allow the hundreds of
ingrediemnts of life to make us better.
XOXOXO

introducing… Rhett McTavish

Exciting announcemet! A few weeks ago, we added a new member to the Lazy W Farmily. Rhett McTavish is a ten month old Highland with long auburn red hair, abbreviated horns, and deep set, sparkling brown eyes topped with the most ubelievable long, straight lashes. His expression can be described as permanently contended. His disposition is truly sweet with a dab of onery. And he has an overall sense of curiosity about the world. We are all smitten over here, as I know you will be once you meet him.

((rhett mctavish, march 2024))

Why do we keep doing this, you ask? Why do we keep bringing home animals when we know that one day, either terrifyingly soon or many years down the road, their death will break our hearts? Because we are gluttons for punishment, ha.

No. We are not. In fact, this was a hard choice and one not made lightly, with so much grief from wintertime still fresh.

Really, we found Rhett because Miss Scarlett Rose needs a proper companion. While she and Klaus did bond fast and true over the winter months, as she approached her first birthday in February she began showing signs of sexual maturity. Or, if not maturity, then at least exuberance. Enthusism. Our happy go lucky little man was bewildered, unprepared, and basically unsafe playing chasing games like soccer, hide and seek, chase, etc. I had started carrying a “NO MA’AM” stick with us on back pasture walks, and really that is no way for any of us to live peacefully.

As for the horses being potential herdmates, they eventually did relax about her presence in the middle field. She had started sharing hay with them a little, and they all three even napped in the same general vicinity of each other, with no incidents. But Dusty is fifteen, Chanta is twenty five, and neither of them seems interested in soccer or high strung little cows.

Scarlett is a herd animal and just seemed lost. Back in October, we had intended for her to be with Shelby and Shelby’s baby, after all. So. We decided to get a cow for our cow. And the exhaustive search led us to a ranch just north of Stillwater. A woman there had acquired a pregnant cow with no record of the calf’s paternity, so he had no market value as a pure Highland. But he has perfect value to us.

He is as beautiful and endearing as you can imagine, and we care zero for his paternity. We only care that he could travel (which he did, like a champ!) and was young enough to be safe to handle and maybe train a bit (check) and potentially a good match for our girl (time will tell, of course, but so far so good). We just want him to have a long happy life here, grazing and napping and being brushed, you know, just doing lots of cow stuff! And helping Scarlett feel less alone in the world, as she can do for him in return.

If you are wondering whether we intend to breed Rhett and Scarlett, the answer is no. Despite their Gone With the Wind monikers, we intend for them to be companions and hopefully platonic roomies and BFFs for the next very many years or so. He will eventually outgrow her, though for now she has the advantage on not only age but also size.

Edit: Since writing that last sentence a week ago, I should tell you that we have noticed that he has noticed that he has horns. So.

((rhett feasting on hay in late march 2024))

To my point about not breeding Rhett and Scarlett: Before we loaded him into our trailer that day, he was directed into a squeeze shoot and endured the mild indignity of banding, a quick process by which he became a steer, no longer a bull. At nine months old, we thought that surely he was several months away from being ready to mate; but still we felt good about taking this precaution right away.

The last few weeks have been pretty wonderful.

Scarlett spent the first few days bossing him around, making sure he knew it was her pen and her cow cabin and her hay and her mama. But he was undeterred. He just followed her everywhere. They quickly began to move almost as one animal, and he picked up on our farm day routines like magic. It has been fun to watch them interact, bump into each other for treats, and nap within a few feet of each other. He learned immediately that the garden cottage is where we keep their proten feed, so anytime I work in there I can feel someone wacthing me.

((rhett sending me telepathy about needing a little treat))

For one day and one day only, we did observe some romantic behavior between them, but the geometry didn’t quite line up, so we are not worried about an unplanned pregnancy. Also, his banding should soon have taken full effect.

I could tell you cow stories all day. They are both so funny, just full of innocence and insistent about their needs, like toddlers. They terrorize the horses, but gently, and they get the zoomies when loose in the middle field. We love them. Klaus loves them. I think Klaus is also relieved to have someone bigger and sturdier to absorb Scarlett’s considerable energy, ha.

The learning curve has been solid. My husband has a bank of childhood memories from his grandfather’s ranch, and we are surrounded now by cattle ranching friends who help us naviagte the ocean of internet answers when we have questions. We also love our vet. I am fully enjoying it all. I hope that Rhett will soon accept grooming like Scarlett does, but I am in no hurry. He comes straight to us when we walk outside, accepts treats and fly spray, and has shown zero agression. This is a very good beginning. And Scarlett Rose is no longer a lonely cow.

“Friends are the siblings God never gave us.”
~Menicus
XOXO

early march touchstones

Hello friends! Long time no blog. In the weeks since we said goodbye to Meh and you all poured out your love so generously, life on the farm has been a classic mix of funny and serious, hard working and deeply restful, celebatory and mundane. Basically, all the ingredients that make life worth living. We have been soaking it up and trying our best to make the days count, you know? I hope you have, too, and I hope you are well.

((turns out, forcing tulips indoors makes a great Easter display…xoxo))

In Oklahoma we seem to be waltzing toward a pretty reliable springtime, and our calendar is filling up with all the attendant festivals and family parties for which I try hard to be ready, after long, sweaty days and weekends outdoors. Who am I kidding? My husband would love for me to be showered and presentable just for a weeknight dinner, ha! But that is a big ask this time of year.

I do love this time of year. I love the mild chaos of a garden cottage filled wtih seed trays, hand tools, and plant labels. I love that the oak trees are finally dropping the last of their crunchy leaves, just as the maples and redbuds are dotting themselves with barely visible leaf buds. I love how Solomon’s Seal is closely following the daffodil parade and that we are watching for signs of tulips who have defied the odds. I love that the horses are shedding and the hens are laying again, just like clockwork. I love the days when my hardest decision is how much regular work I should do before diving into garden work, which actually feels like play. I love that we are collectively trading out winter clothes for bright colors and sundresses. I love that daylight is expanding, birdsong is growing louder, pollinators are exploring, and ideas are multiplying faster than I can even write them down.

((Chanta & Dusty feasting on alfalfa and shedding their winter coats…xoxo))
((Miss Scarlett Rose, getting acquainted with her new pasture…xoxo))

How can it already be March?

So much to do and say.

We owe you all a heartfelt thank you for sharing in our grief over Meh. I have a post coming out soon that will answer some questions about that, and we have some reflections to share.

We have exciting family updates to share! We also have a community event in the works (locals, stay tuned). And I have a milestone birthday around the corner, which has me feeling extra philosophical, ha! So, you know, either stay tuned or stay clear, whatever suits you best.

((a photo from February, but remind me to update you on our handsome boys))

Speaking of milestone birthdays, a little red head we love recently crossed the one year mark, and our dear friend Cathy hand crocheted her this darling crown to celebrate! We’ll work on getting better photos so you can see the details. It is absolutely scrumptious her sweet, forelock topped head.

((Scarlett Rose, middle field royalty…xoxo))

Life is still good. Life is better than ever not despite the shadows and hardships but because the shadows and the hardships are part of the recipe. They always will be, but we grow stronger and more elegant in how we navigate them. This injects such depth and sweetness.

((Miss Scarlett Rose is finding her place in the Farmily.
She is officially one year old now and pure joy!))

Life is still full of beauty and work worth doing. Still thrumming with new energy and mercy and Love. Life is still all about awareness and connection, about what we choose to focus on and magnify.

((oh HI-drangea! xoxo))

Thanks very much for checking in. I hope you are welcoming every life ingredient with open arms and that, if you are gardening this spring, your soil is intoxicating and your growing dreams and wild and colorful.

((dreaming of roses and tomatoes and green bean collecting afternoons))

“Do you know why birds sing just before dawn?
Scientists believe it’s to tell their mates
that they made it through the night.
As a way of saying, I’m still here.
Maybe that’s why we sing, too, why we create art.
As a way of saying, I made it. I’m still here.”
~Jeff Goins
XOXO

love notes to Meh, the world’s sweetest, spiciest llama

This is hard to share, hard to accept, and hard to know how to write.

Last Friday, after a scary and intense couple of days driving back and forth to the animal hospital, we said goodbye to our precious Meh, the world’s sweetest and spiciest llama.

“Meh.” xoxoxo

We are happy to answer any questions his friends may have, and actually I will share in a separate post what had been happening in his life and how it all came to a head last week. For now, I would really like to just honor his spirit and invite his friends to share a little memory. Because man was he a memory maker!

Meh was was one the few Farmily members who was actually born here at the Lazy W, not adopted. He joined us in early June, 2014, so he was fast approachng his tenth birthday. He earned the named “Meh” because from infancy he tottered all around these nine acres just mewing that sing-song word that could mean literally anything and everything. “Meh! Meh! meh meh meh” all day long. Meh. With a hundred unique intonations. It used to crack us up. When he was old and naughty enough to earn a verbal reprimand, we cracked up all over again because have you ever tried to say MEH sternly and with authority? Try it right now. It’s hard to do. He chose his sound, and name, wisely.

He was caramel colored, eventually brown, and especially skinny at birth; but he put on weight like a champ. By Meh’s first birthday, we had adopted Klaus, and the two of them became instant friends. We have always felt that they grew up together, and most of the time I don’t think Meh knew he was a llama. He always tried to hang out with the horses, but the three of them often had conflict. So he gravitated happily to our big German Shepherd, who is a friend to all. Those two provdided just the right amount of play fighting that each could handle, and we loved it.

The Bachelors.

Meh was not destined to mate with a female llama, but nobody told his hormones. He was in tact and ready to party, which is part of what made him such an excellent farm protector. Not one coyote has appeared in all the years we have had him, and I remember years before seeing not just coyotes but also at least one cougar, plus lots of bobcats. He had a penchant for my brunette girlfriends and a few male friends with long, usually dark colored, beards. We warned guests to never go into this field without me, and I ususally carried a pitchfork if the guest was brunette. We called it wearing a llama backpack. If you have ever received that particular show of affection from a large animal, you will not forget it.

He was not just protective and territorial but also smart and hilarious. Meh was easily one of the most social animals we have ever had the pleasure (and terror) of caring for. He would stretch his massive, noodly neck, absolutely wrapped in thick muscles, over the fence, yearning for a face to face conversation. The final result could be anything from a sweet, fuzzy-mouth, butterfly kiss to poofed up cheeks ready to launch vomit-spit. We told people they were taking their own chances, yo. His reasons for preferring some people over others were his and his alone. Apart from hair color, it was hard to discern.

Meh enjoys the distinciton of being the only Farmily member whose portrait we have ever commissioned.

Overall, Meh was so loving. He had a lot of love to give, and he needed just as much in return. He demanded it. He was far from being a solitary creature. Although he didn’t love to be brushed, he would often sidle up between the horses while they were being groomed. He also was amenable to a necessary summertime shearing, so long as his BFF Klaus was nearby to let him know everything was ok. He loved for his throat to be scratched and petted, especially by his Daddy. He tolerated mowkawk tickles.

Meh rejected 99% of the treats offered to him over the years, but his appetite for hay and sweet grain was strong. When we rejected breakfast last Wednsday, I knew he was in trouble. He had never in all these years missed one meal.

Meh was physically much stronger than his skinny legs might make you think. And his soul was as deep as his eyelashes were long. He was moody, yes, but aren’t we all? And he was noisy always, gradually progressing from his monoyllabic chant to a truly impressive Xena Princess Warrior trilling type of scream that was so loud and unsetttling, our neighbors have on a few occassions thought it was me, being attacked. Zero out of ten stars, do not recommend hearing that sound in the middle of the night.

((come at me bro))

Meh was one of the most emotional and expressive creatures I have ever known. When Romulus died, he grieved outwardly in dramatic, almost theatrical ways. He laid over Rom’s body, scraped his head up and down over his father’s neck, and wailed in a brand new, guttural way. If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I would have trouble understanding this description, so if you cannot envision it, I get that. Just know that he felt the loss profoundly. He knew. His grief was undeniable, and we cried all over again that day, just watching him cry. The same thing happened with Shelby back in November. That, in fact, was the day Meh’s aggressive behavior turned a corner. But I’ll share more of that in his medical story.

Meh the llama wondering why I take so many pictures of him.
Dulcie is annoyed at no longer being the darling of the farm. Seraphine is fussing with Romulus, who is easily cowed down by her. Meh is bright and chipper, oblivious to the conflict.

Meh was mostly brown with lots of black and white markings. He had mile long, broomy eye lashes and strong, narrow hooves. I saw a wide ribbon of fresh llama prints in the back field the day afetr we buried him, and I wanted to pour concrete over them so we could see them forever.

Because Meh was born here, and for a thousand intimate reasons, we decided to forego the service that would have removed his body for offsite burial. My husband dug an excellent grave by hand, and we laid him to rest, deep in the front field. We wrapped him with one of Klaus’ bedsheets and gave him a bouquet of some of the garden treasures he has always eaten quite without permission. I will very much miss scoldoing him for tomato and okra contriband this summer. We plan to grow a pine tree near his grave, because almost no matter the weather, he has always preferred to sleep beneath one.

The farm is stragely quiet without him. Klaus has looked for Meh in the last place they saw each other, and that breaks my heart. And we are feeling both the grief of missing him in particular as well as what feels like an accumulation of grief from so many losses over these past thirteen months. More than ever before, in all the years we have lived here, we have said goodbye so many times. Such is the nature of aging animals and, well, life in general. Jessica said it best when she reminded me gently, that it is not meant for any creature to live forever. Not human, not animal. Everyone dies.

But still. I would love to run to outside once more and negotiate a desperate peace treaty between our spicy llama and his pasture mates. I would love to purposefully grow an extra row of okra and peppers so he can uproot and destroy as many as his heart desires. And I know my husband would love to come home after work and receive Meh’s reliable driveway kisses and cryptic grunts and moans. Everyone will miss him at family holidays and community farm parties. He was the life of the party. He will almost certainly be our last llama.

If you have a special memory of our boy, whether funny or terrifying or anything at all, we would be so happy if you shared it!Thank you for loving our Farmily with us.

XOXOXO
Brandy & Marie & Klaus
Meh’s Loyal & Hearbroken Subjects

a farm story and a message about starting not quite from scratch

This morning I found this story in my blog drafts, sketched out August, 2021. I remember this day clearly and hope you will enjoy the story. It was in 2023 that we lost both Marigold and Romulus. So these memeories are bittersweet, heavy on the sweet. xoxo

Last weekend we had a scare with Romulus that evolved into a sweaty, chaotic, hilarious episode with Little Lady Marigold. It all ended well, thankfully; and after some reflection it also provided me a lesson about compounding progress. About how despite the way things sometimes feel, we are not often starting truly from scratch. We may take a few steps backwards sometimes, but good progress tends to stick. Square One, no matter how it looms behind us, may be nothing to fear.

((summertime nephews visiting marigold))

This is what happened.

I had walked outside just three or four minutes before sunrise, to greet the day and walk around saying hello to all the Farmily. By the time I reached Retirement Village (where Romulus and LLM reside), the sun was glowy peach and all the gardens shone dewy. Roosters in the south coop crowed their greetings, and Marigold was baa-ing; but Romulus was nowhere to be found. He was gone.

Our big, regal, black and white llama had liberated himself in order to join the Middle Field Bachelors, his progeny Meh one of them. Llamas have a lot to prove to the world, and their violent competitiveness is the main reason we had them separated. Happily, the horses were too engrossed in their early breakfast to pay attention to Romulus’ unnerving stares, and Meh (this surprised me the most) was visibly terrified of his Dad. It would have been funny if it wasn’t a little bit sad.

What happened next was a long series of cautious attempts by me to lure Romulus back to Retirement Village while Handsome repaired the fence damage caused during the predawn Llama Liberation.

Revolucion!

In the midst of all of this, we had to keep Little Lady Marigold more or less inside Retirement Village and Meh and the horses more or less far away, despite a necessarily open gate between them. The trick here, as you can imagine, is that all of these activities are precisely the opposite of what all the animals wanted to do. Probably, Murphy’s Law was made official on a hobby farm.

Also, my system was short one cup of strong coffee and Handsome greatly preferred to be watching cartoons at that hour. Also, at this point, Klaus was unsure of his role in this drama. He swarmed the scene, waiting for instruction.

It’s fine.

After almost ninety minutes of frustratingly slow progress peppered by the frustration of sudden retreats, Romulus decided all on his own to slip nonchalantly back into his fenced yard and help himself to breakfast, as if nothing had happened at all. At the exact moment that he did so, his timid sheep companion bolted. I mean she moved like quicksilver, a grey and white blur, through the open gate, past the pond, and straight into the unlikely comfort of eight strong horse legs. She hid behind and among the horses as if they were her big brothers and I was the school yard bully come to steal her lunch money. Had she already forgotten all the little moments we had shared recently, all the love at our fingertips? Meh was as nonplussed as I have ever seen him. Klaus salivated audibly, his desire to give chase an obscene visitor in the room. My sweet, exasperated husband who just-wants-one-day-off-for-the-love-of-all-things-holy yelled, “Well she’s gone! Just let her go!” And threw his hands up in defeat.

It’s fine. It’s very, very fine and okay. We’re fine.

Let me tell you that the first chapter of llama drama that day was far outshined by the second chapter of herding victory.

In my flipflops and cotton pajamas, I chased and lured and lured and begged and chased and pleaded with Marigold to return to the safety of Retirement Village, but it was like a woven straw Chinese handcuff, one of those finger traps from childhood, remember? The more I struggled to “help” her, the less she wanted my help. The literal distance between us grew, and I started to worry about the figurative distance. Was she actually afraid of me?

So in desperation and maybe surrender, we employed Klaus. His natural herding instincts ignited like wildfire! As light and fast as his quarry was, this beast was smarter and more powerful. He gave chase like a missile, he pulled back to widen his circle, he tightened it again, he lassoed her uphill and across the middle field. And despite how much he fears the horses himself, having narrowly survived an angry hoof stomping when he was a puppy, he eventually needled her away from the safety of their tall legs. Smiling and focused and perfectly on task, our boy was magificent. Living out his purpose and thrilled about it.

She ran and ran and ran, like nothing I have ever seen before. A tiny poof of dirty wool with stick legs and bug eyes, she screamed and slipped through the three wire fence near my big vegetable garden (please god no!). She passed the giant hydrangeas, skeetered across the wood deck, and stood stubbornly in the shade, near the fruit trees and south coop. Cornered, without the horses to protect her. Klaus standing guard. Everyone panting.

I crept around the bonfire and slowly opened that big red cattle gate, saying little prayers the whole time that she would see the open invitation. She did. She walked in. I closed the gate. It was all over in a moment. She ate breakfast with Romulus, very casually, as if nothing had happenedand everything was normal.

It was touch and go for a bit, and it definitely drained our big sweet Shepherd of all his morning energy, but it was done.

This is the part about not fearing Square One:

The relief of having ROmulus and LLM in their safe place was somewhat eclipsed by the fear that LLM was now afraid of me. That all of the cuddly progress we had been making lately seemed now shattered by the adrenalous chasing drama. For the next few days I was extra gentle with her, demading nothing, offering her food and space and sweet talking and gentleness, honestly apologizing to her sweet spirit for the terror that morning.

Would we still be friends?

The answer is, yes.

After two or three tentative interactions that next week, things returned pretty quickly to where we left off. She remembered in just a few feedings that we were friends, that I was not there to hurt her. Gradually she allowed me to tap her narrow snoot, stroke her cheek with the outside of my finger, and talk to her while she ate contentedly. I thought maybe we were back to Square One or worse, but that wasn’t the case at all. We had retained most of the affectionate progress.

Love was still at our fingertips, err, hooves.

((the first week Romulus lived here, 2013, I spent hours sitting with him, earning his trust. He called me thirsty))

Continuing January 2024:

This story was good for me to revisit, two and a half years later. Life is full of good projects and efforts that sometimes take several steps backwards, and I don’t know about you, but when this happens I often worry that I am starting all the way over. I resist Square One almost with fear. This thought process is so exhausting! We don’t want to lose the progress we have made; and this is understandable.

The more I pay attention, though, and the more I see patterns develop over time, the more I believe that much of the work we do in life tends to stick. We learn and do really good, satisfying work. We make mistakes and slip up, we learn new and better tricks, we gather strength and practice the basics and try fancy stuff. Things happen to us that are very much outside our control. We respond to them and cope. We heal. We spiral upwards, sometimes slowly, sometimes at an indiscernible rate. Then sometimes we skyrocket! and get dizzy from the sudden progress.

But over time, we do grow. Even in winter, in seasons of waiting and resting, we are alive. Putting down roots, saving nutrients for the next burst of life. We can trust that.

I think that more often than not, even on days when llamas escape for no reason and sheep run away from us despite our hard won friendship, we can trust that good things generally return to normal, or even better than normal. Our efforts are not wasted. Square One is fine, too, if you ever do happen to land there again, nothing to fear. Because by then you will be changed. You will be a different person there than you were the first time around.

Trust your progress.
Love your sheep.
Keep an eye on wandering llamas.
It’s going to be okay.
XOXOXO