arán úr

soil blocks

 onions.

goat shed

we built this shed out of materials we found lying around the farm.

still needs a roof

charlotte and nano

lithia park

Roads go ever ever on,

Over rock and under tree,

By caves where never sun has shone,

By streams that never find the sea;

Over snow by winter sown,

And through the merry flowers of June,

Over grass and over stone,

And under mountains in the moon.

Roads go ever ever on

Under cloud and under star,

Yet feet that wandering have gone

Turn at last to home afar.

Eyes that fire and sword have seen

And horror in the halls of stone

Look at last on meadows green

And trees and hills they long have known.

garden

its not all veggies

The universe is a continuous web. Touch it at any point and the whole web quivers.

apples

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree

Toward heaven still,

And there's a barrel that I didn't fill

Beside it, and there may be two or three

Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.

But I am done with apple-picking now.

Essence of winter sleep is on the night,

The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.

I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight

I got from looking through a pane of glass

I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough

And held against the world of hoary grass.

It melted, and I let it fall and break.

But I was well

Upon my way to sleep before it fell,

And I could tell

What form my dreaming was about to take.

Magnified apples appear and disappear,

Stem end and blossom end,

And every fleck of russet showing clear.

My instep arch not only keeps the ache,

It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.

I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.

And I keep hearing from the cellar bin

The rumbling sound

Of load on load of apples coming in.

For I have had too much

Of apple-picking: I am overtired

Of the great harvest I myself desired.

There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,

Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.

For all

That struck the earth,

No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,

Went surely to the cider-apple heap

As of no worth.

One can see what will trouble

This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.

Were he not gone,

The woodchuck could say whether it's like his

Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,

Or just some human sleep

making homemade yeast

winter

O winter! bar thine adamantine doors: The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car. He hears me not, but o’er the yawning deep Rides heavy; his storms are unchain’d, sheathed In ribbed steel; I dare not lift mine eyes; For he hath rear’d his sceptre o’er the world. Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings To his strong bones, strides o’er the groaning rocks: He withers all in silence, and in his hand Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life. He takes his seat upon the cliffs, the mariner Cries in vain. Poor little wretch! that deal’st With storms, till heaven smiles, and the monster Is driven yelling to his caves beneath Mount Hecla.

the persimmons attract many birds, including a little snowy hummer.

mountains

you ask me why i dwell in the mountains
i smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care
as the peach blossom floats down stream and is gone into the unknown
i have a world apart that is not among men

grizzly peak, from the pasture

mt. ashland, from the front garden

mt. shasta, from grizzly peak

mt. mcloughlin, from grizzly peak

some animals on the farm

phoebe.

zeno.

chickens and a sheep.

from l to r: ruby, MC, blondie, flora, and willa

 willa and basil.

le tigre.

geese and mt. ashland.

birds.

western red tanager or sapsucker, persimmon

western bluebird , live oak

finch, weeping birch

chickadee, scarlet oak

sparrow on the fence

fall

The beginning of autumn;
The sea and fields,
All one same green.