Meet Autumn and Alina, the mother - daughter girl boss duo team behind Little Leaf Art Studio in downtown Hahira.

 Autumn started Little Leaf almost 15 years ago out of a converted second garage in their family's home in October of 2012.  ​That second garage was, in fact, part of what attracted her to the purchase of the house in the first place.  "I have a lot of ideas," says Autumn.  (Incidentally, I might add, in keeping with her many ideas, now that the studio has moved to Hahira since November of 2019, the family has since renovated that second garage into a beautiful air b&b!)  Before I digress altogether though, what started out as exciting with the move into their newly purchased building, quickly turned into a "scary and emotional time" with the onset of Covid.  Classes shut down.  Autumn and her husband and family continued to renovate the new space even quicker than they had originally planned to with the extra time now on their hands.  Finally in June of 2020 they were able to reopen for art camp.  Everyone had to be six feet apart.  The additional square footage was key.  "We could never have pulled that off before," says Autumn.  
​Autumn, whose mom is an artist and whose dad is a photographer, comes about her artistic talents rightly.  A natural born teacher, she offers classes to all ages (depending on the medium) with Alina assisting.  Alina herself teaches a preschool class.​

It is impossible to walk into the studio and not be inspired.  The walls are covered in various paintings and drawings of all different kinds, mostly from students, but also from friends and family members alike. 

​Paint brushes and paints and markers and textiles and yarns and beads and clay molds are all organized in beautiful patterns that draw the eye and capture the imagination, pulling you instantly into a magical world where nothing seems out of reach.  Working stations are situated in two rooms: the "mudroom" for all things pottery, and the main studio room with all the other mediums represented in all their colorful glories.  Sitting areas and reading nooks made with an eclectic blend of textures and a vibrant mix of colors complete the space. 


​As if all this weren't enough, if you look closely you'll soon find the studio mascots: a bearded dragon named Dart (short for D'Artagnan), a grey lop-eared bunny named Boba Tea, a calico tabby named Kimchi, and the newest addition: a vivacious grey kitten named Calamari.

Little Leaf fosters kittens through the Humane Society; and has even hosted events at the studio in conjunction with them.  Alina offers her time at local events as she is able in support of the Humane Society through the art of face painting too.  Kimchi was the very first kitten they ever fostered, and she has been only generous and welcoming of all the other kittens that have stayed at the studio while they are waiting to find their furever homes. ​

​​Calamari had a bad eye infection before he was rescued, and had to have one of his eyes removed.  He is very adaptable and gets along great though.  Of course Kimchi is loving him and has fully accepted him as a part of the family.​

Some of the types of art Autumn and Alina teach besides pottery include watercolor, oil, acrylic, markers, pan pastels, and textiles such as yarn, needle felt and needle punch.

Little Leaf offers all classes in 6 week blocks.  They offer a teens and tweens class.  Three options are available to choose from for elementary age students on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays.  In these classes they teach a different media type each day so students get a full experience.  They offer private sessions, birthday parties and summer camps.  Occasionally, if a Saturday becomes available, Autumn may advertise an open studio day a week or so ahead on social media.

Check out their offerings and information below!
​Visit their website at www.littleleafartstudio.com
​They are also on facebook.
Come visit them, find out how you can become involved, take a class, and become a part of the
​Little Leaf Art Community and
The Humane Society of Valdosta/Lowndes County.

The 28th of this month will mark 6 months since I lost him.

Lance was vivacious, capable and witty.
​He could fix or build almost anything.  In fact, almost everything out here he either built, built with a little help from his friends or from me (don't think for a minute that I'm handy though) or else designed.  A couple things may be just a little crooked... but that's not the point here.
Most things are straight; and indeed most things function pretty well.  

It happened slowly.  Then it happened quickly.

First, he just got a little more tired than normal... 
​He could still function, it just took a little more effort...

I tried to help out more where I could.  I tried to take some of the pressure off of him in the ways that I could so he could still sometimes have the energy to do some of the heavy lifting that I couldn't, so that he could still fix a fence here or there.  But chemotherapy is hard.  It takes the stuffin's out of a feller.  He handled it so well though that a lot of people really had no idea what he was going through unless he told them.  He was still working and tended to act like nothing was wrong.  He remained optimistic and upbeat.  Even to me.
​Then he had colon cancer surgery. 

We had thought that after he recovered from the surgery he would be able to resume normal activities again.  But it didn't work out like that.  He developed a hernia.  The abdominal muscles at the surgical site separated too.  Now he couldn't lift much at all.  By this point, he was starting to get discouraged.  I'm sure the point at which you have to ask your wife to help you switch out the propane tank on your gas grill man toy can't be easy.

Chemotherapy gave him weird neuropathy in his feet, which got worse when he got tired.  It made tasting foods all wonky.  I wanted to make him things I thought he might like to eat, but that week might not be the same as the week before.  A couple times he told me not to bother making anything for him, because he wasn't sure he would like it or want it by that evening.  That made me feel powerless and sad.  As time continued to progress, the chemo drugs became less effective at staving off the metastases.  He started coming home from work and going straight to bed, only getting up after he'd slept for an hour or two or more to eat and watch something on TV to get his mind off of things before going on back to bed and sleeping again until the next morning.  His employer and trusted friend tried to convince him to stop working, to come home and rest, but he wasn't having it.  If Lance was anything he was stubborn.  I kinda think that not only did he love his job, but also he didn't want to admit defeat.  He didn't want to acquiesce to the whole thing.
Like maybe he didn't want to give cancer the satisfaction.

In the end we knew of the cancer for 2 years and 8 months before his passing.
It was already stage IV by the time it was diagnosed.  

In the middle of all this and throughout it all though, stood our friends, our wonderful family and our neighbors.  These are the people that walked with us and held our arms up, carrying us through when we couldn't walk any more.  And they have remained here still for me 6 months later.

I couldn't ask for a better community.
​I couldn't ask for a better church either. 

Elsie was a beautiful young dog with a bright future ahead of her.  But she developed a very rare disease.  The vets did everything they could for her.  They even tried her on chemotherapy.  (Well, I can honestly say now that I've had both the husband and the dog on chemotherapy at the same time.)  Anyway at one point (before his surgery), Lance had an appointment scheduled at the specialty cancer center several hours away and we needed to leave right after he got off of work.  But Elsie passed away soon before we were scheduled to be leaving.  I knew Lance would be too tired to go dig a big hole before getting into the vehicle for that long of a drive.  It just wasn't feasible for him.  I knew I couldn't physically do it.  Even trying to do it would have set off a major migraine during that time.  She was a big dog.  Grieving the dog and knowing that the husband wouldn't be able to handle one more thing, I called Lance's best friend.  He in turn brought a couple young men along with him to help with everything to ensure that Elsie was buried with dignity...

The hurricane was devastating.  And some people lost so much.  We were fortunate that our house and barns and fences were intact.  But two massive trees and several smaller trees and lots of branches all fell and smashed down over our driveway.  We were trapped.  Lance was not at the point of being able to do much about it.  I just don't do chainsaws.  Even if I did it would have taken me a solid week to have created a path out.  We didn't ask for help.  We figured there were enough true emergencies going on.  But somehow people knew.  Somehow people found out.  Our church friends showed up.  Chainsaws buzzed and branches cracked and pretty soon we had a path we could drive through.  I didn't know what to say.  All I could say was thank you.  Our rescuers smiled and took off to the next place where help was needed.  A few weeks later, the neighbors showed up with a tractor and a Ranger with a tarp sled.  They worked hard in the South Georgia heat to move all those trees and branches into neater, more manageable piles.  It looked so much better.
After thanking them, I went inside and cried. 

One of my favorite trees, a chinaberry that made beautiful purple flowers, was completely uprooted in the storm.  Its vibrant leaves wilted and began to dry up.  I was sad.  I mourned silently for that tree.  I tried to tell myself it was the least of my worries.  I tried not to give it much thought.  Then the neighbor asked if he could try to salvage it.  I don't remember mentioning how I felt about it to anyone, not even to God.  But sometimes it seems as though God just sees.  The neighbor pulled it up with his tractor, righting it back the way it should be.  Its branches amputated, it spent the winter looking barren, albeit not dead.  Now it's sprouted new leaves all over.  It looks more like a large bush than a tree right now, but I couldn't be happier for it.  Maybe it will blossom yet again.

When Lance got really sick towards the end, the neighbors banded together and brought us meals.  One of my best friends, who for years worked as a hospice nurse, came and sat with us for days, helping me care for and look after Lance around the clock just so I could get some sleep.  My mom flew down to help.  Hospice nurses came and they were a Godsend.  The doctors were so compassionate.  Our friends came and sat with him up until the very end.  When I just couldn't any more, when all I could do was fall asleep from sheer exhaustion, those friends, his best friend, refused to leave him.  

After he died, the church did everything to help me.  They put together a beautiful service, organized meals for our families, (which people in the community contributed to and provided as well as church members) and basically checked in with us daily to make sure we had everything we needed, seriously everything, all the way down to enough toilet paper in the house! 
One of the neighbors offered  some of our family to stay at their guest lodge.  Considering we live a fur piece away from the nearest hotel, we gratefully accepted.

A young friend of mine who knows my farm and animals well volunteered with her mom to watch all the animals for me.  "We will feed and look after all your animals for you.  Morning and evening.  Until you tell us not to.  Take your time.  We will take care of everything."  I was overwhelmed with gratitude.
I was gifted with several contributions towards funeral expenses.  That was humbling. 
Lance's charity of choice, Heaven in Sight, received many wonderful contributions in his honor.
I know that would have made him happy.

Just this past weekend I was at my friend and neighbor's home visiting.  We had a delightful time as always together.  On my way out she gifted me with a big bucket of flowers.  I love flowers and she knows it.  ​I slowly and carefully made my way the few doors down the road back home, enjoying the scenery.  I was also trying to be careful not to spill the flowers, even though they were buckled into the passenger seat.  I had to chuckle a little to myself about that.  When I pulled into the driveway I immediately noticed the beautiful freshly cut lawn.  My lawn.  I was already feeling so lucky to have the best neighbors ever and this was simply the proverbial icing on the cake that day.
I could feel the tears starting to well up.

The follow up to the hurricane tree and branch pileup story was a kind neighbor with whom I was visiting one day.  She saw the piles and she and her husband decided to do something about it.  He brought his big green tractor with a grapple and a dump trailer.  I don't have a big green tractor with a grapple or a dump trailer, nor would I know how to use it either even if I did.  He not only cleaned up the piles, but in the process trimmed several broken and ugly branches that were still hanging up high in the trees with his pole saw.  He hauled off 11 dump trailer loads of tree and branch debris and took everything to their own place where they could burn it in a more open area  and handle managing a fire much more safely than I could here.  I am so grateful to them.  Their kindness to me will never be forgotten.  I could never have done that myself.

Really these are not all the stories, only some of them.  My parents spent hours putting weed cloth down in the flower beds.  My brother came and helped fix several things, including the broken utility sink in the barn.  There were the friends who found and put together and set up a shelter for the dogs, friends who have stopped by to do repairs, friends who trimmed branches, friends who pulled weeds out of my garden beds (truly that was a labor of love because that's the worst job) the friend who has helped me with pasture management... Bless the true friend and his brother in law that showed up within minutes of my call asking for help burying my old pet ewe Phoebe that had died despite mine and everyone's and the vet's best efforts...  Who wants to be the one to interrupt his day unexpectedly when he is asked to volunteer to bury a 100lb dead animal?  Oh wait this wasn't his first time burying a dead animal for me.  the first one was a horse... And yet they never batted an eye.  They jumped to help me with great compassion. 

There are so many children and teens and even moms who have kept me company, volunteering their time to help wrangle lambs, stack hay and clean stalls.
 
To every last one of you, you know who you are, thank you.
The reason my farm looks beautiful today is because of you.

Now that the dust has settled and I finally have the guts and the courage to write again, now that I've finally healed enough to be able to pick up this laptop again, I can finally say it here like I've been wanting to for quite some time:
Thank you.

Loss hurts.  Loss is hard.  But in the midst of the pain, in the midst of the loss, I've found healing.  I've found healing through my faith yes; but I've also found healing through the kindness and the generosity and the caring of the best community I could possibly ask for.  I've found healing and gratitude in the midst of loss.

Simplicity.  Intentionality.  Trending words.  Profound meanings.  These things, if practiced properly, should contribute greatly towards rest and peace, right?  But how exactly are they best practiced in today's busy society is the great question looming in each of our minds.  Sure, you can find helpful  and skillfully written blog posts with amazing tips aimed at decluttering, minimalist organization, quick and easy meal prep ideas...  all great stuff.  I've pored over several of these myself and even implemented a few into my *attempted* daily routine.  But here's a question for you: 

Can you truly have all these things without the weekly practice of the Sabbath?
I would argue not.
And the reason for my argument is very simple:
Because God said so.

If God Himself would model the practice of the Sabbath in the creation, and then command man, whom He created in His own image, to follow the practice also...
​Well, who are we, who are made up of the elements of dirt, to argue with that?

And furthermore, lest some of you say that you can't afford to take a day off, well, how about this, maybe you can't afford not to.  Since when should your physical and emotional health and well-being take a back seat and be denied her right to weekly rest anyway?
How many years, or quality years ahead of you, are you robbing yourself of in order to do too much right now when really you don't even need to?

My own health broke a few years back.  It's been a very slow recovery process.  (I'm very grateful for the excellent doctors that have helped me)  I couldn't write.  Looking at a computer screen was too much.  I had to go to reading books on audible and listening to podcasts.  Sometimes I just had to lay down on an ice pack in total darkness and silence because anything was just too much.  I did a lot of praying.  Occasionally I even got bored.  (Never thought that would happen)  It has been super frustrating.  You wanna cut your screen time, this is one drastic way to do it.  I have had what's apparently called "intractable" migraines and something called neurological photophobia, along with extreme sensitivity to sounds.  The point isn't to make you feel sorry for me.  It's to demonstrate how forcefully I've had to re-evaluate how and where I spend my time.  I've been given less functional hours in the day; so I have to carefully choose which tasks or activities are most important.   I have to choose which things I actually have time for before I just can't do anymore.  I could feel sorry for myself, falling into the "mulligrubs" as one friend of ours puts it.  (Who else has even heard of this word?!) Oh wait I've actually done that.  Several times.  *sigh*  Well, I'm trying to remember instead of the "mulligrubs" or a giant pity party to practice what I recently heard on a podcast (go figure) called "radical acceptance."  Here's the silver lining behind being given less functional hours in the day: I've been forced into learning what's truly important.  I've had a revelation of the true value and meaning and sacred nature of the weekly practice of the Sabbath.  I don't think it's just for practicing Jews either.  If I can't hope to do all the things in six days, then I need to cut back.  I'm learning to cut back.  Do I have it all figured out?  Not hardly.  The weekly practice of the Sabbath does require a bit of planning and intention in and of itself, but that's a whole other topic.  In any case, I'm trying.
In my quest to honor my body's need for rest and peace, and in my decision to honor the Sabbath, I hope in the process to also truly discover the meaning of simplicity and intentionality in living life to the fullest.   

***

Post script:
For those of you who don't know what honoring the Sabbath means, it's super simple: do whatever you enjoy and whatever makes your heart happy, without being stupid of course, and refrain from work one day a week.  Basically a planned day of vacation once every seven days.  I chose Sundays 'cause that's culturally the easiest in the Western society and the easiest for me.  Practicing Jews do Saturday.  But I believe any day would work.  Just pick one and go with it.  Please feel free to message me or comment below with your thoughts.  I'll happily share some of the resources I've read on the subject if you're interested. 
​Happy resting friends!

Wait.
Did you know that "wait" is an active verb?  It's conjugated like one.  But so many times in our minds, "wait" tends to be interpreted as only a period of doing nothing.  (Maybe sometimes doing nothing is really okay after all?  Just a question)  In any case, yesterday I was reminded that one of the hardest things to teach an animal to do is wait.  The anticipation of what's to come is just so much more exciting.

Here's one example of someone that does not like to wait: Smoke (the horse).   He does not like to wait on his food.  If I don't tell him to wait, if I don't specifically ask him to actively stand back in that same spot and not move his feet whilst I prepare his breakfast or dinner, he constantly finds his own thing to do: mischief.  He stomps.  He paws.  He paces.  He rakes his teeth over the fence boards and tosses his head.  He behaves terribly and is a general all around nuisance!  His bad manners placed Elliot (the old pet ram) at risk a few weeks ago when he carelessly stepped on Elliot's rear hoof.  Fortunately, it was just a cut.  Elliot had to wear a bandage wrap for a couple of days but he quickly got over it.  It scared me though.  It could have been worse.  Now I remember to consistently demand that Smoke stand still and wait.  He's not stupid.  He can do it.  He just doesn't want to. 
In the succinct words of one of the kids Pastor Mike interviewed this past Sunday during his sermon about why they don't like to wait, "waiting is boring!"

Now enter Birdie.  How do you teach a nine week old puppy to wait?  The answer?  Well, so far, I don't really know.  But what I do know is that with love, consistency and patience, along with a generous investment of time in what will be a valuable relationship, one can begin to build trust and rapport.  And that's where it all starts.  So yesterday I took Birdie off-leash into an empty field.  (This way she couldn't get into any trouble for chasing sheep, even though she hasn't fully thought that one through yet as far as I can tell).  She followed me here and there until we finally stopped at the gate that leads into the big field where the ewes are kept.  Lance was mowing the grass out there and making quite a bit of a racket while kicking up a whole lot of dust.  The sheep made their way over to where I was and stood on their side of the fence close by.  They wanted attention.   Several of them eyed Birdie suspiciously though, and stood several paces back at what they deemed a safer distance.  Fern stomped her foot and flared her nostrils at the puppy.  I leaned over the fence, pretending to watch Lance.  I reached over and scratched Amelia (who was less bothered) behind the ears.  After several minutes of "doing nothing" everyone began to relax.  A few of the sheep started yawning lazily.  Birdie flopped down in the soft dirt nearby my feet.  I slowly walked over and calmly stroked her baby soft coat, telling her she was a good girl.  I slipped her a treat and went back to the fence.  Ah the value of doing nothing.  One day, I hope Birdie will be a good friend to the sheep.  Great Pyrenees dogs were bred to be livestock guardians.  But right now, she's just a puppy.  Right now, I'm working to build the relationship through trust so that hopefully later on when I ask her to wait, there won't be a problem.  I want her to feel confident knowing that when I ask her to wait, I will always come back for her.

What about us then?  What about when God tells us to "wait here" and it seems like He is gone?  We technically *know* He's not really gone... But sometimes when we can't see Him or sense His presence in any way, it certainly doesn't make it very easy.  What if He falls silent?  There are moments I have with God when I feel like stomping like an impatient horse, and other moments when I feel scared and want to run off and hide somewhere, anywhere, like I imagine a scared puppy might.  Of course everything is so different with God.  Some things I just don't understand.  He has been called the Good Shepherd though; and I do know that He is good.  I can choose to develop a relationship of mutual trust with Him over time.  And over time, I'll recognize, if even later, how an Almighty, invisible God could both have great patience with my tantrums and calm my fears like a shepherd might go find and comfort and hold a scared puppy.  Or maybe I just didn't recognize when He was there right beside me, reassuring me that sheep are friends and, although mowers are noisy, everything is fine.

So what's the take home?  Did I take all of your attention here to just tell you a couple of stories and then acknowledge that oftentimes waiting can be hard?

​Well, I'll leave the interpretation up to each of you.  Search your heart yourself and think about it.  It's just an analogy.  Kinda like a parable you can think about and determine the meaning for yourself between you and God.  For me this is a memory post.  The top of the post is dated 1/4/23.  This is the date I wrote the original draft of this in my prayer journal.  The story of Birdie had actually taken place the day before.  Normally you won't be getting stories from my prayer journal, but here is an exception.  And a little over 10 months after I wrote this, Lance, under the care of Hospice and right here in our living room, passed from this life into the next.

Now in this season as I look back and reflect on my own life, and on the past year especially, I also look forward, albeit with sadness and cautiousness, to what lies ahead.  And in the meantime, I'll do my best not to get antsy or scared, or start spinning circles or pace, but just to patiently wait.  I know my God will take care of me.  He's a Good Shepherd.  I just need to stay next to Him and wait.

"If My people who are called by My name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land."
-II Chronicles 7:14
People the time for this is now...

The entire world needs healing from the Covid pandemic.  Please pray, and when you do, remember to pray with love; because God is love, and praying with love in our hearts towards others attracts His attention and His favor.  Ask the Lord to touch and heal our neighbors, our communities, our doctors and nurses serving on the frontlines and risking their own lives and health to help make us better, our government officials, schools, students, families... the list goes on you get the idea.  We all need each other, and that now more than ever.  Indeed perhaps never in recent history has that need we have for one another been so more obvious.
Pray that the Lord would forgive us as we seek to actively love and forgive one another - and through that forgiveness bring us healing and true wholeness to our spirits, souls, and bodies, healing to our nations and our lands.  May we always love one another.  And soon let us see even better than we could ask hope or dream: new hope, economic growth, innovations, successes and breakthroughs in our communities and across this great nation, and even yet the entire globe, as we join hands and link arms in love and unity of hearts for our brothers and sisters everywhere.
​Pray.
After all, it is a small world.
Remember the words to the song.
"People think it's a little novelty.  It's a prayer for peace." -Richard Sherman.
And now you will have that song stuck in your heads to remind you.
You're welcome.
Seriously though,
​pray.
May His kingdom come down from heaven to earth here and now, and when it does,
may it bring with it peace
and blessing
and healing.
Amen.

This year we've had some adorable babies and a great lambing season thus far.  *Update* all ewes have lambed!  The majority of our lambs were born in February, with the oldest being born at the end of January and the youngest being born April 16.  
We used two unrelated rams for this year's lamb crop.  All of our flock are registered Katahdins; and almost all of our lambs can be registered.  All registered lambs are sired by RR rams.  The one set of commercial twins we have are out of a registered ewe that I know is RR.
We had 20 bred ewes this year.  
Our farm has participated for the last couple of years in the Virginia Tech Southwest AREC ram study.  This is a great program!  I'm so thankful for all the help I've received in learning about sheep improvement through this.   
So here is our 2020 sale catalog!  I'll update it as frequently as I'm able.  Please feel free to contact me for additional information or questions you may have.

This is four year old Katie and her two twin ram lambs. *Update: Katie has already gone to her new home!*
​ Katie has always been a great mom and usually has twins. She has no problems. I just can't keep them all this time! The lambs were born February 27 and weighed 8 1/2 lbs (DHA 0078) and 9 1/2 lbs (DHA 0077) each respectively at birth. On May 2, 0078 weighed 50lbs and 0077 weighed 48 lbs at weaning. This photo taken April 11. They can be registered.

*SOLD*
​This is baby Angel in front of her yearling mom Willow.  *Willow is not for sale*  Angel was born February 25; and as of May 2 weighed 49 lbs at weaning.  This photo was taken April 11.  Angel is a single and a sweetheart and a solid chunk.  She can be registered.

*SOLD*
Clementine is a twin out of a two year old mom called Raven who is also for sale.  Clementine was born February 28 and weighed 9 lbs at birth.  On May 2 she weighed 49 lbs at weaning.  This photo taken April 11.  Clementine can be registered.

*SOLD*
​This is Raven. She is two years old and registered. This photo taken March 24, 2020.

This is Pepper.  Pepper was born February 12 and weighed 11 lbs at birth.  She is a single.  (Although her mom had triplets last year as a then two year old.)  Pepper weighed 69 lbs on May 2 at weaning.  She can be registered.  Photo taken April 11.

*SOLD*
​This is Bessie Mae and her twin ram lambs born February 20. Photo taken April 11.

Bella is a twin out of a 6 year old mom.  She weighed a little over 8 lbs at birth.   On May 2 at weaning, she weighed 52 lbs.  She can be registered.  This photo taken April 11.

Fancy is Bella's twin sister.  She weighed almost 8 1/2 lbs at birth.  As of May 2, she weighed 52 lbs.  She can be registered.  Photo taken May 27.

*SOLD*
​Registered yearling ewe Zora is pictured here with twins born April 16. She is a great mom. All three of them are for sale. She has a boy and a girl. Little boy (right hand side of picture) weighed 8 lbs at birth and little girl 6.4 lbs.

*SOLD*
​Onyx is a registered yearling ewe pictured here with her two twin ram lambs. She is a super good mom. She had a rough start to the year. I had a difficult time getting her weight up. She looks terrific now though. She had a giant growth spurt and really got taller. Her coat is sleek and shiny and so so black. This photo taken March 24.

*SOLD*
​This is registered yearling ewe Tink. She is still pregnant in this photo taken March 24. She had a single gorgeous black and white spotted ram lamb that weighed 11 lbs at birth. She was an excellent mother. At about two weeks old, her lamb was stolen from the field by some kind of a wandering predator. Tink was very upset. She has dried off fine and is in good health currently. And now I'm getting a LGD.

Daphne is a registered 6 year old.  She is pictured here with her twin ram lambs born April 15.  They are all for sale.  Photo taken May 19.

Dahlia is a yearling pictured here with her twins.  She has performed beautifully!  She and both twins are for sale.  She has a boy and a girl.

Check out this guy!  I would have sent him to the Virginia Tech Ram Test were it not canceled this year.  

This is not an exhaustive list.  I'm still working on it!  I just haven't gotten it all typed up yet.  If you want check out my post, the-lord-is-my-shepherd.html you can see my one set of commercial twins available as soon as they wean.  (Their mom Ruby Sue is not for sale.)  My niece named the lambs Poppy and Branch.  They come from great stock and should make a solid addition to a commercial breeding program; or Poppy I'm sure would make a great pet. 

Okay yeah this is a terrible picture.  I shot it on my phone and she was moving people.  I'll try and get a better one here but this will just have to do for now.  Made you look though didn't it?  Ruby Sue had these darlings yesterday.  And here's my point:  It made me remember that Pastor Josh preached this past Sunday (Facebook live don't worry) on Psalm 23.  Famous Psalm of course that begins with, "The Lord is my Shepherd..."

I'm not gonna even try to expound much on King David's writing here.  You can go watch Josh's sermon if you want to or read the book, "A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23" by Philip Keller if you need a good read during the quarantine.  I will give you a few of my own observations of sheep though and a teensy bit of my shepherd's perspective.  I love knowing that God chose the unlikely guy who just kept sheep to be the King of Israel.  God called him a man after His own heart.
​

So did ya'll know that after a ewe has her lambs she gets super thirsty?  I didn't know this until after having sheep for a while.  (The poor dears that were my first.)  Obviously her number one instinct after seeing her lambs and hearing them cry is to clean them off (she licks them) and make sure they nurse.  The newborns are pretty wobbly to begin with.  And a good mom won't leave her babies.  It might take a couple to several hours before they are ready to really walk very far and she is comfortable enough with them to try and lead them with her to a water source, or just leave them close by to go get a drink and come back, even if said water source doesn't look that far away to the rest of us.  She places their needs above her own.  Even though she has this intense need after giving birth for water, she still won't leave her lambs to get herself a drink.  She's often hungry too.  Especially if she happened to have her babies in a field that doesn't have super nice grass at that time for whatever reason.  If you were to bring feed to the girls in this field, all the other ewes that haven't had their babies yet will run and gobble up all the food quickly, and the one that has just had her babies won't get any because she won't leave her young.   
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It's my job to take care of my sheep.  They all know it too I might add.  They are quite expressive.  Actually sometimes they can be rather demanding.  Whoever said sheep are stupid anyway?  I don't think they are stupid.  Sometimes they freak out and lose their heads.  Sometimes they have moments where they don't use their heads or they display small thinking.  But really any one of us can do the same thing under the right circumstances.  That doesn't make us stupid though, just limited in our human understanding.

Look back at the very first picture at the beginning of this post and you will see on the left hand side of the image by Ruby Sue's head is a bucket.  After I picked up her lambs and led her out of the field I got her a drink.  She drank deeply too; must have been like at least a half a gallon if not more.  Side note: Try picking up lambs and leading their mother out if she doesn't know you.  Doesn't work people.  Just saying.  She wouldn't have it.  Sheep call to their young using their voices; and their lambs answer them.  Their lambs call if they can't find their moms; and they expect their moms to answer.  In theory, if my sheep were to get mixed up somehow in the neighbor's flock, all I'd have to do is stand on one side and call while my neighbor stood on the other side and called to her flock and they'd all separate out.  This is how they used to do it back when the Bible was written anyway, and shepherds grazed their sheep all over and the flock only went into the "fold" or pen at night.  (Not that I'd want to try it!  Ha!  That could be major drama, and would probably only work if no intact males were involved, but hey you get the idea.)
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After she had a few minutes to nosh on some fresh grass where she felt safe, I took Ruby Sue and her newborn lambs into the new barn Lance built just for the sheep. I gave her some grain and got her a bucket of water and some fresh hay and bedded them down for the night where they would be safe from coyotes and foxes and Mom could spend some time alone with her new littles and get a good meal.
Oh yeah I might add that in the process of carrying her lambs up into the barn I got poop on me. I didn’t realize this until after I put them down and raked my arm through it. For all you moms out there is was meconium. Sticky, black, tarry meconium. I’m still trying to get it out of that pink shirt. Ha!

Okay this isn't a great shot either, nor a particularly becoming one I might add.  Sorry Ruby Sue.  However, it is a look of contentment.  Ruby Sue has grain all over her mouth and nose and her tongue is sticking out licking her lips.  You just can't tell this because there again it's a phone picture and the light is low.

So about Psalm 23...  "The Lord is my Shepherd..."

​David wrote from a shepherd's perspective about how God takes good care of us, just as a good shepherd takes care of his (or in this case her) sheep.  David knew how he would care for and protect his sheep.   And are you kidding me?!  David killed a lion and a bear both!  He snatched the lambs right out of their mouths and saved them!  And he didn't even have a gun!  Hero shepherd.  Maybe I'll be like that one day when I grow up.  Okay maybe not.  I'm just glad I don't have to sleep in the field with one eye open and only a shepherd's crook, a few rocks and a sling for protection against predators big enough to consider eating me too.   (Surely David would have also slept with a big knife, right?)  I'll keep my electric fence and my gun thank you very much.

So Psalm 23.  Yes.

I personally think David was reminding himself that God would look after him in much the same way that he knew he would look after and care for his own sheep.  Maybe it's time I took a lesson from my own Ruby Sue then.  She may not understand why I do everything I do; but at least she has the trust in me to know that I'll look after her and that I have her best interests at heart.  Sure it's just an analogy.  I'm not the expert on where the analogy stops and where it starts.  But it's an analogy nonetheless.  My sheep know me.  They know my voice and they follow me.  They trust me and they know I will take care of them.  Maybe it's time I trusted God the same.  I think this time just like David I'll remind myself,

"The Lord is My Shepherd..."

Sunflowers.  I took this picture over two months ago.  So why wait till now to post this pic?  Well, to be perfectly honest, I’ve missed a lot of good pictures and posts lately.  Beautiful moments have passed me by and I’ve not captured them or shared because of being in the depths of depression and anxiety.  I’ve struggled with this for years...  but somehow I thought that I could just pray about it and deal...  what is it with Christians like me who think they don’t want to admit that they need this kind of help anyway?  I’ll be okay I told myself.  Turns out I was wrong.  Coming to that conclusion was very painful and humbling for me too.  Sometimes we just need the help of others.  Sometimes His answers to our prayers lie at least in part in the people around us.  So to all of my friends that would have been there for me had I just asked, I’m truly sorry.  And to those of you that have been there for me over the past couple of months as I have fought to get better, thank you.  That’s probably why I chose this picture of sunflowers.  Because not only are they happy, but they were given to me by someone that has been there for me too.  I’m getting help now.  I’m getting better.  I hope to be writing more again soon.  Several of my friends and family had remarked that they missed my posts and pictures.  “Why haven’t you written?  Why haven’t you worked on that book project you told me about,” they would say...  Pain is so weird.  Sometimes when you are up in the middle of it, you just don’t have answers to even the most obvious of questions.  So now I know, and now all of you that have read to this point know too.  I would covet your prayers as I embrace the truth and embark upon a journey of recovery.  I want so much to have true and lasting peace and joy.  

This month my grandmother will turn 99.  She still lives on her own nearby the rest of my family and does quite well.  She is always one of the first to "like" any of our statuses on Facebook, and keeps up on any of the additional goings on in the family through a shared app on her iPad.  She plays "Words with Friends."  Let's just say that if the WiFi goes out at Grandma's house, it's akin to an emergency.  She will call somebody and get that thing fixed in short order.  Some of us grandkids were talking about how awesome she is with technology and my brother informed me that Grandma had explained to him that she wasn't really all that talented, she just had "FOMO."  When I stared at him blankly my brother then explained to me that "FOMO" was an urban text abbreviation for "fear of missing out."  Ha!  So in honor of the birthday of one of the classiest and smartest ladies I am privileged to know, I would like to tell you a bit of her and my grandpa's story...

A Young Girl During The Great Depression:
My Grandma Ruth was born in November of 1919.  Her mother was just 19 years old, having met her dad in a one-room schoolhouse when they lived on neighboring farms.  My great grandparents started a farm of their own, but when my grandma was 11 years old, the Great Depression proved too much for them, and they were forced to sell everything at auction because they simply couldn't make it.  (My great grandmother really had a rough go of it when she was young.  The Swine Flu of 1918 killed several members of her immediate family; then a devastating flood in 1937 wrecked all their furniture and belongings and made a mess all the way up both levels of their two-story rented home.) 

Jobs in the 30's and 40's:
My Grandma is smart.  She finished high school at 15 years old.  She got a job as soon as she could; although she ​did have to wait until she turned 16 to get work.  Her first job was at the Goodall Company earning $16 per week.  After that she got a job in the Carew Tower at the Cabin Creek Coal Company's office working in stenography and as a receptionist in their secretarial department, writing letters and doing record keeping.  At that time the Carew Tower was the tallest building in Cincinnati at 50 stories tall.  (The internet will tell you that there are 49 floors in the Carew Tower.  Note though that an elevated floor is not the same as a story.  Stories at or below ground level don't count as a floor.)  Anyway, at the time my grandmother was working there, there was no air conditioning.  She says there were fans, but that it was hot.  And all the men smoked.  (Yuck.  I didn't get the impression that Grandma was overly impressed by cigarette smoking either.)  She remembers seeing the window washers in their harnesses washing the windows on the outside of the building.  She stayed there working until my grandpa got back from the war in 1945. 

Speaking of my grandfather, they met when they were both working at the Carew Tower.  Grandpa was working at the office of the Hatfield  Coal Company.  (And no, he didn't smoke like most of the rest of the guys.)  He was also a member of an evening choral club at the University of Cincinnati.  They would see each other at noon for lunch.  Since my grandpa didn't have a car, if they wanted to see each other on weekends, he would have to ride one streetcar and then transfer to another one to get from his house on the west side of Cincinnati over to the east side where my Grandma lived in Plainville.  

Their wedding was almost messed up by Pearl Harbor...

A Wartime Wedding:
Grandpa was drafted into the army in January 1941.  He went away to boot camp and completed his training that summer. Their wedding date was set for December 20, 1941.  But then Pearl Harbor happened on December 7.  All military leaves were cancelled.  He couldn't go anywhere by train or he would risk being picked up by the military police.  Grandma wasn't sure how he managed to do it without getting into trouble, but he did.  Knowing him he probably just told his commanding officer that he had his own wedding to attend and that he would be back on such and such a date and they likely took his word for it and let him go.  He was honest and he could be very convincing.  (Anybody else got another theory?  Grandpa isn't around anymore to ask.)  In any case, he couldn't go by train.  So he hitchhiked.  He hitchhiked from Hattiesburg, Mississippi back to Cincinnati and made their wedding.  Grandma said they had reservations at a nice hotel afterwards and didn't go anywhere else.  He got her flowers and candy and they bought a small artificial Christmas tree and put it up there in the hotel apartment suite, which had a murphy bed and a living room.  They invited her parents and her brother Larry and Grandpa's mom and brothers over and they all visited.  (When Grandpa was 16 his dad died of Bright's disease after a several months stay at a sanitarium.) 
After their wedding and honeymoon week together, my grandpa went back to the army base in Hattiesburg, just as he had undoubtedly promised he would.  He wouldn't see my grandma again for another 33 months.

​During World War II:

Emily is one of my best girls.  She is a total sweetheart and an excellent mother.  She has raised me some of the prettiest babies and has earned herself a place in my heart.  Emily had developed a problem though: she was losing stinky green cud all down her chin. 

Sheep are ruminants.  They chew their cud like a cow does.  Except Emily would often lose part of the half-way fermented green stuff all down her chin from out of the sides of her mouth.  It was a nasty surprise when you went to give her medicine or pet her and ended up with a green, wet, smelly hand.  Gross.  Just saying.  Sometimes the dried up and caked on remains would reach all the way down to her chest.  She was turning into a picky eater, especially over the winter when there was no grass and it became more noticeable.  If something wasn't appetizing enough, she didn't want to bother.  Occasionally, if she was drooling especially badly, the other sheep would refuse to share a feed pan with her!  Well, that's one way to have more grain for yourself I suppose.  This past winter Emily had a harder time holding her weight.  She wasn't super skinny or anything, just not in the condition she should have been.  Birthing seemed more difficult for her in early spring. Her twins this time were healthy, but didn't weigh quite as much as her two babies had the previous year.  Despite all this, she still loved her babies and gave them everything she had.  (They have since caught up fine too.)  She didn't seem to act like she was in any pain.  There were no signs of infection.  The problem would come and then seem to get better for a few days and then return.  And once the grass began to grow again, she picked up her weight and recovered fine.  She would still often lose her cud though.  I knew I needed to figure out something before the next winter hit.

Now before you go all postal on me and call me a bad farmer for not finding out what was wrong with her sooner, bear in mind that I could find no information on any of this besides discovering that apparently a small number of sheep occasionally have this issue.  ​Finally I decided to have my horse vet examine her.  (There are no vets in our area that specialize in sheep.  I am grateful that my vet has been so helpful to me.)  He stuck his fingers into the side of her mouth and emphatically declared that her teeth were sharp.  I know this probably sounds like a rather obvious assessment should someone stick their fingers into any animal's mouth that has teeth, but what he meant was that they needed "floating."  For any of you that have horses you will know exactly what I'm talking about.  For the rest of everyone I shall explain.

Sheep's teeth, like horses' teeth, grow continuously like our fingernails do.  Because they spend so much time eating grass though, they naturally wear them down so it's not like they get overly long or anything.  Horses are notorious for wearing their teeth unevenly into sharp points that cut the insides of their mouths, creating the need for filing or "floating" the rough edges out so the animal can chew and eat his food normally.  Sheep spend even more time chewing than a horse does because they chew their cuds.  Theoretically speaking therefore, a sheep would be less likely to have problems requiring dental assistance.  (See Hobby Farms Magazine article entitled, "Animal Dentistry: The Truth About Livestock Teeth"  December 11, 2017)

"I can fix this for you," explained the doctor, "I just don't have the right sized float!"  Needless to say, a sheep's mouth is quite a bit smaller than a horse's.  Emily would need a tiny sized mini float you might use on a miniature horse.  The vet recommended I call equine dental technician Tommy Kerr.

Tommy, as he prefers to be called, has been working on horses' teeth for 44 years.  He learned the trade from a vet while he was working at the racetrack.  He passed on his skill to both of his sons too.  In fact, one of his sons took care of the Clydesdales' teeth for Anheuser-Busch for many years until the company sold and separated from Busch Gardens in 2009.  

Tommy quickly ascertained the offending molars and was able to file down the sharp edges with special metal hand files that work a bit like fingernail files.  He told me that her cheek on that left side was pretty sore from being cut by her sharp teeth.  I felt bad knowing now that she wasn't being picky for no reason, her cheek was hurting!  I expect that some days were worse than others depending on if she had recently bitten her cheek particularly badly.  

Tommy helped me lie her down on her side and I sat on her and held her as best I could for the procedure.  He filed both sides to get everything as correct as possible, but it was really just two molars on the upper left side that were the problem.  Tommy explained to me afterwards that upper molars are going to curve out with wear and cut the cheek, while lower ones are going to curve in and cut the tongue.  She held perfectly still on the right, but when it came to that left side she kicked a couple of times because it was so sensitive.  

So how is it that I've never heard of anyone floating a sheep's teeth before?  (Emily was Tommy's first sheep patient ever!)  Is it that uncommon for them to actually need this type of dental service?  The answer I believe is two-fold.  First, as previously mentioned, sheep just don't have the same propensity towards having this issue as much as horses do.  Secondly and perhaps even more importantly is the matter of simple economics.  Sheep are a livestock bred for meat and or wool, and when an animal doesn't perform up to snuff, she is simply culled from the herd, often before finding out exactly what the problem actually is.  I fault nobody for this; these are just the facts.  

For me, Emily is both loved by me and a valued member of a registered breeding flock.  She has demonstrated excellent mothering and shown great parasite resistance, passing down that resistance to her nicely conformed offspring.  That being said, for me it was well worth the reasonable fee to have her teeth fixed.  It was easy and fast and I am happy to report a marked improvement!  It has been three weeks now and no more nasty green chin!  Of course there remains the possibility that it may need to be done again in the future, but with horses anyway, it can sometimes be several years before that need arises again.

Have you ever dealt with dental issues in your sheep?  I'd love to hear your experiences in the comments below.