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Sunday, 6 January 2019


I'm not sure I deserve the love of this very large and devotedly snuggly cat.

Being the special person of a special animal is a privilege, but also a heavy burden at times.

Especially when the special animal is also bloody heavy!  (And even more especially when the weather is hot and you are having hot flashes!)

Tuesday, 1 January 2019

The Survivor Chicken.

This is Spotty.  This time last year she was raising a clutch of Wyandotte chicks for me.

She is the only one of my three red chooks who survived a recent fox attack.  The fox got away with nothing, because it broke the necks of my other two red girls, then tried to drag Spotty away, but my dogs scared it off. (Go Rosie and Tuppy!)

It's one of those events that a chicken owner hopes they never experience.  It was my own fault. I'd dragged a slab out from under the gate in my recent renovations and hadn't put it back, and mr or mrs fox dug under the gate.

I had to put down the two hens, my dear tamest Rover, and Fido the talker. In my nightshirt and bare feet within minutes in Fido's case, but in the morning for poor Rover, who I'd thought the fox had taken and only found the next morning, hiding under a piece of tin.

I'm so sorry, Rover, but at least you had a lovely life!  
A lot of chicken owners hate foxes, but I never have. They are doing what they need to do, and it is up to me to make it so that they can't do it here.  After this event, we now have electric fencing to top up our defences.   Cheap hobby?  Ha!

Anyway, it could have been much worse if it wasn't for the dogs, and because both my Wyandotte hens (Spotty's babies from last year) were safely tucked away in their own broody hutches elsewhere.

Guinevere was safely with her one baby, an obvious rooster right from hatching, who is called Frankendotte, or Frank, because his mama was a red hen and his daddy was Elvis the rooster (who was being an ass and is now in a better place).  Frank is actually growing up to be quite pretty in a bit of a muddled way.

Since his daddy grew up to be a dickhead, maybe Frank will too, and in that case he will be off to rooster heaven as well, to a place where all the hens sit down even if you don't bother to dance for them or be nice to them (or to your owner's mother).

Morgana was safely sitting on eggs on the night of the fox, and she too only managed to hatch one chick. The word is that the weather has been too weird this spring.  Her chick looks like a girl (praise be!) and I think is from the single, solitary egg laid by by my old, old, Black Australorp, Nanny Ogg, this whole year.  She is black, with a tiny tipping of white on the wing feathers, but at only two weeks you can't tell yet.  Morgana and her baby stayed safely in a borrowed rabbit hutch until this week, and are now in my new broody hen pen.  Can you call a girl chicken Mordred?  If so, that is her name, or maybe even if you can't.  Has to be, really.

Give me a mealworm but don't you come near my baby!
Old Nanny was right in the back corner and survived, as did bloody Elvis. What happened to putting his life on the line for his girls? 

My other survivors were that trio of ratbags, known as Blue, Powder and Puff, the Sussexes.  Blue is supposed to be a hen but is blatantly not at this point.

I ain't no girl!
The two coronation girls are a delight, so silly and soft.  I'm very glad they were safely in the broody pen at the time.

 So, Spotty was saved by the dogs, left behind by the fox, dazed and bleeding, when she wouldn't fit under the gate. She was injured on the face and neck and I thought she might not make it, but a little rest and care saw her begin to perk up.   Now she is back to true ferocious red chook form, and the other day she went weird on me and did this quite a few times in a row. 

I think it was because I moved Morgana and Mordred to the new pen, but who knows with chickens, for the ways of chickens are strange!

In other news... wait, is there anything to life but chickens?  Surely not! 

Not really, it only seems that way some days. All is lovely in the world of the merry bard.  Good friends and laughter, making music, work of the hands and mind, my Druidry to keep me grounded and floating at the same time, and some long-dreamed-of events coming up to enjoy in 2019.  Weeeee!

What do you think?  Fashion for 2019?
I hope you have lovely year, with no literal OR metaphorical fox attacks upon your life.   May 2019 bring you all that is for your greatest good and happiness, whatever that may be.   Blessed be!   

Thursday, 13 December 2018

Me bad!

How do you go from blogging twice a week to blogging never in a few short months?  I dunno.  I am still saving photos, but not blogging.   I know I'm going to regret it down the track because I forget stuff and this blog makes me remember it, and take photos of life too.  I like that about blogging.

Ah well, we'll see. Maybe my holiday has done me good. In the meantime, here's the pics I've been collecting...
Druidy meditations with the help of a kitty.  It is not conducive to concentration when a cat comes and sits on you and peers under your hood to make sure it is you before settling in to purr.  

Pretty Cyrano. 

Me blacking out at a burn.  Those Xanthorrea really go up, but soon they sprout new greenery and away they go again. 

Photo taken by local paper to add a local element to an article about a show on cable tv called Bushfire Wars.  Our shire and brigade were part of episode 2.  We were actually blacking out a fire when they came to take the pic, so we were authentically grubby.  Yes that's me dead centre.  Only lady on the fireground at the time!  

At a training day, slacking off in the back of the truck. 

Blacking out at a hazard reduciton burn with our wonderful new brigade.

Andrew crew leading on our first fire call of the summer. 

Andrew trying to find the Oxfam trailwalker trail as a crew safety support officer.

My three new Sussex bandits, Blue the Light Sussex, Powder and Puff the Coronation Sussex.  

My way cool new chook shed built almost totally by me!  

Mama guinevere and her singleton chick, a rooster of course. 

That is one scary fierce mama gaze!

Art, of the back yard.  

What i found next to my ear on the back of the shed door when i peered in looking for something one day.  

Jarrah blossom on a tree I planted some years ago. 

The sun setting high above perth at the oxfam trailwalk. 

Neighbours' bonfire, with high winds, in dry spring conditions.   Yep, horizontal flames are ok aren't they? (Answer: NO!) 

Pretty sunset over perth. 

Tuppy in the cone of shame after having a cyst removed from her eyelid.  It looks great now!

More drawing practice.

Gorgeous wildflowers on Perth scarp.

May you all have a lovely Christmas season, no matter what you call it, and to my Druid friends, I wish a very merry and fruitful Alban Hefin! 

Here's your gift from me, a new story.  It is not Christmassy at all, and yet somehow it is.  I hope you enjoy it!  It's called Mistress Munchkin & the Plutonium Dragon. 


Friday, 31 August 2018

Life and Dream

The dream was the 17th OBOD Australian Assembly, or maybe the assembly was real life at last.  Not sure.  At any rate, it was bloody amazing, and I can't talk about much of it because it is secret Druid's business (it is a mystery school and it is most fun if you get to learn things in their correct order) however I can say that a weekend with more than 40 people who are all open, heart-centred, nature-loving, creative and just downright wonderful, well, it was life-changing.

Ceremony, connection, laugher, tears, goosebumps, stories, singing, dancing, hugging, meditating, making music, walking amongst the trees with people who love them like I do.  Pure bliss!

Can I show you pics of the lovely people and what we got up to?  Nopey nope!   I wish I could but I can't.  I'll hold the times and the photos close to my heart instead.  To those who were there, just let me say, I love you all, and you are all amazing humans, and may we meet again soon, because I can feel your hearts all the way out there across Australia and New Zealand, and it is something to hold to, but will not be enough forever.

Special mention to Dusty and Jenni, my fellow WA-ites, who shared a cabin with me and made me feel like a kid camping again.  You both rock and I love you lots!     

Here is the hillside beyond the campground with a distant rainbow.

Here is me just after my initiation as Druid.  What can I can say about that but, hell yes, if you are an OBODie on the path, keep going, because it just gets better and better, and of the Druids who held space for my fellow initiates and me, I want to say a heartfelt thank you, and may it be so that I one day come to carry and share the joy, warmth and wisdom that you carry and share so gracefully.

Almost the very best thing?  I made it!  No crashes, no bad reactions, I was full of energy for the whole four days no matter how hectic it got.  I had to be careful, especially of what I ate and breathed, but ten years ago, if someone had told me that one day I would be well enough to do such a thing, I'd have thought they totally sucked for teasing me.  Chronic Lyme *can* be treated and managed well enough to have a good life again, and I am living proof, but I will never take it for granted.  I'm loving every moment of it. 

Home is good too.  I'm still bouncy happy Tina.  No post-con depression.  I am every day working to add more of my spirituality into my life.  Seeking to find out who I am at core, and making sure I prioritise those parts of my life that feed that.  We are all works in progress, and I'm working on it.  Always will be, I'm sure.

More time in nature...

More time with good friends, human and animal...

More time doing work of the hands...

The moccs are getting a makeover. 

Druid tabard to be...
       More time doing all sorts of writing and making art and making music...

New kids' story coming soon!

More time doing service for my community at both my brigades, including my amazing new bushfire brigade, Chidlow VBFB...

Shiny new jacket for a shiny new beginning!

More time snuggling you-know-who...

And apparently less time crocheting, because that same you-know-who likes sitting on the current afghan way too much lately.

Blogging is still going to be less frequent, but I miss the diary element of my time here.  I might endeavour to be more regular with it.  We'll see.  Lots else to do these days!

I wish for you all, "a blessing upon your days, a blessing upon your lives, a blessing upon the land."  /|\