“Feral ~ from feminine of ferus wild: having escaped from domestication and become wild…”

Showing posts sorted by date for query taking space. Sort by relevance Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by date for query taking space. Sort by relevance Show all posts



Do you know what we are?

Not just mothers, lovers, sisters



Like water, air, fire


(and you need them all)

We are here.

                                            ~J.L. Grinyer 2018



New Spring rains

Like rain from the sky, written words run in our family. My mother was a writer. She kept life journals, and travel journals, noting special occasions in her beautiful cursive handwriting. She would write letters to family and foe alike, and we even could include her jotting remarks on charts for her patients as a Pediatric RN. When she died in 2005, she left a legacy of words, a written trail for us to follow.

Recently my wonderful sister passed on to me an autobiography my mother wrote in 1942 when she was just 15 years old -

"My plans are not quite definite. I shall complete the four years of high school, and I would like to go to college. For a long time I have planned to be a nurse in the hospital or an army nurse. I like to get people well and happy. Another position I would like to have is that of a Chemist. I like Science and I would also like to study Biology. I think Chemistry is very interesting..."

Written many years ago, her words reveal so much of who she was, and was to become. Her love of Science and her determination of having a career was evident, even though this was not encouraged for women in 1942. Though she may not have felt like it at the time, she was brave, intelligent, and a writer; she could put into words her heart's desire by her own hand. And we, her family, were brought closer to her and to understanding our familial ties by reading her words. How magical that the written word can bind people, even after death!

So it is important for us to write, and leave behind the written word which can benefit others. Our words can flow into crevices of knowledge, emotion and entertainment, gathering momentum until they spill forever on those whose minds and hearts will read them. Such is the importance of the written word.

My mother's new words are no more.

But I continue to write on.

And now so does my Daughter.


Introducing a new Blog

 by blogger Wild Abigal 

Im very excited to do this interview, 
because the interviewee is my Daughter, Wild Abigal!

She has her own blog and is writing about her exploits 
of owning a small Lakeside cabin. 
Her writing skills will make you laugh and learn along with her
as she tackles new small home ownership 
with her handsome Husband, handsome Puppy 
and THREE fiesty cats! 

Im excited!  Let us begin, shall we?

Okay Wild Abigal, You come from a long line of storytellers, so my first question is - what do you like about writing in general, and how do you apply this to your blog?

​Well, I really, really love reading both factual and fictional stories. I think storytelling is very important to us as humans on both a cultural and personal level. ​It's how we share experiences and relate to one another. So writing/blogging to me serves as an extension of my own experiences that I can share with people who are not in my immediate everyday circle. I like writing because it opens that door for others to share their own stories and maybe give people a look into a life that's different from their own. By starting my blog, I really hope my writing can be inspirational yet down-to-earth. I think the best blogs out there, like yours, are approachable and uncomplicated views into a person's everyday existence. 

From one writer to another, thank you for that beautiful compliment! Hey, you have been always creative; now you own an etsy shop, The Handsome Hound and recently bought a small lake cabin, becoming part of the tiny house movement. What do you plan in the future for your blogposts? Will you be tackling new creative projects and writing about them?

Thank you! I love being creative! 

My first posts will mostly be about the home buying process as a first time home buyer as well as a continuation of how and why we ​decided to live in a small home. Since our house is little, about 800 sq ft, I also plan on blogging mostly about the DIY home updates I've planned to maximize​ ​space. From things as simple to changing out cabinet hardware to ambitious built-in furniture projects, hopefully my blog friends will be entertained by my ability (maybe inability at times... hehe) to create a cozy, somewhat stylish home in a smaller than average space. I also have a backyard space that needs a garden makeover so that will take up more than a few posts. Oh! and my animal babies will of course be a part of many of my blog entries. The four of them are my constant companions. 

Speaking of which - how did you meet David, your wonderful husband, and your sassy stepcat, Salix ?

We were neighbors when I first moved to Missoula, MT. Our roommates were mutually annoyed when we would hang out and flirt by making our cats hiss at each other. One month after meeting, we started dating. Two years after dating, we moved in together, and after five years together we were married this past July. We'll be celebrating our first year of marriage and six years together this summer!

YAY! Your wedding was the highest highlight of 2014 for us! Okay, fourth question- your blogger name is Wild Abigal -why did you choose that name?

Well... I have a feral mother... Although I mostly plan for everything well in advance, I have my wild moments! ​

​Plus, sometimes I exist outside of social norms so wild for me is a more positive label than "weird" or "kinda odd" haha!

Its hereditary! yikes! Speaking of wild moments, how often do you think you'll be posting ?

​Once a week to start. My second post will be next week Monday. I will post more if it is a larger project that takes a few days. I love comparing the before and after pictures once I've completed DIY projects​ ​so spreading those posts out over the week will probably be the best option as I continue to make this small house home.

Already you are better at blogging then your feral mother! Okay, now just to clarify again, how do you know gowestferalwoman? 

You (GWFeralwoman) are my Mom, Mama, Mutti, and finally Maman if I'm feeling french and want to shout your name in a store to find you...

And such a proud Maman I am!!!!! Even though Im feral and might hide once in a while in the chocolate aisle!! 

Anyhow, Thank you Wild Abigal for talking to me today!


Thank you everyone for taking the time 

to read our interview with Wild Abigal

Make sure you check out her blog !

Click on the red box below

because in our family,

the new Spring rains have arrived...


ghost dog

Its amazing when you have lived with someone for over a decade, how you recognize the little nuances of what makes them, well, them. a sigh in another room.  The way they walk. How they have presence, so that you know that they are there, with you, even if you are not even sharing the same space...

Dexterdog was getting old.  We could tell this, after all he was pushing 13, but we still would ask him if he wanted to feed the horses, go to the mailbox; we even did a two mile hike in January, and he was eager to go.  His body not so much, but his attitude? oh yes, lets go!! His mind was always on us, even to the end. So when one week ago, when his breathing was labored even at rest, and he wanted to sleep long hours, we knew something was not right - lets call Dr. Randy and get him checked out - off to town we went. 

Thus began the discussion - for some reason we thought we had time, and now the time was now.  When is it time to put them down? He didnt seem to be in pain - just uncomfortable, more so then less. But then, he still enjoyed a good meal, barked for snacks, loved to eat snow and would tell us to open the door when he had to go potty. His world was now reduced to the lower floor of the house and 10 foot radius outside the house, and his heart may be failing, but that tail wag was still there...So after a few good stories exchanged (and Dr. Randy has good ones, especially one about a COPD mustang stubborn mare, who even had to die her own way; dropping immediately dead of a heart attack right into the hay bale ring, making it almost impossible to pull her out...a true mare right to the end lol) Dr. Randy gave us some drugs to ease his breathing, and we both agreed that maybe the time isnt right now, but its very soon. Mr. Foresterman asked Dr. Randy if he could come out to the homestead to put him down if it becomes sooner rather then later (we were not comfortable with the idea of shooting our forestry co-worker)... being the excellent vet that he is, he said "no problem, let me know and I will be there".  Did you know we live an hour away from town?  any town?  

Dr. Randy is a wonderful vet. the best.

So onward to the store to buy dexterdog a package of cookies, a case of canned junkfood kibbles and bits, and those pepperoni puppy snacks.  If you are going to go, you may as well burn that candle to the very end...and he did. I fed him every time he barked. he loved it.  We even slept in the guest bedroom with him downstairs, as stairs were no longer accessible. All of us, Tomaz kitty included. We gave him love & attention to the point of distraction... But then last Friday night, Dexter took a turn for the worse - it seemed his breathing became more erratic and wheezy, his heart beating faster and out of sync. Saturday morning he refused all food; even his beloved peanut butter - he still would eat snow though, so we brought it in by the bowlful, holding it for him so he could lick it...  By Sunday afternoon, he could no longer stand.  Later I even carried him outside just so he could lay in the late afternoon sun,  licking his snow when he could, for a half hour or so. He looked up at me and wagged that big curly tail slowly to say thanks mom! one last time. Then early Monday morning, we were awakened at 4 am - Death was on his way - and I got a lick on the nose when I told Dexter that he didnt need to stay here anymore, I would be okay, that his body was old and he needed to go be free...That was my last kiss.

By the time sun rose, Mr. Foresterman had called Randy and asked if he could come out - thinking I had a little bit of time left, I went upstairs, asking Mr. Foresterman to stay with Dexter, so I could change out of my pajamas. While coming back down the stairs I heard my name softly called. I kneeled across from Mr. Foresterman, next to Dexterdog's face, the rest of his body stretched out on his dog bed with his favorite blanket... I rubbed behind his ears with both hands like he loves me to do, and told him what a wonderful, good, good dog he is...

its time to go, Dexter... i love you ...

He sighed deeply once, and the light of life slowly dimmed in his eyes. Mr. Foresterman could still feel his heart beating, although his breathing stopped. Then his heart stopped too. We looked at each other over his peaceful, big furry white body.  It was over.  And Dr. Randy? We had 8 inches of snow in our area over the weekend, and as he turned on the road that leads up to us, He said it was the darnedest thing...The Sun was shining, but...sporadic big splotches fell, raindrops, crystal ice RAINDROPS of all things, that froze when it plopped onto his truck's windshield... and nothing but heat or scraping was going to get them off...When he finally arrived, we told him Dexter was gone, but that we were glad that he made it up safely to our place.  And it was then, without any prompting, that Mr. Foresterman made a very tough decision...

Isabel, our 15 year old cat, was having good weeks and bad weeks - but each time she was losing weight.  Youd have thought though she was a kitten the way she acted when it was a good week, but her bad weeks, she was miserable and in pain. And even though I was taking care of her health needs, she just was not regaining the weight she lost each time, and now her head was wider then her body. but she was not my cat- she was true blue Mr. Foresterman's all the way...

To tell you the truth, She actually hated me, and my big white fluffy dog too. No, hate is not a strong enough word in this case. she tolerated us up to a certain point. Oh, she would come up for a pat, but would bite me when I petted her too much, or scratch me if i didnt do it right - she would swat at Dexter even if he was just walking by, and gosh forbid if he nosed her. But She didnt bite mr. Foresterman, nor swat at him.  He could do no wrong in her little green cat eyes...she was his...and what did he ask of Dr. Randy?

"Could you put down Isabel while you are here?"

So, in her favorite place in front of our fireplace's nice warm fire, on her favorite ottoman, Mr. Foresterman stroked her while Dr. Randy did the right thing... and she went peacefully, chasing after Dexter. After a few more stories exchanged, we said goodbye to Dr. Randy, the best Vet ever. The house was now quiet.  We placed the two of them side by side on the blanket in the Mudroom; Tomaz was confused. He sniffed, and walked away, then would come back to stare. Get up, you guys! Come on! he seemed to be saying...now he was all alone. All his friends were gone.  

And thats when I started to finally cry...

We buried the two deep, next to Sally the pony, at the old gate in back. They were buried separately because I couldnt stand the thought of evil kitty Izzy sneering at lugalug Dexterdog for an eternity. Side by side with a little dirt distance in between thank you. Mr. Foresterman humored me, but it wasnt easy; there was 6 inch frost line that we had to bust through. Taking turns, we broke through, and he placed Isabel's body in her spot, I place Dexter's in his, 3 feet down.  After we were done, We were both tired, muddied with thick gumbo, and little disoriented; we really didnt have time to eat much because of all what transpired...we lost two of our best friends on the same day. well, I lost mine, and Mr. Foresterman lost his cat that he has had since she was a tiny kitten...Dexter was always my dog, my bud. I adopted him from a dog rescue back in 2002; he was 18 months old, was a purebred Samoyed but had been through TWO homes - the last one he had caused thousands of dollars of damage when he chewed on a expensive backyard spa and cover. Well, I didnt have a spa so he came home with me.  And the rest is history.  Mr. Foresterman let him be my dog, because he knew Dexter would take care of me, especially when i was alone working or playing in the woods.  And he did. I was never ate by a bear, mountain lion or human in all his years of duty...He was the best dog ever and i dont think i want another dog for a very long time. My grief is very real - we lost half of our "pack" family in one day...

or did we?

At first I thought it was just me, and didnt say anything.  im difficult enough to live with, i didnt want to give anyone grounds to get me commited.  It started with a Dexter sigh, i swear I heard - maybe it was the snow melting off the roof?  Then I heard a clunk; the way his elbows would hit the floor when he got up - maybe thats the plumbing? And when I came home from the post office yesterday to an empty house - he used to ride shotgun with me - I felt like he was in the other room, and he was going to come out to greet me in his sammy grin way, tail wagging...I was preparing myself to have to explain why I didnt take him with and then accept his forgiveness... At that point I thought I just better stop entertaining these thoughts and "pretend" sounds. Maybe its my mind's way of handling loss...

 But then Mr. Foresterman mentioned something to me today.

The same night after Dexter died, he was awakened by a noise upstairs; how could it be? the sound of Dexter brushing up and rattling against the bathroom door, like he always did - because well, big fur, big body, small opening - he brushed up against everything, tattletale white fur at a 3ft height everywhere. Mr. Foresterman listened again, but didnt hear anything more... well, maybe it was Tomaz...He moved his leg over.  

Tomaz was sleeping at the foot of the bed.



"Devotional love extends beyond the finality of death...and it is the strongest magic there is..."



A feral pictorial

this is my story. and it is real.


The above is a Prairie Rattlesake's tail - it was clipped off after he was destroyed ~we found him in the horses pasture late last summer and with one swift movement we were able to end his life with a crushing blow from a stick made out of hard ash. Their rattles are actually very fragile - you can see how they get brittle with age and begin to crack, weakening their defense mechanism they need in order to warn. Prairie Rattlers are not aggressive; on the contrary they usually rattle only when frightened and cannot escape - its their way of saying "please, please stay away from me!!" 

and a simple piece of planed wood can end their life immediately.

Thats exactly how I felt when they told me they had found a mass last fall. They were thinking it was Lymphoma, as it was large, abnormally shaped,  near to lymph nodes, and my calcium level was high - afterwards they will tell me that they were relieved that it wasnt retroperitoneal sarcoma, which has a poor survival rate of under a year. When I was first told that I needed to have surgery as soon as possible, I felt the blow of something that came out of no where - and where I thought I was strong -

my world instantly became very fragile.


The above is a knotty piece of petrified wood, found on our property. There are many pockets of coal seams, fossilized layers of leaves, and petrified wood in our corner of SE Montana. It is like time has frozen a remarkable place and let it stay still forever. Sometimes when we are out walking in the surrounding National Forest, we will come across a petrified tree stump, standing taller then ourselves, and we can only marvel at the knots, the patterns of the rings, the width...and how it is so remarkable that it stands still to this day, while the rest of the world revolves and changes all around it...

That was my world after the surgery. When they diagnosed a very rare disease, called Uni-Centric Castlemans disease,  and they told me that they couldnt get all of it and they wanted to do radiation for 4 weeks - right before Thankgiving - where I would have to live in Billings and go into the cancer ward 5 days a week for treatment...In the end it was my decision alone to make, and I told them no. There wasnt enough case studies in its medical history to prove that radiation would even work...and there was the slim chance that it would die off on its own. Then came the surgical induced blood clot in my leg - running from my ankle to my hip - and I was put on Warfarin, a blood thinner - which in itself requires many blood tests to make sure you are not taking too much, or too less - and if it works right, then the clot can slowly dissolve on its own without inducing life threatening pulmonary embolisms or strokes while you maintain physical activity... this all takes time.  3 months at least.  it takes time.  So we keep ourselves occupied, trying to not think of what terrible things could happen - we will our heart and our mind to try to understand the new normal in our lives- we mustn't  fret, we must make our mind think on what is good in the world, we must rest -

It takes time.


The above is a very rare grinding stone that was found in the mud at our old house in Wisconsin on the Saint Croix River... why is it rare? Do you see the circles at the apex of the stone?  This is from being driven by rushing amounts of water, surging, melting glacial ice water, going round and round in a whirlpool on a bed of rock and making potholes, gathering more rocks so that soon they are grinding against each other, rounding each other out, each one becoming smooth works of art... and then one day coming to rest on a bank as the waters recede, grounded, only to be found by a feral person tending to their blooming spring garden on an early day in May...

When first confronted with such trials, you feel despair...and so you pray, and talk to God and ask "why?" seeking answers that wouldnt satisfy your darkening world anyhow...and then you reach out to others, and talk to them, commensurating on what is happening, but soon that too gets old and stale, a topic that has no answers, only questions, always questions...

and then you realize its all up in the air - all of it - you will always have questions that never will be answered. and that has to be okay. Youre ready to move forward now.  So you learn that your family loves you, that your friends love you, theres a God that loves you, and that theres a whole literary world of people that rotates and floats through time and space and connects hearts to each others words, photos, life events, online, loves you too...and its good. all good. 

And so you become grounded.


The above is a crystalline formation called Mica that is actually pretty incredible when you think about the process that brought its existence about...its bed is a mixture of coal and petrified wood; something that was once living, making air for the planet, is now turned into a rock-like substance but yet still can grow something so amazingly beautiful. Beauty from ashes literally.

And thats how I feel- dead to a former life that wasnt aware of what it was even capable of nor to acknowledging how precious  life really is - to a life where everything is special, and the possibilities are now endless. Would I still be able to have a physically active life if the blood thinning therapy became permanent or if this disease spreads?  Yes I could, as long as I took the time to examine "the how" in order to do that, and accept the differences of what I cannot do. My attitude has changed from "why?" to "how?". And patience now comes easily, because even the act of getting impatient is a gift. All of it is a gift. All of it.

So most importantly, something happened - an awareness of how special each moment can be - how amazing, even the most mundane brings beautiful moments. Emily's epiphany as a spirit who had the opportunity to come back to life on a regular routine day in Thornton Wilder's play, "Our Town" sums up my previous in two sentences -  starting with the moment where she says "Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? -- every, every minute?" and what was the stage manager's response? "No... saints and poets, maybe -- they do some..."  I am not a saint, but in my heart now beats a poet. I am standing alive. I am still here.

and its not too late.



The above is something very special to me, that links me to this land we own in Montana ; while walking above the creek on our place on a rocky ledge, I happened to look down, and see this...as I picked it up and placed it in my hand, it fit comfortably and I realized the last person who touch this lived many many years ago, when it was a place of running horses, untamed hills, open land ...I shivered, my mind staring up at the blue of the sky. It is a scraper tool, used to scrape leather hides. Someone (i'd like to think she!) left this here on this nice sunny ledge above the creek - maybe a storm came on, as they do suddenly do here, and she had to gather everything quickly to seek shelter- maybe a child called her, yelling to her that father was home and come, mom,  come see what he brought - maybe a buffalo herd was sighted, and everyone was called to the hunt as fast as they could get prepared in order to gather the next winters provision - maybe she was in danger, and she had to go, now, and dropped this to the ground, where it lay through seasons upon seasons of snow, rain, drought...until I stood on this very spot, glanced down, and saw a shadow remnant of her life...

I want to leave something behind too, for someone to notice and reflect. I have purpose.  And so do you. While we still breathe we can determine what we want to leave behind...I realize that all what I have accomplished is nothing without having someone be affected by it in a positive way..  a disease does not make me who I am. My attitude does. And I want my children, my childrens children, to remember me as the kind person who loved others... and so like she who left the scraper, I too will leave something behind ...

I will try to leave good memories.


The above is a feather from a red shouldered hawk ~ a bird that lives its whole life in the air, and only touches the ground when its time to hunt. You will find them on top of things - fence posts, tallest tree limbs, the highest spot on the gate - in order to fly freely. They are the most incredible flyers; gliding on thermal currents, or diving gracefully to the ground to snatch their next meal, they do it with incredible ease.  We have a pair that has a nest across the hayfield in a very tall ponderosa pine, and they trusted us enough to bring their babies up to the top of our butte later to teach them to hunt.  We would watch them call out to each other, and laugh at the antics of the youngsters who were still trying to get the hang of landing...but by seasons end, they did, and they too became graceful flyers of the sky...

Last week I went in, for the first series of tests and scan to see if anything was growing, and to check the situation concerning the blood clot. As i lay there in the scanner, I had the sudden urge to bolt from the room, but I couldnt even physically if I wanted to, as I was hooked up to an IV with contrast with my hands above my head, and my pants were down around my knees under the covers so they wouldnt mess with the scan picture and I was stuck in a tube.  It took a bit of reasoning inside my head to fight this urge and Im glad I did - because  the results came back as nothing. NOTHING!!

Thats right, nothing significant showed up.  So the next scan and tests will be in 6 months, not 3. And my calcium levels are normal (high calcium can be an indicator for cancers).  So far, the decision to not do radiation might be the right one... time will tell. And now my blood flow in my leg is good, so I am off of the blood thinners. I am free to do what I choose to do physically. We are starting a new exercise program to build strength and endurance - with doctor approval.  And like the red shouldered hawk youngsters, Im kind of shaky on the landings, but I can now "fly"...

I am free !


The above is a blossom from my primrose that sits by the cat food bowls, occasionally watered when we water the cats.  Not exactly a perfect oasis, but this primrose chose to bloom right there, in the moment, bringing a smile to those who see it by the back door.  These blooms are not forever. They will die off.  But they will leave good memories...

Right now, while you are reading this, You and I are in the same moment.  
And the best part about that moment?

We can bloom where we are planted :)

Thank you for taking the time to read my thoughts, and my transformation to where I am today - you are partially responsible!! Kind words, thoughts, prayers, even encouraging others to cheer me up - you ALL are the water to my roots. Lest I break up into a red solo cup song version of "you fill me up", I really do want to thank you from the heart for all you have done - I still have a ways to go before this is all over with, but I plan on leaving good memories, to give everyone something back in  return, until my last breath**... ! 


(**which at this point looks like it might be awhile, yippeeee!!!)



Sometimes we live in the woods...in sepia.

Along our wooded ways of work life, sometimes its not easily accessible to pull a trailer into the woods, or practical to drive back into town for 2 hour drive after a 10 hour workday. We dont use a tent for time and safety purposes - hail storms at 5000 ft hurt, and we might have to abandon the area quickly if there is a forest fire or if we need to go to the nearest emergency room... and to leave a tent out while we are gone all day for animals to trip on and root through is just not green living good. So we just take our tubs of stuff,  unpack it when we are done working for the day, and pack it back into the truck when we wake up each morning. 

We be woodland nomads! 

 We sleep in a literal truck bed, using a sterno can for a stove for meals (no campfires in a dry woods), and a few plastic tubs for storage etc. to keep the little critters out (no remarkable number of bears in the black hills, only mountain lions who arent into human food. yet. but do they like cheetos? or cheeto filled humans?) 

And if I ever needed to live out of a shopping cart, 
I would definitely accessorize with bungee cords - theyre indispensible...
Just one of those life altering things I have learned from sleeping in a truck.

We tend to pick an area with no poison ivy for obvious reasons, and definitely one that gives us space. It is mandatory that we camp 50 feet away from any road, trail or stream ; they call this "dispersed camping" (we follow the National forest rules for the Black Hills, found here ). We have become connoisseurs of outdoor living - Martha Stewart has nothing on us when it comes to picking out a living spot (although Im pretty sure she wouldnt want to compete with me on this one) - I have been known to refuse three areas in a row just because IM FUSSY. 

a FUSSY woodland nomad.

I particularly look for a low clearing in a open meadow or field, and Mr. Foresterman makes sure we are not near any trees that could blow down on us, or be an excellent lightening rod ... and we always haul in our own water so we dont have to look for access to a stream or lake nearby. This map above is called a topography map; one that shows how hilly or steep the land is - the closer the lines the steeper the slope.  I whimper sometimes in looking at this, quietly, because I have to go and work at each one of those round dots, taking down information about the trees and plant life. Even if there is none because its on a cliff. A rocky steep cliff.

a fussy, quietly whimpering woodland nomad...

And so in the early morning hours we enthusiastically get ready for work. outside. sometimes we even brush our hair before pulling it up in ponytail. Mr. Foresterman has an empty banana peel in his hand - he likes bananas as they help you reestablish your potassium levels after sweating/working hard the day before, preventing leg cramps. I like them because they are a sunny yellow color and they match my hair.

Doesnt this photo just ooze early morning outdoor work enthusiasm?? !

However, even without a bathroom, running water or even a stinky porta potty, we can turn out kinda put together normal clean looking, just in case we run into someone out in middle of a national forest. Im fussy that way too - i dont like scaring harmless grown adults on atv's or hikers into calling authorities because of my appearance - if you give them cause for concern like youre a possible reject character from "the hills  have eyes part 5", then I feel one should really assess their work appearance - its not fun being hunted like animals only to have to explain that 1) no, I really am a timber cruiser, not a fugitive nor a kidnap victim 2) yes, i can provide ID and 3) no, I really am a timber cruiser.  So I work hard to appear normal without the use of electricity or running water.  My main goal in life has always been "to be normal" though so this is not a burden. And if I cant be normal, then I'll attempt to look the part,  this can be a burden. Im sure theres a clinical name for that but thats not my problem right now... So here is my attempt for normalcy (plus bandana - red if all possible - it hides bloodstains, sweat, and dirt....mine! of course! what were you thinking??)

And that is my hot summer working hat, 
so my ears dont turn into ash and drop off in the heat.

Sometimes though,

 Im not as put together pretty as this USFS wandering Bovine...

But definitely more alive looking then this timber cruisin' canine...

But I have nothing on the flowers out there! they are even pretty in sepia!

and the scenery definitely has me beat!

 I do however like to think that I am a little prettier then this poisonous mushroom though...

a fussy, quietly whimpering woodland nomad. 
who does not look like a poisonous mushroom.
and does not want to frighten the normal people away.

thus concludes a brief look into the life of a woodland nomad****!

****this post was written under the assumption that a certain woodland nomad has altered their braincells due to the heat wave that has swept through the US.  Mr. Foresterman has laid off this woodland nomad and the dexterdog for the next few weeks due to the heat. 
Hopefully a summer respite will clear this problem up.

or not.