Ysterious and Ogical

A calm day yesterday. Ventured out to base to check on the mail (Our american mail comes to the post Office on base, the APO). No packages, just boring mail telling us the situation on the bank account. The kind of mail that gets deposited on Mr Wonderful’s desk to then dissappear in some file cabinet.

On my way to base I found sheep huddled up, and a farmer working with them.

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iPhone to the rescue once more because my camera resided on the living room table at home. Darn it. You can bet on it that when I think there will be nothing to photograph, reality will prove me wrong. It’s a fact: not having your camera makes you loose images that could have been. It’s official now. But hey, even I have days – although not a lot – that the beast has to stay home. Sheeptalk: I think that the young one on the left was the one that I saved from a certain death when he got caught in the fence a couple of weeks ago. I know for sure it was a white one that I saved…

On that same living room table I worked on some art journal pages. Time to move to my craft room again. The mess is spreading.

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I cut up a Botticelli image for her face, used Tumblefish elements and borders. The M and the L vanished from Mysterious and Logical because I did not have room on the page. But that’s what art journaling is about: you can do whatever you want. Nobody will nag at you for being silly. Or maybe they will but who cares?

There is something deeply calming about glueing and pasting and cutting.

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And Misty Mawn inspired me to use her paper doll lady image for a transfer. I got her book and was so pleased to find a push out paper doll in the back. I remember having those paper dolls as a kid, we made them ourselves by cutting them out of magazines and papers. The dresses had little flips on them to attach to the body.

Art journaling brings me back to my kiddy days. The leaves are a stamp by Dyan from Art from the heart colored in with copic markers.

A day past doing fun things. Today is laundry day. Who wants to know? Right, nobody…

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Bad mouth ewes in meadow nr six…

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Look in this ewe’s eyes and say it ain’t so… She definitely means business, and is looking at me with a glance as if I am a danger.
She does not trust me, and she does not trust my camera. Although after eight years, you would think they by now would know me and my camera.
After all, they do know the farmer and feeding time…

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These blackheaded ones are closer to base. Not from the farmer I know in Birstwith. These black and white spotted ones are a lot younger when they are going out, I wonder if some of them are born outside. They are tiny, tiny…

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If you take a closer look, you can still see the umbilical cord, drying up beneath their small tummies. Mum is still gazing at me and I can hear her thinking that I have to go:

“Bogger off woman! Whatsja looking at? You don’t hava life of yer own?”

as some sheep have not good manners. They often speak rude, in the language of some of North Yorkshire’s youths, it’s not attractive at all. I wished they would be more polite, but hey, they are sheep… And they are good mums, despite the language problem.

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When it’s clear that I am not planning on moving, they move the whole pack to safer distance…

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“Sodd off bitch… “

is her last attempt to get me going. But see, I love the lambs so much that I take the verbal abuse of the ewes with it. And I know they mean well. They are diamonds in the rough.
A hard shell with a soft inside.

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Just next to the stone wall I am standing behind, we have a couple of sleepers. Lams sleep a lot, play for five minutes, jump all their jumps they can, and then go back to sleep.
It’s a simple life…

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Except for those who need some milk, but realise that mom has ventured out into the meadow.
Frantic meehhhh sounds, and they run around like little pool balls, trying some of the moms they encounter, but if the smell is not what it is, the moms will push them away, and they will go on another frantic run.

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It’s as if they realise that if they don’t get fed in the first minute, their life will be shattered.

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When the right mom has been found, they dive under and dig in. Safe again. I will not repeat what the mom yelled at me, as it is unrepeatable… I can only say it was SO NOT NICE…
And with all the yelling going on, the two sleepers next to the wall have woken up too.

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The two lost ones are having a good time right now, their tails wigging and wagging with the speed of a 3000 RPM or revolutions per minute.
Free translated: fast…

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I’ve had enough dirty talk for today, and I drive away. The moms will be relieved. They do not believe in humans that are not the farmer.
I do shout back though that I shall return. They are warned. And since I am a little bit smarter then they are, only a little bit, I might use a trick and come when the farmer comes to feed them… Revenge will happen.

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