My cat has had hideous feline dermatitis for months and months. Scabby, oozing sores that she’d open daily with her itching. Tried everything to get rid of it. Finally, after reading a Review of a chicken free catfood (Instinct), I realized that almost all commercial catfood has some form of chicken in it…and she’d developed an allergy to it.
I spoke with pet store folks about this and they told me that the processing of the chicken is what they figured was causing an outbreak in toxicity to animals. The frozen, or freeze-dried versions are affected as well. I guess it’s the equivalent of ‘pink slime’ in human-grade hamburger in terms of using industrial solvents to clean the chicken.
Gross and disgusting. I’ve finally found Instinct and Evanger’s, both are pretty pure. The dermatitis has gone away.
My friend Kateyanne has started a new life path as a celebrant, specializing in highly personalized memorials (for both people and animals) as well as other life milestone rituals. Check her out at Emerge Celebrant Services
Tara is a skilled photographer and she has created a truly lovely calendar for 2011, each month with exquisite pictures of her horses photographed against the dramatic landscapes of Eastern Washington. This is really a quality item at a very reasonable price. I’m getting a couple of them for my horse-loving friends.
Here on Whoopie (Whidbey) Island, I have no garden space. It’s the first year in 25 years I haven’t actively lived and breathed through my garden. I finally decided I HAD to have something, so I planted about 10 containers, with just the right (researched) soil mix, planted and waited through the weirdest summer weather I can remember in my adult life. Finally, after way too long, it produced…beans, sunchokes, leafy chard, peas, herbs, and the tomatoes were hanging off the vines…and all of this was on my deck, not 3 feet from my front door.
Went to work one Thursday morning and visited all the plants on my way out the door. They were lookin’ good — full, lush. I was finally going to get a harvest! Came home that evening and everything, and I mean everything (except the sage, rosemary and parsley) was eaten down to about 3 inches of stem. All the beans, chard, peas, tomatoes and plants, chokes…the whole shebang…chewed off by a mamma doe and her two frisky fawns who’ve been hanging around, and who I NEVER thought would come within 3 ft. of the front door to steal the garden goodies. Sigh.
With nice summer weather being so sporadic and fall already beginning, and no harvest, I feel like I’m in some kind of time warp. Leaves are already turning on the maple outside my window.
Molly wouldn’t get out of the car. Hannah and I were in eastern Washington visiting Tara at 3-Bells Ranch and Molly, The Courageous Snake Finder, decided she would very much like a vacation to the Land of Somewhere Else.
As we were packing to leave, Hannah, who’d been praising Molly all weekend for her bright spirit, teasing that we’d like to take her home, found Molly waiting in the car. Molly pretended that she didn’t hear us tell her that she had to get out; that although we’d love to take her, Tara needed her. She was, after all, a Very Brave Animal, highly prized and valued on the ranch. Molly sighed. She needed a vacation…really she did.
Connecting With Each Other
Pondering the events of our excursion, it became clear to me that in order to survive in this rapidly changing world, we need to consider each other in more ways than ever before. As Tara turns her property into production growing hay and raising beef and rabbit I’m reminded that rising expenses, prohibitive fuel costs, and erratic consumer spending conspire to challenge us in ways that force both connection and creativity.
It’s the very thing that inspired this blog.
Buying close to home or from one another is a key principle of sustainability. When you click through from one of the ads on these pages, Hannah and I make a small commission on the sale that helps support us and this blog. It’s just that direct.
Rural people understand what it takes. Patronizing and hiring friends and community members is a no-brainer. Not necessarily so in the cities, where selection is vast and people are used to sussing out ‘the best for the least.’ Sustaining those you care about, those you know, those you trust is the nucleus of community.
I bought and cooked some of Tara’s rabbit meat, knowing how the rabbits were raised and butchered; knowing that ultimately, they served to help her survive. I prepared that rabbit in a totally different spirit than I do the meat I buy in the store. Although I buy organic and give thanks for the life that nourishes mine, I knew intimately the source of this food. I could make conscious connection to all the elements, all the effort, that went into getting it to my table.
Rabbit Coq Au Vin ala Libby
One 3-4 pound domestic rabbit
2 large onions, chopped
3 cloves crushed garlic
Mushrooms, as many as you want
Flour for dredging (I used a gluten free mixture)
1 tsp salt
Pepper (as much as you like)
1 tsp smoked paprika
2 c. sake (Japanese white wine)
Olive Oil for browning, maybe 3 tablespoons
1 cup sour cream
Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Cut rabbit as you would a chicken; wash well and pat dry. Mix flour, salt, pepper and paprika together and dredge rabbit in flour mixture. Heat cast iron dutch oven; add olive oil (don’t let it get too hot); brown rabbit pieces; turning once. (If the pot isn’t big enough, brown what it will hold and remove to platter until all pieces are browned and ready).
When all pieces are browned, return to cast iron pot, add garlic, chopped onion and sake. Cover and bake for 1.5 – 2 hours, checking occasionally to add more moisture (water, sake or chicken broth if you like). You should maintain 2 – 3 inches of liquid in the pot.
When rabbit is fork tender, remove from pot with slotted spoon. Make a gravy by adding sour cream to pan drippings and whisk until smooth, adding a little of the dredging flour if you like thicker gravy. Season to taste. Add rabbit pieces back to the sour cream gravy and serve the whole thing over rice or noodles. If you want a fancier presentation, spoon cooked rice or noodles onto a serving platter, top with rabbit pieces, pour sour cream gravy over the whole thing, sprinkle with shredded fresh parsley and a little paprika. Delicious!
This Changing World
We all need to face the possibility that things are not going to return to ‘normal’ in this country, maybe even the world. By ‘normal’ I mean before 9/11. That event, whatever you may think or know about it, was a turning point that woke us up to facts and fictions that are still unfolding. The economic collapse that we’re in was predicted; the events of the last decade follow a well-worn pattern, and although we don’t have all the pieces, we all sense that ‘something wicked this way comes.’
Sounds spooky, doesn’t it? I waffle between fear and the thrill of possibility. I know that all births are preceded by transition, and that transition is a touch and go time that can last moments or millenniums. I sense that we’re in a big one and that’s really all I need to know.
Replacing fear thoughts with hope isn’t enough though. Action is what matters on the ground. Connecting to each other, forming community, supporting one another’s endeavors, talking over the dimensions of change we see (or think we see), being open to new ways and willing to prune the dead weight…these are the steps that help midwife change.
Those of us that operate on the edge may not know what the next footfall will bring, but we are all pathfinding. We are leaving footprints for others who might pass this way and need to find their way.
I had a rare treat last Wednesday, the privilege of driving back into Denali National Park on a private bus, back into the depths of a wonderland of animal, plant and geological diversity that has few rivals on earth.
The park is the size of the state of Massachusetts. The only road goes a mere 94 miles in, but a wild and winding, cliff-hanging dirt road, passing Denali, and ending finally on the banks of Moose Creek. Closed to the public unless they have a special pass, one must take a bus to avoid harassing wildlife, who conducts their daily activities within full view of passers-by since they are not hunted or chased.
We saw 2 sow grizzlies and their twins foraging for vegetation and voles, a lynx, moose, caribou, a golden eagle, beaver, an assortment of ducks and raptors. All under a vivid blue sky with the towering white hump of “The Great One,” more aptly named by the indigenous peoples here than a US President, McKinley, who had never stepped foot in Alaska.
I was privileged to have worked as the wrangler at the end of the road at a remote lodge that offered horseback tours into the Kantishna Hills, a mere 20 miles from the north face of Denali, years ago. For 5 summers I took small groups of adventurers up a creek and into the hills, where no one else ever went. We often passed grizzly tracks and a few munching off the trail, my heart pounding but keeping a steady pace with my guests behind me. My favorite part was climbing out of valley with a fast moving creek, moving steadily up past treeline and into the alpine tundra, while Denali peeked from behind another hill and then came into full view, filling my field of vision with the enormity of the highest mountain in North America, and the tallest mountain in the world from base to top. I entered a cathedral of such grand proportions anything man-made was totally insignificant by comparison.
The horses stretched out as we climbed higher, my hands in their mane,
my entire body alive and connected. I loved sharing this sacred place. At the top the horses would rest and we’d eat lunch in the tundra, small plants entwined in an ecological dance of harmony: berries, flowers, grasses, mosses, lichens, dwarfed trees, with the north face of Denali facing ours.
We have a snake. Rattler. 5 tics. Molly pointed it out last night as it was lounging beside the deck. She was rather emphatic that we had a pending emergency and that we should move very quietly but somewhat urgently to remediate the situation. Her expression was unlike any I’ve seen her wear. I walked over to where she was pointing in kind of a Lassie sort of “Look, Timmy! Look! Look what Lassie found. Careful, Timmy, Careful!”
So I checked it out. And then I got a rake with a LONG handle and a 40 gallon garbage can and scooped the snake into the can, set the lid on it and set it on the tractor. In the morning, my friend Betsy and I went about our chores and after loading the truck with garbage, we placed the snake in his can on the back of the load, secured all, and drove a couple of miles down the road where we stopped at a pull-out, tipped the garbage can over to release the snake… and never saw it hit the ground.
Where the hell did that snake go anyway?????!!!!!
We looked around (somewhat passively) and decided it must have gotten away undetected.
Or it was still on the truck somewhere.
In the garbage? In the bumper? On the differencial?
So off we went to the dump. No snake.
And then we went to the Post Office. No snake.
And then to Nultons where we loaded 60 feet of squiggle black 10 inch irrigation tubes into the back of the truck. We never heard a rattle.
But then, hours after we got home, we heard a strange sound, a sort of chittering near the rabbits. We wondered if they were feeling threatened about something and went to investigate. Armed with a flashlight with a failing battery, we climbed into the rabbit pen. We flashed all the rabbits. All were fine. We climbed out of the rabbit enclosure and heard the distinct sound of a rattle. And there, beside my truck was our snake.
After locating the rake and shoving another garbage can my way, Betsy retreated to the bow of Calypso, my truck. She shined what pathetic beam streamed from the flashlight onto the snake while I tipped the garbage can over and flipped it in. Then with the can right-side up escorted the snake to his quarters– the bucket of the tractor where he spent the previous night in deja vu conditions: in a 35 gallon garbage can suspended above the ground in a nook created by a tractor’s bucket with a lid inverted on top of him.
“I’m Popeye the Sailor Man,” sang Betsy, “I live in a garbage can…”
Molly (short for Molecule) is my Jack Russell terrier who has more energy and curiosity than any life form is entitled to. Here’s a picture of her, focusing on small game.
Kathy here. The smoke from the two major fires in our area in the interior of Alaska, the Wood River and Minto Flat fires, rolled in last night so thick the wilderness was like a packed bar loaded with smokers. Visibility down to less than 100 feet, this in a land of broad vistas and big sky. Continual dry days (.44 inches of rain in July, driest on record) and high temperatures, in the 80’s and sometimes 90’s, and no end in sight, have fanned the flames of these fires, one within 20 miles of Fairbanks, to immense killers. The Minto fire, as of a few days ago, was already 350,000 acres, or 600 square miles, across the Nenana River from the small Athabascan village of Nenana where I spent 26 years. The effects on wildlife are incomprehensible: birds too young to fly away, moose calves too small to run through the thick brush. Fox,lynx, wolves, bears, squirrels, all with young. The beavers can at least dive down into the lakes, but their lodges, their protection, could catch fire. And no rain in sight.
But the wild blueberries and raspberries are ripe and ready early, an important part of our food supply, Mother Nature’s yearly free giveaway. Yesterday afternoon friend Pam and I went into the hills north of here and found large patches, but the odd thing was that the ground was so dry it broke off the branches of the berry bushes and lichen as we searched with our little buckets. Instead of a moist sponge, the tundra crackled with every movement. Uncovered ground was hard and split open like the photos of African droughts I’d seen in National Geographics.
Horrified I apologized to the little plants that should have sprung back, never having seen this in 35 years in this country. Many of the berries were small, after sitting in the hot, relentless sun and 24 hours of daylight since they formed. But our buckets were full when we left. Kept our eye out for a large black bear seen in the area, my .44 strapped to my hip, but he was thankfully feasting elsewhere.
Without rain the few hay farmers in our area are suffering, along with the horse owners. Each horse up here needs about 3 tons of hay per horse for the year. The oil based fertilizer they use cannot disintergrate and nourish the grass plants without water, which has never been a problem in the past. So no one uses irrigation. At the first cutting in July, bales per acres was about 20 % of the normal amount. I was shocked when I took my flatbed trailer into my favorite farmer’s fields and left with 15 bales instead of 65. The grass was just too short.
The changes we are seeing here are extreme, as last summer with constant, record rain and finally flooding. My life depends on the weather: hay for horses, salmon for the sled dogs, adequate snow for sled dog tours in the winter, and for the last12 or so years we have seen changes beyond what is considered normal for this far north. Excessive snow this past March closed many of the trails to even snowmachines.In the backcountry snow would be up to the top of my legs in many places, and I am 5’10” with my boots on. On one trip I had to turn a 10 dog team around in a narrow trail, and found the leaders on top of me as I stepped off the trail and fell into the deep snow, my legs cemented into place. Chaos !
All of this tells me to be flexible, do not assume and predict. Just when I am at that age when I would like to settle back a bit, cozy in my knowledge of a land and it’s rhythms. But the dance has changed, and I better learn some new steps.
To add more about Jane — I don’t want her story to inflame the anti-dogmushersout there. Her story is unusual, not born of intentional cruelty but human ignorance.
We dogmushers come in many personas, like horse owners, but most of us are kind and considerate of our animals. They are our canine family, our transportation, our athletic superheros who we depend upon to carry us through this often harsh and brutal land. Mine are also my business partners. As with all animal partnerships, humans are the weak link, who sometimes lay the burdens of their own emotional misgivings or shaky egos upon these amazing beings. But most of us love and care for them beyond anything the average person can understand. They eat the best of meats, salmon, fats, and commercial dogfood. (My favorite costs nearly $50 for 40 lbs.) They have sound houses with thick straw. They are well-conditioned, and in that process can perform athletic feats beyond that of any known animal on this planet. Running and pulling a sled for 150 miles per day in sub-zero weather, day after day. There are no reins, nothing to keep them moving only their own will. They are bred for this and running is what they live for. Trying to take one for a “walk” in the summer means you must have strong shoulders and hands. They cannot do anything but pull, and with a smile, while you struggle to keep up.