EEC Forest Stewardship

It’s late February, 2026. Yesterday it snowed, but nothing stuck. Rain is forecaster for the next few days, and we badly need it. The pasture is growing just enough to let the ewes out for some early grazing. I’m still awaiting the drop of 3-4 more lambs, while the seven already born romp and play about. Lambs get the zoomies, and it’s always fun to watch them frolic in the sunshine. I’ve still got plenty of hay and alfalfa safely stacked in the barn, but fresh greens are always preferred, and the quality of taste comes from the diverse diet of Katahdins. They are a browsing breed, preferring broad leaves and off the ground vegetation, as well as grazing. This early blossom and bloom has it’s ups, but the downside could be a rough dry summer. I might be saving hay now, but could be stuck buying more early to supplement in late summer, when no rains makes the ground too brittle to graze ethically.

Right now the sheep can free graze in larger pasture by the house, where all the gardens and fruit trees reside. Since none of the plants are leafing out, the sheep leave them alone. Once buds burst onto the scene, it’s a final count down to spring green. In some parts of the coast in our temperate climate, leaves are peeping. Here at the farm, stinging nettle is out, and we’re harvesting it for some much needed fresh veg from the landscape. Blackberry buds are also out, and they are nutty in flavor with a sweet aftertaste. I brows them off the fence lines while watching the animals move around the open space. It’s good to observe what your stock is eating throughout the year. It also tells you what is missing from the landscape, in this case, more oso berry, currents, and elder. These three natives are leafing out, and will offer great browsing by early April, before a lot of the other shrubs and trees have fully leafed out. Bulbs are also sending up tender starts, which the sheep would brows, if the slugs and snails were not already out and about after dark. These well adapted gastropods shelter in freezing temperatures, but as soon as rainy evenings return, they are out hunting down what little flora appears.

When camas bulbs germinate, Spring is on it’s way, even a month early. I think it’s going to be a bad fire year. But right now, we’ll get a little more much needed rain, followed by a few days of potential snow. I’m grateful winter’s will is taking hold, we’re overdue for enough continual frozen days to knock out insects, their eggs, and some weed seed. The ecology of the soil has adapted in certain climate cycles that have begun to change, signalling change in soil composition and productivity. The winter freezing cycle may not be cold enough to kill most soil pathogens, but it did activate cold tolerance and adaptation to exist in freeze cycles, which in our Pacific cost region, also means a lot of rain and snow. While up in the higher elevations hiking this month, I did not encounter the usual feet of frozen water destine to slow melt into the ground to replenish the water table and prevent summer drought, which ushers in wildfires. The earth’s living matter evolved into complex systems that are still trying to adapt today, I say trying, because things are changing at a faster pace than ever seen in the earth’s living history.

In response, my instincts brought me to a wet region of the country with access to a relatively intact water table (do a deep dive here). However, long term aquifer recharge is slipping, while use goes up. This theme is common around the country and the world. Finite resources are just that, and matter can neither be created, nor destroyed, so go figure. The colonial legacy of scarcity continues to push exponential growth in market economy, which expects us to buy buy buy in consumer dependency, while reminding us why costs keep climbing, because resources are in high demand and short supply. The pollution created to maintain supply chains has already contaminated those finite natural resources, like clean drinking water, safe soil to eat from, and clean air to breath. The energy it will take to clean up our environmental messes continues to be the cause of financial scarcity, which is compounded by mass consumption and no moderation in site- that would hurt business dividends. But back to cute lambs and restoration farming.

This is where some small part of slow food continues to carve out a niche in ecological mindfulness. People come to see the farm, buy larder supplies, and take in small scale systems that do pay for themselves and provide a necessary product, sustenance. Our farm still buys some inputs from commercial operations where gas powered machines are used, we source our hay and alfalfa form reputable sources that measure their product’s for nutrition, but it’s not a certified organic operation. There are some short comings in our farm’s holistic approach, but we’re as low impact as you can get in agricultural production that pays its way. Our planting maps are dominated by native species, and supplemented with some fruit and nut trees that are a short term plan in the long term restoration of this space. Adaptability remains paramount to success for our economic viability, as well as the survival of the ecology, which is the only way we’re growing food folks.

When most agriculturally minded people look into a bit of untended land, they cannot see food, only wilds needing to be tamed, aggregated into productive space. It is not in the forefront of their minds that what’s there is already a successful, and very complex system. It’s not sustaining a tangible product that can be harvested and sold in commodity markets. Those systems were designed by very short sighted profiteers, in a time when the world was flat, germs were evil spirits, and most people could not read or write. We’ve come a long way as a species in understanding how our world works, and I’d love to see it reflected in how we live as part of that complex system. As spring blooms here, I glean some buds, but leave others to blossom into other treasured edible and medicinal plants. I note where early leaves appear, and note what kind of climate cycle we’re in this year to hinder or hasten vegetation into active growth. Bugs are out and about, so that protein source is readily available year round. This is the mindset of a forager, which recognizes opportunity, rather than extractability. The two mindsets are starkly different- the opportunity being positive, abundant, and adaptable, while extraction mindset is about removing something through force, taking, leaving behind a void. This is the mindset of scarcity. How can we all adapt?

In the natural world, it’s Spring in haste, followed by dormancy though the hot dry months. Some cycles will miss each other, as flowering trees blossom, no pollinators are out yet to move fertility around, thus it could be a bad fruit year, but the tree might be forcing it’s flowers early for just that reason, recognizing we’re not getting enough water in the soil to support it bearing fruit this year. It might be saving it’s strength to wait out the coming drought year. Our region has been in drought since last year, which could also be part of the signal for this tree to bloom early, then drop into dormancy till next year. Lots of seasonal cycles adapt in this way, and our ancestors knew how to read these signals. Could we pay more attention? Always, but who has time these days? Just step onto some raw earth in bare feet and look up to the sky- if you can, for those not in a safe place to take off their shoes, try to get to a window or step out onto the stoop to look up. What time of day is it? Are there clouds in the sky? What can you smell, taste, hear? Is there a breeze on your skin? Can you point north? These are grounding steps I take when I’m in need of a little slow down and look out. What do you do?

On a late summer day, the Snoqualmie Valley was hot and thick with haze of wildfires from far to the south. The stock and farm were well tended with water, shade, good ventilation, and room to roam through the forest groves at EEC Forest Stewardship. Valentine, the Aussie Cattle Dog that allows me to be her co-worker at Leafhopper Farm, was eager to get a good run in that day, and I could tell we were headed to the mountains. Packing up the 1 essentials in my day pack, I grabbed Val’s leash and pack, extra water for us both, and the basic med kit for scrapes and bruises along the trail. Images of my rout, driving time, the weather for the next few days, and text to my housemate with a hard return plan and location while in the back country assured prompt response, should something go awry.

I’m often out alone in these woods, with a good dog companion and the personal safety gear to feel confidant about back country exploration on a day hike through established trails. It’s almost two hours from major hospital care, but a flight for life of less than 20 min. I can see Seattle from The Trail Head- because I’m 3,600′ above sea-level with a spectacular west facing view across the entire Puget Sound Region, and The Olympic Mountains beyond. This eagle eye view of the landscape inspires me every time I catch this view from the edge of The Central Cascades. Then, through a portal of high evergreen canopy, flanking me with spruce and mountain hemlock, slide alder, and bear grass; I am in the subalpine slopes, looking up at crumbling crags of stillness against arching clouds and glacial carved lakes holding the rains of atmospheric rivers. These waters cascade down tectonic uplifting slopes, and to the north and south of this range, rising up outside this chain, two volcanoes, active maws capped in ice to assure us, it’s not often going to blow it’s top.

For this hike, I’ll be turning my back on coastal drama, returning to the rocks of Cascadia. Layers of mountain peaks stretch out beyond my planned hike for today. The series of bowels I’d be skirting, rising slowly on a smooth course, with no switch backs, climbing a mere 600′ in total. From there, I could take some steep climbs up scree slopes, but alone, that was not my first choice of smart moves of the day. I’d gone up alone once, to see the crest to the next rise beyond, a saddle dipping down a more extreme 3,000′, with countless switchbacks. I’ve never gone down “the back side”, but it’s an established trail, so I have plans to ascend it some day. Today, with the ease of my hike, I did take a few off trail scrambles up small hills to check the forest for mycological activity. There had been some low clouds in recent days, which is enough moisture in the air to trigger many mushrooms into fruiting. Temperatures were another matter. Though it was summer and hot in the valley, up at these heights, the heat was bearable, and a dip into one of the alpine lakes would ensure an opportunity to cool off along the way. Val was fast to her favorite smell spot under a huge boulder along the first scree slope the trail cut through. My path was a logging road legacy trail, towering rock battlements loom above, and one gets the sense that this place is very unstable. The large rocks littering the edge of the trail compel timely movement around to the next bowel.

Wandering over the first of two saddles, I pop out on the vista of Lake Nadeau, which is the smallest of the three. I’ve seen surface activity that leads me to believe there are fish in there- but I’ve not carried a pole in yet. There are steep walls down to the shore line, and I’ve hiked sown to the west end, the outflow, which becomes a series of wetland bogs with forested islands till the next sloping drop to Lake Hancock below. This area is magical, with forested peaks, literal triangle towers with craggy outcroppings reaching up to the sky. I have enjoyed summiting a few of these surrounding spires, and the views are spectacular. Most have a ridge that takes you right up to the tip. I do not scramble or climb rock faces out here, the stone is loose and slipping in many places, and rockfalls lay evident on the slopes all around.

The trail arcs to the east, around a much higher ridge with towering old growth Douglas fir trunks twisting out of stone scree with determined crowning snag. Any tree towering above the ridge line or alone on a slope will be wind torn. The damage shows in missing tops, jagged openings where branches, twice as wide as me, strained under gale and ice, bow low over festoon boulders. My dog has picked up on a pika scent, and stands pointing at a rock crevice where I catch a glimpse of a dark brown blur darting back into the protective stone fortress it calls home. The warren of nests and cash sites woven under tones of fallen mountain face have hosted these rodents, and many other wildlife and plant roots for centuries. Before that, a mile of ice or more ground down the basalt and granite core, remnants of a great volcanic chain in a shallow sea. How can this ocean legacy stand now at over 3,000′? Faults are fascinating, and the thought of a force great enough to lift oceans has my awe. Of course, those dynamic activities of volcanoes and shallow seas happened millions of years ago, a stretch of geologic time my brain cannot fully wrap around, and yet here I am, walking over the second saddle and seeing the white limestone layer of coral, overtaken by basalt, and deep red clay left from a huge glacier lake that could have stood here, over this whole depression, before more uplift drained the melting ice into the sea, leaving fertile sediment in the valley floors far below.

Washington State is an impressive geological map of countless terrains, form exotic to Mesolithic, There are young strata hugging some of the oldest on earth, and that reflects the cataclysmic fault lines that run along our Pacific Northwestern coast. When our North American plate lets loose, the Pacific, Cascadian, and Seattle faults rupture, but it didn’t happen today, so I’ll not dwell on it now. Instead, Val and I come down a crowded stand of blueberry bushes, stepping carefully along the muddy bank to a rock outcropping where I like to leave my pack and gear before dipping into Lake Moolock. The water is cold, sometimes too cold for a long swim. I wear a wet-suit when going in. The clear water reflects turquoise in the shallows, and a midnight blue to black depths at it’s center. I don’t swim into deep water here, especially not alone.

Swimming alone in a remote alpine lake is risky, but driving here was worse on the scale of eminent threat. My wet suit makes me more buoyant, I stay in shallow areas where I can stand and touch bottom, and I don’t overstay my visit into the frigid waters. Still, it’s not the safest choice, but I do enjoy some back country swimming in wild water. The lake is so clear and beautiful, and the wildlife in the water with me is awesome. All the amphibians are here- from newts to the Giant Pacific Salamander. They stay well away, but float around nearby, watching the only real predator threat they’ve encountered (besides each other) in this fish free water feature. All of them would be, before people stocked them with trout. Luckily, this gem remains a haven of native species, for now.

When I plan to swim, I pack fins, goggles, and my snorkel. It’s a little extra weight to my day pack, with the wet suit, but I love the chance to get into wild water, and especially this lake, because it’s always been me with the whole lake to myself, and Val of course. She loves a good swim, and will let me know if she thinks I’m swimming too far away from shore and her watchful eye. The south shore where I spend most of my time, is quite shallow for the first ten or fifteen feet out, then gently slopes down into the depths. The north shore is steep, plunging down in a cascade of boulders from the crumbling mountain above. It’s quite a dramatic scene, but I don’t swim over there often, that’s a little too far when I’m out swimming alone. I have circumnavigated the water with a friend, but we had to take time out on the rocks to warm up half way around. Valley wags her tail with relief when I come back to shore.

After letting the sun dry me, I pack up my wet gear and decide to bush wack out a different way, wandering over the saddle at a higher elevation before dropping down onto an unexplored peak. There is a little thick brush to press through along the edge of the woods, but spruce and fir quickly build a canopy above, catching most of the light, and leaving me to wave through fallen branches and slick needle duff on the slope below. When I hiked in, I stuck to the easy sloping trail. This warmed up my muscles and joints, then I swam, using my whole body to move through the water. Now, my frame was ready for the slanted traversing. There’s no flat ground on these peaks, so your ankles and knees take on a lot of extra work. If you’ve not warmed up for this, injuries are probable. The twisting, bending, and scrambling to get around in this terrain can be strenuous, but I love the exploration and coming across new paths and accesses to the area.

My wander took me across two peaks and down towards the north side of Lake Nadeau, where there would eventually be a shear drop, so I angled left, to the east, and found another old logging road grown over with willow and slide alder. Now a game of twister really started. I love climbing through non spiky vegetation. In the lowlands at home, a lot of shrubs have spikes, which get into your hands when you push back the branches. Here, the smooth young saplings were a welcome handrail through the underbrush. I popped out at the crossroads where the main trial was and headed back around the eastern arch of the lake towards the first saddle. The stone blocks along this causeway are very impressive. They line the trail, flanking either side like some king of prehistoric monument. The white granite glimmers in the afternoon sun. It’s a partly cloudy sky with some smoke haze, but there’s no precipitation in the forecast, so I don’t need to be watching the skies for a ques to descend.

Weather at elevation can be deceiving, so study your forecast well before heading into the high country. Summer storms are not uncommon, with clouds building up on the horizon blocked by towering peaks, which do not herald the storm until it’s over-topping the mountain and coming right over head. Always keep an eye on the ridge-line from the direction your weather usually blows in from seasonally. Today, the clouds were strung out in small billows without a sign of rain. It made exploring more relaxing, I was not worried about wind, fog, or sudden cold drops. All these are possible in the mountains, and I’ve had to hike and drive out of fog banks when clouds are low over the mountains. Having your sight line disappear and the winds pick up can be the start of hypothermic weather. That’s what you’re most likely to die from in this environment.

Most of us are not thinking about subtle drains on our reason, like cold. When you’re moving around, you may not notice the cold, but when you slow down, and the sweat on your skin begins the cooling process, shivers set in, and by then, you’re heading into a dangerous count down. We’ve all been cold, shivering, teeth chattering as we stand in a cold place without the right layers of protection. Maybe you run from a sauna into cold snow and quickly back into the steam room, or wear a t-shirt to run the garbage out in the rain, but imagine being far out in the mountains as you begin to loose feeling in the tips of your fingers. Cold seeps in slowly, taking the feeling out of our limbs, making us slow and groggy. Eventually, people think they are too hot and start taking off layers, even shoes and socks. By then, the brain is in survival mode, and most of our reasoning has gone dormant to keep our core alive. If you are alone in this state, no one else is there to tell you it’s happening. You won’t know until it’s too late.

That’s why I’m up here on a warm sunny day, enjoying the end of long days and extended light to guide me back out on the trail home. It’s been a great outing, and Valentine pants along, having gotten out her zoomies, smelled all the scents, and bounded over every rock and log she wished. We had no wildlife encounters, which seems to be what most people worry about outside. With the dog around, I’ve never encountered anything, most animals know to clear out at the sound or smell of K9s. The most dangerous predator we might encounter in the woods is another human. With that in mind, bears and cougars are a rare site indeed. So are other people at this location, though I have run into others on occasion, with pleasant greetings exchanged. No one joined us in the elevations today, but it was a great solo hike with a clear start and finish. Looking at the time, I see I’ve made it back to the trail head with plenty of time to get back down and home before dark.

The light is changing fast as the sun begins to sink into the west. It’s always good to time your day trips into the peaks with plenty of exit room in your schedule. The last thing you want to do is hike out in the dark. I’m at the truck, and enjoying the sunset from atop a boulder near the road. My drive home is familiar, so I’m comfortable making it in the twilight. I’ve already sent a text to my housemate, letting them know I’m back to the truck and getting ready to come home. I give a clear arrival time so they know when to expect me. Even though the hike is over, the drive could still pose obstacles and hindrances to my safe return home. Still, the vehicle is one step closer to being back in my own surroundings once more. As the last of the orange globe sinks over the horizon, I start the hour long meander back down the mountain and across the upper and lower Snoqualmie Valleys, all the way back to my own ridge on Big Rock Road, names for the large glacial erratic at its start in town.

May we all continue to have safe adventures in the outdoors. With good planning, smart gear, knowledge of the terrain, and sharp self awareness, our journeys into the high peaks can be safe and epic at the same time. Good hiking, biking, driving, and exploring to all.

Since we live in a finite world, to gain somewhere means taking from somewhere else. Here in North America, we rarely experience loosing something noticeable, materials are available, but becoming more expensive every day. We’ve gotten quiet about groceries, because we can still order same day delivery, and stream shows on our screens without too much complaint. We the consumers are most adaptable- able to swipe what we don’t want, and receive hundreds of suggestions in our feeds. There will always be something on sale, always a perceived discount from a club card, and even the good old coupons for those who prefer more tangible savings. Here’s the secret- you were already paying too much to begin with, and even with sales and discounts, you’re going to pay more in future. That’s exponential growth in a nutshell, but it’s a one way street- with your costs going up, but your pay stagnating. Welcome to corporate slavery, where you are beholden to investors from an elite “cabal” of money market account controllers. But what does this have to do with lamb love? Liz, are you starting to click bait us with your blog titles? No, because these lambs are beholden to ecological indicators, not stock dividends.

When we can participate in cycles of the natural world, we can better our investment portfolio for long term sustainability. When we can tend literal gardens, instead digital ones, we’ll have the food we need, and abundance to share and barter. When our minds transcend legal tinder, and dive into the waters of community involvement and cultural cultivation, we’ll find a wellspring of initiative, opportunity, and abundance in what’s already growing around us. How can you grow something? Even ideas count in this ecological economy. I’ve seen so many people get involved, then invest in their own systems of production for the better, stronger community involvement, production on holistic scale, enjoyed and encouraged by other like minded producers on limited scale within the bounds of finite resources. And guess what? When more invest in this way of life, it grows in value- just like stocks, but in tangible wealth- food, village, friends, health, and other basic needs being met together. Why is this hard for us today? Because corporate profits rely on individual need and want- rather than collective. If we have public transportation, we don’t need cars. We’d then have less traffic, affordable infrastructure, and less need to go away from the village to get what we need to survive.

When I first started raising small ruminants on my farm, I had to calculate how many animals the land could support, and it took several years, through several different seasonal cycles, to know the capacity of the space and what would keep the ecology in balance. There are plenty of pasture calculators online, but they do not have seasonal drought and flood data for my area, much less the traits of my breeds in play. I’ve talked many times about the living system that we’re working with here on the land. Pasture rotation is crucial for holistic management, and though I live in a temperate rainforest, we don’t get a lot of rain in summer, and without irrigation in the pastures, I am beholden to the rains for production. The industrial world ignores nature’s fluctuation, fitting everything into a nice data point to be logged in a spread sheet of statistical data that brings predictable structure to our corporate overlords, thus making their investments infallible. That’s how our investments keep growing- from one pot to the next in consolidated money market accounts promising a certain percentage gain. That’s the greatest myth holding up our economy to this day- exponential growth.

I can’t keep growing my herd every year, I have finite constraints in production- as does the whole living world. But money can keep appearing, more wealth, consolidated in the top 1% of people on this earth. While most of us watch our slice of the pie dwindle- which is what’s happening on the planet, out ecology- it keeps getting smaller, depleted nutrients in the soil- less nutrition in our food, less water, less affordable places to live, a world of scarcity. What if we could find enough? What would that look like? Here at Leafhopper Farm, the production part of EEC Forest Stewardship, we’re working towards balance, not profit. What is enough sheep for the land? What is an affordable amount of alfalfa to buy for the winter? How few animal can we keep, and how large a herd can we grow? I’ve spent the last ten years trying to answer these questions, and the numbers change every season. I can keep buying some inputs and produce more to sell, broadening the market for hyper local meat, or shrink down to just a few animals for myself, removing the need to buy hay, and returning the production to a sustainable closed cycle, but that’s not the current intention here at the farm. I want to produce enough to sell to my community- creating a food source that is ethical and without chemicals. I also fight to keep my pricing affordable, and make sure I can donate a few lambs to non-profits as well, keeping abundance in the system.

It’s February, and the sheep are grazing, getting alfalfa, and lambing. The most abundant rejuvenation of the herd happens at the most dormant time of the land’s seasonal cycle. I would struggle to raise this many lambs without hay, bedding, and LGDs to watch the flock and keep predators at bay. This system pays for it’s self, why can’t industrial systems be held to the same requirements? If they were, we’d have less options for purchase, and a lag in competition would stagnate the markets. Nature does not operate on these principals. It rests sometimes, not caring about growth, but pausing when there is not enough light, water, or soil to grow. Nature knows its limitations, and will self correct if the balance tilts too far off center. We see trees drop their leaves and slow sap production, flowers go dormant, bulbs sleeping under the ground till warmer weather triggers renewal. We humans are prone to sleeping more when there is less light in the sky, and other mammals go into full hibernation, slowing their biorhythms through the cold dark months. What if we treated our economy similarly? How would that look?

I’m coming at all this from the farm, where there are finite obligations to producing ethical food. What if the world moved in this direction? How can you as a consumer take a step in this direction? Buy local when you can, look for seasonal options in your diet, learn a craft and contribute, volunteer in your community, and get face to face with others, in person. These are simple steps to regrowing our village connection, holistic living, and mental rejuvenation. Just being outside can improve quality of life- in most places. I’ll always note that outside access is a privilege, and nice outside space with green belts, wilderness, or even a playground, can be hard to locate in highly industrialized societies. We were pushed into factories and corporate offices- where we’re still obligated to return today. Where can you undermine these systems? How can you tune out, unplug, or unsubscribe from online addiction? I’m heading out to the pasture now, to move the herd, muck out stalls, and feed the dogs. It’s another beautiful day in paradise, made possible by friends, family, clients, and the plants and animals of this restoration operation. Gratitude to the living world, it’s abundance, the lessons we learn and share together, and those willing to read these reflections. Thank you all.

This is the Google satellite image of Thwaites Glacier. You can see a little signature of the ongoling melt by the ice breakup right along the edge. Now, what you are not seeing is how extensive the breakup is, extending further out into the ocean beyond, though obscured by strange white smearing and blobs of color that easily abstract what’s going on. Below are some clear satellite images to help bring the reality front and center.

In short, this glacier is breaking up very fast, being undercut by warm waters flowing in from the north, ocean currents that carry tropical temperatures down under the ice, melting it far below our visual comprehension. This ice melt is huge, and when it’s done, the sea-level will rise around the world at least 2 feet, and more in some places, like the southeastern US. Thwaites is also known as “The Doomsday Glacier“, because the world coast map will be redrawn when it’s done melting out. Yes, if just that glacier melts, but it’s not just this glacier, all around the edges of Antarctica, the edges of ice are unraveling, cracking off and melting at different rates, depending on where the ocean currents blast the ice with warm tropical water. Even where there are not strong currents, the ice is still in retreat.

Satellite imagery is had to bring into proper scale for our monkey minds, but it’s big stuff when you’re talking about the 5th largest continent on earth. Thwaites glacier is about 74,000 square miles in area. That’s about the size of my home state of Washington. There’s a reason it’s going to have such a profound affect on our ocean waters. The MacAyeal Ice Stream, pictured above left, is also a major ice melt happening in Antarctica. Imagine those icebergs, or sheets breaking off, and know some of them are larger than eastern US states. The ices at our poles are always seasonally dynamic, but in recent decades, someone turned on the hot tap (CO2), and we’re watching a mass melt off that remains exponential and impossible to reverse.

Thank you NOAA, though on the federal website now, it’s just the map of our record since modern record keeping, which, though constantly growing, does not quite hit the mark on our obvious human cause of that CO2 growth since industrialization. It’s crucial that we at least grasp our very recent growth in global output and personal responsibility in this climate change. The knowledge out there is endless, and research still continues today. I’d recommend a recent NOVA episode on PBS about Arctic and Antarctic climate history. Scientists are working hard to collect data to help shape our understanding of the dynamic change in store for our planet. If we can plan ahead a bit, we could figure out adaptation for the rapid climate shifts heading our way. Please be encouraged by a PBS Newshour story about more research being continued on this issue, it sometimes may feel like USA has gone off the rails with climate science and fallen into complete denial of reality, but no, many educators and scientists continue to get the message out about this crucial survival issue.

This is not writing to scare you, but to prepare you for what’s coming in our generation, the next, and those thereafter. We won’t be well settled on Mars before these events come to a head, and coastal cities not already preparing are places to move away from if you can. The storms and violent weather patterns are only going to get worse, and it may be scary to some, but to me, it just means adapting and doing our best to understand why, and what we can do to build resiliency. Visit your cost lines and try to imagine two feet of rise, then a meter of rise, and enjoy the beach while you can. I’d seriously reconsider any beachfront property investment, and avoid basement apartments in coastal tide areas.

It became quite real to me when Sandy hit The East Coast. Places I had known in NYC, when I lived there, were underwater. I’d never seen anything like it. Now flooding in Manhattan is common place, but it was not a few decades ago. That’s measurable change that sends a chill up my spine. With exponential melt happening in our poles, these floods will become common place, and eventually, the water won’t go away after the storm. In another 20 years, I believe this will be happening in low lying areas of coasts all over the world. That’s what I still have trouble comprehending, what a global catastrophe flood would do. COVID game me some idea of global shutdown, but how will the vast majority of world population move inland and re-home at the same time? How will our finite resources handle that kind of migration? Our infrastructure won’t, not without planning now.

My town flooded in Fall, 2025. It was not unheard of, and I’d experienced higher flooding about a decade before, but this was the second 1,000 year flood in a decade, and multiple 500 year floods have come in that time too. What does that say about exponential change? Here’s another bean for your thought pot, our town is 30 miles inland. We’re not coastal, but close enough to feel the effects of sea-level rise and climate change. In another fifty years, our river could have back tide flow, causing salt burn in our agricultural fields. It’s already happening in The Middle East. I was in Jordan in 2018, and saw a rose farm shut down by salt in the aquifer. It’s also starting to bother the farmers in our Skagit Valley up north. The tidegates there are aging out, and the ocean keeps pressing in. This seawater intrusion will also salinize wells and water tables further inland as sea-levels rise. We’re not talking about this enough.

I know it’s a lot, and so many will be affected, but you can start learning now, forming your own plan of adaptation, and making smart choices when and where you can. I’ve talked about daily changes we can all make in these writings, and online is a treasure trove of many options and ideas still. The most important thing you can do is accept this change is coming, and learn what might be expected, especially in the next 20-30 years. It will be in my lifetime, and probably yours. But hey, I also choose to live in one of the most technically active places on earth, where there is more than likely going to be an unimaginable great quake nearby within my lifetime too, so how do I sleep at night- scale. The geologic scale of a great quake means we could wait another 2-300 years before it happens, or tomorrow. I get into my car often, never thinking about that very high risk, probably the most perilous thing a person does almost daily- but we don’t think too much about it. The climate change challenge is at least a weekly thought in my head, but I also made plans over a decade ago, and here I am, up 600′ of elevation, on a relatively stable ridge, with a lot of fresh water, ecology, and temperate climate.

I’m not saying we should all go start a farm on a ridge somewhere- a lot of people in Asheville had hill farms, that Hurricane Helene wiped out. Fire will wipe our farm off the face of this earth very quickly- when it comes. That’s the most likely scenario for Leafhopper Farm, but EEC Forest Stewardship would be right back to planting native trees and shrubs, relocating logging road edge side ground covers to the landscape, which has millions of years of ecological fire relationship. The plants and animals rebound quickly after mass devastation strikes. Just look at lawilátɬa. Dynamic landscapes are resilient to change of all kinds, that’s what makes this area so special to me. Even after the big quake, the land will continue it’s abundant rejuvenation. Those are the lessons I take in every say I step outside and reflect on this land. It’s been through a heck of a lot in this century alone, including the complete removal of forests thousands of years old. I believe they will be back here one day, with humans continuing to live along side, perhaps more closely intertwined with the natural world as we once were.

Winter’s wonderland remains austere as longer daylight hours invite more adventures back into the mountains where Val and I picked up some tracking dirt time in The Central Cascades. I’d not planned on tracking, but a fresh dusting of soft powder and the right afternoon light left incredible sign on the trail. The dog is not an easy tracking buddy, as she has no appreciation for the prints already placed on the ground for us to observe. She has learned, along with me over the years, that staying back behind the human staring strangely at the ground earns more reward and less correction. There were some wonderful stories left in the substrate for our learning pleasure, and I took time to observe and record, instead of getting somewhere further on. Since there was already so little snow, I could walk easily in snow boots without postholing. Quite a bit of the trail was actually melted off, showing glistening wet stone along the cliff edges of the mountainside. In direct sunlit areas, the sound of dripping water echoed through the groves of spruce and mountain hemlock as the last of the overnight snow melted away. Still, it was cold enough, and sheltered enough along my hike to catch a glimpse of what’s moving around these peaks.

Sometimes tracks form an individual set, and more often, they are scattered about in a collection of multiple species going about their day or night. Squirrel and snowshoe hare were two expected ground dwellers leaving a trail from burrows to larders, water sources, and easy track ways connecting these crucial resources. Between all the little scurrying creatures, a larger set of earlier tracks comes right through along the human trail. The larger set of tracks were confident, steady in direction and pace, assured of safe travel out in the open. These were the footprints of a predator. The size and spacing of each paw gave me a size estimate, and from a distance, the animal could easily be coyote or bobcat. At this elevation, a lone coyote would be a little surprising. As I looked closer at the tracks, other shapes and behaviors moved the mystery closer to feline origins.

The most obvious dimorphism helping me see the animal is a bobcat is the roundness of the track. Canines have much more oval shaped paw prints, and this animal’s feet are much more circular, like a cat’s. In multiple pictures above, you can look very closely and also see individual pads of the cat’s toes in the tracks, which are more teardrop shaped. A k9’s toes are oval shaped, and aligned in a symmetrical pattern, where a cat’s toes are asymmetrical. It’s very hard to show all this detail in the pictures above, but in person, the signs were clear, and I enjoyed trailing this animal for about half a mile on the trail I was hiking. It stopped to check a hollow log, crouched down between two young willows for a moment, maybe to watch potential prey without being seen. It also knew where it was going, and had probably traveled this trail many times before. It turned at intersections without hesitation, and moved to the edges with more cover effortlessly along it’s way. Reading the behavior of these wild creatures brings me great joy, and many lessons. I’m glad to share them with you, and perhaps inspire your own tracking adventure in the snow. You don’t have to be out in the wilds to follow some tracks, a park or backyard holds all sorts of nature mysteries in tracks and sign for you to see if you look. Gratitude to all the wildlife and wilderness available to learn from, and having access to it.

There are always mycological mysteries in the woods to look for here in The Pacific Northwest. These turkey tail variants were a bright spot in the leaf litter and fallen branches from recent wind storms in the fall of 2025. Now, the last day of January 2026 reveals more breakdown happening in these fungal forests. Debris is the key to a healthy temperate rainforest. Needles, leaves, logs, stumps, and twigs were once part of something living that banked nutrients and sun energy into living material, which in time, follows through its lifecycle and returns to dead matter on the ground from whence it came. Thus, the nutrients and sun energy is returned to the soil and redistributed back into the forest for current and future vegetative growth. That’s how massive forests continue to mature and survive. The mushrooms are playing two key roles in this cycle by breaking down the dead matter, and carrying it around through their mycelia, underground, to surrounding parts of the forest that need the nourishment.

Ecosystems are collective, complex parts of a working whole. If any one part is removed, the system can collaborate to fill the gaps, but if too many parts are removed, the system must evolve into something else, usually, an ecosystem less productive and more vulnerable to climate change. For example, where there are intact rainforests from peak to shore along The West Coast, there is less erosion from flooding because established root systems buried in 10-12 or more feet of topsoil with layers of material on the ground to protect the soil, which still acts as a sponge to soak up rain and hold it. This is how our old growth forests all over the world defend against fire, drought, flooding, and even freezing, as a large body of biomass is harder to drop the temperature of. Man I could have written that better, but there’s a nice long link line to click on for scientific elegance.

Our fungal friends remain an indicator species of soil health, though sometimes, a mushroom is unwelcome because of our preconceived notions on what’s healthy or attractive in our surroundings. To be sure, mold in food or mildew in our bathroom are not healthy fungal neighbors, in the soil outside, mushrooms are crucial, and though they may not always be the mushrooms you want to see, they are playing a role in ecological virility that should compel us to take note and embrace these breakdown cycles. When they are present in a still living tree, that’s a signal that the trees health is poor, and it’s better to recycle it back into the soil for a healthier tree or two to start. But landscaping does not like rotting wood on the ground- unless chipped and spread, which is putting a mulch layer down, but not at the slow rate needed to maximize the return of nutrients.

Humans get hung up in maximizing time, because we’re taught to dwell on death and how short our lives are. What if we turned that on it’s head a bit, and thought of a bigger picture we’re folded into? I think that’s where this current drive of religion comes from, we want to belong and share a story- we do, as living animals on this earth. Our individual part to play is so varied, like our personalities and abilities as people. Imagine if we were given the time and space to find our gifts within community, realizing our place, and being fully supported by those around us, because our gifts enhance their gifts through collective work and exchange. Nature is demonstrating this every day, and we the people chose to move further away from our natural rhythms with this earth, shutting out the very world we cannot live without, that irony still keeps me up at night sometimes.

In the Winter months, when the light is short and there is a little more personal time to reflect and turn inward, I try to look at nature more closely, seeking her guidance and gleaning inspiration for the coming Spring. Something that always pops up in my path, no matter where I’m walking, are mushrooms.

What a show- and it’s free to the inquiring eye, but also in my ears through bird song and crackling leaves underfoot, the bubbling brook along the path, and snapping twigs as I brush against the Salmon-berry stocks. The scent of decomposing wood, mossy wet rocks, and wet earth fills the air. This living system folds into my deepest memories, ancestral trails winding back into far distant memory. My whole body comes alive with it, moving through the forest and reliving foundational steps taken by all my relations. How can this experience not be healing? Why stay away from it? So many do, and some, not by their own choice, but by the make of our world today, much of our habitat is artificial light and stone, the makings of a prison for the mind and body. We can redesign, but not all of us will live in futuristic clear plastic jungle domes or rooftop garden paradise. Think of how suburban topiary and turf lawns might feel. Hey, even a house plant need light and water, make sure you get those two too.

We like to simplify things, so we don’t have to think too hard about basics, in most cases, but nature is another world from that one, it cannot be put into a pot, dressed with an LED, and given sugar and spice lattes to survive. Somehow, we’ve come to believe we can live like that, and the cracks of this facade are showing. In fact, the wall is coming down around us right now, and we’re worried about what time our next package will arrive. Time out people, circle up for a little nature insight. Go outside. Can you see the sky? Sunlight gives us much needed nutrients for our survival. Can you take a deep breath? Fresh air keeps out lungs healthy and strong. Can you touch living soil? I’m not talking about a sandbox or mulch playground- I mean dirt that’s continuous to the mantle of our planet’s core, with vegetation growing in it- that’s living soil. If any one of these basics does not exist in your world, you are bound to have some serious health problems. I’ve not even gone into the fourth key element of sutvival, safe drinking water, because we’re all challenged in that realm- microplastics and forever chemicals are global, so even in the rainforests of far off jungles (those really don’t exist anymore), our better living through chemistry has gifted us generational cancer rates that are exponential like Amazon Prime profits, and we keep streaming away, never imagining the streams nearby run full of unseen pollution that is in the bodies of babies when they are born.

But hey, mushrooms could help us with most of these pesky forever chemicals and microplastics, because there are species of mushrooms that eat toxins, neutralizing them in some cases, or at least binding them in a far less radical form. Our fungal friends cannot get us outside and reconnected on their own, unless, like me, you are excited to go see them outside. Luckily, there are literally millions and billions of other organizes outside to learn about and love, or get grossed out by, or feel a joy from. That’s the beauty of nature, it’s full of never ending lessons, good lessons, for us all. It’s also the first place I found myself, really connected with who I am and what brings me joy. Being outside is our best teacher, and great for the health of our bodies, including eyes that spend way too much time on screens today. Vision is children atrophies sooner when they are not outside, the dense layers of nature actually strengthen our eyes by forcing us to look at several depths all the time.

When humans began to see nature as something to exploit, rather than live with and be nourished by through a deep interconnected relationship, we began to evolve away from connection and caring. It’s been generations of removal, extraction, and abuse of the land that holds us. Even though much of the landscape we live in today pales to its former wildness, the mushrooms remain present and working hard decomposing and redistributing resources throughout the complex ecology of this earth. Our fungal friends do not give up, just shift in adaptation to the world as it continued to change. This is a good mindset for us all to take in. Perhaps it’s time for a change? I’m not sure exactly what that looks like, but the best change I’ve seen, happens outside.

It’s why I chose to live in a place where I could be outside year round and the living world around me remains bountiful and alive, with ocean shores, alpine peaks, rainforests, and step-desert all in one state. I’m walking in a state park just south of Seattle. It’s a densely developed surrounding area, but there was space made for trees and creeks too. Though the land was clearcut a century ago, younger trees are starting to girth out, showing potential for old growth some day. A volcano could change everything tomorrow, nature can still be a truly destructive force, but she’s equally durable, rebounding in her ever abundant way. We would do well to learn from her, and spend less time trying to get in her way. Our demand for convenience, this sycophant to cooperate power through economic dominion, clouds our judgment today. I’m not sure what can free us from this tyrannical bond, but Frodo really should get that ring to Mt. Doom, if you know what I mean.

The opposite is true in this situation, one of the young Cemani roosters had been roughed up by our enthusiastic Kangals, survived, and found temporary reprieve as he recovered, in the house, with the kittens. We’d had a bought of below freezing temperatures, and the bruised chicken had not been able to get enough grain, causing a drop in weight, and a need for some R&R. A temporary bin home was set up, with water, unlimited grain, and fresh dry bedding, near the woods stove. For the kittens, it was a chance to learn bird manners, leaving the rooster to perch and inspect his feline housemates. After a few days of close contact, all the animals were at peace together in the living room. I was even able to put out a towel for the bird so he could stretch and move about a bit as he grew stronger. It’s the first time I’ve hosted a maturing bird in the house like this- weather compelled the indoor housing, and right in the middle of things helped me keep a good eye on his improvement, and offer the fast growing young felines some stimulation and restraint training, which they took to quite well.

Training animals when they are young is crucial to getting manners and safe handling throughout the animal’s lives with people. I’ve talked about the importance of domesticity in domestic. All animals on the farm are well domesticated, and have a few social ques built in with their upbringing. The rams would be my only exception, they are intact males for breeding, though they are handleable enough- with great care, to be moved by hand when necessary. The chickens are not prone to being picked up, but if I lift them off their roost at night, or need to pick one up to help them, like in this example, the animal should acclimate to the process without struggle (when done properly). That last part is key. If I don’t get the right grip and balance in the hold, the animal might feel unbalanced or vulnerable to the contact and struggle, which means flailing of wings, claws, teeth, hooves, and in short, peril to the handler- that’s me. I sometimes wear gloves, and often have long sleeves and pants on. Birds like to be supported under the keel- and if you don’t know what that is, don’t pick up a bird. Sheep need head directing, so I place a hand under the chin of the animal to point it in the right direction while the other hand is on the rump, pushing the animal forward. The kittens are still being lifted by the scruff of the neck, then cradled against the chest. Your skill in handling will reflect in the temperament of your animal.

Animals will reflect our intentions back at us. The chicken in the house would become vocal if I walked by or stood up. The bird was tracking my movement and action and would move away if I came to close when he was out on his towel. By the end of his stay inside, I knew he was ready to return to the coop when he began straying off around the house, pecking around. I knew if he was that mobile, he felt good enough to return to his flock. The kittens are still inside learning house rules like, “not on the table” and “out of the kitchen”, to name a few. I have a taxidermy goose in the living room, complete with fake sedges and dirt ground at it’s webbed feet. This would be a playground for kittens, but a few days of “off” and “leave it” have led the cats to ignore it all together. Now, I would not trust them with it long term without my oversight, but in future, they will leave it alone, knowing it’s not their territory to be in. I claim things- it’s great practice in boundaries. The couch is mine, kitchen, table surfaces, shoes, books, even bowels with human food in them left on the ground. The training continues, but for the most part, these kittens are picking up on the communications fast.

Not everything works out well in basic training. Kittens are energetic, and knocked over a heavy object the other day in their romping around. Said object fell onto light, breakable objects, and chaos ensued. Gladly, both kittens were ok, but the vulnerable glass objects were shattered. You win some, you loose some. I did not get angry at the cats- I did hurry to put them away so they would not get into the glass shards, but it was not their fault for roaming and playing. As an animal handler, that’s your hardest job to remember- it’s not the animal’s fault. These creatures are in the moment, and we have a hard time joining them there. Both parties can be frustrated. That’s another tell to the handler that the animal needs a break- and the person, also an animal, too. I like to use the term handler, because people only have so much control. Take that lesson and hold it close. We’re hands on with animals- and at one time physical domination was thought by most, to be the only way to keep domestication. Times have changed, and the world of animal communication is at hand.

My kittens may not reason out the complex dialogue of language I’m offering, but they do get one animal telling another to back off- leave a place, or simply leave something alone. Koban, my young Kangal LGD is learning this lesson well. He’ll be 130lbs when full grown, and I already strain a bit to move him off with one hand, if I need to. “Off” is a crucial word he has to respond to. When I walk into his pasture with food, he could leap up and knock me down, but he does not, instead, he sits, because he was taught at a very early age that, when he’s excited, he should sit. And folks, he does. There will be future challenges around this, so I have to earn his respect by remaining consistent and fair. Animal handlers have to give a fair ask to get a positive response. Koban know he will get to eat, but he must first sit and wait- all my dogs do this. I also have to give him a clear release command to eat. He’ll wait patiently, but I can’t ask him to do that all day, that would not be fair. I can keep him engaged with training while he is eating, pick up the bowl of kibble for a moment, then put it back down, pet him all over, including his feet and belly while he’s standing. Soon, I’ll clip his nails, brush him, and even pick up his back end while he eats. Not all the time, and now through his entire meal, but I will disrupt him with handling and closeness around food, because that keeps him docile and easy going while he eats.

Koban will even come get pets while he’s eating, showing that his relationship to his food is non-aggressive, he’s not worried, which would become fear, which becomes a bite when someone gets too close. Instead, he’s chill, attentive, and confidant- without being overt. Does he still occupationally jump up in excitement when I come in with his food? Yes, but he’s learning, and when undesirable behavior happens, it’s a perfect training moment to remind him of what’s wanted. “Down” followed by “good down” when he does it- remember to reflect back a positive response to positive behavior- and be specific. “Good dog” is amorphous- connecting “down” with “good down” reinforces the behavior asked for.

What happens when the desired behavior does not manifest? It’s not the animal’s problem- it’s you. Maybe you were unclear, certainly the animal needs more training, try backtracking to a behavior they do offer and step off it into the next behavior, try again, or perhaps, and this is often true with my Kangal, give the animal more time to complete the desired behavior after you ask for it. It’s never a good idea to repeat a command- they heard it the first time, repeating it confuses them. Well, she’s making that sound again and gesturing, I thought it meant one thing, but she keep saying it so it must not really mean anything. Pro tip- drop “no” from your animal handling vocabulary. It’s not a desired behavior, it’s overused, and becomes the first numb word in any animal’s own vocabulary. “Sit”, sit”, “sit”, “sit”- becomes the voice of adults in The Peanuts Cartoons. With my Aussie cattle dog, I will physically move her into a sit if she “ignores” me, and then say, “good sit” to reinforce the desired behavior.

Not all animals are created equally- there are many limitations depending on species you’re working with. Val is a high functioning breed- she could know thousands of words, most I didn’t actively teach her. She is very independent, so commands are sometimes more like suggestions, but she does know when she’s not offering the desired behavior- and how. Still, I’m responsible, I chose to get a high functioning, independent breed that’s known for being strong willed, but also very devoted to those who earn it. There are days when I can tell she’s not having me lead the day, but she does come around most of the time, especially because she’s food motivated. The chicken in my living room right now, remains at the other end of that functioning scale. It can’t understand the limitations of a towel, not pooping when it needs to, or that my house plants are not a viable salad bar. So it’s not left in the living room unattended. Proper boundaries for animals and people makes for a much happier domestic life.

Soon the chicken will go back outside to rejoin the flock, and the cats will continue their house training, while Val looks on from the covered porch, awaiting her next meal. Down at the barn, the ewes allow me to attend them in lambing- what trust! Koban is taking a lesson from Gill in how to meet and greet the new members of the flock- animals can and do “train” other animals. I am so thankful for Gill’s ability to assist in showing Koban what his role is on the farm. When it’s time for patrol, Gill takes the lead, but he’s letting Koban bark more, as the pup find his adult dog voice. Maybe Gill is having a little laugh listening to his young pack mate’s mewling whine evolve into a guttural howl, before rounding out in one or two deep throated barks. Koban takes it all in stride, but he is soon due for a teenage breakdown, where he’ll be growing so fast, his brain will literally shut off many of his learning functions, just to keep up with the body as it matures. Again, I have to be aware of this and not come down on him too hard when he rebels. Find the good behavior where you can. It’s a never ending learning journey, and one I’m deeply grateful to have experience with. Gratitude to all the animals I work with, learn form, and try to teach, or at least, sway towards domestic behavior when I can.

It was a wonderful day of community learning and adventure in our local Ollalie State Park. Ollalie is a Chinook word for salmon berry, a favorite local native plant fruit. The Twin Falls Trailhead takes us on a 2.4 mile round trip excursion to see some excellent water features on The South Fork of The Snoqualmie River. Yes, the lands are ancestral to Lushootseed Speaking people of the area, and we acknowledged this important legacy before starting our hike. The recent historic flooding in our area was evident along the trail and in the river, where huge logs stood atop glacial erratic boulders, hanging nearly ten feet in the air. It was an impressive reminder of what water can do to a landscape. The same powerful flow of this water is harnessed for hydroelectric by Puget Sound Power and Light, but you will not see any of the industrial facilities in the park, they are hidden high above the cascading falls, with turbines hidden down a drilled tunnel through the mountain to avoid disturbing the natural views.

Our group was energizes, and listened with great attention as I shared knowledge about medicinal and edible plants along the way, forest ecology basics and what to look for in the environment, and practical survival skills introduction, including shelter construction, water purification, and how to build a fire safely in a forest. It was a class for all ages of adult women, and we kept up a great spirit of camaraderie throughout the hike. There were some challenging obstacles, including slick black ice on part of the trail, that brought some of us to our knees as we ascended. Patience, cooperation, and good communication got us up and through that skating rink, and our group was able to make it to the middle falls before the trail closed for flood repair. Spirits were high as we turned to make our decent, with plenty of learning in our heads.

The highlight for me was sharing my knowledge, and reflecting with others. It was a full four hours of download, sharing plant information, answering questions about survival skills, and collectively pondering on how to help restore our temperate rainforests. We noted the recreational impact of the trail, how people engaged with nature in public parks, and what we could do to continue our learning in nature together. Some of the questions these amazing folks offered were great food for thought, part of why, at least for me, group learning is crucial to community connection and shared understanding. From the start of the day, I made it clear that we would be learning together, sharing our insight, and forming new understanding of ourselves and the environment around us. The group was wonderful, I could not have asked for a more engaged and authentic crew of people to be out in the woods with.

Mari Lwyd was spotted wandering Duvall in mid January, 2026. The Welsh tradition of “The Grey Mare” is part of winter wassail, mummering, and general winter festivity. There was general curiosity and good will at the sight of a skeletal horse head entering the pubs and taverns. All were welcoming, and we drank cider at every stop- pouring a little into planters or soil where we could in thanks for the bounty of spring. Winter traditions usually hearken back to warmer times, reminding us that we will survive another cold dark season, only to return to the light with new growth and abundance when the growing season starts once more. Wassailing is a specific tradition to bless the apple trees for a good crop in the coming year, so that more cider can be made to give many cups of good cheer. The beverage has a strong history here in America, being one of the only safe liquids to drink in early colonial times. Every homestead had an apple orchard, and you can still find legacies of these fruit stands across the US. Johnny Appleseed was an early planter of this important food crop, though his seeds were wild, and often grew into non-edible varieties, which were still good for pressing into cider.

I’ve been involved in mummering before, and love the idea of a winter celebration to get us out of our houses and into the village together. Singing and dancing through life would be our ideal, and in times where screens and passive watching have become the norm, stretching out of our normal comforts to connect together is more important than ever. I would ask each of us to seek out these opportunities where they exist, and if there’s nothing local to get involved in, create your own local traditions to celebrate. How can you contribute to community connection? What are some important songs for you culturally? Where do you go to seek out others in times of need?

Though it’s not mentioned in the known histories of Mari Lwyd, I thought of another important reason the grey mare might have been wandering through the neighborhood in times of old, going from house to house to ask for a cup of good cheer and something to eat. The mummers would know who could afford to give of their bounty, and who would need help. Houses that were struggling would not be able to share cider and bread or dry meats. Perhaps the poorer members of the community would be in the wassail group to receive the abundance from homes that could afford to be generous. These exchanges were crucial to village survival. The ancient songs speak to these rituals of shifting wealth from those that have to those in need. Generosity of spirit and material wealth has always been a part of community connection and thriving. That spirit lives on today in volunteering, philanthropy, and open hearts and minds that continue to keep camaraderie and togetherness a central part of village life. May we all take time to sit with the grey mare, asking ourselves how we can contribute to our village custom and tradition for the people.

The babes are landing here at Leafhopper Farm! Our ewes timed their hormonal activation with the cold spell, which is not unusual. Weather snaps trigger labor, so I was down night and day with fresh towels checking for wet lambs on the ground. Mamma was ahead of me every time. Katahdin sheep are very good mothers, meaning they stay right with their lambs when they drop, and clean them thoroughly, as well as making sure they suckle and stay close. Not all sheep breeds have kept these instincts, especially in larger industrial flocks where every lamb is delivered and checked by people who tag, mark, and manage thousands of animals. I really can’t imagine doing this, and would never want to. Sheep can be great mothers, and go through labor just fine on their own, in fact, when a ewe went into clear labor while I was finishing the setup for a new lamb and mamma, I left for about an hour, then came back to check in on things and the lamb was safely delivered, cleaned, and nursing just fine. I do put ewes and their new babes into separate little temp stalls while they bond. In less than 72 hrs, the new family unite is brought back into the main herd to keep the connections with their flock.

There are many labor signs to look for in a ewe, but goop is the sure signal she’s’ about to drop her lambs. We’ve had two sets of twins and one single so far, with many more ewes still growing bellies. It’s always a trick for me to guess one or two, but this year, the twins were more obvious, and I’m glad we’re back to having more twins again in 2026. Last year, there were no twins at all, and I learned that I might have introduced the rams when the ewes were a lower summer weight, and therefor, the ovulation cycles were less productive, giving us all singles. It was a lesson in timing, like so much of working with nature- cycles of boom and bust we humans rarely experience any more, much less pay attention too. This year, I made sure the ewes were at the peak of spring grazing fitness, fat and happy, before introducing the rams. The timing has paid off, and I’ll keep a closer watch on the condition of my ewes, letting that dictate ram introduction, rather than when I’d prefer to time my lambing season.

Our newest twins came on the 25th of January, 2026. They are a pair of very healthy boys, out of the bellwether of our flock, Lickety-split. Ruckus has brown tipped ears, and his brother, Rubik’s Cube, had the black spot on his shoulder. “R” names for 2026, and I’m coming up with lots of fun ways to name a lamb. The other twins are Rolo (candy) and Ruby, fraternal, and the single is Riot Girl. Rolo has what I like to call the primitive sheep markings- a white “X” on his face. It’s a sure sign he’s reverting back towards his wild ancestor genetics, which is not bad, so long as he remains poled (no horns) and a hair sheep, meaning less to no wool in his coat so he can shed it well each Spring. Katahdins sheep shed their wool, so no shearing necessary. This Spring, I will be collecting some of the hair that’s shed for a friend’s needle felting craft. Hair can be felted, and still used for material. Though wool is much more suited to cloth making, the art of felting offers a lot of crafty ways to use the fiber.

Riot Girl was a huge single lamb, the second single from Opal, who has some important flock genetics, but might get culled soon because she’s only dropping singles. I did keep her ewe lamb from last year, Quartz, who is carrying a lamb as a first year- a good sign. Riot is looking like a great prospect for breeding, but only time will tell. Sometimes it takes a few years to iron out the genetic possibilities, but it’s a lot of good learning, and fun guessing what might appear along the way. The flock is looking so good this year, they have kept their weight on well, which speaks to the calm barn setting and good alfalfa quality we’re now banking on for good breeding results. With a second ram in the planning again, I’ll have a lot of options on how to split up the genetics in this next round. I’ve actually tried to have a second home bred ram a couple of times in the past, but in one case, the older ram got beat up by the ram lambs and died from internal injuries, and the aggressive ram lambs I was planing to overwinter went to slaughter because of temperament issues. This year, 2026, Okie will continue his duties as head ram, while Quinn, a ram lamb from 2025, will be getting his first introduction to a few ewes for breeding in a separate herd this year. It might end up being too much separation and extra work, but I’d like to get at least tow distant lines going for long term genetic health in the flock. It’s never an easy goal with such a small herd. Too few differences to really keep the DNA fresh.

The lambs grow up so fast, I sometimes forget that within a few days, they are eating hay and drinking water on top of the rich milk diet. This little lamb time god quick, so I find myself spending a little more time in the barn watching the babes romp and run amongst their feeding flock family. Even in the 20F temperatures in recent weeks, the lambs are born and thrive. They are so well coordinated for this lifestyle, and can survive a lot of challenges at birth with the help of their capable mothers. I’m really lucky to have found such a great breed of sheep to work with. Katahdins are calm, patient, gentle, and great mothers. In the eight years that I’ve worked with this flock, I’ve come to love the breed, and hope to convince others, especially sheep beginners, that this is the breed for you. They also taste amazing, mild and flavorful, without the grease of a wool sheep, or the mutton taste with age. My 7 year old ewes taste as good as the lambs. This meat breed was developed for the human pallet, not cloth guilds. If you are looking for a great meat breed that makes it’s weight without grain, choose Katahdin all the way!