A squirrel that has found a new nest

  "hey, can you come over to the pony farm..some people have been cutting trees and we have to do something.."
  "See you in 5," i respond.
  Reaching the spot where the tree cutting is going on.  Catherine and Jonah are there working out some money story that an Aurovilian had created to make some cash.
  i saw something move in the thorny bushes; i stared at it thinking it was a snake eating something.  Gave it a few seconds to be sure. It was a bunch of ants going after a baby squirrel.  I pocked my hand in the thorns to pick it up and shake off the ants.  That became my world.  Catherine and Jonah disappeared.  Forget the wood cutters.
  I was just saying, "there might be others like stuck in the air"  Looking up in the thorns towards the nest above; i spotted another but it was too late :(
  This happened all because a tree cut fell on the bush where the mama squirrel kept her babies.  They got shook out of their nest..
  "Don't touch it," i was told.  Later, i discovered from @Mirabelle that it is a myth.  She was kind enough to take care of it.  She knows what she is doing.  She rescues plenty of animals..
  I jumped on my cycle and went home.  No milk.  Actually i was advised to give it baby food like we did for the rabbits.  So, leaving the baby squirrel in a drawer with plenty of clothe to keep it warm and safe, i jumped on my cycle..
  The time i returned after my lunch, the squirrel was getting cold.  I was delighted when Mirabelle picked the phone.  She asked, "Does it have fur?  is its eyes open?"
  "Yes," i replied.
  "Ok, bring it."
  Phew.
  so i speed on Dhruv's bike praying it would survive the last league to her rescue.  A new nest.

It's been a long time

  Now, that has been a long time since we wrote anything on our blog.
  So much i have wanted to share and express..our last story has been our new hens.
  Our hen's have perished.  Three cocks are standing alive and flying!
  There has been 2 workers digging a trench.  I asked them if they could get me some country hens.  They willingly brought us 2 beautiful ones.
  1 week in the storeroom to get used to the place.  Yesterday, our lady Padma, from Bommayarpalayam, decided to leave the hens go and enjoy our roosters!  The day goes by she has to leave to get home..the dogs are running after the hens..one is in the tree another she has no idea.
  Over the phone, talking to her from Quiet made me nervous.  Luckily, Catherine was close by, we made it in record time to save one hen that was under the grass unreachable by the dogs and the other was simply not traceable..good camouflage.  By nightfall, the hen flies down to go up a tree with our cocks! phew..(sigh)

Baby Cobra

Some weeks ago we discovered we shared the land with a rather large cobra.

This morning we discovered it's having babies.


Quite impressive, the markings on this little killer! (Unfortunately the pictures are less impressive...)

Avocado

  Mmmm, yellow and creamy, available in Auroville from AuroOrchard; originally from Mexico..

  Driving to an absurd empty appointment with the usual outcome of delays in time and invalid unexpected promises made by Dayakara, Pet vetinery and dog shelter, I had cooked up a plan back up plan to go see the avocados growing in the orchard nearby.

  We checked out the trees which are big and had several baby trees growing in between them.  Lovely trees!

  Arriving at the farm, where I grew up for 2 years, the smells and sounds were so familiar and memories revived – this is where I drove a tractor when I was 6 years young, helped cut grass for the cows and ran between the corn fields..

  Gerard, a wonderful swiss man, in charge of the place casually invited us to check out the saplings in his nursery. I was thrilled to see them big and healty. He yelled from the balcony, “how many do you want?” he replied saying take 5 with joy and happiness!

  Excitement and joyful in our hearts we decided to call Lorraine, a Californian living in Auroville and taking care of stray dogs in the neighboring villages.  On our way back with our saplings of avocado, we drove to the dog sanctuary, Integral animal care center or something like that..

  It is a small piece of land that Auroville allocated. It has simple “keet” structure shacks with no trees as yet.

  Invited by her to walk the place and narrate the story of the newborn place was inspiring and encouraging!

  She drives around the villages everyday with left over food from the collective kitchen and feeds the dogs.  Picture the dogs wagging their tail at the sight of her riding her moped towards them in the distance.

  She pours her active love on all of them unconditionally.  It is obvious the effect it has on them – she shared a little story of how one dog cured itself of cancer day by day in no time!

  In their situation with very little financial support they still continue to work with dedication and active love!

  We returned home with no puppy.

Boys & their hens

These Auroville boys are truly something special.

I sit and watch as Martanda and Muthu rattle of incredible knowledge about the trees, the shrubs, the animals. They tell us what to eat and drink for whatever ailments or improvements we’re seeking. They explain how to help things grow and to make the Land live better. And they are so goddam good with the animals.



The two mamma chickens pecked each other so much we had to separate them and tend to their wounds. Watching Martanda and Muthu gently hold the hens, wipe their faces, clean their wounds, and love them softly… This place nurtures such an incredible connection amongst living souls it’s amazing. There’s so much to learn.

We are silly to think we actually have any control over this divine anarchy; we like to pretend that we’re protecting the forest but it’s absurd. We are playthings of the Land, learning and growing per Her wish, not ours. We can hardly help steer the course according to our dreams; instead, I think, everything we do is part of Her plan. And she has found characters here that embrace Her teachings and connect in a magical way to Her creatures, and the rest of us are eager to play along.

We may have the might to eat the chickens, but they run the show. They have our hearts. We are tools to help their lives, and they know we’d never hurt them.

It’s a humbling and heartening thought.

Lumière's version of the Wolf, the Sheep, and the Cabbage

It’s a logic problem; I’m sure of it. It’s like the wolf, the sheep, and the cabbage who need to cross the river but the canoe can take only two at a time, and the wolf eats sheep, and the sheep eats cabbage. What to do?

Except instead of a wolf, a sheep, and a cabbage, we have three batches of baby chickens.


The first are the beloved Lumière chickens, birthed in June and raised happily all summer. Ok, so one got picked off by a mongoose (Mamma Cas) and the other a dog (Beatrice)… but we are still have two growing chicks (Thelma and Louise) to be terribly proud of. And they have one protective mother.

Then we have a batch of 10 chicks died in paint that were given to me as a get well gift. One was eaten by the cat and another trampled or pecked to death, but the rest remain. They have no one to protect them.

And most recently we’ve added four gorgeous Grace babes, that have the awkward situation of two mother hens.


For housing, we have a hen house that’s loosely divided by a bamboo mat, and a bucket with a basket.

We started with the two mammas and the Grace babes in the basket, but the Thelma and Louise’s mother kept pecking the unprotected colored chics to death. Literally.

So we moved the Grace chicks to the hen house and put the colored chics in the basket, but the two moms are pecking each other blind.

And Thelma and Louise are simply way to big for a basket.


Anyone particularly talented in solving puzzles?

Beautiful Additions

Their voices were hurried with excitement when they called for me. “Catherine!” they shouted, like two giddy schoolboys. “Catherine, the eggs are hatching!”

Sure enough, tiny slimy beasts were emerging from beneath the two hens guarding the eggs from Grace. As of 1:27pm, we have four new additions to the forest farm… They are surely darker and different than the previous batch of hatchlings; will they grow up to have rainbows in their wings?

Welcome to the world, Grace chics!

Intruders & Defenders

I love our animals.

These days the boys sleep in the capsule. It’s got electricity and decorations and is truly a fine place to be. But it’s also damn exposed to the wilderness.

This morning, Gopal was barking. Gopal barks a lot. As usual—as in every morning—Muthu nudged the dog gently and told him to shut up. But this was no usual morning.

Meanwhile, the cat—who has taken to dwelling on the capsule roof—was particularly active. Biscotti too received a scolding.

So the animals descended but didn’t leave the boys in peace. Gopal kept barking barking barking, and began to growl and whine. Biscotti started hissing. Sleepy as they were, the boys realized there was something out there.

Slowly Muthu emerged from the mosquito net. What could it be? He rubbed his weary eyes and looked over the capsule’s rail…

There stood a cobra, huge and angry, aimed at the capsule but cut off by the dog and the cat. His hood was the size of two hands pressed together; its body thick as a man’s forearm. Big as was, side by side our Lumière guards kept the snake at bay.

Only when Muthu came down and started moving did the cobra finally leave, slithering off into the woods from which he emerged.

But because of Biscotti and Gopal, the boys didn’t awake to a surprise, no chickens were lost, and Julie nor I died of a heart attack upon leaving the house to make tea in the morning.

Monica & Me vs. Mamma Hen

“They’re like goldfish,” Monica said. We stood staring at the baby chicks running around the storeroom. Their feathers were starting to change colors, but they were still awfully small.

“What do you mean, goldfish?” I asked.

“They grow according to their environment, and they’ve been trapped in a little basket their whole lives, so they haven’t grown much.”

The theory sounded good, but what do I know about chickens? Then it hit me: she didn’t know anything about chickens either. “Are you sure?”

“Of course!” She feigned insult. I remained silent. A moment passed. Then she looked at me hesitantly before adding with a laugh, “I mean, I haven’t read it anywhere or anything...”

Still, it was good enough for me. “It’s time to move the chickens.”

However, we soon realized that was easier said than done.

First, we tried herding them with sticks. They didn’t cooperate. In fact, we looked so ridiculous the Old Man was bent over laughing at us from the peaceful security of his house.

So we tried catching them with a sheet. They were too quick. Every time we came within sheet-throwing distance, they’d scuttle out of range or take cover beneath a prickly bush. These goddam chickens are wiser in the way of warfare than they lead you to believe.

Then we resorted to the basket, catching Mamma underneath and scrambling around to convince the four chicks to join her. But the distance between the storeroom and the henhouse was simply too great! As we dragged the family along, Mamma’s foot or a baby’s wing or an entire chick itself would get caught between the thatch and the path, and we would cringe on their behalf, cease our movement, and stare at the broiling remaining distance. By this time the sun was at its zenith, and Monica and I were drenched in sweat.

Still, we refused to concede. We took a moment to strategize over a glass of water, built a chicken-catching contraption with a basket, a couple sticks, and our own wit, and tried again. To no avail.

Maybe the idea was sent from elsewhere, but it struck us both at the same time: With the chickens in the basket, we shifted them over the sheet, wrapped the corners tightly to prevent any openings, and lifted everything. All five rascals were squawking and squealing, but they were sealed and transportable. We carried the chickens to their new home, shifted the basket on its side, with the sheet between the chickens and the henhouse door. Then, like two proud magicians, we let the sheet drop. Mamma, Thelma, Louise, Beatrice and Mammacas flew frantically into their new home.

We sealed the door just in time for Vasentha to arrive. She looked at us, standing and sweating beside the hen house. She looked at the Old Man, laughing from a distance. And she looked at the animals playing in the dirt within caged walls. “Super.”

Monica and I may get the hang of this after all.

Daily Activities

People from the States keep asking me what life is like these days.

The thing is, running a forest is a lot of work. Period.

Twenty acres is a lot of land. Period.

And there are animals to protect! Just this morning the villagers brought their dogs to collect cashews and—as they do almost every morning—the dogs chased the chickens. For the third time since June, one of the dogs succeeded in catching a poor bird, and I had to come with a stick to free the cock.

Plus, our Gop__ needs a lot of loving (which I’m more than happy to give) and company (which I spend simultaneous writing about watsu and/or complementary currencies). He’s just a puppy, after all…

And the cows come several times a day to eat the young trees and blooming flowers, and the house/kitchen/storeroom always offer improvement projects, and the workers—my God, the workers.

Everyday they try to teach me Tamil. However, the lessons include me repeating what they say without any clue what it means. We laugh a lot. Then they ask me serious things in Tamil and look at me with expectant eyes. I suddenly have to make a thoughtful decision based on a frantic stream of grunts and hollers which meant absolutely nothing to my ears. Sometimes we play charades, but I’ve always been bad at that game.

They look to me more and more for direction. I point and explain what needs to be done around the house. But in the forest? I clearly have no idea, and even if I did, the Old Man would have no idea what I’m saying.

Thus, after working on watsu and economics, between fighting village dogs and chasing cows, while tending to Lumière’s puppy and employees, I’m now researching Tropical … Forests and practicing Tamil online.

So, my fellow Americans, my only answer to you is: I’m keeping busy.

~ c.e.michel

Chics Day Out

Interesting how much we’ve seen shapes how world view. Many will never leave their home country, many have never been on an airplane, many can’t even conceptualize elsewhere. I, for one, strongly advocate for travel and encourage others to see as much as they can. If I had the resources, I would give EVERYONE I know an opportunity to leave their sheltered life—even if only for a few moments.

Why should the baby chickens be exempt?

Thus far, the chicks’ entire world existed only of the blue birthing bin, the protective basket, and a few futile glimpses of the storage shed corner as we changed the sand or water in their home. It was time to push their limits.

(Plus, the Steward of the Land suggested a chick expedition via skype… so I was simply following orders.)

I first let them out in the morning. They just emerged from the storeroom door when the Old Man ran over hollering, pointing to the sky, and herding them back into the protective den. Apparently there’s a giant gray bird that eats baby chickens if they come out too early in the morning. Seriously.

So we tried again at the zenith of the day. Voila—Thelma, Louise, Beatrice, and Momacas (she’s a bit fatter than the others)—you are free! Go forth and prosper!

And while we (mostly Monica) took their guardianship quite seriously…

…this is primarily how and where they spent their day of freedom:

Getting them back into the basket was the hard part. It consisted of using the basket as a shield and a giant stick as a sword, so I pranced around like a gladiator until they were successfully herded back into their tiny dominion.

One of these days we’ll shift them to the abandoned hen house…

~ c.e.michel

The Vet

It’s good to be humbled. I find I am wrong more frequently these days, and that’s fine. I’m sure I’m learning something besides humility.

A dear friend took me and the dog to the free vet for village dogs. What an incredible service! Walking through its beautiful gate, visitors find themselves in an open puppy playground with battered dogs full of life and hope. A three-legged beagle mix greeted us with protective barks and gentle kisses. Several mutts followed curiously in our wake. Others suffering from mange or broken limbs or whatever else were herded into the back field, where they can run and tussle and play. I was immediately relieved, and brought our street dog to the table.

“Ah, he’s not so bad,” the vet said.

I looked at the fly-infested, limping, bleeding dog and responded, “You must see a lot of suffering.”

She examined his wounds, weighed him, gave him a shot for worms, played with his feet and teeth and unmentionables. Here are the conclusions:

• He’s six to nine months old.
• He’ll be a big dog, judging by the size of his paws. Some German Shepard mix.
• He has mange and needs to be washed with special soap.
• He needs follow up worm pills.
• He needs to eat more. A lot more. He’s malnourished—probably because of the worms.
• He limps because he’s weak; as soon as the mange and worms go, he’ll be better.
• He’s already attached to us.

“Now,” she said, “the first step to healing is a name. What are you calling him?”

We each blurted out three different words.

“And that, I fear, will be your problem.”

Ok, ok... Gop__ it is?

~ c.e.michel

The Dog

We're still settling on a name, but Gopta and Gopal are coming out on top… even though he’s not living up to his name as defender/protector or cow herder. In fact, as I spend time with him, I realize more and more how difficult this is going to be.

Here's why:

1. I'm not his person. Dogs pick their person; we, also, are drawn to certain dogs. I was not drawn to Gopta nor him to me; we were united by extraneous circumstances and now must learn to like each other. We’re getting there. Slowly.


2. He's old. I don't care what Raja said: This is not a puppy—it's a small-sized dog. His balls have dropped and he's stubborn. I'm not training a puppy; I'm teaching an old dog new tricks. Or trying to, at least.


3. He's scared. Of everything. Including the chickens. (And eating… Every time I feed him he nibbles, jumps away, timidly returns, eats some more, and continues as such until the bowl is empty.)


4. He doesn't bark. How can you noiselessly defend a house?


5. He won't chase the cows. Unless, of course, you count him chasing me as I chase the cows.
   

But I have faith if not patience. This poor pup had a hard life and survived something traumatic. In time, I hope, he’ll come around…

In the meantime, we’ll shower him with love and affection, heal and feed him, and try try try to make him the Defender of Lumière and Protector of Plants!

~ c.e.michel

Ask & You Shall Receive

In the middle of the night Monica turned to me. “Catherine,” she whispered, “do you hear that?”

I listened to the sounds of the land. “Hear what?”

“That creepy noise that’s definitely not a cow.”

Yup. Yup, I heard it. And there was nothing me, Monica, or an injured old watchman that my grandfather could beat up could do about it. (In all fairness, my grandfather’s in remarkable health for 80.)

“We really, really need a dog,” I said.

“A big dog,” she replied.


Hours earlier, across Auroville…

Raja had just finished dinner with his family when his eldest brother marched in. “I need some leftover food.”

“You don’t have enough?” his mother asked, full of concern.

“It’s not for me; it’s for this damn dog that won’t get out from under my porch.”

“Dog?” Raja’s ears perked up.

So his brother told the story: A few days ago he—a mere puppy—was chased by bigger village dogs, and now he’s broken and bleeding in the sand near Brother’s house and refuses to move.

“Lumière will take him.”

So suddenly we have a guard dog in need of serious mending… and a name.

Any suggestions?!

~ c.e.michel

The Case for Dogs

The land is lined with coconut tree gravestones of puppies long past. Something about dogs and this place doesn't work; they fall ill or injured and pass away long before their time is due.

But the land needs a dog. For example...

These days there are always strangers on the land. Dozens a day, from early morning until the heat becomes to much to bear. They come to pick cashews, but they wander too close to the house, use our water tap, sit in the kitchen. They ignore Raja’s request to keep away from our space and stick to the cashews.

One day Raja cracked. He was sick of the villagers coming too near, so he walked inside and concocted a plan.

He download sounds of dogs barking from the internet. And he played them, over and over, all the while shouting at his “dog.”

Slowly, slowly, the people moved away.


He told me this story after an afternoon of chasing cows. Out of breath, I could only reply: “Can we train our fake dog to herd cows too?”

~ c.e.michel

Old Man vs Wild Cat

Last night there were noises. Violent noises. Noises too scary for us to check on. Plus, we have a night watchman, and his voice triumphed over the cries. So everyone in the house returned to dreams, and only this morning did we learn of the previous evening's heroic adventures...

Apparently the shadows hid more than sleeping bugs last night. Somewhere in the bushes lurked a wild cat, and his hungry eye was on the chickens. While the chickens' protectors slept soundly, the cat pounced--snatching away a beautiful white hen in its blood-thirsty fangs!

But the Old Man isn't too old. He sprung from his bed and approached the vicious cat with a big stick and only mild intimidation. It was one wild creature versus another, and with flaring arms and bizarre shouts, the Old Man frightened the beast away.

But not in time. The hen lay wounded on the ground, blood staining its precious feathers. The Old Man scooped the poor damsel up, nestled her in his arms, and walked away slowly. He soothed the creature, wrapped her in bandages, gave her the love and attention any old bird needs.

And today, she's walking with her chicken comrades across the Land.

No wildcat will get us down.

~ c.e.michel

Roomies

I spent the night on the hammock; sometimes it’s just too damn hot in the house. As light slowly took over the land, my senses began to stir. My heart stopped. There was someone snoring beside me.

I froze and my limbs went cold as only the chill of fear makes them do. Who was sharing the deck? How did they get up here? What did they want? Was I in danger?

I listened to the rhythmic breathing and tried to take comfort in the fact that the breaths were small, meaning the breather couldn’t be too large either. Maybe one of the millions of locals got lost picking cashews yesterday, wandered all night, and ended up here. ‘It’s probably some poor little woman, or even a child!’

So I worked up the courage to turn around… slowly… carefully. I wished for something heavy or sharp with which I could defend myself if necessary. ‘I’ll have to rely on my charm… and dirty fingernails.’

With my face towards the breathing I opened my eyes. Nothing. The floor was completely empty. The dark corners were people-less. I was alone.

But the snoring continued.

So I looked up.

There, still as a statue, was perched a large owl. Its feathers lifted and left to the rhythm of the breaths. The great bird was snoring.

I laughed at myself and rolled back to sleep, content to share my space with such a magnificent creature. ‘We both can snore together for a few more hours…’

When I woke up in full light later, the bird was gone. A lizard had taken its spot—a lizard like I’ve never seen before. Pink head, green body, black neck and legs, beady eyes staring at me with curiosity. I swear its colors shifted as it slowly crept along the keet roof. Are there chamelians in these parts?

I laughed. I like that the house is so full, and we all make such splendid roommates.

~ c.e.michel

A Day at Lumiere

This morning I awoke with a jolt; something huge had landed on the thatch roof above my hammock bed. I followed with curiosity its heavy footsteps as it traversed the ceiling. Then, to my great delight, I watched a peacock descend and linger in the garden before trotting into the wilderness. What a way to start the day.


This afternoon Raja climbed a tree while Monica and I relaxed, read, and hollered orders or encouragement to him from our swaying hammocks. Who ever said It's a man's world?

In the night we had delicious sambar cooked by Vasentha, who was in a particularly pleasant mood all day. We were serenaded by an unusually happy Old Man. And now, with the breeze bringing some cool fresh air to the land, we'll fall asleep with smiles sealed on our lips.

This is life at Lumiere.

Not bad, right?

~ c.e.michel

Listening to the Land

I learned two important signs tonight:

1. When the gecko croaks, the words being spoken are certainly Truth. For example, if you're speaking of rain when it cries, it will surely rain.
   
   
2. When the owls cry, good spirits are present. Every night they wake me from my sleep, and now I can take comfort in their bittersweet song.

~ c.e.michel

Light angels being on the land

Wow, i wanted to thank Raja for accepting to be there in my absence..not to mention Catherine 'n' Monica too! Great energy you all have..
Am grateful that you all are managing to live together...won't ask how..but i know there is lots of space.
All the way here from Canada, i miss so much working on the land; even just being present means so much..i miss talking to the cows, listening to the animals, breathing the tropical breeze, i feel you lumiere!
Did you work out the washing machine? oh, am i gettin worried? i trust you all doing a great job and being present angels of light :)