It has been a big month; I have missed being here, writing. It doesn’t help that we’ve had all sorts of internet service trouble while our service provider claims to be improving our internet service.
We received rain through late June and July and I am writing to the sound of raindrops on our tin roof. With the arrival of rain came an unfolding of sorts. An unfolding of tightly held concern, an unfolding of hope, an unfolding of the grass as the earth opened up and took a drink. On a morning walk with the Kelpies the place was utterly still and while I sat in the grass trying to match the stillness I thought for sure I could hear the land sipping water. The grazing land bounced back beautifully (forgiveness received, bless you Mother N) and having grass available for grazing means there is less urgency about selling animals and a little more wiggle room about where and when they go. For the hay land, the rain is too late. We might get a small crop of late hay although not nearly enough to feed our flock for the winter.
Another reason for the big month is that my dive into doing artwork and sharing it has become another type of unfolding. In July I attended a studio trail event and right after that a national sheep show hosted in our province. I’m just coming off of the buzz from the latter event. I was hopeful this show would be a good crowd and it was.
Setting up one’s artwork in a public display space and then standing there, cleanly dressed, answering the questions of a very curious public feels a world apart from day-to-day, solitary life on the ranch, fiddling with floats on water troughs, mending gates, and wearing guardian dog drool on your jeans. I feel foreign and out of sorts at every public trade show. But then the questions and comments begin and perhaps because my art is so closely tied to my daily scene, and to what I know, I become settled enough to get through the day. Never comfortable, but settled enough to let it unfold as it will. The reception and feedback to the artwork was very strong and once again I am amazed at the folks who popped by to say they love the photos and the art and are following it online.
Back at home I settle into the peace and quiet of sheep, dogs and prairie land, and merge into the familiarity of ordinary work for my hands once again. The buzz subsides but the creative juices are turning. The more I dive into artwork and into writing the more tightly interwoven the facets of me and this land and livestock life become. There is no piece separate from the other now. Land, animal, nature, artist, human, humanity – every piece within the self and the self within every piece.
Your writing reminds me of a book called ‘The Perfection of the Morning’ by Sharon Butala where she talks about how nature affects us and the power it has over us. I just checked my book shelves but I no longer have the book. If I remember correctly it was about the first half of the book that I connected to. Like you, nature is not only where my source of materials comes from (wood, stone and clay) but my inspiration. My daily walks on the beach and through the forest feed my soul. Nature is still the best artist.
Linda, How nifty you mentioned this book. A copy of it sits on my shelf and I too resonated more with the first half of it. It is feeling more and more imperative to me that we respect and cherish the natural spaces we have, especially here on the prairie – I’m concerned humanity is going to be in need them in order to reconnect to our natural selves.