Animal Tales, Blog | March 15, 2010
At the pet store yesterday Lori the manager called me over — “Look, look at this!” There were two parrot cichlids in a tank swimming about in the lower left front corner looking rather strange because there was a whole tank in which to swim. After a few minutes, I saw a tiny, tiny little speck darting about in that corner — then another — then another. Lori said there were 30 of them. The babies were born just four days ago. She said at first they all stayed in a little depression in the gravel, the parents hovering over them and chasing away all the other fish in the tank. This stressed them so much that she removed all the fish except two placid suckers who spend their time glued to the back wall. Now, four days later, the babies were escaping the nest and darting about exploring, looking very excited with new life and the joys of having a physical body, oblivious to any danger. The parents would pick them up in their mouth and return them only to have others escape. The smaller parent repeatedly scoured the bottom for bits of food, picking up morsels, and expelling the food toward whichever babies it could find; attacking fish in the next tank through the glass, then scouring for more food. There was no way these tiny things could eat all the food the parents were blowing at them but they couldn’t help themselves — driven to shower the babies with food, to feed, feed, feed. Periodically in their attacking fits they saw those poor suckers out of the corner of their eyes and an unreasoned fury descended upon the suckers as they peacefully clung to the glass. They would hurriedly unattach themselves, move a few inches and try for peace again. The larger parent swam in circles over the empty nest looking overwhelmed and frazzled, occasionally rounding up a baby in its mouth and trying to bring it back where it could watch over it and keep it safe. The next day I came back to photograph the fish family and the parents had the beginnings of a pebble wall built up against the front of the tank in an attempt to protect the babies from the prying eyes of humans. A lot of work for little fish! Building walls, changing nests, darting, chasing, rounding up, feeding, attacking, trying to keep an eye on their babies and keep them safe…..they were a wreck.
The tribulations of parenthood are universal.
Earthfire Stories | March 14, 2010
We were never a close family.
Mother’s pathological narcissism demanded our full attention. Dad, though an inspiration, was shackled with alcoholism.
My older sister and I survived an unnerving childhood…and we harbored deep wounds.
Yet… I could always make her laugh… sometimes get her to the beach… she loved horses and I would bounce along beside her on a ride….but as the years went by she became more and more “distant”… not returning phone calls and writing the same “formula” thank you notes for Christmas and birthday gifts. I had just about given up on our sibling relationship when Earthfire’s magic gave us another chance.
This past year, in lieu of traditional Christmas gifts, I “gave” eight friends “a share” of a “shade” tree for Earthfire Institute….a beautiful, tall, Amur maple.
I also included the most recent Eart
hfire newsletter in the Christmas card.
Within a few weeks I knew by the envelope that the dutiful thank you note had arrived but the contents amazed me…..
“Hi Judith….Many thanks for the gift to the Earthfire Institute. I am so pleased- especially because you are directly involved in the project. Their mission statement is inspiring…and a yurt…how wonderfully appropriate and with so many uses. I love that Blue bell approves, too…and Cucumber-what can one say-a great story with a good news ending.”
So much excitement! I was stunned, excited, grateful.
Touched by the animals, and the hope that Earthfire embodies, my sister came out of her “shell”. We are communicating again and of course I will send her a membership for her up coming birthday.
Healing comes in many forms…and reminds us that the “connections” are never really broken…… -Judith Austin
Blog, Wolves | March 11, 2010
Cindar was a 7 year old, beautiful black female wolf. She was very sensitive and smart. Jean and Susan called me because she was depressed and seemed ill. When I arrived she was weak and was breathing very rapidly. When I listened to her lungs with the stethoscope she had very little air moving through them. I was immediately concerned as to why such a seemingly healthy wolf was losing lung function so quickly. We decided that to get a better idea as to what was going on with her lungs, we needed to do a chest x-ray. The x-ray revealed fluid in the chest and very limited lung capacity. Some of the lung had no air in it at all. It was clear she had pneumonia but what would have caused it? Cancer? What sort of infection would be that rapid? We started treatment for pneumonia and I went home unsettled in my mind. In the middle of the night I suddenly sat up from a deep sleep and said – It’s a torsion! Lung torsion is quite rare and is seen mainly in very deep chested dogs like Afghans, which are similar to wolves in conformation with their narrow deep chest cavities. What happens is that one lobe of the lung twists around its base, which includes the airway and all the blood vessels. In a very short period of time the lobe starts to die. This process causes toxins to build up, and fluid to accumulate which further decreases the animal’s capacity to breathe. The only treatment is surgery, which is very complicated and has to be done by a specialist. Unfortunately the closest hospital able to perform the procedure on Cindar was in Salt Lake City. As soon as I realized it was a torsion we were dealing with Jean was in the car on the way to Salt Lake as Susan made arrangem
ents, but it was too late. Cindar died before reaching the hospital. This was a very difficult case to diagnose and to lose. Cindar’s lung had twisted well before she was showing any outward signs of distress. Wolves are so strong and so capable of hidingpain and illness it makes it very difficult to know if something is wrong until they are very ill. This was a very unfortunate case and I may never see another lung torsion again in my career because they are so rare but I will always keep it in the back of my mind because of Cindar and maybe I can save the next one.Maybe this article will help save an animal too. – Summer Winger DVM
Blog, Deep Ecology, Ethics & Whole Community | March 9, 2010
Talkeetna, my malamute, was walking me on leash the other day when she suddenly made a leap into the deep snow on the side of the track and dug furiously. She has pounced and dug before, never to meet with any success, but she loved the effort so I indulged her and watched. However this time was different. A tiny vole, feeling safe under the snow, was caught unaware and after a few crunches went down the gullet of a well-fed dog who did not need it. I felt really bad. A life ended so suddenly for no real necessity; perhaps a mother of several little babies, or a mate. A hungry owl or hawk or fox – that would have been an understandable use of its life. But just to give a well-taken care of dog some pleasure? The wild animals are under enough pressure here from humans, who act as predators by taking over the land and water and food sources and homes. I as much as anyone love seeing my dogs run and play and follow their natural instincts, but it is not fair to the wild ones to let loose upon them other predators as well – our beloved dogs and cats. It is interesting how we make dividing lines in our mind. “Us” and “other.” The dogs and cats have become “us”, family members; and the wildlife for many is still the “other.” Thus we feel justified in letting our dogs run and chase wildlife and our cats hunt the birds and mice that are vital for wild animals, who have to fight for their food and their survival every day. It would be good if we could expand the boundaries of “us” to include the lives of the wild ones. Then we would be moved to find a way to live together that takes all lives into consideration.
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.
At the pet store yesterday Lori the manager called me over — “Look, look at this!” There were two parrot cichlids in a tank swimming about in the lower left front corner looking rather strange because there was a whole tank in which to swim. After a few minutes, I saw a tiny, tiny little speck darting about in that corner — then another — then another. Lori said there were 30 of them. The babies were born just four days ago. She said at first they all stayed in a little depression in the gravel, the parents hovering over them and chasing away all the other fish in the tank. This stressed them so much that she removed all the fish except two placid suckers who spend their time glued to the back wall. Now, four days later, the babies were escaping the nest and darting about exploring, looking very excited with new life and the joys of having a physical body, oblivious to any danger. The parents would pick them up in their mouth and return them only to have others escape. The smaller parent repeatedly scoured the bottom for bits of food, picking up morsels, and expelling the food toward whichever babies it could find; attacking fish in the next tank through the glass, then scouring for more food. There was no way these tiny things could eat all the food the parents were blowing at them but they couldn’t help themselves — driven to shower the babies with food, to feed, feed, feed. Periodically in their attacking fits they saw those poor suckers out of the corner of their eyes and an unreasoned fury descended upon the suckers as they peacefully clung to the glass. They would hurriedly unattach themselves, move a few inches and try for peace again. The larger parent swam in circles over the empty nest looking overwhelmed and frazzled, occasionally rounding up a baby in its mouth and trying to bring it back where it could watch over it and keep it safe. The next day I came back to photograph the fish family and the parents had the beginnings of a pebble wall built up against the front of the tank in an attempt to protect the babies from the prying eyes of humans. A lot of work for little fish! Building walls, changing nests, darting, chasing, rounding up, feeding, attacking, trying to keep an eye on their babies and keep them safe…..they were a wreck.
Animal Magic – By Judith Austin
Digital Storytelling Workshop
