A Sad Story

WARNING - This is a very sad story. That is my disclaimer.

This sad story occurred about two weeks ago. It began as a normal Saturday. My first activity of the morning was my walk with our dogs, Tucker and Nellie. We started out on our usual route through our rural neighborhood. Our walks are always peppered with wildlife sightings. On any given day we will see rabbits, bald eagles, racoon, deer, all kinds of birds, the occasional coyote and feral cats. As we headed up a long hill, a rabbit or cat would flit across the road ahead of us. I had my head down slightly as we marched up the hill. It was then that I heard the "clink." Not the type of sound I usually heard on our walks. I looked up to see its origin. What I saw made my stomach turn. The image looked like a grotesque, almost cartoon-like, feline astronaut. It was a feral cat with a glass mayonnaise jar on it's head.

I groaned out loud. The dogs looked from me to the cat in alarm. They had never seen such an unusual sight. The cat was shaking it's head to rid itself of the filthy jar. It couldn't see or hear us. I tied the dogs to a nearby mailbox post thinking, "I can fix this." Very quietly I positioned myself behind the cat. I reached down and grabbed it by the scruff of the neck. I gripped the jar and began to slowly pull. Nothing happened. I pulled with a little more force and still it didn't budge. Then I heard a deep, ominous, rumbling growl. Clearly, the cat was beginning to tired of me pulling on that jar. Quick as lightning, it reached a hind foot up and sank one of its claws into my thumb. I let it go and it ran into a cement culvert. I kneeled down on the road next to the culvert to see if it would emerge from the other end. The jar clinked against the cement sides as it made its way down toward the other opening. I leaned over the culvert opening and saw the jar peeking out. I reached down to grab it again, but it was too slick and the cat pulled it back into the cave-like pipe. The dogs and I waited some more but the cat stayed put.

My next idea was to return home and get the van, equipped with our cat carrier, and leather gloves to protect my hands. I would come back, catch the cat, stuff it into the carrier and take it to our local veterinarian for the jar removal. I untied the dogs and we raced home. I relayed what was going on to my husband, Paul, grabbed my cat catching gear and raced back out. I parked the van close to where I last saw the cat and began my search. The first place I looked, of course, was the culvert but it was empty. I search the ditches on either side of the road, still no cat. After a while, I realized the futility of my mission. The cat could have been anywhere. I returned home with the empty carrier. Paul and I looked several more times that weekend but the result was the same - no cat.

I thought about that cat the whole weekend and for days after. I had come so close to saving it, but in the end I couldn't. Its ultimate fate is just too hard to think about. I'm trying to focus on any positive thing that can come from this incident. I suppose I can look at it as another reminder that we are stewards for all of the creatures and plants on this earth. We should be mindful of the impact of our actions. And realize how something as seemingly innocuous as improperly disposing of a simple jar can cause great harm.

Bees - it's swarm time, don't freak out!

I was over at my friend's farm the other day visiting my horse, Mac. As I strolled up to the barn, I heard this tremendous buzzing sound. I looked to my left and noticed this swarm of bees hanging off of the electrical box. It was a warm day and the hive, which is located in the wall of the barn, apparently got too crowded because half of the bees decided to take the queen and look for a new residence. When they cluster like this, they're resting while they decide on their new hive location. Encountering a bee swarm for the first time can be alarming. Bees tend to swarm near their old hives or honeycombs, so if a swarm is visible then a nest is nearby. Swarms are usually not aggressive unless provoked, so it is important to keep a good distance from the swarm.

The other interesting thing about swarms, is you can capture them and place them in a new hive. A few years back, my husband Paul, a hobbyist bee keeper, and I experienced our first swarm capture. We were fairly new to beekeeping at the time. Paul had 3 hives set up on one corner of our property. We were enjoying the novelty of learning about our new charges. We told ourselves, "It's kind of like having livestock, without all of the manure". Even our two boys (middle school age at the time) showed an interest in the bees, probably because it involved their father dressing up in a white space suit complete with helmet.

At the time, I was working at home and was alone when the swarm occurred as the boys were at school and Paul was at his office. I had gone outside to let our dogs have their afternoon constitutional, when I heard the buzzing, and I mean a lot of buzzing! I looked up and saw an enormous cloud of bees hovering over our garage. I stood there transfixed, before I had the presence of mind to run in and phone Paul. "I think the bees are swarming!", I told him. "Go back out and see where they fly to, I'm coming right home." he said. I ran back outside and listened because the bees were no longer flying overhead and I didn't see them right away. I followed the buzzing sound to the edge of our pasture and looked up. There I saw the amazing sight of my first swarm cluster. It was a basketball-size cluster of bees hanging about twelve feet up in one of our fir trees.

When Paul arrived home, he informed me, as we had an extra hive, that we were going to attempt to capture the swarm. Our plan was simple: cut the branch on which swarm was hanging and then "catch" the falling bee ball in an empty hive box, place the lid on top and there you have it, a captured swarm. Easy-peasy. The only snag was that the swarm ball was twelve feet off the ground. What we needed was some scaffolding so we could both be up higher in order to carry out the operation. In the absence of scaffolding, the family minivan made a nice substitute. As I moved the van into place, Paul donned his bee suit. I put on his extra bee hat and veil and we were ready for action. I didn't have a bee suit because Paul was the official beekeeper of the family and I was just his lovely assistant. Besides, swarming bees are relatively docile and I was wearing long sleeves and long pants.

We clambered up on top of the van, Paul with the empty hive and I with some long handled loppers. Paul positioned the empty hive box underneath the swarm and I raised the loppers overhead and grasped the branch lightly just above the swarm. Bees were flying gently around us. Paul gave me the signal and "clip," I cut the branch. To say it literally "rained bees" would be an understatement. The ball of bees dropped quickly, bouncing off of my bee hat like BBs. The majority of the bees landed straight in the box. Paul swiftly covered the box, capturing most of the bees, but a surprising amount evaded capture by ricocheting off the bottom of the box and shooting out as fast as they went in. Paul got back down off the van in workman like fashion and proceeded to carry the full hive to its new location. I, on the other hand, remained where I was, arms in the air, still holding onto the loppers. Paul eyed me. "What are you doing?" he said. "Well, I believe some of the bees have flown up my pant legs and down my sleeves, because I can feel them crawling on my arms and legs." I replied. He didn't have any other suggestions for me and I couldn't stand on top of the van all day, so I proceeded to climb down. It was then that the stinging and stripping occurred. I'm sure you can appreciate that I did not waste anytime getting out of my clothes, down to my underwear. Fortunately, no delivery people showed up at that moment, not that I would have cared.

In the end, I received about 4 stings. Not too bad considering the trauma we put those bees through. Would I do it again? You betcha, but the next time at the very least, I'd where rubber bands on my sleeves and pant legs to prevent the bees from finding shelter in my clothes. Oh who am I kidding, I'd insist on a full bee suit. Nowadays, Paul does very little beekeeping. He only has one hive at a local farmer's property. We are still bee fans, though, as everyone should be. Without them and all of the other pollinators, our world would be in sad shape. Thankfully, there is a simple step we can take to help them and a bee suit is not required. Plant flowers or a garden. Now that is easy-peasy.

Why barns?

I have been enamored with the humble barn ever since I can remember. Actually, to be more specific, since the age of three. That was when our family of six (my youngest sister hadn't arrived yet) moved into the farm house in rural New Jersey. My mom thought my siblings and I should be raised in the country, where we had space to run, explore and imagine. As an added bonus, we could also have some farm animals. Because, of course, the farm house came with a wonderful barn.

Our barn in rural New Jersey, around 1976. You can
just make out our ponies, Dolly and Brandy, peeking out
their stall windows.

Our barn was not that large by barn standards. It was about the size of a 3-car garage with a second story for a hay loft. The exterior had red peeling paint with white trim and it had Hex Signs on the front! (I'll elaborate on the Hex Signs later). From the moment I crossed its rough concrete threshold, I was hooked. I stepped into its dim interior and once my eyes adjusted to the dark, I noticed the sunlight slipping through the spaces in the siding and the cobwebs (complete with spiders) clinging to the corners. The air had the earthy smell of animals, hay and dirt. Birds would flit around the rafters chirping all the while. It was a place where adventures could be had. To me it was the best kind of magic. And so I paint barns, because frankly, I just can't get enough of them and their magic.

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Paintings by Stacey Neumiller

Some of you may be familiar with my paintings of colorful farm animals. You may purchase reproductions on canvas and paper of some of my paintings by visiting my on-line store at http://stacey-neumiller.artistwebsites.com. I call my latest endeavor The Barn Project. At first, it was a quest to document, through my brushes and paint, the barns of Whidbey Island, Washington, but it grew to include barns from all over the state. Who knows where it will grow from there.

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Whidbey Island Barn #1, 5x7