Too Old To Chase Coyotes

Greetings from Domelandia,

Our 12-year-old dog Scout doesn't know he's getting too old to chase coyotes and bears.  He still races off into the woods in pursuit of anyone or anything that might threaten his Family.  It's his job.  

We've asked him not to chase deer and turkeys, and he listens and just watches them. I've seen him on the heels of a brown bear, fearlessly nipping at its hind parts. When I'm walking in the woods alone, I'm not alone.  When a stranger approaches the house, I trust him to know if they're OK people or if they're up to no good.  (We do get a few of the latter from time to time, but Scout won't let them get out of their vehicles).  He is an awesome friend and protector.  As I said, we've learned to trust him completely.  And we love him.

 Strawberry Blonde daughter came here to live and built a little dome across the way. She wanted a dog and looked at all the websites, but none of those felt right. One day she was inspired to call the vet to see if there were any puppies that needed a home.  Thanks to a compassionate farmer couple, she found the right dog.  Maitri (her name is Sanskrit for courageous friendship)  is an apprentice at the feet (paws) of the Master.  She's already learning about defending the homestead.  Scout now has some much-needed backup.  It'll take awhile before she understands not to chase deer and elk, but she's smart.  

Like my dog friend, it's hard to imagine doing less than I've always done.  My body is taking issue with that idea.  I used to be able to spend hours and hours in the garden, and now I can't.  It hurts to lower myself to the ground to tend to my vegetables and hurts again to get myself back up.  Still, I want to be out there with the Wild World around me, figuring out how to make the most of our short growing season and how to create solutions so we can have a garden despite the continuing drought.  And figuring out how to make the most of whatever comes next.

Meanwhile, I'm going to make special breakfasts for my good Scout and for his new sidekick. He gets to do pretty much whatever he wants to do.  He's earned it.

 

LisaJawea to The Rescue

 Greetings from Domelandia,

After losing track of Lisa for several years, I got a call from her in April of 2020.  It was a gift to get her call that day.  She and I are close in the way that people are close because they laugh about the same things, like the same music, and enjoy doing the same things.  We were fishing buddies--we'd meet up at Ringo's, buy a bunch of lunch food, and head out to whichever lake was calling to us that day.  We liked to smoke a bit of plant material and laugh our asses off.  Lisa has long blonde hair and a sultry voice.  She's beautiful.  She is kind, generous, and her heart is wide open.  She is very easy to love.  Her nickname is LisaJawea, so named by her friends because of her habit of roaming around in wild places.

She told me that she'd been through hell during the time we hadn't talked.  She'd had numerous health problems before and after her abusive boyfriend threw her down some stairs.

She moved back to her friend Rick's ranch in Idaho and put her life back together.  She was in poor health and suffering from PTSD.  She needed a knee replacement, and worked hard for a year and a half, getting her body in shape so the surgery would be successful.  She gave herself a break from men and relationships, too.  Lisa waited and then met a new guy.  He had a beautiful house in northern Idaho.  She moved in with him and they began working on the place, putting in a greenhouse, planting flowers, making a home.

It was awesome to hear that she was doing well and had a happy relationship. She was having issues with her knee after the surgery--undissolved stitches that were causing her a lot of pain.  She couldn't get the doctor to agree to fix the problem, and that was frustrating to her. We promised to keep in touch, sending texts and photos when we couldn't make time for a phone call.  It was awesome to have my friend back.

When I lost my dog Stella in December, I called her.  I knew she'd understand because she'd recently lost her best dog friend Jenna.  Everything seemed fine then. 

Last week she called me.  She said, "How are you?" I said, "I'm wonderful!  Doing really great!"  I said, "How are you?" She said, "A lot's happened since the last time we talked."  

She said she'd finally got the knee surgery done to remove the stitches that were causing her grief. She said she and the new guy had called it quits.  He told her he loved her but wasn't IN love with her. He told her he was moving to Seattle and she could stay in the house as long as she liked. I said, "Oh my god I'm so sorry."  She said, "Wait, there's more."

Lisa told me that soon after she was hit with this major life-changing information, she couldn't reach her mom for their daily phone talks.  After two days of no response she found out that her mom was in the Twin Falls hospital many hours away, in the Intensive Care unit with double pneumonia. Lisa decided to have the new guy move her back to Rick's ranch so she could be closer to where her mom was. She arrived at Rick's with her cats and all of her possessions on February 4.  I said, "Oh gosh, Lisa!!"  Lisa said, "Wait, there's more."

The next day, she was driving to Twin Falls from the ranch when the drive line in her vehicle became separated.  She crawled under the car and was able to reconnect it well enough to get there.  She said it was making a horrible noise. The transmission was shot. (YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!!!)

On February 6, she and her son Phil (in a different vehicle) were making the 2-hour drive from the hospital back to the ranch. They were in the passing lane on I-84.  Suddenly a car came roaring up beside her vehicle, driving in the narrow lane of the highway next to the median.  Lisa said he must've been going at least 100 miles an hour.  She and her son watched in horror as the driver weaved through traffic, causing havoc.  He wasn't slowing down.  When he tried to pass a semi on the left, he lost control of the car, which became airborne.  Lisa said she lost count of the number of times the car rolled, side over side and end over end. It finally came to rest on the other side of the highway.  I said, "Holy shit, Lisa!!"  She said, "Wait, there's more."

She turned to her son, and said, "I've got to help."  Her son said, "Mom! Your knee!"  She said, "I have to.  Call 9-1-1 now."  She jumped out of the car and limped her way along the median fence, looking for an opening so she could get to the wreck.  When she got there she saw that the driver was breathing.  She'd worked as an EMT twenty years ago, and told me her training 'just kicked in'.  The doors were smashed.  She got into the back seat.  She said something to me like, "Sue, the right side of this guy's head was separated from the main part of his head and was laying on his shoulder.  I looked around in the back seat and found one of those big sponges--you know the kind you use to wash your car.  It was still wrapped in plastic.  I unwrapped it and used it to hold the man's head together. I stabilized his c-spine and waited for the EMTs to come."

By this time, I'm yelling, OH MY GOD LISA and of course she tells me, "Wait."

People were running up to the car.  She told one man to find a fire extinguisher and put out the fire that was threatening to make the car burst into flames. She instructed others to take off the doors so the emergency workers could reach the driver.  She told her son to summon Flight for Life.  She says Phil protected her while she attended to the injured man, making sure her mask stayed in place and trying to keep blood off of her.  She stayed right there until the First Responders arrived.  

That happened a week ago.  Her Mom is still in the hospital nearby and has told Lisa that she will keep fighting.  Hearing that made Lisa happy.  She said, "If I get to have my mom for even a few more days, I'll be grateful."  

The 21-year-old driver of the car is still alive.  She said he knew his name at one point but is in pretty bad shape and is still in the ICU in the big hospital where he was airlifted.  She calls every day to see how he's doing.

I told Lisa, "You are a Goddess.  You are a Hero.  You are Awesome."  She says, "No, I think just about anybody would do the same thing.  I'm just thankful that I had the knowledge and the courage.  And I know God was there."  

After she finished telling me all this, I told her, "I'm exhausted!!!" to make her laugh. And she did.

I told her I wanted to write this story so everyone will remember what happened. 

Cat Wrangling

Greetings From Domelandia,

A couple of years ago, a scrawny tom cat appeared at our house.  He looked awful--not only was he starving, but he had a festering hole in the side of his head where he'd run afoul of Lord knows what.  I took pity on him and got some antibiotics from the vet and put it on some food that I had to put high up so the dogs wouldn't get it.  I thought he was feral--he wouldn't let me get close to him.  Once he got used to me, however, I realized he'd been abandoned. The people who lived down the road moved away and left him to fend for himself.

The Viking called him 'Bad Cat' because he displaced our other cat.  She didn't like him.  She moved over to the barn and got killed by a bobcat one evening.  That was heartbreaking for me.  As time went on I came to like him OK.  I tried not to get too attached to him, but he really was kind of a nice fellow.  I renamed him Mayer.

One day he came home with a chunk out of his ear and blood on his face.  I decided we'd better get him neutered so I made an appointment with the vet.  The morning of his procedure, he was nowhere to be found.  When he showed up again, I made another appointment.  Same deal.  He seemed to know that we were planning something that involved him in a big way.  Finally we agreed not to say anything out loud and we took him to the vet.

He was freaked out and screamed all the way to the vet's.  He wasn't completely wild but also wasn't used to being transported in a cat carrier.  I went north to see the Denver branch of the family and the Viking had the task of getting him home and settled.  The vet advised him to keep him quiet and not let him go outside for a week or so.  The first day he escaped as Ric was leaving for work.  He was gone about 5 days but eventually showed up.  I told the Viking that he must've had some stuff to deal with and needed to be by himself for awhile.

A couple of weeks later, I glanced outside to see him in the mating position with a pretty little black and white cat.  I knocked on the window and they ran away but then I realized that Mayer was in a relationship--something beyond mere sex.  Their friendship seemed important to Mayer, so I just let it be.  She was still wild but finally got brave enough to sneak into the mudroom at night to share Mayer's food.  The two of them would sit side by side and look at us through the glass door.  Like Reality TV.  I called her Miss Kitty.

I read somewhere that a female cat is always pregnant.  Male cats kept finding her and I'd hear kittens up in the rocks, but I never saw them.  Last year, she got really brave and had a litter in Mayer's bed.  She moved them soon after they were born and I never saw them again.  We thought about her life and how awful it must be to keep having and losing her little ones. (I know I'm assigning human emotions to a feral cat, but I am only human).   Besides that, cats kill a lot of birds.  The Viking and I decided that the next time she had kittens, we'd try to do something to help her.

Pretty soon there was another litter in the mud room.  We made a safe place for the kittens in the shed and starting feeding them.  Sometimes I knew they were in there, but they were so well hidden that I couldn't see them.  At night they'd come into the mud room.  Their Uncle Mayer apparently enjoyed their company.  They slept with him.  They looked at us through the glass door and we were sorely tempted to keep a couple.  There's nothing much cuter than a kitten.

We set a trap and we caught Miss Kitty right away.  It was relatively simple. We took her to the vet and the local animal shelter paid for her shots and her operation.  The kind lady at the vet's office told us she'd find homes for the kittens whenever we could bring them to her.  Catching them wasn't so easy.  They were getting big.  They hissed and spat if they saw us.  We had to wait until they were settled in the mud room for the night.  VERY QUIETLY we had to go out another door, sneak up to the front door and hold something over the cat door to prevent their escape.  The Viking put on heavy gloves,  went into the mud room through the inside door, and grabbed them one by one.  They were extremely frightened, but he was able to catch all of them without getting scratched.  I hope they're happy in their new homes. 

We're grateful to our vet and Noah's Ark for helping us.  We brought Miss Kitty home and we see her in the mud room almost every night, sharing her boyfriend's food and sleeping over.  A happy ending. 

There are neighbors, and then there are NEIGHBORS.

Greetings From Domelandia,

2019 was a particularly stressful year for me.  I was recuperating (too slowly, I felt) from the spinal fusion surgery I underwent in 2018.  I had good days and bad ones, but felt depressed and overwhelmed a lot of the time.  Then I received a phone call in December 2018 from the neighbor east of us, telling me that they'd sold their property and would be moving.

There had been a great deal of conflict with these neighbors.  We were friends for awhile, but her comments about people of color and Hispanics ('those damn Mexicans'), and anyone who wasn't like her, made it hard for me to be around her.  One day she used the N word and when I protested, she told me that using that word was a matter of opinion.  Pretty soon I quit joining her and our neighbor Sharon for our daily treks up into the hills.  I couldn't take anymore verbal vomit.

Over the years these people did quite a number of things that were at the least, not neighborly (and at the worst, downright mean).  We tolerated them.  To them, their land was an Investment.  It was a place to live.  Maybe they were touched by its beauty but their main concern was making money.  We didn't feel a connection with them because we didn't think they really belonged here.   So I wasn't sorry to hear they were leaving.

She told us the land would be sold to people who wanted to start a 'camping club,' I knew she was lying to me.  Sharon continued to walk with her to try to get more information about what was really going on.  When she asked how such a venue would affect the neighbors and the land, the response was, 'Well, it's called Progress! Doesn't everyone want Progress?!'  She told Sharon that the buyers asked if the neighbors minded their own business. She learned that they had 'tried this in other places' and weren't successful.  It became obvious that our neighbor had told the new people that they could do whatever they wanted  and wouldn't need permits.  The deal was done very quickly and then they were gone.

The Viking and I spotted the new neighbors one snowy day and walked over to introduce ourselves.  We offered our help, and they responded by telling us they they wouldn't live here.  The Camping Club would meet about once a month.  They wouldn't look us in the eye.  We were already concerned about what was going on, and being lied to just increased our anxiety.

Several weeks later, Sharon woke up to 13 cars parked along the fence that separates her property from the neighbors.  She was in shock.  I walked to Sharon's.  One tries to be calm in these moments but my heart was pounding.  We got a name, did some internet searching, and discovered that the gathering consisted of people who participate in Live Action Role Play.  The LARPers dress in costume and act out stories.  They'd be lodged in the barn.  Events would usually last 3 days.  More investigating revealed their upcoming schedule.  OK, we thought.  Once a month, 25 people or so isn't the end of the world.  We contacted the County Planner who told us that they hadn't contacted him nor had they applied for any permits.  He said there was no way that the property (zoned residential) could be used for a commercial enterprise. He told us he'd send them a letter.

Soon after, a notice for a public hearing appeared in the local paper.  For some unknown reason, the Planning office had granted them a temporary use permit!!  Now their real intentions were revealed.  They intended to use the property as a venue for weddings, family reunions, as well as a place for LARPers to play.  200 or more guests might be attending some of the larger events.

We obtained a copy of their proposal, and read the zoning regulations.  Their application was for a permanent special use permit that would waive all the guidelines and allow commercial use of the property.  The meeting notice was supposed to appear three times; it was in the paper once. The guy in the Planner's office didn't want to post the required notification on the property, but Sharon insisted.    In their application, they promised:  Port-a-potties, no burning, no noise.  Contact the sheriff and the Volunteer Fire Department. Contact your neighbors.  Our stress levels increased because it seemed that the permit might be allowed despite meeting none of the County's land use guidelines.

But now that we knew what we were facing, we could fight.  Sharon and I agreed that we would hire legal help and appeal the decision if the permit was approved.  I said, 'We are not victims.' In the meantime, another event was held.  There were about 50 people this time.  There were still no toilets, and people were camped in the woods.  One night they built a fire and kept the neighbors across the road awake until after 3 AM.  The sheriff was called, but no deputies came.

I called Sharon one morning after this gathering. I could hear the smile in her voice.  'I've been networking,' she said.  (Sharon and I mostly keep to ourselves, so to hear that statement from her was kind of amazing).  She mobilized the neighbors who would be most impacted.  She counseled one hot-headed neighbor to ditch his anger and accusations, and instead use his intellect to make his case.  The Viking and I composed our statements and got ready for the meeting, scheduled for June 3.

My sisters came from Texas to visit, and I decided not to attend the meeting.  We went to the Sand Dunes Hot Springs.  I tried to relax and give myself a break from the stress.  I got the call from the Viking on our drive home. He said, (I'm paraphrasing) 'Sue, it was beautiful.  So many people stood up and spoke.  Everyone was respectful, well informed and articulate.  Everyone was against the proposal.'  The (now not) hotheaded neighbor said that where we live is as beautiful as any State Park, that the canyons are like jewels.

Here's what happened: A Planning Commission member asked Mr. LARPer how this endeavor would benefit the community.  About the legal requirements for using residential well water for a commercial venue.  He couldn't defend the noise issue, the campfire, or the lack of toilets. After all the neighbors had their say, the new owner asked to withdraw his application.  Everyone was stunned. That had to be put that to a vote, and it passed.  He asked if they could have one more event, but the Commission did not support that. 

I stopped at Sharon's on the way home.  I ran to hug her and in my excitement, left the car in gear.  My sisters saved the car from rolling down the hill.  I'm still embarrassed about it.  I think the stress from the whole thing was so overwhelming to me that I just totally lost it for a second.  

Sharon and I couldn't believe it was over.  It took several weeks for us to process the anxiety we'd lived with every day. We started sleeping better, and that queasy feeling in my gut finally went away.

The best thing that came out of this was that we realized we are a community. BonCarbo is made up mostly of people who left the city and gave up a lot of things to live out here in the wild world.  We have a live-and-let-live philosophy about each other.  We don't hang out with most of them, but we respect each other.  We don't have a lot in common except for the things we love about living here--the peace and quiet, the forest and its creatures, and being able to live life on our own terms.  Where we live is sacred to us.  Turns out those are the most important things to have in common.

Change is inevitable.  We don't know what might happen in the future.  But right now I know I could call any one of my neighbors and they'd help me, and I'd do the same for them.

And Sharon and I will always be total bad asses. 

Neighbors Redux

Greetings from Domelandia,
The first blog I ever did was entitled 'Neighbors'.  It included an explanation of our choice to live out here in the wild world and how the presence of new neighbors had affected us over the years.  I ended the blog with a statement about how we would try to be good neighbors to the new people who moved onto the acreage behind us. 

That was in 2010.  Since then, they've come and gone.  Life here isn't for the faint of heart.  Or it turns out, it isn't for people who aren't ready for the realities of digging out after a snowstorm, muddy roads, or having to open several gates to get in and out of their place.

After a couple of years, they left.  They didn't tell anyone where they were going.  When we finally figured out they were gone, we weren't sad about it.

A couple of years ago on New Years' Day, we walked back there on the way to see the magnificent cedar tree we named Tawanda.  You might recognize that name as the definition of Female Power used by Fannie Flagg in her book and movie 'Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe.' We love that tree.  We hadn't been back to the end of the canyon in a long time, and we wanted to see how she was doing.

The hike through their place was amazing.  We saw black plastic bags of garbage, most of which had been torn open and dragged into the forest by bears.  Piles of junk of all kinds everywhere.  Old fencing, lawn furniture, generators, water heaters, water tanks--we could not believe what had happened to this beautiful little piece of land.  Piles of logs, some cut to length, left by the gas drillers for their use, were rotting into the ground.  Blasphemy!!

We continued to the end of the canyon where Tawanda stood in her majesty.  There is a cave at the very end with a smoky ceiling.  There was a waterfall we'd never seen, the result of a spring waking up after a couple of wet years.  It was frozen in mid-flow.  We went home a different way so we wouldn't have to be reminded of what the neighbors had left behind. We want to win The Lottery so we can buy the place and clean it up. 

I once dreamed that a Native American man was speaking to me.  It was right after I came to live with the Viking.  He told me it was our job to take good care of the land while it was ours.  He then turned sideways and floated into a hole in the air.  I took that vision seriously.  We've been good stewards--the scars from overgrazing and tree cutting are mostly healed, and our forest is healthier too. Visitors often comment on the Sense of Place they feel when they drive up the road to our house.  It sits in the middle of a little valley.  The morning sun wakes us and warms us.  It is our home.

We treasure the presence of people who feel connected to the land as we do. Our land isn't a revenue-generating possession, or something to be taken for granted.  It is an energetic presence that requires reverence and respect.

Wakanda Forever!!

Greetings from Domelandia,

A couple of weeks ago, the Viking, the Strawberry Blond daughter, and I went to Pueblo to see the movie "Black Panther."  We'd read great reviews and were hoping the movie was a big success.  As of today, the movie has grossed one BILLION dollars.

It was FANTASTIC.  We loved the beautiful and exotic costumes.  The strong characters were amazing and the writing was creative.  It was easy to get swept away by the story.  We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, suspending reality for those 135 minutes in the movie house, being in Wakanda, cheering for Good King T'Challa, his amazing sister and his people. 

Caution:  Spoiler alert--if you plan to see the movie, skip the next 2 paragraphs.

The turning point in the movie came when T'Challa's kingship is challenged by Erik Killmonger, aka the Bad Guy.  They started fighting and ended up struggling dangerously close to a cliff edge and a waterfall.  The two clashed closer and closer to the edge...the suspense was building...

Suddenly from the seat behind us, came the voice of a little boy.  "No! NO!"  Then King T'Challa got swept over the waterfall!  From the little boy sitting behind us, "NO! NO!"  And he started crying.  His Mom tried to quiet him.  It was all I could do to keep from turning around and saying, "It's OK, honey.  The King will be OK."  I didn't turn around then because I didn't want his Mom to think he was disturbing us.  My thoughts were about his innocence and the purity of his spirit.

The movie ended well.  As the house lights came up, I turned around and said to the Mom, "You have such a nice boy.  I hope he's OK."

His Mom said, "I know he was kind of loud.  It's his 8th birthday today.  He just got his cochlear implants and this is what he wanted to do for his birthday, to see 'Black Panther.'  This is the first movie he has been able to hear.  He hasn't learned how to whisper yet."

We chatted for a few moments, and then turned to go.  The little boy asked, "What did that lady say, Mom?" His Mom replied, "She said 'Happy Birthday.'"

There were only white people in the audience (think Pueblo, Colorado).  The boy was color blind (everyone there was, I think).  This was the classic story of the Hero's Journey, the battle of Good against Evil.  You cheer for the heroes no matter where they're from or the color of their skin.  You cheer for a better world.

The theater full of white folks and that little boy make me feel hopeful.

Dogs

Greetings from Domelandia,

We gathered with some good friends a few months ago to celebrate Cindy's birthday. 

Somehow (I'm still not sure how this happened) we got to talking (and talking and talking) about dogs.  At some point we were looking at one another, thinking, SOMEONE PLEASE CHANGE THE SUBJECT (!!)  but it never happened.  Later the host said, "And we weren't even smoking anything!"  The next day I emailed everyone and apologized that the conversation had gone to the dogs.  Now the subject of dogs in general has become an inside joke that we'll carry with us going forward. 

Good friends are hard to find.  And we forgive each other for totally weird conversations apropos of nothing meaningful.  (Kind of like this post).