Lazy W Marie

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

adieu to the queen of hearts

She was our brush with royalty.

((Little Lady Marigold, January, 2023))

She was diminutive, self assured and confident, fast as a cheetah, and studious. She was picky about who could touch her and gluttonous about food. I once couldn’t find her and thought she had liberated herself (again) from Retirement Village but found her buried, head first, inside her paddock’s enormous round bale of hay. She had burrowed into it by eating! She literally ate her way, all the way, to the center, and I just respect that so much. When she heard me calling, she casually backed out and popped her happy little head into the sunshine, all matted with hay, still chewing, and she looked at me. Nonplussed.

She hated being sheared but allowed it. Maybe she was smart enough to understand the relief that would come with a freshly shorn body, mid-summer. And her body was small! Startlingly petite without all that wool. She also hated fireworks but seemed to gather near to a bonfire.

She knew Klaus apart from all visiting dogs but still gave him a gentle little Stick Leg Treatment when he was being spicy. She knew to hide behind the legs of the tall bachelors, perhaps thinking her round little body was invisible, but most likely not caring, just calculating her next sprint around the back field.

Her name was Marigold because the day she came to live here, in June of 2020, was the first day that our French marigolds bloomed that year. Little Lady because, well because that’s what she was.

Her eyes were domed, always glassy and clear, with perfectly straight, slotted pupils. She had an honest, private gaze. She had hooves like little high heels and intense little legs. Solid black. And she chewed with a slight sideways grind that frequently made me hungry. After a long while and many pep talks, we got her to wear a little yellow halter, just to make capturing that much simpler, and I loved how it looked on her, with her floofy gray and white wool exploding in great clouds all around it. The day she got sick I removed her halter to make her as absolutely as comfortable as possible and it left a slight indentation in her face hairs. She let me massage it and sing Norwegian Wood.

She had triangle ears, soft and black and attentive to every sound. She was fond of sitting out in the sun or out in the moonglow, often staring downhill. She was impervious to snow. Her pasture mate, Romulus, is equally stout and contemplative, so they made a great match. The day she died, he watched over her and observed her removal solemnly. He lost all protectiveness. His guard had fully dropped.

*reigning queen of kicking rambunctious puppies*

Little Lady Marigold was a Suffolk sheep, a stunning fifteen years old this year. She was vivacious and low maintenance in all conditions. She ate well and drank well too, as evidenced by the little rainbow sheen her lanolin fleece left on the surface of her drinking water. We never knew her to be sick or even slow moving, not once, not until this week.

This Monday morning when LLM would normally be bleating and running left and right along the red steel gate for her breakfast happy to tell Romulus she was first today, she was downhill instead, and quiet. She was standing upright but would not come to me. I took a deep breath and said a prayer, heavy with that familiar sensation of this is bad. She let me approach and hold her but would not eat. Her breathing was a little challenged, a little shallow, and she just seemed… sad. She had lost all of her bounce. Gradually she walked around more, and I was too encouraged by that. She sought the sun on her face. She napped. She sipped water. And she hid herself away in her shelter.

The next two days were quiet for our regal little woman, and the gentle January weather was a blessing. It made it easier for me to make sure she was dry and softly bedded down, surrounded by eating and drinking options. I stayed with her most of those two days, only touching her when she said ok. My husband started her on a round of penicillin just in case she had a respiratory illness, but deep down we already felt she was just dying gently. Our friend and mentor, Maribeth, who was Marigold’s first farm mom, reminded me of LLM’s age and how very far past life expectancy she already was when she came to the Lazy W.

Early Wednesday morning, we discovered that Marigold had passed in her sleep. She was never in acute distress as far as we could tell, and she had curled herself up neatly, hopefully feeling safe and cozy and loved. Gosh she was loved. We wrapped her in two floral bedsheets and buried her gently, in that meadow behind the yurt. We gather there frequently to pray and be reflective, so she will be near lots of loving energy forever. I plan to grow a thick patch of French marigolds for her there, and BW has designated a gorgeous old tree stump as her grave marker.

Romulus and the other three bachelors watched from a distance, and Klaus stood with us. He got to say goodbye up close, and as he did so we gave thanks for Marigold teaching him how to gather and collect an animal safely. A shepherd, after all, he did this with her as needed, maybe a handful of times, and it was amazing. He was swift, gentle, and smart about it. She was an excellent teacher, and held a grudge of course, as was her right to do.

We already miss her so much. She was a singular presence here at the farm, a vibrant energy with an irreplaceable voice. If you have ever visited and heard Marigold “bleating” you know what I mean! It was a heavy handed, guttural sound that in no way matched her sweet appearance!

I would never have thought to myself, “You know what I want? An elderly Suffolk sheep!” But now I cannot imagine not having known her. Now, I see that she was gift, a beautiful, low, round, bossy, affectionate, introverted, brilliant little soul, and we will never forget her. I will also never stop giving thanks for her peaceful end, for the void of tragedy in her long, lovely life. She was a Lady, the Queen of Hearts.

If you grow some French marigolds this, year, please think of her.

“I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me.”
xoxo

friday 5 at the farm, late may 2022

Hello friends, happy Friday! And happy Memorial Day Weekend to everyone stateside. In Oklahoma, we are bouncing back from a week of luscious rainfall and unseasonably cool temperatures, and we are happy about all of it. The relief, the return to normal, the weird rhythm. Our pond is brimming, my rain barrel is full, and the gardens and pastures are deeply hydrated but not flooded. I think the four leggeds were growing weary of sheltering in place, haha, but they are now luxuriating in abundant sunshine, so no worries.

Little Lady Marigold enjoying breakfast at daybreak, with Klaus supervising
(look closely in the distance).

Here’s a short and sweet Friday Five at the Farm to catch us up.

ONE: The pizza garden is as planted as it will be for a while, and everything is growing measurably, especially since the rain. I need to do some more weeding and distribute more compost and shredded oak leaves, but overall I am thrilled with how this little experiment is progressing. It actually almost looks like a giant green pizza, ha!

TWO: I am happy to report that Zoom, our little pandemic hatchling, is now laying eggs reliably. She provides several small, bantam sized, off-white eggs per week, and I am so proud of her. I am sad, however, to report that the three little peeps who hatched this Mother’s Day have since perished. One by one, the broody hen who hatched them brought them out to learn normal chicken things, and one by one they did not survive. Next time we have a clutch warming, I will prepare a nursery like we did in the old days, to ensure their safety. Sometimes letting nature take its course works out; sometimes it does not.

THREE: Did I tell you yet that Little Lady Marigold received her first ever shearing? Approaching her Lazy W anniversary, we wrangled her up (Klaus helped), got her into the bright yellow halter, and imposed on her a haphazard but weather-appropriate, all over haircut. She looks so much smaller now, I can’t believe it. Her svelte little lamb figure really accentuates her menacing stick legs. And the heaps and mountains of sheared off wool are an amazing sight. I keep intending to give it to the chickens for their nesting boxes, but I don’t want to stop looking at it.

FOUR: Family fun abounds! Handsome recently brought home some exciting news from the Commish which heralds a brand new chapter not only for him but also for the entire agency, and I am so proud and happy. We are also preparing for a big party here next month, to host the entire Public Utilities Department. I love any big party, and I am beyond excited to see old Commish friends and meet new faces! Also, Jess and Alex are doing great, working hard as usual and spending time with us often, for which we are so thankful. Alex’s mom sweet mom Araceli was in town recently and joined us at the farm for dinner al fresco. The pups swam, and the weather was perfect. That same weekend, we gathered with dozens more friends and family to celebrate my sister Angela’s birthday and her seven years of sobriety. Our other little sister, Gen, flew in from LA to surprise her, as did Ang’s son and daughter in law. Over Father’s Day next month, Mom and Dad will be in Spain visiting my brother Joe and his family, so we had a small brunch for them while so many of us were together. SO much to celebrate right now! We are soaking it up. Letting the joy settle deep in our bones.

FIVE: Thank you to everyone who has been following the interviews! I sure had fun writing about my husband, and I have several more folks lined up. This next series will be about individual people I just happen to find fascinating, not necessarily pandemic questionnaires like last year. If you know someone who would be a fun read, send me a note!

Okay, that’s it for today. Gardening never stops, the animals keep me busy, I never have enough time to read all the books I want to read, and life is jaw-droppingly beautiful right now. I hope you feel the same. Thanks for checking in!

My dreams are tied to a horse that will never die
~Sting
XOXO

scarletta jones, calf extraordinaire

On Friday, March 4th, our farm-ily changed in a wonderful, dramatic, and unplanned way.

Earlier that week, a colleague of Handsome’s told him about a little calf recently born in western Oklahoma during one of February’s worst ice storms. The calf, abandoned by an inexperienced mother, was discovered alive but partially frozen to ground. The rancher who rescued her brought her indoors to thaw out beneath blankets and in the warmth of a utility room. He and his family nursed her back to health for about three weeks, named her Scarlett for her pretty red coat, and fell hopelessly in love. Unfortunately, keeping her long term was untenable.

Fast forward to my husband hearing the heartstrings story, a gentle, chiding temptation relayed to me, one Mardi Gras party filled with upbeat declarations about raising a calf, and a tentative drive to western Oklahoma to evaluate the situation.

Here is the situation we found:

((the tiniest sweet baby))

We both fell hopelessly in love with this fragile, trusting, beautiful little creature. We had already discussed all the logistics of keeping her and helping her convalesce, and we had made valiant efforts to adjust our expectations, to temper our sheer joy at meeting her for the first time. Her frostbite injuries were pretty severe, after all, and we were told clearly that she had no guarantees of longevity.

Our agreement was to do everything in our collective power to do two things: 1) Help her heal if possible and 2) Give her a fantastic quality of life at the Lazy W for every single day that she could live.

So we memorized the rancher’s warnings and instructions. We said our happy goodbyes and shook hands too many times. And we loaded up.

We drove home with tiny little Scarlett, unbridled, riding in the extended cab backseat of a pickup, cushioned by three quilts and a rubber mat beneath. Those few hours will live in our marital memory forever. Scarlett mostly napped, but occasionally she would stand to investigate her surrounding, snoot our shoulders a bit, sniff our necks, and look out the window. She did have one little poop accident, ha! But we were prepared, and it was not a big deal. When we stopped at a gas station about halfway home, Handsome lifted her out to see if she needed to stretch her legs. She wobbled around confidently in the grass and surprised a man nearby who was walking his Labrador.

When we got back to the farm and disembarked, Klaus saw her and lost his ever-lovin-mind. Rest assured that he was as gentle as we knew he would be. Scarlett met him willingly then wandered around the chicken coop and even gave a few jumps and skips after that long ride. We were ecstatic. I took that teeter totter frolic as a sign that she was happy to be here with us.

The next few days were a beautiful, effervescent adventure of farm-ily Love, pure and simple.

((warm, frothy bottle suds))

We mixed formula bottles and discussed with measured intensity the very most perfect temperature they should be and the very most perfect method we should use for achieving that temperature. We crafted little hay-and-blanket nests atop soft yoga mats (she slept in the garage near us for a few nights) and found new and improved ways to make her comfortable every day, depending on the changing weather. We watched and sanitized her wounds carefully and were terrified the first day on of them split open. We spent quiet time with her, sang to her, took photos of Every. Little. Thing. And texted each other things like, “She just pooped so much!” or “She’s awake and happy!” or “She just sucked on my hand so hard it cracked my knuckles!”

Handsome arranged one of our security cameras on her pen, and one day he checked on her remotely so many times I joked that he should have just stayed home and claimed Family Medical Leave Act, as if we had a newborn baby. Ha.

((scarlett resting near the earliest daffodils))

Speaking of my husband, I must credit him for doing so many of the difficult jobs to keep Scarlett healthy. He has given her the antibiotic injections and done the wound dressings. He has physically carried her in his arms, even as she has gained a considerable amount of weight (which is a big, happy victory, of course!). He has done the unnerving research and talked to vets and ranchers with similar experiences and wisdom to draw on. It has been this man’s ongoing, loving effort that has made Scarlett’s first month with us so thoroughly sound and well informed. I know that every effort is being made to help her, and I know we are making every decision day to day with Love at the center.

He also shares bottle duty once in a while.

((she follows us around her pen for a bottle))

Gradually, Scarlett has grown accustomed to our feeding time rituals and responds lusciously. She has grown so cozy with Klaus that she often milk-smears his great torso and snuzzles his face. Once she tried to nurse his German Shepherd snoot, which absolutely terrified him. Scarlett has explored the herb garden and rested with our earliest daffodils. She has listened to me read books aloud and done yoga with me in the clover on especially warm days. She has gained WEIGHT, as mentioned above. She watches the bachelors cruise past and investigates cats when they approach nervously. I have watched her placidly watching the sky so many times, it reminds me to do the same. Her outdoor habitat includes a partially enclosed wooden shelter filled with hay. When she is done eating or tired of playing, she calmly beelines straight “home.” One day we had her on the opposite side of that shared garden wall, and she beelined toward the space, aimed at her unseeable pen, which we took to mean she was done playing. She sleeps contentedly there and emerges at will to sit in the sun or, as she did this weekend, watch the moon wax on a clear night. She is her own person, and we love it.

One month. (Thirty four days, by the time I post this.) We might have only enjoyed a few days with her. Along the way any number of things could have brought on infection or pain so great we could not justify keeping her for ourselves. Or something else terrible. We have known all along that every day was borrowed, but we have been given a full, gorgeous month with this sweet baby, and we are so thankful.

((as I snapped this selfie she reached up and licked my phone))

There is so much to celebrate. Scarlett fills our farm with such a new dimension of innocence and Life Force, it’s miraculous. Her appetite is strong, allowing her to take on thousands of calories useful for healing and growing. She has remained infection-free despite so many open wounds. And she is bright, alert, curious about the world, and extravagantly affectionate. She appears, in every way we can perceive it, to be one hundred percent pain free. She even vocalizes happily!

About two weeks into her new Lazy W career, Scarlett moo’d! She moo’d a lovely moo. She has a deep, warm, resonant voice that totally caught me by surprise the first time I heard it. I texted my husband, updated my parents and siblings via group chat, and probably put in on Facebook, I don’t remember. It was so exciting to hear her musical voice just for a moment, and several times since then both Handsome and I have heard it and delighted in it.

((scarlett exploring the dormant herb garden))

Everything about having her here is a wonder and a delight, but there are still serious concerns. Scarlett’s frostbite injuries are healing, but as with any kind of healing that has meant a few steps forward and a few steps back. The very end of her pretty tail fell off, leaving plenty of the bone-in tail for us to embellish later with fly-swishing prosthetics. Her hooves have released in bits, causing her to relearn how to balance and walk. Her flesh is sloughing off sometimes, only to grow and close again. Most upsetting, part of one of her hind legs fell off in her sleep, which we certainly knew could happen based on the hardest line of frostbite, and we believe the same will happen with the other hind leg. But true to her spectacular survival form, Scarlett is adapting quickly. She is learning how to pivot on her bandaged hoofless leg and take careful steps, still able to stand for her bottles and navigate the grassy enclosure on her own. We do help her when she seems to need it but know that the more she does for herself, the better.

For all of these physical affects that could be absolutely horrifying, we remain grateful. She in infection free, seemingly comfortable, playful, alert and curious, ravenously hungry, and just plain sweet and scrumptious.

We are overwhelmed by all the Love flowing through this experience. We still cannot predict how much time we will have with her, but gosh our mission remains clear: To help her heal as much as possible and to give her the best possible life experience, day in and day out, for as long as we have her.

I feel like it’s going to be a long, magical life.

((scarlett catching some rays))

We want to thank all of our friends and family for praying for her. We believe in antibiotics and in focused medical care and in the actual power of Love and affection. We believe in good nutrition and sunshine and rest to heal any physical creature. Everything counts. But prayer binds it all together and amplifies every human effort. I know in my bones that prayer has tapped into Scarlett’s will to live and sparked her already lovely disposition to survive in her own beautiful way.

A dear friend of our ours said,
“I’ve never prayed for a calf, but I will.”
XOXOXO

checking in post equinox

Friends, happy springtime. We made it! Barring the very real possibility of a frosty morning here and there, Oklahoma is on the cheerful upswing towards warmth and rebirth. Today we are drinking in a much needed gentle rainfall, windows open and a cleansing breeze combing through our senses. Clover patches are overtaking the dead lawns. Trees have leaf buds dotting their naked branches. Daffodils assure us that Old Man Winter had his rightful turn and is once again retreating.

Gardeners everywhere are either tending tray after tray of seedlings in their warmest interior rooms or already raking clean their flower beds and ruminating over their raised gardens for planting this year’s treasures. Will food prevail in 2022, to combat the price of groceries, or will more people grow flowers to celebrate a return to life and liberty? How will you pursue your gardening happiness?

((basil sprouts indoors, grown from last year’s seed))

For me, the answer is both, with a heavy lean to all things kitchen. I am also very excited to be actively mentoring a few friends plus Jessica and Alex for a big round of first time garden growers. This is a life pleasure I never knew to anticipate! Maybe the only thing more fun than growing my own garden is helping loved ones grow theirs.

I hope you’ll tune in again in the next few days. I have some stories to share about Miss Scarlett, our rescue calf. I have been sharing quite a bit about her on Facebook and Instagram, but right here on the blog will be a fun place to record more detailed updates for posterity. I also have a brand new interview to share, this one not about Pandemic, and the subject is our very own Handsome, aka BW, aka Farm Daddy, aka Director and Sir and brother and friend to so many. My husband!! I am so excited for this project, but I want it to be clean and sooth when I share it.

Until then, I will be writing stories and potting up seedlings, cleaning oak-leaf-filled garden beds and scrubbing dirty concrete floors. Feeding chickens and filling compost boxes, definitely making bottles for an unbelievably sweet baby cow. Keeping Klaus entertained but not reading much, not this week. In spare moments I have been rereading highlights from The Well Gardened Mind and drawing all kinds of fresh inspiration from that. I’ll find a new book once these two writing projects are complete.

((scarlett and her milk bubbles mouth))

What are you up to this week?

“The return of spring each year
can be endlessly relied on,
and in not dying when we die, we have a sense
of goodness going forward.
This is the garden’s most enduring consolation.”
~Dr. Sue Stuart Smith
The Well Gardened Mind
XOXOXOXO

little lady marigold xoxo

Little Lady Marigold is the precious, diminutive, wild sheep I have always wanted. She is opinionated, lucid, brave, and full of energy.

She got her fancy name by two strokes of beautiful timing. First, I asked Handsome and Jessica separately for name ideas, and within an hour of each other they both texted, “Little Lady.” Then I added “Marigold” because the day she arrived here at our farm was the first day my French marigolds bloomed that spring. So she became Little Lady Marigold, LLM for short.

Little Lady Marigold is a Shetland sheep, diminutive in stature but bold in spirit. Her fleece is mostly white or white adjacent, dirty after many months of growing free and wild, and her face and legs are coal black. Lovely. I cannot get enough of gazing into her domed eyes and slotted pupils.

LLM is lightning fast and agile, able to glide and bolt low and quick, in and around both trees and horse legs alike. She is skeptical and fussy and makes you earn her trust, which I respect. When Klaus is being just too much, she raises one of her stiffened front legs, tiny black hoof shining with anger, and bows her forehead as if to warn him of a good noggin ramming (which, in fact, she is very able to deliver). We call this warning the Stick Leg Treatment. It looks like a great, fluffy praying mantis preparing to do battle, and it almost always shoos Klaus and any other nearby animal, including her huge pasture mate Romulus the King of Llamas, right away. On the rare occasion that the Stick Leg Treatment does not work, she squares off, keeps that woolly head lowered, and charges forward in mean, fearless thrusts until her opponent is properly humiliated and retreats. No one has bested her yet, and she is the tiniest of all our animals, save the cats and chickens.

Nephews Greg and Connor wanted her way too much.
She can smell it. She eschews sincere desire.

Marigold was borderline feral when we first brought her here. It took many weeks of slow, quiet movements and cautious approaches to convince her to eat sweet grain out of my hands, and now she practically climbs my leg when I swing it over the gate to her enclosure. I love scruffing her pretty face and stroking her slender, knobby legs. Her hooves are unbelievably tiny! And that wool, you guys, oof!! It is voluminous and full of mystery (also sticks and dried leaves). If I have a lucky day and get to handle her enough, my hands feel oily and a bit slick from the lanolin. She is usually pretty content having the heaps of gray and white wool on her back scruffed. Or, perhaps this is the truth, there is so much there that she cannot always feel me scruffing her?

Speaking of that massive woolly burden, our Shetland sweetie is destined for a spring shearing this year, so I have begun desensitizing her to a halter, noisy with metal buckles, during hand feeding. I wear it on my wrist like a bracelet, making it necessary for her face to be almost up against it while she nibbles grain from my palm. Occasionally I jingle the buckle and flip the straps, so she gets used to seeing and hearing it while staying safe. She absolutely hates it, ha! But if this slow, steady process works, it will lead to her next level of elegance and domesticity and to my next life accomplishment. I’ll keep you posted.

Little Lady Marigold’s favorite song is Norwegian Wood by The Beatles, followed closely by Never Gonna Gove You Up by Rick Astlee, if I have just left the duck pond and chicken coop.  Soft songs. Easy words. Pretty things that cool her hot temper. She sleeps either beneath a wild cedar tree near the pond-facing hill or in her little shed. Also in the hay! Rather than calmly eat from the outer surface of a large hay bale, she burrows deeply in it, snoot forward, then naps in the tunnel she has eaten away. Upon waking she emerges with an ill balanced hay bonnet. I love this more than words can say. Which is another song she might like. I’ll try it.

Little Lady enjoyed a good, healthy, stress free week of winter here, for which we are so thankful. She is spicy and personable, and I just love her so much. If you ever visit the farm and want to meet her, don’t be shy! I’ll take you over and make the proper introductions. Just know that so far, my little sister Genevieve is the only other person who has successfully hand fed this animal. I think the secret is that Gen didn’t care that much. She lacked the stench of desperation most visitors emit, ha.

Okay that’s it for today! I just wanted to share some of my sheep love.

I hope you’re having a beautiful weekend filled with everything that refreshes your soul. Remember you are deeply and wildly loved, your potential is untapped, and your emotions and imagination have actual creative power in this world.

“Patience is passion tamed.”
~Lyman Abbott
XOXOXOXO

P.S. President Roosevelt also kept Shetland sheep, but one of his rams attacked several people and killed a small boy, so he had to relocate them all to Monticello. The End.