February 6 , 2022

Way too often, I find myself struggling to be perfect, especially with my creative side, which is mostly writing and photography. This struggle causes me much self-criticism, frustration, and leaves me with too many unfinished pieces that I consider “not good enough”. There is some truth to the fact that not everything I create is going to turn out good enough – the unfocused shot, or the poem that goes nowhere. Yet…

A little more than a year ago, I read an article about the phrase “done is better than perfect” in which the author argued that we need to accept our flaws in order to accomplish anything of value.That doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t do our best and strive to get better at our craft, but that we need to step back and accept our present limitations as part of our creative and personal growth.

With this in mind, I challenged myself to write a haiku each day for the year 2021. I knew that I would not be able to produce a ‘perfect’ haiku every day and that I would need to accept the “not as good” ones just as I would the “good” ones.  For me, it would not be easy.  The shame of less than perfect has always been a self-set hurdle that I rarely clear – I knew that I would struggle to push it away, or to summon up the strength to leap over it.

It’s not that I wasn’t giving myself the chance for a great haiku - I had an entire day to perfect an idea, but as many creatives know, some days the inspiration just don’t come. Yet, perfect or not, good or bad, the point was to finish the day’s haiku.  I could always go back at another time and work on it again if I wanted to.

And that is what I did. I came up with 362 haiku in 365 days. I missed three days with no other excuse than on those days, there was nothing left for me to give - I had hit a wall, or more to the point, experienced creative exhaustion. I am not disappointed though - I still finished the year, even that was not perfect!

I learned a lot in the course of this personal challenge - mostly I learned about creativity and about myself.

-          - Inspiration can’t be forced. One can’t make a fire without a spark. I learned to have patience with myself and to trust that inspiration will come when its ready to present itself and I am ready to accept it. This waiting is an important part of the journey.

-          - No matter how flawed, every creation is special, just because it exists. Creating something where there once was nothing is a celebration in itself. Nothing is insignificant!

-          - Finished doesn’t always mean finished! Although I may have finished the haiku, I can always go back and rework it.  What is important is that I gave that day’s inspiration a root, and like a seedling, it now has the chance to grow.

-          - I felt a sense of accomplishment and confidence at the end of the day, and at the end of the year. It helped me to know that I could do this! To be honest, it wasn’t easy. Every day was as much of an opportunity to give up as it was to continue on.

-          -  Accepting imperfection in what I create, is also an act of accepting imperfection in myself.  Although I am flawed, I still have worth.

Like most things though, learning is just the start. Putting what I have learned in practice, and keeping it in practice, is the hard work. That is the real journey.

The following are a few of the haiku I wrote during my challenge. I have left them unedited – maybe imperfect, but still worthy, and deserving this space just the way they are.

 

new year’s day

sorting the pieces

of a new puzzle     

 

waking up

to the thought of you

moon light on the wall  

 

saturday morning

coffee and cold pizza

a poem’s last lines    

 

quarter moon

the stray cat comes a few

steps closer     

 

chewing cud

not all goats

do yoga   

 

the fallen tree

I am sitting where

I used to climb   

 

someone older

my reflection in a

storefront window 

 

December 2, 2021

Every fall our farm is a stopover for migrating birds, which includes different species of hawks. Surrounded by shedding trees, there are countless perches and plenty of places to blend in for these sharp-eyed predators to patiently wait for prey – field mice, rabbits, small song birds, and of course, our chickens.

The assault starts with the arrival of Sharp Shinned hawks that go after the opportunistic house sparrows that nest in the “hay barn”, and help themselves to the chicken’s feed in and around the coop. It is not uncommon to see 10-20 sparrows perched on the coop, a few at a time darting down to the ground for some scratch or crumbles. Caught up in their daily routine of theft and rest, they lose their awareness of what is waiting along the perimeter of their chosen space.

Sharp Shinneds are so very fast! It only takes a few seconds for one to launch from its hidden perch, accelerate, and fly a few hundred feet, coming in with the force of its own speed, grab an unwary sparrow, and be gone. Sharp Shinneds are unbelievably efficient. It uses no unnecessary movement, no wasted energy. What must be thousands of subtle movements appear as only one swift action, happening in a blink of an eye!

Luckily for our chickens, the Sharp Shinned is a bit too small to be much of a threat. I am sure though, that if hungry enough, a sharp shin might try going after one. Usually though, the chickens lose their fear of them. Sometimes a chicken will come out of hiding and defend their coop if the hawk comes bulleting in.

Even so, when we begin seeing the Sharp Shinned hawks, we stop letting the girls free range and keep them in their coop. Experience has taught us that the Sharp Shinned is just one of our farm’s visitors during the hawk migration, and that we need to be wary of any shadows and silhouettes that appear across the farm’s landscape. Soon, we will be under the watchful eyes of Red Tails, Red Shouldereds, Coopers, and possibly others. All it takes is a small mistake or an unguarded instant to lose one of the girls to one of these stealthy, talented hunters.

One of our chickens confronts a Sharp Shined hawk in the coop

 

 

A Coopers hawk surveying the field

 

A Red Shouldered hawk patiently waiting

July 21, 2021

I have been thinking about how to write a tribute to Snoopie. It’s not easy to capture any life with words, and I am not sure it’s fair, as life is more about feelings and senses than it is about how letters are lined up on a page.

 

 

Hard to believe that we lost Snoopie.

I remember bringing her home – Kath driving, kids in the back seat, and me cradling her in my arms as we drove back home from the place where we got her. That was early summer of 2007. Snoops wasn’t “hand” or “people” raised. She was born in a field, a kid in a herd of brush goats, and more wild than tame. She never really changed. That wild streak pretty much came to define her.

As she grew older, she more or less came to represent the farm – an experience with Snoops could be unforgettable.

A cute, soft eyed, pile of soft white fur with her tail wagging like a friendly puppy wanting to be petted.

And then, “BANG”! In a split second, before one could even process what had happened, she’d have knocked the unsuspecting person in their knees. We would always warn people to beware, to not get too close, and not to get lulled into her space. She was something else - as if she had a plan – a devil in sheep’s, or rather, goat’s, clothing. Oh, she could be a terror!

But she could also be affectionate when she wanted to be. I can’t count the number of times when I would take a break from cleaning stalls out in the stable, and when I sat down, she’d come lie down next to me, as quiet and as calm and as warm hearted as could be. Looking up at me with soft brown eyes. It’s a side of her most never saw.  She reserved affection for very few, but for those she did, it was hard to forget, and sometimes harder to not have.

I could go into a lot of stories here – how she broke her horns, ate a few too many flowers, how she loved to butt the wheelbarrow, how well she got along with Lou and Pat, how Zips liked to chase her, how she liked to chase the chickens, liked to chase certain people…so much more.

How she always seemed to create some kind of chaos, and then recede back into the calm.  She could be the hurricane. She could be the eye. To be her weather person was always to be wrong – no one could ever predict what was coming.

That unpredictability is what I will miss most about her.

Her leaving also closes a chapter- but not the book. Lou, Zips, and Snoops were the first to come here, and now they are all gone. At least physically. Their energies and spirits are still here. Always will be. I can feel them here, still running in the fields. They are still our teachers, still helping us to grow.

I am not sad today. I am thankful. Just so lucky to have had these three come into our lives. We’ve been bitten, kicked, and butted…we’ve been licked, nuzzled, and kissed … we’ve been loved, unconditionally. And that in turn has taught us how to love. That’s something only animals can teach us. Humans can’t. Animals are always authentic.

Thanks Snoops. Thanks for being a part of our lives.