Memorial Day ~ Remembering

Today is a day for remembering our loved ones who are no longer with us. 

I miss my Mom today. Of course, I miss her everyday. It's been 15 years since she passed away, and I still think sometimes that I might pick up the phone and give her a call. Then I remember.

I can't be with her physically, and I can't even visit her grave today to adorn it with fresh flowers. So this post, and my private conversations with her spirit will have to do for today.

Remember your loved ones and celebrate their lives today. Celebrate your life too. It all goes by so quickly.

© Copyright 2012 Mountain Harvest Basket

My Sweet Frieda

 

Frieda “Freedom” “Freebie” Noble

May 1, 1993 (really April 16, 1993) – April 18, 2012

My sweet girl. You came to me when you were so hungry, scared and skinny. You came to me when I needed you in my life. You had your 5 little kittens hidden in our flight simulator cockpit, which to you must have seemed like a tall, safe tree. I heard about you and your babies, and I came to rescue them and take you home to live with me. You were scared and you were wild. You fiercely protected your babies. You tried to escape when I was moving you into a safe carrier, so I had no choice but to grab you with both hands, whirl around and put you into the carrier and slam the door. Your babies needed you. I needed you. You scratched and bit me so badly that I bled all over the screen door and had to go to the emergency room for a tetanus shot. I survived and so did you and your babies. We got your babies adopted out and you checked and spayed. Then the adoption people asked me to take you home to live with me because you were too wild to be adopted. I hesitated for a moment, but knew it was the right thing to do.

You lived outside my home for a couple of years, safe from traffic and dogs. You would jump on my car when I came home from work to greet me and say hello. I’ve always loved you for that. You would sit outside my front door on top of my BBQ and monitor everything that passed by. You would leave me gifts of mice and bird parts on my front door mat. You were sweet that way. You made me smile with your loving gifts, my baby.

Then when it got too dangerous for you stay outside any longer, I coaxed you inside and started to integrate you with Jessie and my home. You and Jess did not get along that well at first, but eventually you learned to tolerate and respect each other. You loved each other in your own way. I am so happy for that. You were safe in my home now. You were fed and warm and sheltered. You did not play much, except for batting a ball around occasionally, but you loved to be petted and purred so loudly. You meditated in the sphinx position a lot. You walked with your tail in a cute curled up question mark causing us to nickname you “Question Tail”.

You got out once and I thought I’d never get you back, but you allowed me to tempt you back in with a can of tuna. Thank you for that, Frieda. You got out again after we moved to the forest. You were so scared and disoriented that you dashed back inside the house. I was so relieved because I was worried that you would get hurt out there in the wilds. You loved my sunny windows and wide windowsills. You loved to sleep in the sunbeams in the mornings and by the warm fire on cold nights. You loved your food and always came when I called your name, like I would when you lived outside. “Friedaaaaa!” I would call and you would come to me knowing that it was dinner time.

In Jessie’s last days, you snuggled close to her and kept watch. You were there for me when she passed away. You missed her too and I could tell you were grieving along with me. It took several months, but you finally started to ask for more of my affection and attention, and about that time, Sarah kitten came into our lives. You growled at Sarah, her high energy bothered you, but she only wanted to know you and play with you.

As you grew ill and weak, Sarah still wanted to be with you and play with you, but she did learn to respect your wishes and kept her distance right up to the last day of your life. She knows you are gone. She misses you. She is trying to comfort me. Charity misses you too. He howled after he saw your body lying still. Even the chicks miss you, their roommate.

Thank you my sweet baby for allowing me to take care of you when you needed me most. Thank you for letting me hold you, feed you and doctor you. It is a privilege for me to be your Mom. I am sorry that sometimes I got frustrated with you and the situation. I was so sad to see you become weak. In your last weeks, you sometimes would look up at me and meow softly to me. You called me to you several times and seemed to ask me a question with your eyes. I know you were ready to leave your body and did spend time outside of it, but that you were afraid, and that you did not want to leave me or our home. I know you were committed to stay with me until Jessie returned as a kitten again. I understand now that you will still keep that commitment. You and Jessie will return to me as kittens or young cats. You will live with me and with each other again in our happy home. This bond of love cannot be broken.

I do miss you so much Frieda my sweet kitty. I miss your loud purrs and your soft snores. You were noble, meditative and your own girl. You were strong and loving. You lived to be 19. That is an accomplishment to honor. I love you dearly and will wait impatiently for you to return to live with me. Be happy. Be free.

I will love you always.

Mama Jen

© Copyright 2012 Mountain Harvest Basket

Whispering Jessie ~ My Sweet Baby

Whispering Jessie Noble
October 1, 1992 – December 12, 2010

My sweet, precious kitten. My very best friend, confidant, and companion. She is the most beautiful of kitties in the whole Universe of kitties, and I told her so every chance I got. She is a sweet, strong and brave girl. She loves me so much, she trusts me with everything, and I love her with all of my heart. There will never be another kitty quite like my sweet Jessie. There is a huge hole in my heart today. A very sad day for me. I will be sad for a long, long time to come. I miss her so.

I named her Whispering Jessie after the John Denver song. Jessie always purred very loudly when happy or when comforting me, but she mewed and meowed in a very soft, whispering voice. Her quiet gentle movements around our home will be missed. Her presence in my daily life filled my heart with love, light and warmth. She taught me so much about love and life. About friendship and commitment, even when times got tough. She taught me to play and to laugh and be happy. She always comforted me when I was sad, upset or crying. She would come to me and purr and rub her face on me, my leg, my hand or my face. Any part of me that she could reach. She was strong and a fighter when it came to adversity. She loved me and trusted me so. Her eyes were bright and deep. Her sweet soul radiated for all to see.

She went quickly and died in my arms. Rest and be at peace now my sweet baby. I love you with all of my heart and soul. Come to me in my dreams and meditations. Visit with me and comfort me. Guide me and love me for all of my days and nights. I know we will be together again. Please let me know it is you when you come to me again. I love you, I love you, I love you more than anyone will ever know. You are the most beautiful of kitties in all of the Universe of kitties. Ever there was.

All my Love Forever,
Mama Jen

©Copyright 2010 Mountain Harvest Basket

Sad Day for Chickens and Mother Hen

Miner's Lettuce ~growing wild in the shady places


I am very sad to report that my brave little hen Barbara did not make it. She died in my arms this morning about 30 minutes after she received her fresh antibiotic injection. Although I did exactly as instructed by the vet and gave her the usual dosage, I believe that the medicine was too strong for her weak body and it was just too much for her. The older medicine may have been weaker and also less effective at fighting bacterial infections. This fresh stuff was just too strong for her. She may well have died anyway even if she hadn't received the drugs but I still feel very bad. I know I did everything I could to help her and to save her, but I still feel responsible for her death. She would have been 7 years old on April 6th.

Before I buried her, I made sure to show her body to the other two hens so that they would know what had happened to their friend. Just for a few moments, and from a little distance, just in case she had something contagious. I just wanted them to know where she was so that they wouldn't worry and wonder anymore. With the help of my partner Jack, I buried her near the chicken coop where there are other chickens buried from years past. I wrapped her lovingly in a special cloth, a remnant from my old childhood bedspread complete with fringe attached. I laid her softly deep in the hole we dug, gave her some miner's lettuce for the trip, and placed a piece of cardboard on top of her (to protect her) on which I had written my little eulogy for her. "Barbara Chicken, my brave little hen. You were a good layer and you will be missed by me and your sisters. We love you." That's actually only an excerpt from it. We filled in the grave with the soft earth and covered it with a plastic grid material weighted down by heavy rocks and things so that she would be safe from predators. We dug her grave about 2 feet deep, which is deep enough, but still I don't want to risk some predator coming by and disturbing my friend. I placed a couple of lavender flowers on top of her grave.

It has been quite some time since I have had sickness and death occur in my small flock, but I never get used to it. I need to make sure that my other two hens, Lucy and Red, are healthy and stay that way. Barbara's illness may indicate that I need to keep the hen house cleaner or add vitamins to their water or perhaps just keep a closer eye, and hand, on them to check for signs of illness. I don't often hold them and feel their bodies anymore. It's very difficult to tell that a chicken has gotten skinny merely by sight because their fluffy feathers hide their little bodies. You must hold them and feel them and maybe weigh them from time to time. Since they have been grown up hens I haven't done that very much, and they don't encourage me to do it either. They used to fly up on my lap and sit and visit with me when I would go out there and sit in my coop chair. As they got older they stopped wanting to do that as much. I guess I also stopped going out there to just sit and visit as much too.


Lavender on Barbara's grave

I am a very sad Mother Hen today. I have been mourning and crying over my lost friend. I know most folks wouldn't do that, but I can't help it. I never get used to someone being alive and conscious one moment and then still, silent and dead the next. I can't wrap my head around how the life force can just leave us like that. In an instant she is gone. It leaves me feeling scared and makes a hole in my heart.

Goodbye my Barbara Chicken. You were my brave little hen. I love you.

Mother Hen Jen


© Copyright 2008 Mountain Harvest Basket