TUESDAY BEAUTY ON THE FARM

Snacks for Visiting Friends

Cutest Puppy Ever in the Entire World

Garden Rose

Strawberry Syrup

Freya

Garden Lettuce

Barred Rocks and Buff Orpingtons Making Friends

THE GREAT PUPPY EXPEDITION - 2009

HOW MUCH DID WE WANT A PUPPY?

We wanted a puppy bad enough, and a certain kind of puppy, that we grabbed our passports and drove six hours (8 hours with kids) northeast into the wilds of British Columbia to get one. We braved bears, cougars, coyotes, timber wolves, 2000 sheep, a very large and overly friendly cow, and a bevvy of very serious, very large working dogs to retrieve our new little girl - Freya.

WHY FREYA?

Freya is 1/2 Akbash, 1/2 Maremma. Both breeds are livestock guard dogs. The Maremma are Italian and the Akbash, Turkish. These dogs are different from livestock herd dogs—they are meant to keep flocks safe from predators, and that is their one and only task. Freya's people prefer to sleep with the livestock, won't chase or attack any of the barnyard animals, are fiercely protective of their people, and can take down a timber wolf single handed.

THE TRIP

We started out from our little hobby farm early Friday morning and made our way across the border into Canada. We had a leash, a puppy crate, two water bowls and what turned out to be a much too small collar. We were aimed with a somewhat vague map.

Our first stop was Hope, a little mountain town along the South Thompson River. We had lunch, took pictures with a giant stuffed moose, and played in the park under extraordinarily large trees.

From Hope, we veered off onto a highway heading north and made our way to the summit of the mountain. Not a place I'd like to be in the snow, but the vistas were spectacular. I was impressed by the deer fencing that ran the entire length of the highway on both sides. We see far too many dead deer by the side of the road on our side of the border. Imagine all the jobs that created? Safe animals and work for those who need it.

From Hope we made a quick stop in a little town just on the other side of the mountain pass. You could tell we'd reached Eastern BC because the landscape changed dramatically—lots of scrub, dry prairie grass, stubbier trees.

Our evening destination was Kamloops. The city sits on the river and is big enough to be the "big city" that serves the smaller, more isolated towns. The kids were very pleased with our overnight accommodations as the hotel pool had a full sized, tubular waterslide. Need I say more?

The next morning we headed even further north. The highway reduced to two, very windy lanes and climbed up along the banks of the North Thompson River. The river lapped at the edges of pasture lands, dotted with sheep, horses, and little farm houses. We had bought a map in one of the little mountain rest stops and Mr. Encyclopedia Man studied it as we drove on. Turns out that those "large towns" on the map, the ones in the big letters, were made up of a gas station and a convenience store. Attached.

This area of BC is so sparsely populated that a two hour drive into a real city for supplies is expected. And by isolated BC standards, these were large towns we were passing through. If you can fill-up with gas, it's considered civilization. We tanked up, and in a panic, I bought some convenience store hot dogs, Mac and Cheese, a carton of milk, and some Pringles (if you read this blog, you know those are some unusual foods for us).

We were looking for a small road, just outside of the town of Clearwater. We found our turn and proceeded across the railroad tracks and to the edge of a one lane bridge that crossed the very large, very fast, North Thompson. I made sure to YIELD as directed for oncoming traffic but there wasn't a car in sight. The paved road ended and we drove for twenty minutes along a winding, dirt lane. Cliff faces towered above the car, and crumbling homestead cabins, barns and shacks lined the road. There is no way the residents could live out there without a back hoe and 4wd. We sometimes have to clear our little gravel road after a big storm and I can only assume that the -4 temps, heavy snow and winds in the North Thompson Valley make the roads impassible at times.

Our final destination was Aveley Ranch, an 1800 acre sheep farm located between Clearwater and Vavenby. We drove down into the main homestead and were immediately greeted by four or five very large Border Collies and one somewhat angry Akbash momma dog. We stayed in our car until the owners came out and calmed the dogs. Our plan was to stay overnight in their B&B cottage on the ranch.

THE PUPPIES

The very first thing we did was meet the puppies. The mother, an Akbash called Mrs. Bennett, was mated to a Maremma named Sebastian. Mrs. Bennett gave birth to twelve pups, eleven of which survived. The owners of Avelely Ranch intended to keep all of the males and had three females from which we could choose. They ended up showing us two males as well because the pups were too friendly and would not make good livestock dogs. They wanted the most aloof, most aggressive dogs for themselves. We wanted a snuggle-pup that would also work our hobby farm. It was a match made in heaven.

The dogs are all white—and this trait has survived the last 2000 years because they are meant to blend in with the sheep in the fields and in this way, predators don't know where in the pack they are and won't chance picking lambs are sheep off the back of the herd.

We thought hard about our pup—we wanted a girl and we wanted a fluffy pup, but alas, those two things were incompatible. Our girl Freya picked us. She chased the girls around and wanted her belly patted, she rolled over and submitted and was generally a happy little thing. She's the one in the pink collar, trying to swallow one of her bothers. We loved her immediately and were sad when we had to say goodnight and head out to our cabin in the woods without her.

But before we could leave, Helena, a really enormous dairy cow came up to check us all out. She was what I would call "overly friendly" and I was pleased to see that my three girls truly are fearless when it comes to large animals. They walked all around her, patted her all over, let her lick them with her big black tongue and were generally unconcerned by her enormous girth.

The cabins you see in the background are some of the original structures put up on the ranch when it was homesteaded in the early 1900's. The ranch has stayed in the family and the current grandson of the original homesteader had seven children of his own, most of whom still live somewhere on the ranch (they range in age from their 30's down to about 11). Sadly, like most ranch and farming operations, many of them work off the ranch, too. They sell wool, mature sheep, and lamb for meat.

OUR CABIN

We traveled another five minutes or so down the dirt road to our little cabin in the woods. I would estimate the entire cabin was somewhere shy of 600 square feet and was made up of a tiny sitting room / kitchen and an upstairs loft. The bathroom was a bit like a ship's head and the honest truth is that I found it just perfect for our family of five.

There was a pullout couch, and a ladder to the loft with two beds. What more do you need?

There was a hike we could have taken to some falls on the ranch but we were told to be aware of cougars. With the lack of a shotgun in our possession (the border agents aren't so fond of those) and some very small people with us, we decided to forgo the hike and enjoy our Little House on the Prairie.

The cabin was heated by a wood burning stove and Mr. Encyclopedia Man chopped kindling while I cooked up those hot dogs and Mac and Cheese (which was an excellent purchase BTW, because we would have had at least an hour and a half hour drive back out for supplies).

The real excitement of the whole trip was the expedition we went on to the sheep grazing fields. We were picked up after dinner by one of our hosts and driven back across the river to the summer grazing grounds. It was the Summer Solstice.

MANY MANY SHEEP

Part of the reason for the trip was that we wanted to see Freya's father and he was stationed out with the sheep in a more remote part of the ranch. He was guarding 2000 sheep and lambs along with three other dogs.

I realized as our tour guide drove us out toward the grazing land, that the first one lane bridge we had crossed to get to the ranch was the modern bridge. This time, we made our way across a one lane, wood slat bridge and I just took a deep breath and counted the seconds until we were across. We followed a small dirt road along the cliffs of the North Thompson River until we reached a nearly impassible spot that was thick with sheep and lambs. Slow was the only way through them and they eventually parted for us. Our host asked us to please stay in a single file, not touch the dogs or make any sudden moves. The moment our feet hit the ground, four enormous dogs sprung from the fields and came charging down at us barking and growling. They had been up on a ridge where they had a clear view of the flock and surrounding woods.

The dogs approached and we all stood very still and allowed them to circle us and sniff. They were as tall as Thing One and Thing Two and looked them both in the eyes. They decided at last that we were boring and not much of a threat and headed back up to their lookout. The dogs all had long gashes across their faces and scars all over. They regularly tangle with timber wolves, bears, cougars and coyotes. Mostly they try to drive them off but will kill them when necessary to protect the sheep. The owners lost a lead male the previous year when he was attacked by a wolf. We were told that if a predator kills a sheep, the dogs will move in and eat it in order to keep other predators away. They will also eat sheep
that have been culled, but will never kill one themselves.

Balto, as the other dogs were being fed, decided to come talk to Thing Two. He placed a paw in the middle of her chest and we were uncertain whether it was a greeting or he was telling her, "thanks for stopping by and you can go now." I suspect the latter.

The wagon you see in the far background is what the shepherds stay in when they're out with the sheep. It has a bed and a propane stove and they drop it in the fields wherever the sheep are. Shotguns are mounted inside the doors of the homes and when the shepherds are on horse back, leading the sheep into the mountains, they keep their guns at the ready. We were told that one of the aunts had taken sheep into the mountains on horseback and had three or four juvenile dogs with her. She went without her shotgun and as her horse was drinking at a pond, she was approached by a large timber wolf. All the dogs tuned tail and ran. She's never gone out without her gun again. (She made it through by screaming her lungs out and the dogs eventually came back).

This is Sebastian, the father of our pup. He clearly has no need for humans. When we went to leave, we did so slowly and carefully and followed all the rules about being clam and quiet. I think the dogs were happy to see us go so they could get back to their work.

We spent a quiet night in our cabin and before bed, read a story we found about a trapper that nearly gets killed by a pack of wolves but is then saved by the glow of the fire his wife has set to guide him home. The next morning we found big tufts of bear hair in a tree just outside the cabin.

We went down to the main farm to pick-up Freya and found her fast asleep between two lambs. It was bittersweet to pull her away from Mrs. Bennett and the other pups. She obviously loved her ranch and the other animals around her.

There was a lot of howling and crying on the way back to the states, and frequent stops to let her out to breathe a bit of fresh air. We made a quick and easy border crossing and brought Freya to her new home.

So far, she has adjusted to her new surroundings. She's a very different kind of dog. We've put her in with the chickens and ducks and she just watches them walk past—no chasing or barking, just observation. The goats are still a bit big for her to be loose with so we'll make that introduction later. Our big dog, Maeve, thinks we bought the puppy just for her, although Freya is already asserting her tiny-little-8-week-old-self as leader of the pack. She hates the crate so Mr. Encyclopedia Man has been sleeping on the couch with Freya at his feet.

And the adventure of it all, the trip into the wilds of rural BC, has as much meaning to us all as the new little baby in our lives.

More picture to come . . . of course.

HAPPINESS?

I just finished up a fascinating article in The Atlantic called What Makes Us Happy? Did any of you catch this one? There is an accompanying podcast that is a nice summary of the article as well.

The quick and dirty run down is that a longitudinal study was started in 1936 and has now followed a series of male subjects for more than 70 years. It was begun at Harvard and the subjects were all "well adjusted," sophomores. Over the last 70 years, they were given a series of written questionnaires, physical tests, and interviewed extensively. The author of The Atlantic article, Joshua Wolf Shenk does and interesting job of looking at both the study and the long time director of the study, George Vaillant for clues to happiness.

Putting aside my feelings about the study being only about men (it was 1936 after all), I was charmed by the basic premise. The idea that someone would study happiness, and try to measure it through psychological and scientific analysis is inherently flawed. Happiness, it seems to me, is as illusive as love, and impossible to quantify. I was charmed that George Vaillant had attempted to do so anyway. (I was also fascinated to see that by age 50, almost a third of the subjects displayed classic signs of mental illness).

The life of George Viallant is, itself, one of the most intriguing parts of the article. While studying these subjects, delving into their tragendies and triumphs, trying to intellectualize their mistakes and quantify their lives, he was not always successful at living a traditionally "happy" life himself. The suicide of his father, his divorces, and occassional estrangements from his children seem to be the things he might have been able to mitigate based on what he had learned from his subjects.

Clearly, understanding some of the elements of happiness does not necessarily make it possible to be happy.

Ahh, the implications here for character development are enormous. I recently spent time making a 100 point list for each of my characters about their general likes and dislikes. Now, the natural progression from that, seems to be their level of happiness.

Before reading The Atlantic article, I always beleived that happiness was fleeting—it was neither something to expect nor something that would last. It is not an achievable goal that once discovered will stick for life. Rather, I define happiness as small moments to be savored in the present, remembered, and then let go. To anticipate more happiness is to spend too much time looking to the future rather than experiencing the place where one is.

I don't think I've changed this opinion and perhaps that's because the Viallant study does not come to any hard conclusions. Many of the subjects claim happiness—but can not explain why these things (like faith, career, etc.) make them happy.

Trying Something New

I was really certain that I had a method for writing and that since I'd discovered it, I'd be sticking to it for life. I'm not generally a stuck in my ways kind of gal, but when it comes to method, if I think I've got it, it seems like a safe bet to stick to it.

Then one day recently, I realized that my laptop was making me anxious. It's so white, and blank, and the lights blink, and sometimes it seems really demanding. I also realized that the internet was becoming a hindrance. It is just too easy for someone like me to type a few sentences, go back to read them, flash over to email, and then go read a couple of blogs. Then write another two sentences, rinse and repeat. It occurred to me that this is a very very long method for writing a novel.

The cure for this distraction is an obvious one, yet it's taken me a long time to come around to. Turn off the internet. Buy a journal.

I've battled with myself over the benefits of community versus focusing on my art. Keeping up an active Facebook, Twitter, and blog life, or writing a novel. I really love both, but with three kids, Mr. Encyclopedia Man, and the menagerie, one of these things had to give. And the final result? The novel wins in the end.

Aha, you say! Then why are you here blogging again? I guess I'm hoping that this time, I can do a little blogging, rebuild a little community, and kick a** on my manuscripts. All things in moderation, right? Yeah, 'cause, since I've been on a blog and internet hiatus, there are now two manuscripts in progress. One is nearly done, the other very very young.

And that's where this handy little journal comes in. I decided that this time, I wouldn't write a single word until I knew my plot inside and out, knew my characters from birth through their present ages, outlined my structure, emotional arcs, and plot tension on a per chapter basis. I've also outlined my subplots and minor characters. I've all but broken out the slide rule this time around. AND, I am challenging myself by writing from a new POV, creating a more complex plot structure, and taking my time.

What's your method?

In addition to all this intense method change, I've been adding to the farm. We have only one hen left, which we now call Lucky because she survived the massacre of May 2009. But we've added 10 baby chicks, and 6 ducklings. Ducklings are very dumb but so funny that I can spend far too much time watching them gaggle about. The garden is mostly in and come harvest time, I'll likely be giving veggies away as fast as I can harvest them.

Pictures to follow soon.

(Journal image borrowed from Wiki Commons)

WILD PLACES

Head on over to my other blog today . . . and read a post on Why Characters Need Wild Places.

VILLAINS!

I've often heard people say that villains are easier to write than heroes—give them a few grotesque features, a maniacal laugh, a few ugly personality traits are you're all set. Right? Maybe you're all set if you're writing a cartoon script full of physical humor and Laurel and Hardy antics.

But if you're truly writing a villain, a character that appears throughout your manuscript, he or she must have more personality than a cartoon character.

First passes on all characters tend toward sketches for me—but once the sketch is done, a rewrite must address the more complicated nature of the human psyche.

My first pass at the three villainous characters in my WIP provided the perfect foil to my main character's plans, but the villains themselves were overdone in one case, flat in another and downright cliched in the third.

Before my second pass, I took a closer look at the world villain. Dictionary.com gave me the following definition:

Villain:

1. A cruelly malicious person who is involved in or devoted to wickedness or crime; scoundrel
2. A character in a play or novel, or the like, who constitutes an important evil agency in the plot.

The second definition intrigued me because it smacks of cliche and formula, while the first definition made me wonder how many true villains the average person encounters on a daily basis—how many folks have you bumped into at the bus stop that are devoted to wickedness and crime?

So what does a real villain look like—one that is believable, complex and nuanced? A fully realized character that is also the counterpoint to your hero's ambitions and dreams?

Villains come in various shapes and sizes, some more horrible than others. Many of the them (in fact two in my WIP) are just a little rude, a bit stand-offish, lacking some social skills and heady with power.

But there is one character, a truly evil fellow that causes all sorts of trouble for my lovely Violet—the kind of character that could easily appear again and again (and has in mythology).

What to do with a villain of this caliber while avoiding the above definitions?

And then it occurred to me. Luc is not a villain, he's a

SOCIOPATH.

And I don't know about you, but sociopaths scare me a heck of a lot more than a cartoon villain due in large part to the fact they are real, and one might even be living next door.

Sociopath: a person, as a psychopathic personality, whose behavior is antisocial and who lacks a sense of moral responsibility or social conscience.

There's a great book out there, which I read years ago, called The Sociopath Next Door by, Martha Stout. In it, she discusses the various kinds of sociopaths (from the lazy to the truly morally bankrupt) and as Amazon describes, estimates that as many as 4% of the population are conscienceless sociopaths who have no empathy or affectionate feelings for humans or animals. As Stout explains, a sociopath is defined as someone who displays at least three of seven distinguishing characteristics, such as deceitfulness, impulsivity and a lack of remorse. Such people often have a superficial charm, which they exercise ruthlessly in order to get what they want.

Sit back and swallow that one for a minute.

And this my friends, is an excellent resource on which to draw villains. It's as easy as remembering back to that college roommate that could talk anyone out of their money, charm you into loaning out your car when you really needed it, steal your boyfriend without a second glance and somehow make you feel responsible for all of it.

Or that employee you once had that could lie with the most believable, moist, sad eyes and have you offering more and more time off when really they're out having an affair with a client's wife (while you're paying them overtime).

(these are all EXAMPLES people . . . not from my life. The sociopaths I've known did different but equally horrible things.)

So go take a second or third look at your villains—make them more real, more tangible, the kind of character that your reader thinks, "oh, I knew a guy just like that once, and he was evil."

⋅

/ˈvɪlən/

THINKING ABOUT . . . FOOD

I've been thinking a lot about food lately. How to grow it, how to prepare it, preserve it, moderate it, make it healthy.

Food tends to be the best way for me to clear my head and when I'm not writing, I am usually engaging with food in some manner or another. I've found that after I spend some time away from my work and instead engage in intense foodie activities, my work usually improves tenfold.

It's been Spring Break around here and in between movies, sleepovers, zoo trips and the like, I have been focused on both growing food and consuming it. Six new chicks are set to arrive on Friday, the garden has been plotted and fenced. I have ordered all of my onion, tomato and pepper plants. I've also purchased all my seeds.

And Spring has been oh-so-kind so far this year. We had snow this same week last year, but this year we tied the all time record for high temperatures! For three days straight we only came inside to prepare food and then took it back outside to eat it. The goats have been lolling in the fields, with their fat bellies warmed by the sun.

Bliss.

In honor of my RSB sister and fab author of Silver Phoenix, Cindy Pon, I have photographed many of my food experiences this week. (Cindy chronicles many of her fantastic culinary samplings).

We started out our week with a major sushi adventure. The girls and I hit the new sushi bar in town . . . the one with the conveyor belt. Thing Two is sushi-mad and I had to seat her at the far end of the table so her six-year-old hands could not grab freely from the ever moving sushi display.



Thing Once requested a special roll from the sushi chef . . . and got this dual-colored beauty. The chef told me I was very wealthy having three such pretty daughters! And then he gave us a special, could-not-identify on-the-house fish dish (say that three times fast!). Eldest found it delicious. I thought it was . . . a little too mysterious for my taste.



We were a little embarrassed when we stacked up our plates to be counted. Ooops . . .the seas are now devoid of all marine life thanks to the Murphys. (Sheesh—and we call ourselves environmentalists!)



We also celebrated Passover. I, ahem, kind of forgot until the last minute but still managed to pull together a lovely meal . . .



Then it was on to the Easter Egg extravaganza. We colored eggs as well as filled plastic eggs with chocolates. Needless to say, no one begged to sample the hard boiled eggs . . . but the chocolates? Every three minutes, no wait, every three seconds, I was asked for JUST ONE MORE PIECE. Pleeeeeeaaaase?




Happy Spring Everyone!