through a glass darkly

I think at one time I was fairly familiar with most of the new testament, including first Corinthians, which is where the phrase “through a glass darkly” originates - or at least in 1560, this translation of what Paul wrote emerged - and since then, has been used probably multitudes of times by different writers and artists. The full verse reads

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

– 1 Corinthians 13:12 (King James Bible)

Of course Biblical translations are a rabbit hole to fall into -- and that’s far from my intent - in fact I didn’t realize the phrase was biblical at all until this morning when I sat down with this series of photos I took a few nights ago and the phrase flitted into my mind - but wrongly - I remembered it as through a window darkly, which is not nearly so poetic and according to the original Greek of the passage, not really the type of glass Paul meant. The Greek word esoptron, which is translated to “glass,” actually refers to a kind of ancient mirror - and the word ainigma, which is typically translated to “darkly,” translates more correctly to enigma, as you might have guessed.

So the phrase is more truly translated as “for now we see in the mirror an enigma” which frankly, isn’t quite so beautiful, but it’s still thought-provoking and though not as fitting for my photos, isn’t so far from what I wanted to share today. And it occurs to me that during a particular period of time just before darkness swallows the horizon, the glass of windows becomes mirror-like if there is an indoor light source nearby, so that as we look out, our view is somewhat obscured by our own reflection. That seems like it should be symbolic but I think rather than try to parse it out, I’ll just let you ponder it or perhaps even just picture it in your mind for a moment as I’m doing.

I stand at these kitchen windows almost all the day except for when I’m out doing chores, and I stand here a good amount in the evenings though it’s not so pleasant to stand at the windows looking out onto darkness, or worse, seeing your own slightly hazy, glowing reflection in the artificial light. As I work at things or wash up dishes or prepare meals, I look out to check on the animals, or whatever animals I can see from my position. Of course I’d prefer that they were somehow all directly under my nose right in the middle of the front yard but needs must and I have my monocular and with it, I can pretty satisfactorily check on any outside activity, though I’ll confess I often run out to peek into buildings if I’m particularly worried.

I suppose it’s this worry and constant desire to supervise that is part of what I’ve been musing on these past few weeks, as we’ve passed from one calendar year into another - part of me knows that feeling the need to make significant changes because the year number has changed makes no real sense, but most of us are conditioned to try to make new habits or reevaluate our lives and situation in January and I feel the pull - it appeals to my desire to improve and refine in practical ways, which I suppose I can blame on my sun sign in Virgo.

The problem as I see it, and I think I see it hazily at best, because I am so invested in and overwhelmed by it, is that Sweet Haven is supremely impractical - it is the following of my heart’s calling, to the detriment of my mental and physical well-being - I have taken an idea that began as a children’s story, and incorporated that into my REAL LIFE. And to say it doesn’t quite fit is an understatement. It is uncomfortable, it is awkward, it is painful much of the time, and I’m beginning to see that Sweet Haven, in order to be sustainable, will need to change and evolve in some significant ways - in order to continue to exist and in order that I can continue to be part of it and not lose my sanity or health or both.

I don’t know how much you all think about your calling in life - but I used the term just a minute ago and I’ve been thinking about mine a lot because I’m afraid that my calling has always been to care for animals - since I was a tiny toddling child, my heart was with animals and I’ve written before about how I was never of the material to become a veterinarian or someone who helps animals in practical, life-saving ways like that. I don’t have the nerves for it. So when I began to needle-felt twelve years ago or something like that, and could bring little animals into the world and share my love for animals that way, I felt maybe I was finally finding a way to follow that calling.

Move forward in time several years and we decided to rescue two goats - we had the space and building for it - I’d always wanted to have a sheep or two - and of course once I saw old Lilly goat I had to bring her home here. About that time I had the idea for my story of Daisy the flying pig, who rescues animals and brings them to live at an old abandoned farmstead they name Sweet Haven. And then enter you all, who encouraged me to follow this progression where it was leading - and where it’s led is that Sweet Haven is now very much everything and more than what I ever imagined in my original story - as things tend to be in real life - much more complicated and intense and much more difficult for me to operate on a daily basis, while maintaining any of my other activities and passions, than I ever could have foreseen.

Because of course what I didn’t foresee, was how quickly it might grow, how much support it would require - and how much support IT WOULD RECEIVE - because if you all hadn’t responded to my appeals for support, Sweet Haven would still be what it was three years ago - two old goats and a few cats and that would have been that and fine and lovely too - - but you all threw your support behind Sweet Haven and me, and now, almost without my understanding how it happened, we have more than 80 animals in our care and to be perfectly honest, that is astounding to me and also completely exhausting and emotionally overwhelming.

During the period between August and December last year, I completely lost my balance - waking up at 4 am most mornings and continuing to work until Nettie and I went to bed around 10:00. Every day, no days off, ever. Bedtime became the only time of day I felt I really gave Nettie any undivided attention and in October, when it became clear to me that I was going to have to ride out the rest of the year at the pace I’d somehow set for myself, because I was committed to the animals and to all of you - I also resolved that I would NOT let this new year run away with me - that I would find a way to have some sort of balance for everything and everyone in my life - Nettie ought to come first of course, and I am doing better so far this year but I’m certainly not in the place I want to be, and that’s why I’ve decided to attempt to hire someone to help me.

This is a huge step for me, or feels like one - I don’t give up my commissions unless under EXTREME duress, so you can be sure that I’m pretty desperate to consider taking on help in this way. It goes against all my super-controlling, micro-managing instincts - but I recognize that I’m outnumbered - there are too many things demanding my time and so my challenge this year will be not only raising enough funds to provide for a wage to pay this helper, but also, releasing that control and trusting someone else to care for my Sweet Haven family, at least several times a week.

This photo was taken as an afterthought at the same time as those above, as I wanted a record of what my kitchen looks like most of the time when I’m working - which seems to be all the time now - the counters were dutifully and painfully cleared for Christmas Eve, which is always celebrated with Dave’s family here, but they have not-so-gradually filled in again with my stacks of paper and lists and fabrics and cotton and paints and pens and correspondence received and to be sent and bills and bits of dead plants and detritus. In part, this scene is a constant chafe to me, like a little piece of hay in your sock - but I also see the sort of remarkable, prosaic beauty of it - how privileged am I to have this space and to have all this work, to be able to make any amount of art at all, to have friends from all over the world who send me cards and gifts and support what I’m doing here - to have a kitchen so large that I can let my work spill out all over the counters and still manage to fix meals, however simple and hurried they are - really my burden at this point in my life, is a surplus of GOOD THINGS happening (not that the animals don’t bring stress and heart-ache - but that is beside the point for now) — of having more things I want to commit to, than what I comfortably or realistically can ….. so my first step in this new year is admitting that I can’t do it all - that I need help - and that I’m actively pursuing that help.

I’ve had other revelations at my windows in the last few days - and I think I’m beginning to see what needs to be done to make Sweet Haven really “work” in a practical way, that doesn’t rely solely on my dogged labor and constant presence - and it will require a lot of nerve and commitment and not a little risk to pursue these improvements and changes…there’s no ‘undo” button in life (one of the things that is so appealing about digital art apps, and also such a crutch), so when we find ourselves in untenable situations we have to dig our way out or maybe get creative - my dear friend Jone encouraged me to try to figure out the “puzzle” of things rather than to keep throwing my weight against a problem and so I’ll be puzzling at my windows and really this post, as LOOOONG as it is, will have to be continued……

I hope you know how much you all mean to me, how grateful I am for your support and enthusiasm, how much I value your friendship and all the things you do for me.

xx

Rosanna

privy flowers and confessions

At some point, maybe thirty or more years ago, my grandma put together a little book of memories for the family. Childhood memories of growing up in Burchard, Nebraska, which is just thirty miles from where I still live. Many of her memories were of her grandparents, spending summer days at their house. I read through that book one morning last month and found Grandma's stories charming and sweet - she was a writer in many forms in her life, most prolifically of correspondence and her "card ministry" as she called it, sending thousands of cards to hundreds of people on a regular basis. But she also kept daily journals - I know this because she would sometimes take them out to look back and find when something had happened - but I've never read them. And she even wrote for the local newspaper for a number of years, though I've never read any of those columns either. And then the winter before last, she took to writing memories of her childhood again, scribbling them in her almost illegible, shaking hand on bits of paper, margins of letters and backs of envelopes, until my mom and aunt found her some notebooks to keep her thoughts in.

I have an urge to try to illustrate these stories one day - they are well-told, funny and folksy, which was and still is, Grandma's storytelling style. Many of them I'd heard over and over as a child, but some were brand new bits of lore... like any good writer, I am almost certain that Grandma's stories were edited and honed over time to match the version of her childhood she chose to carry in her memory... of happy innocence and simple, sweet pleasures.... of learning to spell her first word from her grandma on a sunny summer day: "G A R D E N.. I remember it took a long time and Grandma got short of patience. Grandma was always short of patience but we weren't worried about it as we were assured of her love for us. [. . .] Grandma had beautiful flowers. All the way to the outdoor toilet the holly hocks grew in abundance and put on a colorful show in summer. We'd pick the flowers and put a bud on the stem . . . . this formed dancing ladies . . . . we thought they were beautiful."

I painted a portrait of my great great grandma standing in front of some of those hollyhocks that hid her "privy" or outhouse last summer. It's one of those rare pieces that I don't really think looks like mine, it's something that came through me because it needed to be painted... a painting of my own that I can actually display and enjoy without a critical eye, though probably it has as many faults as most of my work, but for some reason, I don't really notice them. I just see a woman I never knew but feel I know, a part of me and my grandma and my mom, and all the women in my family who have held their hands in that way and squinted into the sun and seen back into time, their childhood, their mother or grandmother’s childhood.

I had some lovely hollyhocks this summer, and because of the dry weather, they didn't succumb to leaf rust as early as some years - but their peak is almost always around the summer solstice, when the photos above were taken, and all of them were chopped down almost two months ago now, around the time we made the decision to surrender Clara Belle to a local animal shelter. I pulled out a lot of things in the garden at that time - I guess making one concession encourages others, and having failed so spectacularly to give Clara the life she deserved, and to provide Sweet Haven with a new protector - having to accept my limitations as a caregiver and as a human - I guess I was more willing to accept my limitations as a gardener in my particular climate, too.

My instinct is to start justifying and generalizing and I suppose even to distract you from what was sadder for me in some ways, than having a pet pass away, because really, it felt like and indeed was our choice, a willful surrendering of an animal that I had intended to care for her entire life. And even if we believe that giving Clara up was better for her, and for us, and for our animals in the long run, it was still just that - giving up - giving up on her and ourselves and the possibility of our making things work.... eventually. We used that word so often after Clara came, hoping that eventually we would see progress with her behavior towards the cats and chickens and ducks. And while I could see at some point that she did understand what we wanted her to do - NOT to chase and attack and almost constantly harass the animals - she couldn't seem to stop herself. It was just too tempting. She would try if we were with her, but when our backs were turned, she couldn't resist.

The final straw was when I heard Celie hen's distressed cries during chores one afternoon and found Clara, jaws still wrapped around Celie's neck, having a nice chew. That was the day I knew we had to concede, for everyone's sake. Celie spent the afternoon in the house and I was beyond relieved to see that within 20 minutes or so, she was strutting around the basement like she owned the place, which was how Celie was - the queen of all she surveyed. Two days later, we surrendered Clara Belle. I can hardly write about it even now, it was so crushing.... what I know is that Clara was adopted within a week and what I hope is that her new family doesn't have to tell her "no" dozens upon dozens of times a day, and instead is able to tell her she's a good girl - which Clara was - she just couldn't be good around small animals.

I can tell myself it was the right choice for every other animal here at Sweet Haven, Leonard included, who needed almost complete rest after her surgery - it was the right choice for me, too, as I can't count the number of times I screamed myself hoarse and suffered injury, chasing Clara down as she tore around after or mauled hens and cats and ducks. My blood pressure is lower I know.... and I just have to believe that Clara is happier now too, being a good dog for someone who doesn't have all the temptations that Sweet Haven held for Clara. But it still feels rotten and wrong. So now you're privy to one of the griefs I've been holding close these last months, hoping that the guilt would feel less and the time to share present itself but I suppose giving up Clara is the closest thing I've every had to a skeleton in the closet - the sadness and shame of it still makes my cheeks and ears burn and my breath catch a little in my chest.

With Clara gone and Leonard confined indoors, another animal saw an opportunity to move into Sweet Haven. It started with a duck lost in the day... then one of the rescued hens... then another duck and another and then - Celie hen - Celie hen gone between treat time and dark... my favorite girl Celie, who I loved from the first day she came - it wasn't fair or objective of me - but that's the way animals are sometimes, just like humans, there are some that are so full of charisma and pluck that we can't help but get caught up in loving them, and I loved Celie dearly and deeply and probably unreasonably.... we searched and searched and called and wondered if she'd had a heat stroke, it had been over 100 that day and she never took the heat well - but she had come at chore time and jumped for her bananas as usual and then I found just a very few of her feathers, and it all presented itself clearly in my mind - it was the fox that I suspected had been the end of Fernie hen in June - I knew it was that fox, I could see what had happened, Dave could too, there was really no question - but you know, even though it's been a month now, I still think Celie will come trotting up any day now, stretching her neck and fixing me with her bright eye to see what I've got for treats. I just wasn't done with Celie. I thought she had a long story here, and I don't want to believe that it's over. I feel I failed her, so much shame and guilt here, too, because we've had such good luck over the years, keeping free range chickens with no predator problems at all, and I guess we've either been lucky, or cocky, or stupid, or lucky in having Leonard as a very good protector, probably all those things.

And now I fret over how to keep our remaining hens and ducks, who are unquestionably happier free ranging, but also unquestionably more in danger. We added chicken wire to the periphery to discourage them slipping through and prevent such easy access by foxes or other animals. And we decided to keep the rescued hens confined to their coop, garage, and garden area, which are securely fenced except overhead. I know they aren't as happy, though, and squabble more amongst themselves than when they had their freedom. I hope Leonard's reemergence as guardian during the day will put things to rights, but sometimes once the balance is broken, it's hard to restore equilibrium.

The week before the Friends of Sweet Haven fundraising sale, we had to let old Sissy cat go - she was over seventeen and had lived most of her life outdoors, with no real intervention from humans for her care - so when we took her in almost a year ago, we never expected to have very long with her. I suppose it doesn’t make her passing less sad, it doesn’t make me miss her less either, but it’s a loss I can accept because I know we did our best for her, and that she was very happy and comfortable and loved here.

Celie’s passing feels like a failure - I’ve wished and wished that I had just somehow kept her inside after her incident with Clara - but I’ve been reading a lot about chickens and how people choose to care for them, the different amounts of freedom they give and how each person weighs risks of predation against quality of life and I’ve thought a lot about Celie and how much she enjoyed life. She lived for a year in a tiny, muddy pen with a giant rooster who broke off most of her feathers and never gave her a moment’s peace and I know she never wanted to be contained like that again - she was always the first girl out of the coop in the morning, the first to hop out the barn door to find a good place to scratch and I think she relished every moment to be a free bird, free to follow her own will. Would I give her so much freedom if I could go back? My aching heart doesn’t want to - I might even have tried to keep her inside my house, never let her back out after her incident with Clara, but my head knows that probably wouldn’t have been fair to her. We are all part of nature, after all, and when we create an artificial environment for an animal, a part of them is never fulfilled. That’s the line we walk as animal caregivers or as parents, weighing how best to protect but also empower and help realize those in our care - it’s one I’ve written about before and I know it will continue to be something that grieves and puzzles and oftentimes confounds me, and I suppose that’s just part of loving someone.

I don't necessarily think every loss at a sanctuary needs to be or should be shared - it would be exhausting for everyone, an unnecessary grief for those who don’t need it - but I think these did need to be voiced to you . . . there are those who I’m certain would have noticed the absences of Clara and Celie and Sissy and I know you feel you knew and maybe even loved them too.

This morning I learned that my grandma’s nursing home is shut to visitors again, for at least two weeks. We’ve been able to visit since late spring, going at least once weekly with flowers for Grandma, and Nettie does her “chicken dance” which is probably the highlight of Grandma’s week. Her birthday is in a few days, she’ll be 97, and we’ll have to celebrate with her through the window, as we did last year. . . in the name of her and other’s safety and care. . .

From Grandma’s collection of stories: “Often in my mind I go to Grandma’s house and go through all the rooms, remembering where each piece of furniture was; rugs, wall paper, pictures, curtains, etc. I remember perfectly how it looked. . . . It seems a great comfort to me.”