On Friday December 8th, just before daybreak, snow began to fall and quickly our world turned white. By the end of the day everything was covered in 8″ of fluffy white snow. All day we fought the call of snow play while trying to complete tasks, chores and to do lists. Brianne and Eric left the barn around 3 pm, a little earlier than normal, to feed and check in on all the animals. Brianne recorded this video of their “evening round” trip via 4 wheeler in the snow. Enjoy!
farm
Being Present on a Big Day
If there is one thing I have learned through farming it’s the skill of mustering abilities I never knew I had. Sometimes the simplest of tasks take all day and other times major projects seemingly complete themselves. Any unplanned accomplishment seems “big” and brings momentum to the chores that follow.
And then there are events, the BIG DAYs that mark the passage of our farm year on the calendar. Shearing Day, when we shear all the alpacas, Farm Tour and National Alpaca Farm Day when we participate with other farms to educate the public, Valle Fair, a one day local church fair where we take alpacas and sell products to raise money in our community and the Friday after Thanksgiving, our biggest tour and shopping day of the year on the farm. These are the days that we plan and strategize for all year. An excitement and momentum builds in the team in the weeks leading up to the event. As we say, “we’ve done this a time or two” and we know a bit of what to expect. And still, as with any event there are many unknown variables going into it. The weather, the number of people that will come, unforeseen technical glitches, an emergency issue with an animal and the list goes on and on.
One shearing day an alpaca got her eyelid cut with the shears and an emergency trip from a vet was needed for stitches. Once during our county farm tour, a newborn goat almost died. I spent the entire day sitting on the floor of a stall with him in my arms, willing a him to live and feeding him with an eye dropper until he could suckle on his own. Another year at the Valle fair, 50 mph winds took four of us to hold the tent from going airborne, while we watched every display unit fall and alpaca socks go airborne. One Thanksgiving weekend, a quick winter storm left us with six inches of snow, and the farm went into “4 wheel drive only” mode for both team members and visitors on our busiest weekend.
You get the picture. Many variables are out of our control and there are no guarantees that an event will run smoothly. And yet, we still go through all the planning and preparation to make each year the best yet. Every BIG DAY comes with challenges and is over in a blink of an eye. A year of preparation and then in eight hours or less, it is done. We make notes of changes for next year and then set our sights on the next event on the calendar.
This year, as we prepared for Thanksgiving weekend I set my sights one rung higher. Yes, I wanted things to go smoothy but I also wanted to stay present to each and every moment. I wanted to halt the blur of a BIG DAY and connect with the people who came to see us. I wanted to savor the moments of the day, remember the conversations and comments. It was a subtle shift of focus, inside me. I didn’t tell anyone and outwardly my actions didn’t change. I still made hot chocolate, emptied the trash, sold yarn, decorated wreaths and answered questions. I simply increased my awareness of each moment, the world and people around me.
And at the end of the day, I felt different. Time seemed to have gone by more slowly. Like a train pulling into the station after the landscape has blurred past for hours, I could make out the details, read the road signs. The replay of the day was technicolored. And my heart was full from the sweetness of all the interactions. I felt the fullness of having given something different and in turn I felt I received more.
As the team sat, stood and leaned against the kitchen counters after all the visitors left, we were visibly tired and spent. Even the 20 year olds complained that their feet hurt. We had broken every record set at the farm; number of visitors, sales, number of people taken on a tour. It was our biggest BIG DAY!! We celebrated by telling stories, laughing together; our sense of connection growing with each anecdote. The air between us glowed gold like campfire light.
It was dark when I left the barn and walked home. A quarter of a moon floated above the apple trees. The sky a bright dark blue was just letting the stars come out. Casper and Duke, our dogs, ran ahead of me in a game of chase. Frodo and Samwise, young angora goats called to me as I passed their field. And then it was quiet, silent. My thoughts turned to the next day, the day after the biggest BIG DAY. I wanted to be more present for it as well.
A Pig Rescue Story
This is Part One of Three in a series of stories about a Pig Rescue.
My cell phone rang and as I looked at the name on the screen, I braced myself. JUDY. Judy was a friend, a fellow animal lover and a rescuer. When she called me, it was usually a request for help and it generally included some element of animal rescue drama that put me outside of my comfort zone. In the years since we met, I assisted her with many horse rescues and fostered a feral dog about ready to have puppies. I was involved with a number of her risky ‘missions’ that involved animal neglect or out an out abuse. Judy rarely called unless it was a desperate plea for help on behalf of an animal. Despite my hesitations, I found it nearly impossible to say no when she asked.
I made myself wait to pick up the call until I imagined the word NO, blinking in neon somewhere behind my forehead.
This time she started the conversation with a story, not a request for help.
“You have to come see my latest rescue. It is a pig. He’s adorable. I heard about him and drove 3 hours down off the mountain to purchase him. The owner was planning to have him put down.”
Judy had talked about getting a pig for years, she was so excited that I couldn’t get a word in. I sat down with my coffee at the kitchen table and listened to her tell me about this adorable pig. The story came out like a long run on sentence.
“She was a pig breeder, breeding those little tea cup pigs and she was planning to keep him to be a “stud” pig because of his coloring. Wait till you see him, he is pink and white and black.
Anyway, the breeder took him away from mama pig and kept him separate from the others and bottle fed him in a cage. Poor thing, he was all alone with no mama and no holding. Then something happened and his back legs got all crossed. The breeder got worried that the leg issue might be hereditary, so as soon as he was able to eat, she put him in the pen with some other pigs. Big pigs. So, there he was, legs crossed, less than half the size of every other pig, fending for himself. When I got down there he was covered in bite marks, his butt backed in the corner so he could defend himself.”
“That is awful!” I managed to squeeze in while she took a breath and sip of whatever she was drinking.
“Poor thing, he was so tormented, I could barely touch him. You know those little pigs are supposed to be handled, bottle fed and treated like a baby. That is how they are turned into pets. He didn’t have any of that, so first I had to win his trust with food. And slowly, I have been getting him to the stage that he lets me hold him, and bathe him. Lee, he is just like a baby now. I took him to a chiropractor in town to see about his legs and he fixed him. No more crossed legs! All his bite marks are healed and he has hair, he didn’t have any when I first got him. And the sounds he makes, I swear he coos when you rock him. And he is already litter trained.”
I was already in love with the little guy and I realized I didn’t know his name.
“What is his name?” I asked.
“Mr. Pickles” she answered. “Everybody thinks it is Piggles … but it is Pickles like the things you eat!” she laughed.
“How big is he?” I asked trying to picture him.
“Only 10 pounds”
I tried to imagine a 10 pound pig only 2 pounds heavier than Chi Chi our chihuahua.
“I am still trying to get him trained to walk on a leash. Lee, I am spending 2 hours a day on this pig. He really needs a lot of TLC.” Pleading start to creep into her voice.
“How jealous is Jim?” I was half joking. Jim was her husband and worshiped her. He was in construction and I pictured that he was already remodeling their house to include the perfect place for Mr. Pickles.
“It is killing Jim. I have never seen a grown man so jealous in my life! We had a huge argument about it last night…” she paused. She sounded mad and a bit scared.
I didn’t know quite what to say. All I could think of was the parade of rescued dogs and cats that she had fostered in the few years since we met and how patient Al had seemed about it all.
“This morning he gave me an ultimatum, it is either him or the pig!?!” Her words were wrapped in sad desperation.
I was stunned.
“I am calling to see if you will take Mr. Pickles.” Now she was crying.
My hard and fast NO, became ‘Yes, of course.’
And that is how Apple Hill Farm, became the next home of Mr. Pickles, the pig.
This story, is Part One of Three, and will be continued in the next blog post.
Welcome to Lee’s Blog
Welcome.
Seventeen years ago, at the Kentucky State Fair, my life was forever changed when I came eye to eye with a tall fuzzy animal I had never seen before, an alpaca. Time stopped as I stood mesmerized. In front of me, in a stroller was my dozing son Will, only one at the time. I was 39, living in my hometown of Louisville. I was a breast cancer survivor, a cookbook author and a solo Mom.
That moment signaled the beginning of a journey that led us to the mountains of North Carolina to start an alpaca farm. From 3 female alpacas, we are now a family of over 100 animals that include llamas, angora goats, horses, ponies, chickens, dogs, cats, a pig and special human team that care for them. Beyond breeding and selling animals, we offer guided walking tours to educate and tell the story of Apple Hill Farm and our animals. Our farm store is filled with a wide array of soft, touchable yarn, socks and other products made from alpaca fiber.
Be Present.
Why the title “Be Present”? Because being present is a thread that runs through it all. I was present when I first locked eyes with an alpaca. I was present to the feelings of wanting to start over. I was present through each turning point along the way. Being present is the grit that got me here, through all the tough moments. Being present is how I learned to be a mother and a farmer. And all these years later it is the moments when I am present that I witness the beauty, awe and wonder of life on a farm.
So take a deep breath and relax in your body. Listen while I tell you stories of our animals, of mothering, of the power of alpacas and of family. I promise to leave you more present, engaged and inspired.
Come, be present with me,
Lee
A Pig Rescue Story
This is Part One of Three in a series of stories about a Pig Rescue.
My cell phone rang and as I looked at the name on the screen, I braced myself. JUDY. Judy was a friend, a fellow animal lover and a rescuer. When she called me, it was usually a request for help and it generally included some element of animal rescue drama that put me outside of my comfort zone. In the years since we met, I assisted her with many horse rescues and fostered a feral dog about ready to have puppies. I was involved with a number of her risky ‘missions’ that involved animal neglect or out an out abuse. Judy rarely called unless it was a desperate plea for help on behalf of an animal. Despite my hesitations, I found it nearly impossible to say no when she asked.
I made myself wait to pick up the call until I imagined the word NO, blinking in neon somewhere behind my forehead.
This time she started the conversation with a story, not a request for help.
“You have to come see my latest rescue. It is a pig. He’s adorable. I heard about him and drove 3 hours down off the mountain to purchase him. The owner was planning to have him put down.”
Judy had talked about getting a pig for years, she was so excited that I couldn’t get a word in. I sat down with my coffee at the kitchen table and listened to her tell me about this adorable pig. The story came out like a long run on sentence.
“She was a pig breeder, breeding those little tea cup pigs and she was planning to keep him to be a “stud” pig because of his coloring. Wait till you see him, he is pink and white and black.
Anyway, the breeder took him away from mama pig and kept him separate from the others and bottle fed him in a cage. Poor thing, he was all alone with no mama and no holding. Then something happened and his back legs got all crossed. The breeder got worried that the leg issue might be hereditary, so as soon as he was able to eat, she put him in the pen with some other pigs. Big pigs. So, there he was, legs crossed, less than half the size of every other pig, fending for himself. When I got down there he was covered in bite marks, his butt backed in the corner so he could defend himself.”
“That is awful!” I managed to squeeze in while she took a breath and sip of whatever she was drinking.
“Poor thing, he was so tormented, I could barely touch him. You know those little pigs are supposed to be handled, bottle fed and treated like a baby. That is how they are turned into pets. He didn’t have any of that, so first I had to win his trust with food. And slowly, I have been getting him to the stage that he lets me hold him, and bathe him. Lee, he is just like a baby now. I took him to a chiropractor in town to see about his legs and he fixed him. No more crossed legs! All his bite marks are healed and he has hair, he didn’t have any when I first got him. And the sounds he makes, I swear he coos when you rock him. And he is already litter trained.”
I was already in love with the little guy and I realized I didn’t know his name.
“What is his name?” I asked.
“Mr. Pickles” she answered. “Everybody thinks it is Piggles … but it is Pickles like the things you eat!” she laughed.
“How big is he?” I asked trying to picture him.
“Only 10 pounds”
I tried to imagine a 10 pound pig only 2 pounds heavier than Chi Chi our chihuahua.
“I am still trying to get him trained to walk on a leash. Lee, I am spending 2 hours a day on this pig. He really needs a lot of TLC.” Pleading start to creep into her voice.
“How jealous is Jim?” I was half joking. Jim was her husband and worshiped her. He was in construction and I pictured that he was already remodeling their house to include the perfect place for Mr. Pickles.
“It is killing Jim. I have never seen a grown man so jealous in my life! We had a huge argument about it last night…” she paused. She sounded mad and a bit scared.
I didn’t know quite what to say. All I could think of was the parade of rescued dogs and cats that she had fostered in the few years since we met and how patient Al had seemed about it all.
“This morning he gave me an ultimatum, it is either him or the pig!?!” Her words were wrapped in sad desperation.
I was stunned.
“I am calling to see if you will take Mr. Pickles.” Now she was crying.
My hard and fast NO, became ‘Yes, of course.’
And that is how Apple Hill Farm, became the next home of Mr. Pickles, the pig.
This story, is Part One of Three, and will be continued in the next blog post.
