It’s been a while since posting, my concerns have been spent everywhere else it seems. It’s been a tough year here, and I know it’s been like that for most everyone. It’s all about what you hold dearest to your heart, what we choose to focus on so we can find more of it. Know the evils so we’ll recognize them, read the news carefully (and not too much), pray for those who are stuck in suffering that they may free themselves. Lend a helping hand, but even that we must do cautiously. Most importantly to me, don’t let anyone take your kindness, despite the misconceptions about what strength really is.

The little pockets of time I’ve found in peace and joy have therefore had to hold more weight if they’re to mean anything at all. Sink into those moments like a warm healing glow, and know they’ll come again. Bad times always come. So do the good. We can only control what we focus on through practice.

The passing frenzies of illness, fear, confusion, and inability to fix obvious problems have wracked my core to its limits. It’s been a good workout.

We lost more than a few sheep this year, and I had to give up on cultivating the dream I hoped to establish here. I’ve maintained that which needs to be cared for, but we need to look elsewhere to make ground for those dreams to flourish. Not too far, but far enough. Granted, my husband and I didn’t exactly “select” a place for a farm, but I knew we needed to start somewhere if we’re to get anywhere. I’d had enough of walking along dirty streets and living in cramped apartments to keep considering it as an option. I never had a taste for the “high life” those places also offer, nor the wallet for it. I’ll take that as a blessing in disguise, because you really get to know an area when you’re a walker, not a driver. Those streets can swallow you up if you’re not careful (and even if you are). Local cultures keep being lost, but like all true things, they can be grown again.

But here is just a place, and there is also a place. Standing our ground happens in the heart, not the feet. We each put our touch on the earth around us, and we bring the spirit of our intentions with us. Good or not.

So as for the title, before I wrack any readers’ minds with more spiritual reflections, this past Christmas Eve was struck with near tragedy on our farm. We had our sheep grazing along a now-disused driveway for a few afternoon hours. Three of those naughty buggers decided to forgo the lush, delicious grasses waving merrily to the rest of the flock – instead they descended on the forgotten periwinkle patch across the road. We didn’t see those nibblers. That’s what they get for trespassing! Oof. Now periwinkle is a tenacious, allelopathic groundcover, (though I love its merry blue early spring flowers!) and consuming it is a nastily fatal poison if left untreated. I hate poison, I hate what it does. My truth is the poisoner always ends up getting poisoned, and it’s best kept away (though I can see why people in the past used poisons against large predators).

Fortunately, I keep a stock of hardwood charcoal available at all times for instances like this. We’ve already had some yew and rhododendron poisonings – charcoal saved the day then too. 

It was an ugly shift from the cozy Christmas Eve I was hoping to give my family, after hours of cooking and preparing, but after reading “Twas the Night Before Christmas” to my boys and got them dreaming of icing and oranges, I spent the night tossing and turning, and checking the sheep between the nauseating anxiety I felt. That was somewhat due to being repeatedly exposed to a large amount of sheep vomit. Oof.

Anyways, I treated them with charcoal, finely ground, mixed with some water, and drenched. I treated them every few hours. Charcoal binds toxic compounds and renders them inert. I probably gave each one about a tablespoon or two total. I didn’t think the one could make it through the night, she was in such wretched shape, and had to ask my husband to check them in the morning. I was so sick with fear. Theirs or mine I’m not sure; sheep are social animals and stress is horrible for them, and I feel everything’s stress. The worst thing we can do is panic, and I panicked hard.

But all three made it. Each little life I care for so dearly pulled through, and charcoal saved the day.

So coal for Christmas? I’ll take it with a gracious thank you.

I hope we all found some joy this Holiday Season. Let’s hope for at least a good perspective next year.