"There is no excuse for boredom". I think I read that or something quite like it in "Letters to a Young Poet". Bryn River and I crawled after bugs and after tulips and dying daffodils while we awaited the return of her parents and new baby brother. On my own terms I probably wouldn't have chosen to photograph the dyeing daffodil or a dead lady bug, but to Bryn they were complete and beautiful and just as deserving of adoration as the fresh pink tulip she stole from the ground. Needless to say, take a three year old outside to remind you that asphalt rocks are just as precious as those made my millions of years of ocean and wind and heat and frozen temperatures. Also, those who are prejudice onlookers of flowers may need to know that dandelions can be just as equally appreciated as tulips and furthermore they are in great abundance which makes them even more amazing. If you are lucky they may just dazzle your eyes.
Monday afternoon I had a lucky break from my lovely job of being auntie and I drove again to the country side. I found a farm with an apartment for rent and the owner was interested in having my horses, and she had the goats and sheep and cows and geese (only thing left to get was the laying hens). She was creating a living history farm and so all the livestock was of a heritage breed, which I thought was fantastic. The only thing I didn't think was fantastic was the distance from bellingham town. I would want to be closer if possible. But honestly, I will take what is available and for farm living quarters I don't think I have the liberty to be too choosy. And more so, it was beautiful there. The north cascades abutted the farm and slowly grew into wooded mountains that enveloped what remained as a corridor back to the "world". Why do I attract the most isolating situations? And why do I long for a thread to the world? In the least it is of utmost conflict, perhaps for inspiration perhaps for my research in perversity. Which if not the cause, it is at least the sustaining force of my constant existential crisis. For the sake of reality, at least I found a potential place to rest my weary self. And just that is enough to salute the sky with genuflections of gratitude. I consider the visit to the living history farm to be just research. I have no idea when I'll make it here, and I plan to walk or ride, which ever way brings us here safely and most enjoyably. And because that cannot be calculated by calendar there is no reason to make serious commitments to homes. I have no reason not to come, I've just decided to come in a more adventurous way than is the custom. So therefore flexibility is extremely important. At any rate, I feel more inspired to get this pony show on the road, than I have in a long time. First however, I want to get home to my beasts, which I imagine are ripening up on an unchecked amount of pasture and are having a fabulous time doing so. Little do they know that I will be back soon with grazing muzzles and lunge lines. Only as an act of love though. Okay Breezy and Taceo. Only in love do I regiment your lifestyle. If I could rule the world, you'd be wild beasts again, with no threat of man as your predator ever again. See you lovelies tomorrow.
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