Friday, February 24, 2017

I've spent my entire life answering for myself. Answering for "Me"

I've spent my entire life answering for myself. For my care. For being unorthodox.

For trying to be just "me."

As a little girl, I remember being made to feel less, made to feel uncaring, confused and wrong. . . because I worried about animals.

My first word, the first of my life, the story goes, was "Horsie."

But I didn't have a horse. But my, how they were on my mind even then before I was even two years old.

I remember being so small and still crying in the backseat because another litter of puppies covered in mange was left on the roadside even as I begged for someone the help them.

I know, back then, it was everywhere in rural Appalachia, and there was no way to help them all. My parents did let me try to help. But I was too young to know how.

No social media. No understanding of altering these animals. No way to find safe homes. So many showing up at the doorstep over and over.

My daddy was a man full of compassion for animals, he really was.
He had to hunt to avoid starvation as a little boy. To help his mother with 12 children because the land wasn't really hospitable to agriculture. He told me he had to kill too much to ever believe hunting for sport was decent. He did not, for a moment, act in a cruel way to an dog, cat, chicken or livestock, in as much as he understood. . . being a man born in 1923 in the poorest region of the United States.

Years went on. I grew, and I was always made to believe my compassion for animals meant I didn't care for people. I couldn't understand this, as a child. I had to wonder, "Is something wrong? What is messed up within me?" I didn't feel like I discarded humans for people, but adults told me I did over and over. I had to wonder. I seemed to me that people discarded everything for themselves, both man and beast. It seemed to me what they said to me reflected more on their lack of action, but so many said the problem was within me.

I remember when I became a vegetarian at 14, people laughed and were so cruel. It didn't change my course, though. I imagine no one is shocked at that. I suppose in my county, no one had heard of such a thing. I remember my beloved Daddy's disappointment until his death that I would do something like this. Sigh. People rolled their eyes anytime I mentioned it. 21 years later, not much has changed, though I spent 20 years as a traditional vegetarian and have been a pescetarian for 3. Lord, never talk about that stint as a vegan.

I grew up. We all do. I'd like to say none of this mattered. But it did. I tried to tell myself centering a life on animal welfare was wrong because everyone told me it was: the my desire to help animals was a life being wasted that could be spent helping people. Everyone who came into my path told me so, after all.

Tinia:

Be a daughter. A sister. A granddaughter. A wife. A student. A worker. A mother. A "typical" Christian. Be anything at all but who you are because who you are fails. It isn't good. It is a failure.

"Animals. . .Tinia, they do not matter."

"They are just animals."

"God doesn't care about them much. The passage in Proverbs that St. Francis so often noted which equated Righteousness with kindness to animals was only a joke, honey."

"Your concern for them means you're misguided. Not saved. Not good. Not even decent. It means you do not care for people."

I will not lie. There are times, It has gotten to me while alone and I have wondered. . ."am I wasting life I could have used for people?"

But I haven't, folks. It has taken me until my mid 30's to know.

Beings are beings: Innocent and deserving of kindness. And people are connected to animals in such a way, never is an animal's life touched that humans, in so many ways, aren't shaken to the core, changed, helped, made stable. ..that they do not have faith in humanity restored.

I'm past feeling wrong. Feeling as if I've pursued the wrong course.

This course was laid out for me from the time I was born. From the time my daddy who made it through the Great Depression and my mother . . .made me. . .it is me. Was and Is.

The things that moves your soul from the time you use language, from the time you can recall moments, the things that make you stop, pause and think. . .that is who you are. Heavens. Don't question it.

The people who have and still tell me I pursue things amiss are wandering without a purpose. That is their failure. It is not mine.

Perhaps they envy the ability to know and run into your purpose for being on Earth.

It took 3 decades and then some to be sure of it. . . that I am not the confused party.

Passions born in you from the first memories of life are never there by chance.

Please never let anyone tell you otherwise. Do not be me and spend 30 years and more figuring that out. Please.

Those things are never there by chance, happenstance or error, folks. That is the person you were born to be, and By God, please never lose sight of THAT person. Too many have and will.

If you're fortunate enough to feel something that deeply, never turn and walk away for any reason. Not for any reason.

Thursday, February 23, 2017

When you love your dog enough to let him go: A Sad Chronicle of Woe.

When you love your dog enough to let him go: A Sad Chronicle of Woe.
Bandit was my 3rd Livestock Guard Great Pyrenees over the last 8 years.
All of my Pyrs have been rescues. All have had a need and came here to work well. Amazingly well.
Bandit is my 3rd. He has been my best. The best. He is, literally, the best dog of my life. My family's life.
He is kind and fierce and loyal.
He came to me young, and he will leave me old.
Bandit came here at about 2 years old. He is now about 9. Aged for a giant breed of Dog.
In the past few months, he has decided patrolling our farm is boring. He has decided wandering far beyond this neighborhood that has long appreciated his diligence to keeping out aggressive stray dogs and coyotes is the best plan he can come up with.
He will not stay here in our neighborhood.
What?! You say, "He wasn't fenced in?" No. He wasn't. He patrolled all our land and that of the locals and did an amazing job. He was free to roam the the 1/2 mile of safe "guard" space for 7 years. He did an amazing job.
But he stopped. He decided his "space" included many, many more miles. Over and over. He always came back, but the risk was now too great.
That sounds like a small issue to city or pet Dog folks. Keep him inside. Put him in a fence. Lock him up. Be responsible. That sounded great. I love this dog.
I tried that. He is a senior guy now. No need to work, buddy. Retire inside.
But that isn't who this guard dog is. . .he is a wandering, working dog. He gets out or begs to no matter what happens. He doesn't want to retire. I want NOTHING more than to want him to retire.
He isn't ready. Probably never will be ready.
So for over a month, I've kept him in, prayed, begged, cried and tried to keep him fenced in, keep him inside with me. . .tried to walk him, let him out on a 100' cable to exercise freely (but he knows better). He goes over the fence, and when he cannot get himself free because he is inside or on a cable, He lays and cries, poops all over the house (something he would never typically do), howls and barks and refuses food. His hips bother him when they never did before because he will not even walk around because he knows he cannot patrol and guard. He just cries and howls all day and all night.
I thought this was a phase. He'd stop and get used to retirement and confinement in the house. But sadly, he started wasting away.
And I realize my emotions were getting the better of me. Here is this amazing dog who wants to work and can work so well.
I knew a couple looking for an experienced guard, who needs an experienced guard. . .who lives 20 miles from a "real" road or civilization.
He can go and train the next generation to work and protect, and he will love it and do so well, just like he taught Layla for us.
I tried to back out tonight and tell my husband I couldn't let him go, and he said the right thing to me, and that was, "Tinia, that isn't for him. That for you."
He is right. I have to let him go. He is miserable. Time and chance hasn't allowed me to keep him until the end. He isn't happy and deserves to be happy.
Of course, he goes with his new person knowing he will always come back to me if he needs to, and when his time grows short, I'll be there. If he ever stops wishing to work, he will always come back here.
These are the times farming and caring enough sucks.



Tuesday, February 21, 2017

How to Bottle raise goat babies (KIDS)

Bottle raising goat kids: HOW?

I get messages and calls SO OFTEN this time of year. . .

A goat emergency. . .someone has a listless kid that will not eat. There is a very young kid was near death and vets or breeders have told the person to raise the goat kid on milk replacer. . .or the newbie breeder or buyer can't get the kids on the bottle.

First, "Please, NO REPLACER. Take the kid off REPLACER now, if you're using it. Put the kids on Whole cow's milk (never 2%) if local, tested goat's or cow's milk can't be had."

As always, if the folks know how to feed the kid, the kid is then perfectly fine within a day or so.

Replacer kills kids at a huge rate. It isn't as good as store bought milk, and it certainly isn't as good a real (disease tested) cow or goat's milk.

I've been getting these calls for MANY years now, and the answer THAT HAS ALWAYS WORKED has been - NO REPLACER. WHOLE COW'S MILK if goat's milk isn't available. Every single person who has called me and listened to what I suggested has saved their kids.

Keep this in mind when you sell bottle kids or purchase them - please tell buyers this and please understand this as buyers.

Sometimes kids live being fed by replacer, but it isn't typical.

People will tell you how replacer worked for them fine. . .remember everyone's version of fine doesn't always equal really excellent growth and health, and also, that does nothing for the many people who simply end up with dead kids. Don't risk it, folks, if you're a newbie.

Another bottle kid goat tidbit:

I also had an email dialogue one year with a lady raising some quads. She initially thought leaving quads on the doe would be ok, but it is RARELY OK. You usually must pull one or two on a doe who births quads. Either one or more kids will not get enough or it will pull the doe down too far.

If you have a yearling who has triplets, the same applies.

Unfortunately, there isn't a lot of easy to find information online as to HOW much to feed when folks pull.

That caller knew to not ever use replacer, but she said the 7 week old bottle kids were stunted in size. I asked how much she was feeding. It added up to about 30 oz or less a day for full size kids.

Full size breeds MUST get 60 oz a day, at least. This doesn't apply to Nigerians. Also, you must give milk until at LEAST 12 weeks. I personally do not wean until older.

This is MY SCHEDULE:

First 24 hours
I start offering 8-10 oz of colostrum to a newborn kid. If they drink it all, I wait 2-4 hours before offering more. I continue this the first 24 hours every 3-4 hours and wait up to 6 hours overnight.

Day 2-7- they are on about 10 ounces 4 times a day

Day 7- 4 weeks - I do 20 oz 3 times a day, if they will accept it

4-8 weeks - 20 oz plus ounces 3 times a day or go to free choice lamb bar feeding


8-12 weeks - 30 oz 2 times a day

If you continue beyond 12 weeks (I do 16- 24 weeks) - a 20 to 30 oz bottle once a day.

Don't skimp on feeding your kids, folks. It isn't kind and doesn't lead to healthy goat kids.







Saturday, January 28, 2017

Nothing you All Say Speaks to me, as a woman. . .

My social media feed is full of everyone talking about women, and none of these posts speak for me.
None speak for me, really.
I've never been less than strong and confident and capable.
Not even in a small portion.

I can speak for myself.

That doesn't mean I've always been treated equally, either. 
I am the daughter of a man who could never value a woman in the same way he valued a man. I was less because I was me instead of him. . .
But I loved him. He was incredible and nothing he thought about women made his value less to me.
Choices.
I am a woman who has not once, but many more times than once known abuse as a child, teenager and adult because I was a girl, a woman, but I still believe in life . . .even when that fear which is spoken about so often has been very real to me.
I was a teenage mom.
A single mom.
A girl without a clue what on Earth to do without a support system at 21 years old with a 2 year old little boy in tow when trying to go to college in a backward town's community college.
I've been alone.
scared.
so taken advantage of and sad.
scared.
so very alone.
But I've been capable, smart and sure of myself, too. I've seen opportunity to create change, to matter, to be an equal.
I know it isn't perfect.
Believe me when I say my heart and soul and mind never forget what a great price women can pay for being girls, for being women. . .
But there is this line where we can take advantage of being women, just as men can, and we can decide to be victims and revel in that choice.
Life gives us no assurance of a happily ever after.
You can't charge another being with anothers transgression, either.
Frankly, life is never equal. And there are areas we must still work on,
and always will we find these areas.
If you're born richer, better looking, smarter, more driven, thinner and / or under the right sign, you have an advantage.
Life isn't fair.
It is always going to be largely what you make of it.
I would never say accept anything that is wrong, cruel or harmful. Always work to make everything better in all aspects. . .
But never forget that. . .
Life isn't fair. It never will be. Even if you start even, events will and can put you at an advantage or disadvantage.
Your life and experience is always going to be largely what you make of it.

The Story of a Mother who went to school and volunteered and was an activist and also of her Boys in 2017. . .

I was born to a father who was almost 60. I was part of the next generation of children he would bring into the world. One of not too many short of 20. 

An afterthought, really. 

I came after so many children, and many came after me. 

I was born to a world turning more "progressive" but to a man who would never be because he was born in 1923.

I grew up.

It was both charmed and tragic depending on the day. Thus is the life of anyone growing up at any point in the world. It isn't special.

I was a mom to a spectacular little blue eyed, blond haired child when I had barely turned 19.

I had cried on the floor of an upstairs room where my grandmother lived when I found out.

And when he was born, I was swept away in the crying maniacs little gaze.

I went to college as a single mom without a thread of support, and I was also a young woman who was trying to offer something to her much younger sister and 3 brothers who came to her often.

Children are tomorrow and today all at once.

And later, when the next two came under a very difficult sky, I gave them everything I could.

Frankly,. . .I gave almost my life since we learned nothing about post teenage me could safely produce children. It was a fair risk.

I wanted strong, independent and deep thinking children. Originals.

I didn't offer a traditional education. Instead, I exposed them to all types of current events and thought processes, as well as a small farm life and sometimes what is simple, wild abandon and activism.

They have a mama who believed in breastfeeding them beyond the scope of the American norm, co-sleeping and baby wearing, but who also believed that once they were "made" and "capable," she had another calling. Maybe she believed it well before they were capable, but she knew to drag them along, then.

I've never made them first since they were beyond toddler-hood.

Sometimes I wonder what type of story this really is for them at all.

I've made them loved boys, though.

I've made them confident, safe and secure boys.

But I've never made them number #1.

They have a mama who knows she wasn't really meant to be a mother but is, anyhow. And she was a mother who loved them as truly as any could have, but. . .

And there was always this but. . .

They have been well loved, well hugged boys in the backseat while I picked up a starving horse
and 3 dairy goats on the way to the Capitol to talk about farmers and freedom.

They have a mama who will never be sure what she did was right, but she did it (regardless) and gave it her best. Whatever that was.

They have a mama who couldn't sleep and probably never will because she can't be sure those things were good enough. . .

Because she was born when her father was almost 60.

And she came after many children, and so many came after her. She came into a world becoming more "progressive" to a man who would never be because he was born in 1923.

And she is sure she will always carry weight around very sure she failed her children while being sure she did what was right by doing what would serve them long past childhood. . .though it will always seem a bit of a disservice.

And I suppose it all speaks, in one way or another to any mother.

Whether she worked or volunteered or stayed home. . . 



Saturday, January 21, 2017

Legitimate compassion has no limitations

While I wrote this last year on this day another reason, today, looking over my newsfeed . . . I am reminded of how it works for today for other reasons entirely. Cherry picking about decency for lives doesn't work.
----------->>> We have no right to be blatantly, carelessly cruel to any being. . .
It should be able to go without mentioning that this includes going beyond those you "like," including children, the poor, the dejected, the elderly and animals, but in this world, any of those I just mentioned are willfully excluded under all sorts of convenience clauses.
But clauses do not actually exist with compassion, folks. That door is closed. It isn't even a door.
How very inconvenient this is.
"Kids annoy me, so. . ."
"I am not a dog person, so. . ."
"I own that creature, so. . ."
"They are poor because they want to be, so. . . "
"Old people don't move quick enough to suit me, so. . ."
While you may not want to build a life with kids, dogs, the homeless all packed in a nursing home, you had better believe that should you find it easy to exclude beings from kindness, the problem is within You.
I digress right off the start, though. Getting side tracked and so forth. . .
You can believe in accountability, live child-free, farming and not pick up every stray animal you see with ethics and compassion in tow.
And this is really more about the differentiation some folks make between those who care for all beings and those who claim to care greatly about selection beings, but never all (which really means none).
I hear it more often than I care to tell you.
From those who would classify themselves as lovers of "American
Freedom. . ." about how we have to guard our rights to do whatever we wish with our animals from those who would regulate or reduce those rights. . .
What on Earth does this even mean? I'm being quite serious.
You cannot lose a liberty that doesn't exist. You do not have the liberty to abuse. That isn't in the Constitution, as a side note.
You do not have the right, whether in America or not, whether there is an appropriate law or not. . .to perpetuate cruelty or to neglect beings able to feel that neglect.
Do not tell people in one breath all your concerns about preservation of human lives (that, facts are, you do not want to care for in even a small capacity once they are out the womb) and then in another breath tell us how we have to guard our ability to tie our dogs on ropes behind the trailer without shelter in 5 degree weather.
I'm saying this because I see posts just like this all of the time.
Oh! My eyes. My eyes.
You know, because assuring the right to neglect animals here. . .THAT is exercising American Freedom. . .or something?
Legitimate compassion has no limits, folks.
You do not have the right to do absolutely whatever you wish with those under your care: Be they children, your feeble parents or your dogs.
No state or person or law can give you that right, and laws governing the care you provide are really simple writings of what should be an understood moral code.
Moral. Code.
If the type of compassion you have excludes certain age groups, socioeconomic groups or ends at humans. . . you're just packing around an agenda. . .masquerading it as kindness. . .
That isn't what it is. Just so you know.
(In an otherwise serious post, please have a laugh at my meme creator's autocorrect I didn't catch of Tinia into Tina)

What an Awkward day to be an American

What an awkward day to be a gal who has lived quite exceptionally privileged . . .
And who has also been a 19 year old mother and a college student alone with a little boy in the poorest area in the USA. . .
To be one who has been a vegetarian for 20 years and worked in animal rescue but still love people. . .
What a time to care about the unborn and the just born and those born for many years. . .
And still care about women and children being safe from sexual abuse by men because I've suffered through both so many times. . .
To want to protect the environment we live in, too. . .
To care about keeping America safe for our people, but to also understand why people flee to come here, even illegally.
What a day to love freedom but wonder if we are mostly too lazy and silly to actually ever deserve or use it.
What a day to believe in giving to those who have a need but not to those with a want.
What a time to love Jesus and believe all he said but find all his loudest proclaimers (in voice, not deed) devoid of the thing he demanded most from us. . .
Such a time as this. . .


Rape and Women and Equality in America

Statistics suggest 1 in 5 women are raped.
1 in 5 girls are also molested as children.
The perpetrators are almost always men, and you would imagine, the numbers for boys is starkly lower, and it is even less for men. We are talking numbers here. It happens in boys and men, but it point blank happens at a massively lower rate.
Does this sound equal? Does this sound like a big deal?
Of course, we know that even with those astronomical numbers, the rates are actually must higher in women and girls than the estimates show us.
Most woman are afraid or too ashamed or afraid to ever make a report or speak of it. If they do speak of it, they are ignored or mocked too often. The men too often get a slap on the wrist.
Of all the woman I know who have experienced one or both of these types of crimes, none have reported it either from fear or shame or both.
Based on women I know, it seems more like 1 in 3 as adult women.
If you were to look into sexual misconduct toward women, it would be difficult to find a woman who was being candid who wouldn't report she had been grabbed, groped or otherwise harassed at many times in her life.
She would typically shrug it off. Boys will be boys, right?
No.
Take it a step further, and take a moment to ask women to be honest and tell you how many times they have found themselves in a parking garage, a parking lot or gas station at night alone or with small children and had a man follow them, make lewd comments and so forth. How many times they have been afraid, talked faster, didn't make eye contact. . .how many times.
Please don't even ask me to talk to you about what happens when a girl or a woman suggest misconduct. Don't ask me to tell you how she is blamed over and over so many times until she is quiet. I know. I know very, very well.
I can't tell you about all the areas where things aren't right in the world. Certainly. I cannot. I cannot tell you about many aspects of human equality or gender equality.
But I can tell you without a consideration to any other area of this "woman" issue, women do still suffer grossly in one huge space of their lives at a massive number that says there is a problem. Unfortunately, we've really, as a society, decided it is just "part of being a woman" and our cross to bear.
That is insane.
It is an inequality that is gruesome and follows you forever. It isn't a lower paycheck or going back to work too soon after a child is born. It isn't about birth control.
It is about physical abuse that destroys women and the men walk away.
Every single time I go in the women's bathroom at Black Sheep Burrito in Huntington by Marshall University, the Rape Crisis Line has all the numbers torn off their flyer. They put another up, the numbers quickly go again. I always take note when it is up and how quickly numbers come off. It matters to me.
There is a problem with how boys are taught, even without meaning to, about girls from a young age. We do make objects of women and make them feel they cause actions in men and boys.
We leave women wrecked for years with scars that never want to heal because what would otherwise be a normal part of life becomes the re-opening of a wound over and over. . .forever.
And I have to read posts like,
"Women in America, do you feel suppressed?" typed with smugness as if we have it so well, but they forget these numbers.
To make it all the more sad, women respond with, "No. I don't." They have accepted all of this as normal.
It isn't normal.
Rape, sexual assault and molestation isn't normal. Normal or acceptable isn't one in five, one in three,
one in two.
That isn't equality. This isn't ok.
And I do wish those who do not know better on this matter would shut up.
I know the "woman" issue involved all sorts of things to different people. Well, the above is what it means to me.
And that, folks, isn't a theory. It is a cold, very sad and very hard fact of American life for girls and women. . .


Friday, January 13, 2017

Sometimes the weight of them makes me wish I'd never known them at all. . .

A Decade has now gone.
Seems apt it is a bit warmer than usual tonight and pouring rain. It was then, too.
It has been harrowing in every manner I could have and could not have imagined.
And after all this time, I have to start remembering, while they have been gone 10 years. . .
I had Angel for 17 years.
I had Ben for 19 years.
I had Quentin for 14 years.
Those years were full of good, quirky, blissful, sad and angry times. Had I known I'd lose them one day, a moment that came far too soon, I'd have made all of those days amazing. I hope.
Hindsight.
I'd have never said a hateful word. I'd have "done a lot of things different," as you can imagine. I'd have gone above. I'd have went beyond.
Surely. Right? But then. . .
Angel loved to hug folks, and frankly, so did Ben. They were folks who appreciated the hope a hug could offer. They were meek and looked for reassurance I rarely gave.
I brought the fun, the laughs, and the grouch and voice of realism to every single day.
Quentin. . . he was a lot more like me all around.
All these years later, I still cringe a little ( or lot) when folks hug me. I'm still a hopeless, pessimistic sort, rarely being the voice of assurance anything will work out. I'm still tremendously fun, too.
I guess I've not learned enough because I'd give most anything to hug them now and tell them whatever they wanted to hear, but I cannot. But then, I can't seem to remember these things with those all around me. . .some still need the things I didn't give back then.
Maybe that is one hump I'll never overcome. Maybe I have to let that worry go.
I'm better and worse for having known them and lost them.
Changed. For Good.
They were awesome kids. They were very loved.
I will never get to see them as more as people on the cusp of "the rest of their lives," but I am so very glad I saw them as I did for as long as I was able, and the rest I'll work on letting go.
forever.
work on letting it go.


Friday, January 6, 2017

The Bane of Social Media: WHY Your Facebook Newsfeed says far more about You than anything else

When I think of Facebook, Instagram and the like, I think about ways I am able to keep up with people I enjoy and ways I've facilitated hundreds and hundreds of abuse and neglect horses, dogs and cats in the past 7 years. I think of how I was enabled to win a huge victory at our state legislature for freedom in West Virginia. I remember the amazing events I've coordinated through the contact base born through Facebook. I never forget the clear success my small farm has experienced through the marketing done through social media month after month. I mull over a neat campaign my husband ran working toward a state seat in politics, too.

An abandoned herd of horses recently save by the rescue where I serve as director just a week ago because of social media.

 I think of all of the moments in the lives of people I know either very well or even just a bit. I ponder all the events in my local area I am aware of that I would miss, otherwise. I always appreciate the millions of dollars non-profits raise for causes that would be overlooked by us without social media. So many amazing works are happening at a grassroots level and find success in a way never possible before. So many phenomenal things.

A filly alive today only because a few people met many years ago online, formed a rescue
that has last a long time and raised money almost solely online to save lives like Rita's

I hope to never get to the point seeing where witnessing the goings on in the lives of people I care feels annoying. I hope to never seem irritated that people share success stories or happy moments, even if they are somewhat inflated or the type that overshadow less bright times we may be aware of in their lives. I reckon we can all dwell on the good more than the bad a bit more, eh?

A well attended protest the year before we had success in changing the laws of West Virginia for small farmers

We forget or refuse to admit that how we perceive or experience things says a lot more about who we are than it ever says about other folks. It also tells us a tremendous amount about the type of people we are opting to surround ourselves with day in and out.

I am very aware social media, like life, can be toxic. I know that Facebook, Twitter and Instagram can be used for horrible, cruel, gossipy and wasteful things. So can life. Real life, ya'll, and if you're part of it in any manner online, you probably need to mull over how involved you are in-person, in your real and hand to hand existence. . .

If you find your social media "feed" is full of garbage, I venture to say, at the risk of making you irritated, your real life is, too. If you can't stand what you see on these virtual feeds, I bet, if you're honest, you shouldn't be standing the conversations you see and take part in during your regular life or venting about them anywhere.

A homeless, pregnant dog who likely wouldn't have survived yesterday without the quick networking I used through Facebook to find a rescue group able to save her and her unborn puppies lives

Your life, the one that plays out online and in the one in reality, is in your hands. You aren't a puppet. The people you put in either place are your responsibility. The way you craft and shape this life is up to you. If all you see is doom, gloom, toxic waste, that is either what you are a willful passenger to or a perpetrator of, sad as this may be to hear.



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LUCAS FARM

Be thou diligent to know the state of thy flocks, and look well to thy herds. For riches are not for ever: and doth the crown endure to every generation? The hay appeareth, and the tender grass sheweth itself, and herbs of the mountains are gathered. The lambs are for thy clothing, and the goats are the price of the field. And thou shalt have goats' milk enough for thy food, for the food of thy household, and for the maintenance for thy maidens

- Proverbs 27:23-27




"I know of no pursuit in which more real and important services can be rendered to any country than by improving its agriculture, its breed of useful animals, and other branches of a husbandman's cares."

- George Washington