Blog, Wellness & Spirtuality, Wolves | February 26, 2010
Whenever we lose a wolf from unknown causes we do an autopsy, to be sure our other animals are not at ri
sk and to learn what we can about better care. Cindar, a young, healthy wolf, died of a twisted lung – the equivalent of a colic in a horse. It is very rare. By the time it was diagnosed, though we rushed her off to Salt Lake City to a specialist, it was too late. As with any colic it is a true medical emergency and chances of survival are slim if not treated immediately. It made we wonder – why would a healthy young wolf die of such a rare illness? In discussing the loss with a healing practitioner, she told us that in some traditions each organ does not only its own job, and has its own vibration, but also carries the energy of a specific emotion. That emotion for the lung, is grief.
Our immediate thought went to possible causes here, but there were none that we could see. No recent losses, no changes. Then three of us looked at each other with the same thought – they started shooting wolves here in Idaho. And not just shooting them mindlessly, but rejoicing in their deaths, undisturbed by the obvious deep distress they are causing in the rest of the pack. Wolves are telepathic across distance among their own pack. We have clear evidence of that here. Is it possible they are feeling the distress of their kind in the vicinity as well, on another level? Death is one thing. Mindless death cruelly inflicted with intent is another, much harder to accept and heal from.
A further thought occurred – some animal communicators believe that illness and death can be a non -verbal communication. (Many psychologist believe that children who are not listened to communicate this way as well). Did she pick a devastating illness for which there was no cure, to emphasize that we need to do what we can to stop the shooting? And taking it even further outwards, to stop what we are doing to wild animals in general?
Deep Ecology, Ethics & Whole Community | February 25, 2010
The corner of my eye caught motion. I looked up and saw a dark bird flying acrosss the gray morning sky clearly heading somewhere with intent. Perhaps she had a memory of where she last found food. She didn’t have access to a grocery store, or anyone other than herself to depend on for survival. Maybe she remembered where she found food yesterday, or last week. I wondered what she was experiencing – the cold winter sky; breathing in fresh moist air as she flew, the wind across her wings, an urgent hunger in her belly critical to fill before she got too weak to search. What was it like for her to look down on the trees and sagebrush below, the mountains ahead; to fly between mist and sun? So many points of experience happening all the time, the world interconnected in a web of personal experience. Our own is one of them, enriched by glimpses into others.
Art & Creativity | February 24, 2010
When I tell people I’m a f
ine art photographer, they always ask what kind of pictures I take. I answer that lately, I’ve been photographing animals. They nod knowingly and add,”ah, yes, a wildlife photographer.”
Well, not really…
I’ve heard many professional wildlife photographers describe their process. Typically’ they use long lenses at a safe and non-disturbing distance, then wait for the right moment to “capture” the animal in its natural habitat. Their goal, some say, is to capture an image that is believable and descr
iptive.
My approach to taking animal pictures doesn’t have much in common with this method. To begin with, I’m obviously not interested in referencing the animal’s environment. I shoot up close – very close – with a wide angle lens, and frequently from below to get unusual perspectives. Finally, I’m not so much waiting to “catch” my shot as I am trying to manufacture it.
I do this by either cautiously dancing around with my subject to get him/her in my 
viewfinder. Or I crouch motionlessly two feet away while quietly talking, coaxing, cajoling – I’m trying to cut a deal so I can get him positioned just like I want. In some ways, my approach in making these photographs is more akin to performance art and snake charming than to traditional wildlife photographic practice.
My goal in producing this work is two-fold. As the photographer, I want to experience the full range of emotions that come from being, as is oftentimes the case, within touching distance of wild animals. The animals I photograph, while accustomed to human presence, are by no means domesticated. The thrill and excitement and connection that I feel when I’m next to these formidable beings is for me a very spiritual journey. I reach back to a distant time when my ancestors were in tight symbiosis with the creatures of the earth and I fancy, for just a moment, that I can actually communicate with them.
On another level, I’d like for these images to elicit a variety of emotions in the viewer as well. Certainly I’d like to elicit respect and admiration for the stately elegance of these creatures. But also, I hope to convey a sense of joy and playfulness…maybe a recalling of the pleasure and wonderment that animals held for us as children.
Artistically speaking, by isolating the subject against a nearly-bare background, and presenting these animals out of context, the innate power and beauty of their form becomes the subject of the photograph. In this way, these images can become iconic, transcendent, like cave drawings or the animal spirits that inhabit Native American lore.
At the same time, photographing from such close proximity also brings particularity and individuality to the animal, especially if the animal makes eye contact with the viewer. At this point, the animal goes beyond being a removed, iconic presence and becomes a palpable unique spirit as individualistic and valuable as any human counterpart. For me, it is important that both aspects of the creature be accessible to the viewer in my photographs as I feel that animals play a critical double role as inspiring archetype and sacred friend.
To find my subjects, I rely on research and word of mouth to locate people and institutions that will allow me to get as close as necessary to create my compositions. Meeting the kinds of people whose lives are intricately connected to these animals has been a real gift. I’m convinced there are some among us who really still can communicate with our animal brothers and sisters.
Jean Simpson of Earthfire Institute would be high among those suspected of still owning this skill. To watch him work with Major Bear (black bear), Windwalker (cougar), and Bramble (grizzly) is to witness something incredible that is a mix of uncanny sensitivity, primordial patience and a touch of voodoo. It’s clear he gets it.
Jean, along with Susan Eirich, Executive Director of Earthfire Institute, have devoted their lives to remaining connected to this wilder side of life, and to preserving and sharing it with all of us. As a photographer and an ordinary citizen of planet Earth, I’m eternally grateful for their mission.
Nine Francois,
photographer, artist and teacher
ninefrancois.com
Art & Creativity, Earthfire Stories, Retreats and Workshops | February 17, 2010
Watch as participants of Earthfire Institutes digital storytelling workshop go from technological panic or storytellers block to completing a passionately felt creative piece in two days. These stories are beautifully told in their own voice with Earthfire’s animals and the experience of meeting them as inspiration. For more information on this years Digital Storytelling Workshop led by Leslie Rule of KQED San Francisco visit our calendar.
Animal Story, Animal Tales, Wolves | February 16, 2010
We brought gentle ancient Windsong into the cabin to ease her aching limbs from the cold. She likes it Quite well. She has yet to give any
indication that she is willing to leave. We take her out several times a day for exercise and sun but she makes it clear that she is ready
to return at any time. She races as fast as her wobbly back legs allow, directly to the cabin door. Not much doubt about her preference.
It took her a while to settle into, to believe, her good fortune. That it wasn’t going to be taken away. She was dazed and out of it when
we first brought her in, acting rather like a wolf with Alzheimer’s, going vaguely and woodenly wherever we gently physically directed her,
eyes vacant and uncomprehending. She had had that vagueness about her for about 6 months, so much so that she gave the impression
that she was going blind and deaf. We thought she would have only a month or so more to live, another reason we brought her in , to give
her comfort and care. But we were radically fooled. As the days and weeks rolled by she began to realize that she might be staying
and she allowed herself expand into that sense of trust and belief. This16 year old wolf, 112 years in human terms, began to regain her
youth! Rather than fading away she had somehow retapped into her life force. She became increasingly alert, her eyes bright and curious.
She was clearly not blind. And she was clearly not deaf. She had just disconnected.
Her energy level increased and she wallowed in the delights of the cabin, investigating smells and potential sources of food with proper
wolfly interest. Coming back in she stretches luxuriously on her soft bed, enjoying the floor heat as it seeps into her old bones.
We have created a monster – a wolf so obviously enjoying her new life that we will not have the heart to put her back out until late spring.
How can you give a creature a second life and then take it away? Now that she is in, it would be like putting a relative out on the ice.
The disappointment would kill her.
We brought gentle, ancient Windsong into the cabin to ease her aching limbs from the cold. She likes it quite well. She has yet to give any indication that she is willing to leave. We take her out several times a day for exercise and sun but she makes it clear that she is ready to return at any time. She races as fast as her wobbly back legs allow, directly to the cabin door. There isn’t much doubt as to her preference. It took her a while to settle in and believe her good fortune. That it wasn’t going to be taken away. She was dazed and out of it when we first brought her in, acting rather like a wolf with Alzheimer’s, going vaguely and woodenly wherever we gently, physically directed her, eyes vacant and uncomprehending. She had had that vagueness about her for about six months, so much so that she gave the impression that she was going blind and deaf. We thought she would have only a month or so more to live, another reason we brought her in, to give her comfort and care. But we were radically fooled. As the days and weeks rolled by, she began to realize that she might be staying and she allowed herself to expand into that 
sense of trust and belief. This 16-year-old wolf, 112 years in human terms, began to regain her youth! Rather than fading away she had somehow reconnected to her life force. She became increasingly alert, her eyes bright and curious. She was clearly not blind. And she was clearly not deaf. She had just disconnected. Her energy level increased and she wallowed in the delights of the cabin, investigating smells and potential sources of food with proper wolfly interest. Coming back in she stretches luxuriously on her soft bed, enjoying the floor heat as it seeps into her old bones. We have created a monster – a wolf so obviously enjoying her new life that we will not have the heart to put her back out until late spring. How can you give a creature a second life and then take it away? Now that she is in, it would be like putting a relative out on an iceberg. The disappointment would kill her. So we now have another wolf resident in the cabin.
Animal Tales, Blog, Children & Families, Retreats and Workshops, Wolves | February 16, 2010
Fortunately for us Windsong is so gentle that Cucumber, who long ago decided she was to be a permanent fixture in the cabin,
has accepted her presence ( after a few dominating growling sessions to assert her place and superiority). This is quite a statement
of not only her age but also the softness she has always projected.
It was this combination of age and innate gentleness that made us decide to invite Windsong to host our very first parent-child retreat
in the yurt, lending her wolf magic and energy to the event. On a splended winter day in January three sets of parents and their children
visited the coyotes and foxes and badger and wolves and buffalo and wild burros. When finished we all entered the warmth of the yurt for hot
chocolate, homemade animal cookies and storytelling around the woodburning stove. Then we brought in Windsong and the kids
were electrified. Tentatively at first they came over, their parents with camera in hand as the children made her aquaintance. Soon she was
surrounded by kids, covered by little hands as she stood there patiently allowing them to feel her, explore her. Two mothers, watching this,
were crying. It was quite something.
For information on our family retreats this summer visit the calendar on the website.
Fortunately for us, Windsong is so gentle that Cucumber, who long ago decided she was to be a permanent fixture
in the cabin, has accepted her presence (after a few dominating growling sessions to assert her place and superiority). This is quite a statement of not only her age but also the softness she has always projected. It was this combination of age and innate gentleness that made us decide to invite Windsong to host our very first parent-child retreat in the yurt, lending her wolf magic and energy to the event. On a splendid winter day in January, three sets of parents and their children visited the coyotes and foxes and badger and wolves and buffalo and wild burros. When finished we all entered the warmth of the yurt for hot chocolate, homemade animal cookies and storytelling around the wood-burning stove. Then we brought in Windsong and the kids were electrified. Tentatively at first they came over, their parents with camera in hand as the children made her acquaintance. Soon she was surrounded by kids, covered by little hands as she stood there patiently allowing them to feel her, explore her. Two mothers, watching this, were crying. It was quite something.
For information on our family retreats this summer, visit our calendar.
Animal Story, Blog, Deep Ecology, Ethics & Whole Community, Wolves | February 10, 2010
We lost Cindar the wolf a few hours ago, a vibrant brilliant black wolf. I can feel her still here. She didn’t want to leave. She was so scared when the vet came, but let us handle her in any way we needed – x rays, pulling fluid from her lungs, putting in an IV. This is a wolf we are talking about, allowing all this without a tranquilizer. Trusting. Sweet. Cooperative. Looking to us for help, pleading in her eyes. The contrast between a cooperative scared creature wanting so to live, and the vicious image of wolves here in Idaho or Alaska as we shoot them for sport suggests an utter madness, the image is so far removed from the fact. Yes wolves are predators – but so are dogs and cats, and we accept the predatory instinct in them. Feral packs of dogs hunt and kill livestock and even kill humans. That doesn’t change our view of dogs, nor do we kill them for fun. Dogs come from wolves and everything we love in a dog is there in a wolf even more intensely – the love, loyalty, sweetness. But if an animal inconveniences us, we demonize it and then feel free to do to it what we will. Wild animals are not convenient. Coyotes, grizzly bears, buffalo on grassland wanted for cows, black bears in our backyard – not convenient. Animals that scare us – not convenient. But that doesn’t mean we need to demonize them or not see the beauty in them or deny them the right to live. To be on this earth with us. What kind of species are we that some of us are devastated by the loss of a single wolf and others take pleasure in killing them? How do we move ahead to become more “human” as a species, in the best sense of the word?
Blog | February 9, 2010
Dawn rises on a bitter cold morning, dark mountains etched sharply against the pale sky. Everything is white and still and frozen – a Jack London far north morning. But it is mid February and the light is already strong as the earth tilts rapidly towards the sun at this latitude. It will warm 40 degrees in a matter of hours and the animals will curl themselves up in the sun, warm and sleepy after a cold cold night. They endure uncomplainingly but it doesn’t mean it was easy on them. I hear loud complaining and scolding – the chickadees are calling for the flies they have come to expect me to release from the log cabin window but my malamute Talkeetna is on the porch and they are annoyed.
Animal Story, Badger, Blog, Children & Families, Seen Thru New Eyes | February 4, 2010
We held a parent-child-animal event recently and everyone was fascinated with Miss Clover. It is rare to get a chance to get up close and personal to a badger. So many people have told us, as they walk up to her, “there’s the meanest thing on four legs.” (And some of these people teach!). Isn’t true. To prove it she usually licks Jean affectionately on his nose. 
A fearsome reputation helps a lot if you are little and flat in a big dangerous world and can’t see too well to boot. It is useful to protect yourself by a shoot-first-and-ask-questions later philosophy. A wild animal feeling threatened protects itself! What a concept! But the tragic part is your bad reputation prevents people from seeing the sweetness that is there when you feel safe. If we approached the wild ones with a different attitude and care, we might have a different experience altogether. They have a huge sense of curiosity when not feeling threatened. They want to know about us, as we do about them – life in one form (badger) meeting itself in another form (human).
Miss Clover, a safe and relaxed badger, has a great sense of play and humor, and is extremely affectionate. She is very verbal and expresses her feelings quite clearly. All of them. She giggles and sings, and positively purrs at the sight of Jean. She follows him around on badger walks ( a bit slow as she stops frequently to dig). And when guests come she charms the pants off of them. ( “I didn’t know a badger could be like that!”). Miss Clover strikes another blow for badger awareness. And perhaps opens our mind to the possibility that other wild animals might have a sweet side too.
Blog | February 2, 2010
The sun rises late over the Tetons in winter, its rays piercing the fog that swaths the mountains on this cold cold January day. The long morning shadows lie blue across the ground. All is quiet this winter morning. The bears are sleeping. Bushes and grasses are silhouetted, their frost – encased limbs glistening. The snow sparkles, the trees sparkle, the whole world is dazzling, magical.
The sun rises above the fog and pours into my window. Soon it will be above the porch roof in its inexorable travels across the sky. There is no stopping it; no stopping the passage of light, of time. The only choice is to be in it, enjoying each moment, enjoying the rhythm of dawn, morning, day, dusk, night rolling again into dawn…
It is now February, the return of the light. The full moon over the Tetons shines on a snow-scape, the myriad facets of the snow reflecting winter nights that the moonlit landscape glitters with it own reflected light. One of our wolves is named Moonlit.
I write this looking out the window of the 10×14′ log cabin where I write and dream…
sk and to learn what we can about better care. Cindar, a young, healthy wolf, died of a twisted lung – the equivalent of a colic in a horse. It is very rare. By the time it was diagnosed, though we rushed her off to Salt Lake City to a specialist, it was too late. As with any colic it is a true medical emergency and chances of survival are slim if not treated immediately. It made we wonder – why would a healthy young wolf die of such a rare illness? In discussing the loss with a healing practitioner, she told us that in some traditions each organ does not only its own job, and has its own vibration, but also carries the energy of a specific emotion. That emotion for the lung, is grief.
Nomad Lives by Jennifer Sauer
