greenstorm (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
greenstorm) wrote2019-11-13 11:50 am
greenstorm) wrote2019-11-13 11:50 am
Driftwood
Every day brings something. I guess that's how you know you're alive?
I suppose I'm alive again.
I learned of a fossil pit 3-4 hours up north into the bush. I can drive there, go exploring, camp, sift through the gravel and look into the past. I'll need to wait till the snow is off the ground. Maybe I'll find someone excited to come with me.
When I called the vet to make an appointment to put Mella down I called both vets. One had an opening; the other I had a chat with about "establishing a farm relationship". That's how we do it here now: there's no buying antibiotics or wormers at the co-op, instead a vet who has an established relationship prescribes. They said they could teach me to castrate, too. None of this will be cheap but I've been on this land long enough to need a good deworming program and I haven't met anyone locally who can teach me.
And Mella is going in tomorrow. Juniper will be on her own then, until I find her a rabbit friend. I no longer have a workplace I can bring animals to or I'd bring her in to work with me. She'll be sad. I'll be sad. This whole thing is hard.
I was supposed to be in the bush today but turns out I'm not. Instead the sun is streaming across the lake and in my window at work - the window with no plants yet. Water is melting and overflowing the frozen gutters and running off the roofs onto ice slicks from the freezing rain in the last few days. I want to sit outside by sleeping trees and remember that life still waits and comes again even when it doesn't look like it will. I want to strengthen my eyes to see those signs; I want to know that spring comes to these dark feelings as surely as I can tell by looking at an apple twig that the branch is healthy and sleeping and not shrivelled and dead.
Maybe tomorrow.
I suppose I'm alive again.
I learned of a fossil pit 3-4 hours up north into the bush. I can drive there, go exploring, camp, sift through the gravel and look into the past. I'll need to wait till the snow is off the ground. Maybe I'll find someone excited to come with me.
When I called the vet to make an appointment to put Mella down I called both vets. One had an opening; the other I had a chat with about "establishing a farm relationship". That's how we do it here now: there's no buying antibiotics or wormers at the co-op, instead a vet who has an established relationship prescribes. They said they could teach me to castrate, too. None of this will be cheap but I've been on this land long enough to need a good deworming program and I haven't met anyone locally who can teach me.
And Mella is going in tomorrow. Juniper will be on her own then, until I find her a rabbit friend. I no longer have a workplace I can bring animals to or I'd bring her in to work with me. She'll be sad. I'll be sad. This whole thing is hard.
I was supposed to be in the bush today but turns out I'm not. Instead the sun is streaming across the lake and in my window at work - the window with no plants yet. Water is melting and overflowing the frozen gutters and running off the roofs onto ice slicks from the freezing rain in the last few days. I want to sit outside by sleeping trees and remember that life still waits and comes again even when it doesn't look like it will. I want to strengthen my eyes to see those signs; I want to know that spring comes to these dark feelings as surely as I can tell by looking at an apple twig that the branch is healthy and sleeping and not shrivelled and dead.
Maybe tomorrow.