There are some magical creatures in our woods here on the mountain.
Mini was late for the peanut butter sandwich handouts and now she wants to speak to the manager.
Mornings are lazy for those of us who don’t work in the bustling world of aftermarket auto parts.
Ron and I have three human kids together. Sometimes we’d also have a large teenage football player (Ron’s son from his first marriage) who would join us in tossing his sisters around. So four kids in total. We never had a lot of money for extras, but we made do. One of the things we did to save was bake and cook from scratch. Ron baked bread almost every day considering how many sandwiches needed to be made for work and school (and snacks, and as a jam delivery system for those after school sugar cravings, and, and, and).
Then my mom’s mental health declined with Alzheimer’s and she joined the herd. The kids got older and friends and boyfriends and wives and even a grandson joined us, flitting in and out of our home.
Now my mom has passed. The kids are grown up. The daughters wax and wane in distance to us, the son (and wife and grandson) are much farther, but their visits are joyous and chaotic. But our nest is officially and far more often than not, empty.
And the funny thing is that Ron still bakes at least two loaves of bread almost every day. Neither of us eat it. But we still have a lot of cherished family members who do. Some are older, some came from backgrounds where genetics or circumstances stacked their life decks impossibly against them. And every day they all get giant fluffy peanut butter sandwiches filled with vitamins and extra calories and fat. And pigs, being crafty and innovative little ones have ways of sneaking their way into snacks, so we always make extras to ensure everyone who needs one gets one.
My whole married life, bread baking has been an act of service and love by my co-captain. And that has always been and will always be a gift he gives his family.
It’s been a week, huh, Eddie?
What do you mean it’s Tuesday?
Sunny day
Finally a nice day!
Everyone is enjoying it.
Dobby and Mini.
Big little brother and little big sister (and the gang).
Friday Night Party
Big Friday night planned here at LOB. Licorice all around. 😅 Don’t mind the tusks.
Big Friday night planned here at LOB. Licorice all around. 😅 Don’t mind the tusks.
Frannie may have lost her mum, Angel, but she’s still got big sis, Minerva to give her cuddles.
I always wind up singing this to them anyway, since they often look at me like I’m a weirdo (they’re right).
My next few weeks are flat out crazy as I’m directing a play and opening night is February 2 (it’s called The Deception of Kathryn Vask and it will be at Venables Theatre in Oliver for two weeks and if you can, you should ABSOLUTELY come see it because it’s an incredibly thrilling ghost story!). I’m the meantime, here’s more video of Bert helping get the place ready for new straw because let’s face it, Bertie is the real star here. 🤩
Bert
Bertie making beds better. Thanks for the help, Sheriff. 💖
Christmas dinner
How to serve pigs for Christmas dinner:
1. Invite your friends and family (in our case, pigs).
2. Serve them their favourite foods.
3. Enjoy your special time together because they deserve to live without fear and pain, just like you and I.
Choose compassion this holiday season. The world is so cruel. It takes nothing away from us to be kind. 💖
#vegans
Carrie here.
I’m not one to share too much of the negative aspects of this life. First and foremost, our job is to elevate the voices and the stories of our residents. They speak far more eloquently than I ever could.
There are many rewards. We get the love and friendship of some incredible Earthlings in the most unique way; we relish that honour of helping them heal from their own trauma, watching them become their true selves and join an incredible family, while amplifying those voices; and we can advocate for a better, more compassionate future.
The negatives are many. Too often we have to say goodbye to loved ones long before they should have left us, and too often we hold ourselves accountable for what we could have, should have done. Our losses are many when it comes to saying goodbye and we take every step, and every breath around broken hearts. Our respite is few and far between and the stress of keeping everyone safe, fed, warm and in good health never stops, never relents. And financially, we fund the sanctuary at approximately 80%. With Ron’s extremely debilitating illness and the loss of our truck, the other stressors can seem overwhelming.
Unfortunately we are not business-minded people. Our strengths are elsewhere, and we feel our failings in not finding ongoing partnerships acutely. Yesterday Ron spoke honestly on social media and the response has been overwhelming.
We are so so very grateful for the donations, the outpouring of love and support we have received in the last 24 hours. It hasn’t bought us a truck, but it has bought us time and enough pressure relief to turn our attention to using this positive momentum and trying to find the ongoing partnerships we need to keep us moving forward.
From Ron and me: Thank you. It’s an incredible feeling to be able to take a breath when you didn’t even realize you were suffocating.
💖🐽💖
Etransfer and PayPal to [email protected]
CanadaHelps
https://www.c
I like this little life very much. 💖
Thanks to Dr. Ruth for coming all the way from Grand Forks to help us get our boys’ tuskers trimmed!
