Rock Star Dreams

It has been a while since my last entry.  While I have had a number of ideas for posts, none of them have quite gelled into something cohesive enough to share (I know, that never seems to have stopped me before).  What I would like to do today is to give a very sincere "Thank You" for the kind comments that people have shared regarding my blog and website.

When I was just a young lad, I loved music.  More specifically, I loved heavy metal in most of its incarnations.  My bedroom walls were adorned with the mini-posters and pages from magazines like Hit Parader, Metal Edge, and Circus.  I have no doubt that my apparent fascination with long haired men in make-up, wearing tight pants must have concerned my parents to some degree (I think that is why they surprised me by allowing me to put up posters of various women in bikinis and what-not).  I still remember the "day of reckoning" when it came time to move and I had to spackle all the holes!

Like many of my peers, the rebellious nature of the music, the evocative imagery, and the fact that it sounded best at loud volumes were major factors in my love for the stuff.  There was something else that really hit me and which made me really want to be a rock star when I grew up (We don't seem to have rock stars anymore, but when we did, it could be argued that none of them ever grew up).  It wasn't the fact that they were often linked to the type of women whose pictures hung like sirens on my wall (Although to my teenage brain, that would have been icing n the cake).  No, what really hit me was the ability to find my voice in someone else's song lyrics; to be able to feel like a song was written for or about me and to then use that as therapy or as a cry for help (This didn't always work since parents can never seem to understand what their kids favorite bands are saying in their music...this is a repeated phenomenon and probably begs for scientific investigation). 

Most of these connections could be found in the shameless "power ballad".  I could fill many pages sharing specific examples of songs or lyrics, but I suspect that this would require "express written permission" from the RIAA to do so (They can never seem to understand the power of digital media and communication to actually boost their sales, but that is another topic for the more disgruntled out there...I just don't want to cross their path).  More than anything, I wanted to write and sing these songs.  I didn't care if anyone had my picture on their wall (Although I had been working on my look" - see below), but I felt a desperate need to connect to other "searchers" out there who needed reassurance or were looking for the words to tease out what they were feeling inside. 

Needless to say, I never became a rock star.  The closest approximation I ever experienced was during a trip to Mexico in the eighth grade, where I was surprisingly popular; almost alarmingly so - but that is another story as well).  This dream fell apart due to a cruel combination of location, social insecurity, and utter lack of anything approaching musical talent.  In hindsight, it is probably for the best.  I have had the chance to see a large number of my former idols in concert the last several years and let's just say, they generally don't seem to age well (Must be the lack of circulation from the tight spandex...can't imagine what else it could be). 

When started writing, almost two years ago, it was mostly to "dare" myself to stop letting life pass me by and to get back into the fray.  That worked pretty well and it led me on a voyage of self-discovery that has culminated with me arriving where I am now.  In and of itself, that is a good thing.  By choosing to share my story and my thoughts, even if it is only with a few people (That I am aware of), I am finally getting my opportunity to connect with people and share a message that means a lot to me and which I believe can help people.  While it doesn't have the fame and fortune of rock stardom, it sure works for me.  Thank you for your patience in reading me words and for your kind comments and for taking the time to let me know when they made a connection.  You make my rock star dreams come true!

What if They Held a Rapture and No One Was Invited?

Yesterday was May 21st, 2011.  For months, this day has been systematically etched into my brain by the multiple signs along the sides of the road that have proclaimed that it was to have been "Judgment Day".  At first, I had assumed that this was a "Bay Area phenomenon" (Like Bay to Breakers), but then I saw the signs up here in farm country and apparently there have been thousands across the country and around the world. 

I wish that it was easy for me to give myself over to full belief in an all-mighty and powerful God (Preferable a "loving" one too), but despite that, the day approached and unfurled with a degree of trepidation.  My rational brain felt that it was a very unlikely thing to happen.  My residual religious brain felt that it was highly unlikely that this retired engineer would know the day that was supposed to be secret, according to the Bible.  My guilty brain - it was eager for the sun to rise on this morning (The 22nd).

While it would probably be fun to succumb to the urge to satire and lampoon this organization for their blind faith, this has been done to much better comedic effect than I could pull off here (See the many websites for pictures of post-rapture empty clothes, or "Post-rapture pet insurance").  Honestly, parts of me envy the ability to believe so strongly in something like that.  My desire to believe continues to be my major obstacle as it casts doubt over any beliefs that I do have as this would be seen as a biasing factor (Despite the fact that my rational brain also recognized that if it were to play the odds, it is best to have faith).

No, instead of making fun of them, I would prefer to look at this from a different angle: "What if they held a Rapture and no one was invited?"  What if the predicted event did occur and none of us were found worthy?  What would it mean to be "worthy" (a.k.a. What is the method of "judgment")? 

In my mind, judgment day would play out like this.  I find myself alone and standing in a vast field of green grass (For those who have been to Farm Sanctuary in spring, this is easy to picture).  In front of me is a massive sea of people and animals that covers the skyline to the horizon.  As I look out across this scene, wondering how it was that I found myself here in this place, my eye catches motion.  One of the people from the crowd approaches and enters into my personal space.  Her face is vaguely familiar, but I can't place it.  Every attempt appears to be deliberately blocked.  She introduces herself and goes on to relate her story.  She and I had met at the Nob Hill in Milpitas.  She and her children had been standing outside the exit soliciting money for food and a ride home.  She related how I had offered to buy her groceries and give her a ride home, but how she had been too afraid to take me up on the offer based on a history that involved multiple incidents of abuse.  She reminded me that I had given her twenty dollars and treated her with dignity while doing so.  Then the woman turns and walks through the crowd before disappearing from sight. 

Next comes an elderly gentleman who moves very slowly and I find myself wondering if he will be able to make it.  Once again, he gets very close to me and I am sure that we have met before.  He tells me his name and our story.  He and his wife had been on their way to Toys 'R' Us with their grandson Peter when their car had over-heated.  None of them had realized this, at the time and he had pulled over and availed himself on the kindness of strangers.  My Honda CRX had been one of many cars that day which had driven by without stopping.  He tells this tale very matter-of-factly without a hint of anger or judgment, but the guilt and fear in my mind tell me that I have been judged.  As he walks slowly away, I perceive one of the blades of grass withering and turning to brown. 

This process continues for what seems like years in a constant procession of people and animals.  It is a mix of reminiscences that build me up and those which tear me down to my core.  In many cases, I had wanted to help, but had felt uncomfortable about it and had opted not to do so and in some, I had just not noticed the call for assistance.  As I scan the grass before me, I am shocked by the degree to which the season appears to be changing to summer.  My self-image as a compassionate person is shaken by what I see and what I have heard.  I am shocked by how selective I have been in forming my opinion of myself.  Gazing at the results of my judgment and wondering what it means for me, I am confronted with the reality that there is no "reset button" and no "do-overs" at this point and I feel my most profound fear.
Personally, I do not believe that we are judged for our minor transgressions (The fact that we are "hard-wired" to commit many of them is far too evident and our resolve is not always strong).  No, I believe that, if we are to be judged, it will be for our responses to requests for help from our fellow beings.  Fortunately for all of us, May 21st, 2011 came and went without hellfire and brimstone and maybe, just maybe the end days will never come.  Regardless of my inability at this moment to form a faith picture that includes a God, I am choosing to renew my faith in myself and do what I can to take out a more comprehensive insurance policy on my fields of green.  Then at least I will be worthy in my eyes and when my time comes, I will not be afraid.

My Girl Olive (a.k.a. Why Working with Turkeys Isn't Such a Bad Thing)

There are literally hundreds of animals at Farm Sanctuary Orland and I maybe know a tenth of them by name so far.  As the days pass, I have a chance to meet and make a connection with more and more of them and I figured that this may make for some good writing.

One of my daily tasks is to clean the Turkey Barn, also known as the "Turkey Lady and Special Needs Chicken Barn".  Here the older turkey ladies live with a group of chickens in a peaceful arrangement.  The best part of this particular assignment, for me at least, is the time that this allows me to spend with Olive, one of the turkey ladies.

Olive has little reason to trust or to even tolerate humans.  Almost as soon as she was born, she was subjected to the brutal practice called de-beaking , in which a large portion of her beak was seared off.  Why was this done you may ask?  Well, if turkeys are crammed together in factory farms, the stress will lead them to peck at each other so rather than do anything to alleviate the stress, the powers that be have adopted this cruel practice.  Try to imagine yourself and your four best friends living in a Mini Cooper for six months with the doors welded shut...I suspect that you wouldn't exactly get along either.  Fortunately, for you, this is not a common fate and no one would think it was acceptable to remove your hands, feet, and teeth to keep you from hurting your fellow passengers.  That would be inhumane!

Back to Olive, aside from this indignity, even before she was born, her suffering at the hands of man had begun.  Since humans collectively see turkeys as nothing more than food supplies, they have been engineered through selective breeding to be much bigger than they should be.  In our selfishness, we have created whole species variants of animals whose weight far exceeds the capacity of their legs.  This is the case with Olive as well and her diet has to be carefully controlled in order to prevent her from succumbing to arthritis and other crippling afflictions.  Like all of the turkey ladies, she is a little slow and has a slight limp to her gait.  This is medically treated, so her pain is managed, but what a sad testament to humanity's inhumanity.

Despite what has been done to her, Olive holds no grudges.  When I am working around her, she likes to follow me and loves attention.  If she is in the yard and I call her name, she will slowly make her way over to me and then plop down in front of me.  In my pre-Sanctuary days, I can't say that I knew the value of a "turkey-hug", but I sure do now.  This is just one of the affirming moments that make me so glad that I made the life changing move to come work here. 

Now, let me introduce my turkey girl, Olive.

I Can't Believe I Got the Picture!

When you are lucky enough to work in a magical place like I do, you will invariably have the chance to see some amazing things.  Based on a little known, and even less understood cosmic law, these things have an overwhelming tendency to happen only when there is no camera present.  As I was strolling around the Sanctuary for lunch the other day, I passed the Pig Barn and saw something really sweet.  Blossom the piglet (She is technically still the smallest although nowhere near the size she was when she fell asleep on my lap a year ago) was lying next to Calvin.  Now, for anyone who has been to the Sanctuary in the last few months, this isn't a surprise.  Calvin and Blossom have been a curious couple for a while now.  What was special about this time was that Blossoms front leg was wrapped around Calvin as if they were "spooning". 

Realizing that my effort was likely to be futile, I immediately set off running at a brisk pace (Not quite like the wind, per se, but more of the "gentle breeze with an occasional gust" that comes with getting older) to my car to get my camera.  When I got back to the Pig Barn, I was shocked to find that they hadn't moved an inch.

This was not a staged picture in any way.  Anyone who has worked with the pigs knows that while they are amazing creatures, they are not that cooperative...especially these two (And especially Blossom)!

Now I know that this pose was probably just a coincidence or, most likely, it just felt good for Blossom to have her leg in this position.  However, the bond that these two share is real based on many observations, and maybe, just maybe, this is a manifestation of a love that we can see and recognize.  I am so glad I was able to get this picture!

My Guardian Chicken

The more time that I spend with the chickens, the more I begin to appreciate the diversity of their personalities.  Since I get to spend about two and a half hours a day in their midst, It has been quite an enlightening experience and one that I am sure would amaze most people who only experience chickens in their supermarket aisle.  I really enjoy their company, but there is one of the roosters who has not decided to join the "Brian Fan-Club".

How do you describe Elton to people who have never met him and who may never met him?  Elton's most distinguishing characteristic is a long flowing mane of blond feathers which strongly resemble a mullet.  Picture Hulk Hogan in his glory days or Matthew McConaughey's character from "Dazed and Confused" and you will be in the ball-park.  Let's just say, if chickens could drive, Elton would be the one cruising in the primer gray El Camino with a spoiler bolted to the tail-gate and asymmetrical hand painted flames down the sides.  Before you saw him, though, you would hear his Kraco stereo blasting "Freebird" through a couple of 6"x9"s.  I love this image of Elton because it's not too far removed from me.

Whenever I am cleaning in the yard, Elton likes to stalk me.  Now, let me say up front that I do not believe that Elton is mean or malicious.  He is just doing what his biological imperative tells him to do which is to guard his hens against unknown intruders.  For anyone who believes that animals are incapable of premeditation, watching Elton would probably change their mind.  He will follow me at a short distance as I go back and forth raking.  When I look his way, his eyes will dart to the side as he tries to be very nonchalant about his pursuit.  The instant that the rake is no longer between us, however, he will strike at my ankles with his claws and beak.  This doesn't hurt when he connects (I let him have at it one day to see if I really needed to be afraid of him or not), but it does make you jump a bit.

This daily routine continued for my first week and a half and it was one of the more predictable elements.  Then one day one of the other roosters, a beautiful red rooster named Russet, began to intervene.  Whenever I was in the yard, he would emerge from the Chicken Barn and get between me and Elton.  He would chase him off if he tried to get too close to me.  I will never know what his motivations for this are, and I know that it is dangerous to ascribe human characteristics in some cases, but I have decided that Russet is my Guardian Chicken, even if I don't understand exactly why.  Thank you Russet for having my back - when I learn feeds, I will make sure you get an extra ration!

A Farm Sanctuary Blessing

This was created as a "going-away" message to some of the interns who are going to be leaving the Farm soon.  I think it is good for people who have visited the farm, who want to visit the Farm, or who are just animal lovers.

A Farm Sanctuary Blessing

As you continue on your journey, and the gates, they fade from view

Take heed of all the lessons that the animals have taught to you

Like the cow, may you need only the sun on your face to be content

Like the goat, may you use your head to get through life's obstacles

Like the chicken, may you find joy in the simple things that most never see

Like the sheep, may you always have a flock at your sides

Like the pig, may you rejoice when life hurls mud at you

Like the turkey, may you never fail to shatter stereotypes and preconceptions

Like the duck, may you find happiness in life's many storms

Like the donkey, may you never be afraid to be stubborn in your convictions

Like the goose, may you never fear to strike when the "ankles of injustice" are exposed

Like all your animal friends, may you always remember that you have a home here.

Third Week Hump Day

Well, I am half way through my third week and my body is starting to adapt to the fact that I am actually using it during the day (What a novel concept!).  My brain is also having to adapt to a lower stress, lower intensity environment.  Unfortunately, when the level of stimulation is suddenly decreased, it seems to have a weird effect.  If you were to place yourself in a situation where you couldn't see and where you only had white noise as a background, it has been proven that our brain will start to construct hallucinations, sometimes in a matter of minutes, in order to keep itself occupied.  In my case, my brain was creating things to worry about and this combined with working alone most of the day posed a challenge.  I have been taking a two pronged approach to addressing this unforeseen issue: 1) I try to take in the beauty that I find myself constantly surrounded by, and 2) I listen to audiobooks on the way to and from work and ponder these when the anxious part of my brain kicks into gear.  My third week has been going much better than my first week so I think my solution is working.

Anyway, this minor issue aside, I am loving it.  My days are very similar in terms of work load and tasks, but the details are where the magic lies.  The pauses to pet a chicken or having a sheep rest its head on your shoulder make it all worth it. 

As I was driving to work today, I was trying to get a weather report, but the station that I was listening to was getting interference from another station.  After spending a couple minutes trying to parse the information from the station I wanted to listen to, I realized that this was somewhat of a metaphor for my last life.  So often it was a case of too much information coming in and I find my new simplicity to be a welcome change.  When I am at work, my purpose is pretty singular and I would recommend that more people try out the experience.

Well, I am sure that anyone who actually comes to this page probably does so for the pictures more than my ramblings, so here are some of my favorites from this past week.  Wish you were here!




This is Blossom.  Some of my old co-workers may recognize her as the piglet that was on my lap in the picture where I was wearing the red jumpsuit (Convict suit).

 


The pigs and geese both love the pool, although the pigs prefer working on their tans to swimming.




My favorite juvenile "cow-boys", Oliver and Elliot.  Oh, they grow up so fast!




Oliver is ready for his close-up.




My first cow-buddy Whitaker.




A real California Happy Cow, Whitaker.