3 AM our bedroom door opens and my daughter is standing quietly at my side of the bed with this message, “mom, the llama is alarming.” With little exception, these words get me moving- fast! A llama alarming at 3 AM with the alpacas on the hill rarely brings good news. I was wide awake - fast- and running for my boots and flashlight, my husband and daughter close on my heels. We arrived in the porch- pajama clad and froze, shined the flash light and saw...nothing! Well, that’s not exactly true, we saw the llama alarming and the alpacas crowded around for protection, but not a predator in sight. Okay, this is good, but it is also dark and there could be something we cannot see from our vantage point on the porch. I grabbed the Uber strong spotlight like flashlight and began scanning the yard. As we scanned I heard, but didn’t see coyotes, saw a porcupine, a raccoon, and the problem.

It was a bunny rabbit. Yup, you heard me, a fluffy tailed Peter or Paula Cottontail hopping across the pasture was the cause of all this drama. It was then that I determined I needed to sit with Flash he next morning for lessons in llama guarding 101.

Here was the plan. I would create a poster board with pictures of all of the potential predators; coyotes, fox, bears, moose, deer....and then I would draw photos of things to NOT wake me up for; kitty cats, porcupines, raccoons, chickens and of course bunny rabbits. We would sit and chat over hay- I might bring my coffee- and we would talk about the importance of his job and why knowing the difference in species was important. We would chat- I would use my fancy purple pointer to show him the pictures and then he would leave me alone at 3 AM unless there was really trouble. I went to bed secure in the knowledge that all was well. What can I say I have a busy mind at 3 AM!

Fast forward to morning- i wake with the sun, listen to the sounds of the farm waking up and go out to feed the alpacas. I open the door and there, standing in the driveway staring at me- is a herd of alpaca. In all the confusion of the night before, I forgot that I had separared the herd and only half were with Flash. The other half- the now free half- were in the barn. Seems in the middle of the night, they got lonely, spotted a gate I left open since I thought the pen was empty, and let themselves out. I blame Finn.

The llama- at 3 AM - tried to tell me, but I got distracted by a bunny rabbit and stopped looking. Turns out the llama is smarter than me. Happily, I have a poster, and coffee and Flash is about to start my class. He even added a picture of alpacas next to things he will call me about. I promised I would listen.

The photos are of Flash standing guard at sunset. The last one is him this morning when we were sharing hay and coffee. We believe he will work out just fine.

Let’s talk about emus. Emus are well known protectors of small camelids like alpacas- in case we cannot find another llama- so you know I have been considering such a beast.

As it happens, my husband and I skeedaddled away from the grown and not quite flown due to Covid children Sunday afternoon in search of beer and ice cream for dinner. As luck would have it, there was also an emu on the property. It was only right we attempt to learn a bit more about them and make friends. Here is what I now know- emus can run up to 31 mph, they eviscerate small animals for dinner- unless nice people like me give them buckets of grain, they have super big eyes and eyelashes as long as my arm to lure the unsuspecting new owner into a sense of “hey, look at me and my amazing eyes, I am cute and cuddly and will protect you...” I felt myself slipping into those eyes, heard the heartstrings pop and felt a gentle hand on my shoulder as my husband lured me away with promises to “talk more about it tomorrow” as he added a scoop of his chocolate ice cream to my nearly empty bowl. I am easily distracted by chocolate.

Fast forward three days, and we are at dinner with the grown and not quite flown due to Covid bunch when the topic of emus comes up. My daughter, ever the comedian- suggests that we get him on a trial run and pretend he is a dog. Here is the plan. We catch and pen the emu, drive him home in the back of the pick up, introduce him to the dogs- we will hide the cat because, well, eviscerating small creatures for food comes to mind, and name him Spot.

We then gate him in the dining room until Sunday- with food, water and a litter box because we are not mean- when the entire family will be here to celebrate my father-in-laws 88th birthday. Then, we bring everyone to the table for a brunch feast and cake while “Spot” sits quietly by waiting for scraps. If anyone asks, we will say he is a new breed of dog, and gently suggest they keep their hands out of reach of his huge clawed feet at all times. We have made a group pact to ignore the incredulous stares. I think it is a solid plan.

Oh, I almost forgot “Spot’s” eggs are big enough to make an omelette for 4-6 adults. We will be having quiche for birthday brunch. No one will suspect a thing! Especially since we now house 19 chickens. I promise to keep you posted as long as you promise not to tell.

In the meantime, meet our new dog, Spot!

We’ll call it the great chicken caper of 2020. A friend texted me Saturday afternoon with the news that a mutual friend was moving and needed to rehome 13 chickens and a coop- was I interested? Of course I was! Laying hens are a beautiful thing when you have three kids that have returned to the nest due to Covid and think omelettes at 4 AM is normal, usually with 4-5 eggs. They are; after all, athletic and in their early 20’s, but I digress...

In case you were wondering how you catch 13 chickens to rehome them, let me explain in simple terms. You grab friends and family members, a net and start running in circles like, well, like a chicken with its head cut off. If you are lucky, which we were, you can outsmart the birds and get them to run into the cage. This worked with several before they caught on.

Then, there was big Bertha the runaway. She went into the cage once, realized her mistake immediately, and somehow squashed herself into a small enough ball to fly out the top, and head for the hills. She was good and gone. That’s okay, we had caught 12, and we knew she would be back. Eventually, even the ones responsible for the eggs in your omelette get hungry.

In the meantime, we had a very large coop to move. This involved flat bed trucks, a tractor, lots of engineering minds, and young kids with generous hearts. We loaded it up and drove it across town.

Still, no big Bertha.

I drove back, primarily because I had left my phone, and there, sitting in the middle of the yard looking mighty proud, was the elusive bird. I explained to her in chickenease that although staying may be a good plan, it was just her and the Fox left for the night and did she really want to take the chance? She contemplated. She got up and started to walk, I followed. She led me around the house, I called to the other wranglers who came towards us nonchalantly, she ignored them and kept right on walking - into the open cage! We had outsmarted her. The chicken was trapped and was on her way home- sans fox. I’d like to say she is grateful for her capture. What she is, in reality, is mighty pissed off. She refuses to leave the perch and she has had her back to me for nearly 24 hours now. The alpacas are not impressed and regularly walk by the coop as if to say, really, bird, you know she’s going to win.

Tomorrow’s offerings from the bock, bock, booccckkkeeetttt include all the leftovers from last night’s salad and some strawberry heads. I reckon she’ll be eating out of my hand by lunchtime.

We are so grateful to our small town farm family for always having our backs, for treating us like gold, and for sharing the fruits of their labors when life changes. May we all be so blessed. I’ll keep you posted on my relationship with Bertha.

The phone rings. I answer.

“OMG!! Is this the alpaca farm?”a male asks breathlessly. “

Yes,” I answer.

“OMG, would you be willing to make me a hero?”

My mind starts to spin- how can I possibly make this unknown man a hero. He continues his story.

“My fiancée is obsessed with alpacas and if she turns up at the end of the aisle and their is an alpaca waiting with me- OMG, she will literally lose her mind. I would be the groom of the year!”

Me: “So, you want an alpaca in your wedding? You do know these animals spit and are not potty trained?”

Him:”the wedding is outdoors and no way they would spit at her because she - OMG- would you really do this?”

Me: “yes.”

Him: “you are hired!”

Fast forward two months and many conversations later, and I am standing at the end of a flower strewn aisle with two alpacas on a leash and an unsuspecting bride has just arrived in a limo. She and her dad walk across the street. She enters under the arch and she catches sight of her husband to be and then - she sees the alpacas. I wish I could adequately describe what happened next. She skipped down that aisle with eyes full of love- and a sideways glance at her husband to be every now and then. The clergymen announced what was going on to the crowd, and she and her fiancée and the alpacas spent a few of the sweetest minutes together, and then they got married.

In the course of the wedding we learned she was from Peru and alpacas has been part of her life growing up. She had not been home in many years. The alpacas were his way of bringing a piece of home to her on this special day.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, the alpacas were invited for the reception and they were in all the photos. My guess is he got to be her hero- and the alpacas had nothing to do with it!

I feel it is important to tell you that alpacas don’t lay eggs. Greyson whispered in my ear when I delivered his hay for dinner this evening, and told me you should know that. He also wants you to know alpacas are sustainable, and their fleece is warmer than wool, softer than cashmere, naturally hypo-allergenic and wicking. He likes kisses, and company with grain or apples. I told him he sounded like an advertisement. He had no idea what I was talking about, and instead invited me to curl up in the pasture with he and his herd mates and listen to the sounds of the evening.

When you sit with alpacas, as I often do, they eventually view you as one of the pack. They quietly settle in around you as the sun sets and the sounds of the night take over. The gentle munching is mesmerizing. The smell of the hay intoxicating. Slowly, as the sun settles for the evening- they begin- one by one- to create a circle around me as they cush in contentment. If I am lucky, one or two will nuzzle me with their nose or their neck as we wait for the stars to rise. They speak in hushed hums to one another and to me. We watch the birds settle as they sing their various lullabies, and are aware of the chickens slow march home to their roosts. We perk our ears to the not so distant call of the coyotes setting out for the night’s hunt as our noses breathe in the smell of the wood stove keeping my family warm. It’s meditative and peaceful. It brings beauty to the world and the silence is a gift in the cacophony of late. The alpacas only care about four things- food, water, shelter and love. Occasionally, a child will pop their nose out with a question. Sometimes a guest, who knows little about the animals, will ask something silly like, “hey, how big are their eggs?” That was my favorite question recently. “They don’t lay eggs,” I replied, but they do know how to hatch peace.

Rest well my friends with thoughts of grazing animals nuzzling your neck as the sun dips below the horizon with the promise of the morning and a new beginning. Peace.

I have a secret to share with you all today. You know, now that I consider you friends. However, I should warn you that the content could change your view of me and my farm forever, but I think it is something you need to know. My alpaca stud-Gunsmoke- is gay. Yup, it’s true- the animal I purchased with the intention of continuing the species is afraid of the girls. Now, I am sure you are wondering how I know this. It is not like alpacas come with a manual titled “How to Determine the Sexual Orientation of Your Herdsire,” but there are certain undeniable signs. Keep in mind- that I believe love is love no matter the form and it sure is not my business who anyone chooses to love- EXCEPT when I purchase an animal specifically for the purpose of continuing a genetic line.

In fairness, no one could have possibly known that the animal, whose confirmation and temperament are absolutely things you want to continue, had absolutely zero desire to do what was needed to make this happen. Forget that his fleece is ridiculously thick and luxurious, forget that he loves all people and is brilliant with special needs kids, forget that he is king of the rock because, well, he is afraid of the ladies. So, how do I know this? Well, for starters when there was a female outside in the sight line of all of my male alpacas they all ran to the gate and began to orgle(the alpaca equivalent of, “hey baby, let’s get to know each other better”) Gunsmoke- the herdsire and leader of all things -was missing. Where was he, you ask? Sunbathing at the top of the field and gorging himself on apples. Calm, cool, collected and completely oblivious. Okay, maybe he is just having a bad day- overtired from leading the pack, stuffed to the gills and simply not feeling it today. I get that. Let’s give him a second chance.

I set him up on a date. Dolled him up, fluffed his fleece, made sure all was less than stinky and packed him in the trailer - his trailer riding is a story for another day- and drove him to the girl’s house, making sure to stay out of the line of sight because, really, who wants their mother watching when you are trying to get to know a girl?! I set him free in the field with the girls and hid to watch from a distance. At first, he refused to enter the pen. Once he did, well, let’s just say the girls totally had the upper hand and he was NOT impressed. He spit, he screamed, he ran in circles begging for release from the pen of the demons, and finally he went to the corner furthest away and simply lay down in defeat. Meanwhile, the other males on the farm are losing their bloody minds with jealousy. Clearly, the only solution was to release him from his misery and bring in the backup. We did, the job got done, and I have accepted the sad reality that Gunsmoke is never gonna make me an alpaca grandma. Sad? Maybe, but really, how many people do you know who have a gay alpaca stud that loves people, gives amazing kisses, produces incredible fleece and has eyes for no one but me. He may be different, but we love him. Promise you won’t tell him our secret if you come visit or meet him somewhere. He still thinks he is King- and he is.

What a glorious season it has been! The light, the weather, the constantly changing leaves, and although I know these are trying times for many, I cannot help but think of the many blessings we have seen through this time. Praise to all that is holy all those whom I love and those they love, have remained healthy. I have been permitted “bonus” time with my children who have returned to the nest for various reasons at different times. This past week all four landed here in the same week! My husband has come to call it “living on borrowed time with the babies,” and who can be upset about that?! In this world, where we all seem to be so caught up in us vs. them, it has been a blessing to take a step back and truly listen. I hear so many say, “hate has no home here” and then I hear or read them spewing hate because someone said something they don’t believe or agree with 100%. Now seems like a perfect time to engage in discourse with those on the “other” side. You will be amazed what you discover about what makes people tick. One thing I know for sure, is no one lives in a vacuum and all stones thrown create ripples. I am choosing to listen more, argue less, enjoy the many blessings bestowed upon me and spend more time in the woods - with alpacas- feel free to join me.

Mmama llama had a chipmunk that kept her company through the fence after her lifetime companion- Dusk- passed last summer. I discovered the relationship when I realized about a cup of her grain went missing everyday. I watched one morning to see if I could figure it out. She would purposely push kernels of grain out onto the grass. As I continued to watch, I saw the small little guy emerge, stuff his cheeks and scuttle away. It was so sweet! Sweeter still- when mmama starter to show signs of failure and sat more than she stood, I would often find the chipmunk sitting with her. Yesterday, after she passed, when I went over to clean the pen and say my final goodbyes, chippy shadowed me. He was distant and did his best to hide, but he was there. I like to believe chippy knew his friend had moved on. This morning- out of habit- I went over to greet mmama llama and give her a handful of grain. Chippy was waiting for me. He now lives in the grain room. He will likely bring friends, but a bag of grain seems a small price to pay for honoring a life. I like to think being close to her space does his heart good.

Farming is not for the feint of heart. Once again, death has visited our doorstep. Our dear llama- Nellie- the guardian of our herd and the matriarch of all- passed on to a bigger and better world today. The beauty is her lifelong mate- who passed last year- was waiting at the gates for her with peaches and mounds of hay. I have wanted to be a llama farmer since I was 16 years old and had the great blessing of purchasing the farm in 2014. Out herd consisted of two llamas and 12 alpacas at one time. Today, six years later- we have seven alpacas. The ones we lost were all rescues and they all left their mark on our hearts. Today’s hit hardest- my mmama llama, the answer to all my dreams, and the one female among all my male animals, like my daughter had the good sense to be female. My daughter brightens my world, so, too, did Nellie. I love my boys to bits, but females bring a new perspective. Someone made comment to me that animals feel the changing of the season, and make decisions based on their ability to survive the winter. Nellie knew it was time. The last night I was in the pen, she locked eyes with me and rubbed my nose- a sign of trust and affection. She gave me kisses and she sighed. I believe she was telling me it was time. My heart hurts, but how lucky am I to have been able to live my dream - death and all. Nature is a harsh teacher, and the circle of life a great lesson. Where there is life there is hope. I think I will go llama shopping in mmama’s memory. Rest in peace sweet girl and give Dusk a snuggle from me.

I’ve had many watershed moments, but the most recent and most amazing was the way we became the proud owners of Alpaca-LLips Farm. When I was 15 years old, I was kissed by a llama at a petting zoo and fell in love. I visited Snickers (the llama) as often as I could over the course of the next 12 years, and brought my babies when they were, well, babies, to meet my “boyfriend.” The farm owners – whom I knew personally from writing locally – often teased me as Snickers only had eyes for me and only followed and kissed me. Soon, it became a joke that I would one day be a llama farmer. A joke I happily perpetuated throughout my early married years.

Fast forward to the year 2012, and I am now working for a bi-polar woman who has nearly ruined my soul. I know I need to get out, but I also have two sons now in college and two more kids at home and a mortgage and bills, and…you get the idea.  In December of 2012 – I gave up the ghost and quit my job. This was the first full-time grown up job I had obtained since birthing and staying home to raise my kids nearly 20 years earlier.  It was a big deal job and I had no choice but to leave. My soul and my muse were squashed.

Enter a dear friend…”now, would be a great time to get off your ass and become that llama farmer you always talk about,” she said. I laughed out loud. She did not. “Seriously, pick up the phone and find a local llama farmer, talk to him and call me back.” I laughed harder because, really, a llama farmer? Around here? I Googled local llama farm anyway.

I nearly fainted from shock when I discovered there was an alpaca farm -okay, not exactly a llama farm but darn close- less than a 10 minute drive away. I picked up the phone, and in the middle of the day in the year 2012, the owner answered. We had the following conversation.

Him: “Let me tell you how I got involved in alpacas…”when I was a kid, a llama kissed me….” I kid you not, that is what he said. I nearly fell to the ground, and then things got more surreal.

At this point, my head had stopped paying attention and my heart was completely in charge. Surely, this man and I were meant to meet. The next words out of his mouth, after the llama kissing him part, were these, “Hey, I’m home, come on out to the farm. I’ll introduce you around. The name of my farm is Plain View (as in we are in Plain View) and we are located on Rt. 68. As part of my daily travels, I had traversed Route 68 often, and never once had I noticed an alpaca farm with not 1, not 2 but 39 alpacas! Funny, how things can hide in plain sight.

Fast forward two hours and I am standing in the middle of a herd of alpacas up to my eyeballs in alpaca manure, and smiling in a way I thought I had forgotten. Over the next two years, Keith, the alpaca farmer,  and I became close friends. He taught me everything I needed to know about alpacas. I learned to trim toenails, give shots, sheer and all of the intricacies of these amazing creatures. My daughter, Abby, was with me often and we both had the great joy of bottle feeding a baby and being part of the delivery of a cria (a baby alpaca). Throughout this time, I remained basically unemployed with the exception of my freelance writing – which was enough.

It soon became glaringly obvious that I was going to become an alpaca farmer. I had fallen in love with two of the furry beasts –  Gunsmoke and Jaspar – and had agreed to agist them with Keith for upwards of two years while we figured out our next move. Keep in mind that buying a farm at that time was pretty much out of the question with two college kids and two kids at home, but at this point I had stopped asking how or why and was simply moving forward with my dream.

I continued to work with Keith – slowly buying more alpacas and adding to my herd – with no clear idea of when or where they were going to come home to live. Finally, when they were all paid off – we decided to approach the neighbors in our development and the town’s select board to see how they would feel about us erecting a barn on our 3/4 acre lot – something we truly didn’t see happening. There was no rush – Keith was happy to have us agist forever, but I wanted my furry muses’ home.

My husband and sons, ever patient with the schemes of the crazy woman they live with, agreed to spend Columbus Day weekend 2013 erecting a small barn on our 3/4 acre lot. The town and our neighbors were accepting and perhaps, even, excited. We had a lovely barn raising, and were set to bring the beasts home when our Realtor called. I should mention that on a whim I had called a Realtor friend in early 2013 with a list of impossible demands and we had – occasionally – been in touch. We had even visited a few properties. Neither he nor we believed what we were looking for existed.  With my hands still blistered from hammering barn boards I answered the phone.

Jeff – the Realtor’s – opening line was this, “I have found your new home.”

I laughed. In fact, I outright guffawed explaining in no uncertain terms that brand new barn, new driveway (so the trailer could drive in and out with the alpacas) and a two room remodel , had rendered moving a moot point.  “We are NOT moving now,” I declared

He laughed harder. “Oh, yes you are” he said. “I’ll meet you tomorrow to show you the property.” To say my husband and I were negative about the possibility of going to look at a home (located in our home town with over 5 acres as we requested) would be an understatement. To say out Realtor is a saint – also an understatement. Poor man had no idea what he was getting into.

Within an hour, we had piled our sorry, negative selves into the car and drove to meet him at the provided address. Upon arrival, we could not see the house as it was too far up the road, and we nearly turned around. Instead, with some invisible force pushing us onward, we drove up the driveway. The angels began to sing. There before us lay a hand built log cabin, 40 acres (3 of which had been cleared), a 30×50 outbuilding (a.k.a. barn) and an indoor workshop complete with electricity (my husband and son run a woodworking business), and our Realtor and his wife smiling from ear to ear. We could barely speak for the awestruck wonder that pervaded us.

Jeff, being a smart Realtor, took my husband directly to the massive barn/wood shop/garage, and Christy,  the woman of the couple took me in through the three-season screen porch with sunken hot tub into a cathedral ceiling-ed, post and beam great room complete with a lit wood stove. I nearly swooned. I was signing the contract in my head as I settled in on the couch as though this home had been sitting in wait for me all along. We visited “our house” for well over an hour and left in utter awe.

And then – reality – how could we possibly even begin to afford such a massive, incredible, perfect property? It was as though the angels took my husband and I into separate rooms and asked us for all of our wants/needs and then met each one. We could hardly believe such a place existed. Jeff, knowing we were in awe,  pulled us aside and gave us the name of the couple selling the home. He explained that they wanted to meet us. Their last name was Bigelow. My heart stopped. Bigelow – as in Peggy and Lynn?

Peggy Bigelow was my mom’s maid-of-honor back in 1965, and my mom had passed at the young age of 57 from brain cancer and today was – well – believe it or not – the anniversary of my mother’s death. I cocked my head questionably and asked the burning question. Had they lived here for over 30 years? My question was met with a resounding yes. This property had been in the family for many years, and was once a 100 acre parcel. I nearly fainted. Had my mom brought us here from her Heavenly throne? Were these truly THE Bigelows? The answer to both questions was never fully answered, but my heart believes that YES – this was a heavenly intervention.

When we met the homeowners – through the Realtor – we were given the asking price. Both my husband and I nearly fainted- that was nowhere near enough for what lie before us. But, with angels at work and dreams on the line, all things are possible.  The owners did not want to sell to a developer, and wanted someone who would enjoy the land. We signed the papers nearly on the spot. There was a catch. We had to be out of our current house and ready to move by April 1 to match the inevitable domino of deadlines that two families moving brings.

We ran home. We began to clean.  We scrubbed, we scoured, we remodeled, we added new carpet, we painted, we nearly lost our minds and on January 30, 2014 the “For Sale” sign was erected. My heart hurt at first as we had built this house together (our first together home) and we had raised all four kids there- two of them to adulthood.  It was “the best house ever” and we loved it with all of our souls. But, alas, we were going to give this thing our best shot which meant forget the rear-view mirror it is windshield watching all the way!

Over the course of the next few months, our Realtors (the amazing, incredible, inspiring angels that started this story) managed to have our home shown 42 times, and we had an offer in our hands on March 21 – which, coincidentally, was my husband’s 50th birthday. We took the offer. We started to pack. We began to truly believe in the dream, and then the phone rang. The people buying our house decided they would like to be difficult. They began to add demands, and we kept meeting them because, at this point, there was no turning back. Jeff and Christy ran interference for us and got it done. I’ve no doubt that Jeff lost sleep, money, time and faith in humanity in this last ditch effort to secure our dream. There is so much more to this part of the story, but I have been sworn to silence. Suffice it to say that angels often arrive in human form. Sometimes, they are even clothed in Realtor garb.

On April 30, 2014 – we were handed the keys to Alpaca-Llips Farm complete with wood shop, barn, hot tub and wood stove. With dear friends by our side, we crossed the threshold and began the process of moving 18 years and four children worth of stuff into our new home.

Once settled, we brought our five member strong herd of alpacas home. We settled them in the barn and listened to the coyotes howling on the back part of our property.  Clearly, there was only one way to keep them safe. We needed llamas. I began my research on the Southwest Llama rescue site, and was immediately introduced to two llamas – a male and a female – that had never been separated. Tentatively, I picked up the phone and called. A man named Marc answered and explained to me that Dusk and Nellie were great animals, but their owners could no longer care for them. They would be happy to meet me and learn more about our farm (a phrase that still brought tears to my eyes – our farm)…I drove out to meet them. I fell in love. The owners agreed that we were a good fit, and within three days Dusk and Nellie were happily guarding our herd.

Our farm is nowhere near full, but we are five alpacas and two llamas strong. We also have 15 chickens, two dogs, a cat and each other.  My husband turned 50 the day we sold our house and still loves to tell people that he bought the farm at 50. Indeed, we did – with the help of many angels in both heaven and on Earth. We are proof positive that dreams come true. Sometimes they just need to be helped along by a llama kiss, a stubborn friend and angels