tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-323101932024-03-14T04:36:27.784-06:00Peaceful Prairie SanctuaryA Safe Haven For Rescued Farmed Animals Who Have Been Given A Second Chance At LifeJoanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-76199154467243989142015-02-08T02:44:00.000-07:002015-02-08T15:02:14.002-07:00Pablo's Gift
"What is vegan?", he asked after a long pause.
He was calling the sanctuary hoping to find a home for the chickens he had been ordered to dump in the woods. The birds were deemed "too old for the pot", too "stupid" to keep as pets, and too "ugly" to use as yard decoration, so the ranch owner decided to use them as coyote bait instead. It was not something Pablo Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-19494159400552204962013-09-10T22:37:00.000-06:002013-09-29T15:26:16.049-06:00Dreams of the Heart
She knew he was there, waiting in the dark outside her barn. She could smell the prairie on his skin, and all the tantalizing grasses of distant fields clinging to his hooves. At first light, when the earth turned its dark face toward the sun, he was still standing there, waiting for her—a prodigal presence, teeming with all the strength and splendor of summer. She scrambled toJoanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-90632393138730776782013-05-18T14:19:00.000-06:002013-05-18T15:31:55.766-06:00Seeing for TwoIf his mother could see him now—her beloved boy, alive and well, and cherished, in a land of love and plenty. If she could see the way he sauntered out of the rescue trailer, swift and surefooted as a deer, the way he glided into this welcoming world as if he recognized it, as if he remembered its essence of love and fairness. If she could see the way the new world embraced her son, with such Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-2190783836828248902013-03-15T15:40:00.000-06:002013-03-15T17:32:20.613-06:00Prairie PotpourriIf They Dream It, It Will Come March 15, 2013
It's Sunday morning and the entire
Sanctuary is abuzz with silent expectation. The produce truck is due to
arrive, and that electrifying moment when it drives through the
Sanctuary gates, parks in the open filed, and begins to spill its edible
delights in a tumbling riot of scents, textures, colors and tastes, is
anticipated with barely Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-88865791891635661452012-11-18T05:02:00.000-07:002013-11-08T18:29:44.206-07:00The Warmth of Other Suns
Clarence stepped out of the rescue car incredulously, tentatively putting step before step, standing on one foot almost too long before setting the other one down carefully, gently, touching the dirt floor, with an almost apologetic air in his pale person, as if treading not on solid ground, but on the body of an exquisitely alive creature, a whale of a sleeping earth that could Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-18668882730302602162012-10-02T14:30:00.000-06:002013-09-30T03:50:49.693-06:00The Memory of Light
The day when his life capsized started like any other. He greeted the small world of the pen where he had spent most of his 120 days on earth, in the usual way, carefully walking around the yard's perimeter, feeling the familiar lines, curves and corners of its borders, brushing his shoulders against the hard wire fence, mapping the cracks, bumps and grooves underfoot with the tips of his Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-81236296501121084752012-08-22T17:51:00.000-06:002014-10-25T14:39:59.832-06:00Their Eggs, Not Ours
The Egg "Hunt"
At Peaceful Prairie Sanctuary, the eggs are given back to their rightful
owners, the Birds, who not only eat them with great enthusiasm, but
eagerly anticipate, and participate in, the daily egg collecting
rituals—following you around as you inspect the usual cubbyholes,
watching your every move with breathless expectation,
chasing you from barn to barn, storming Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-75194523398004868032012-01-31T13:06:00.014-07:002014-03-03T15:48:13.347-07:00Willow's Whisper to the WorldIn Spanish: El susurro de Willow para el mundo
In German: Willows Geflüster an die Welt
This is all you saw at first, or maybe this is all that your mind could take in at one time -- not a whole picture, but manageable bits and fragments. You saw a large, white shape lumped by the side of the road. You saw an angular jumble of legs, knees, knuckles, elbows, hooves and ribs. You saw a broken,Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-46075841429024989492010-11-10T12:31:00.004-07:002013-04-01T02:54:24.403-06:00Ian's CrossingIan walked with his brothers only as far as the open gate, teetering slightly behind them in his usual hesitant way, two steps forward one step back. He watched them go on their treks in the open fields from the safe side of the fence, lingering at the invisible, self-imposed barrier long after they disappeared from view, gazing into the distance, shifting his weight from foot to foot, taking twoJoanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-84728420126925795332010-06-24T07:32:00.014-06:002014-02-15T15:49:48.097-07:00A Place to Live
He shows up every morning, this small, slight, inky-eyed child. You can see him teetering across the prairie on his absurdly long legs, toiling across tough, tangled, thistly terrain on his pale hooves, struggling to cross the field that separates the neighboring farm from the sanctuary -- a nub of a child, pushing forth on his spindly bug legs, in his tiny bug body, with infinite bug Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-31748935975684427152010-02-05T14:00:00.008-07:002012-11-24T00:44:27.436-07:00Honor the Heart!The presentation below is a tribute to the sentient heart in all its splendor, folly and grace. It is inspired by the extraordinary lives and loves of the rescued animals at Peaceful Prairie Sanctuary, and it is dedicated to the doomed farmed animals of the world whose misery and death we demand and perpetuate with every nonvegan bite, and whose battered hearts still yearn, to their last breath, Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-18938709904758280112009-06-21T08:16:00.003-06:002015-02-14T15:19:06.395-07:00Libby and Louie, A Love Story It took extraordinary events – a shattering blow, like the loss of her right foot to the wire floor of the "cage-free" egg farm where she was rescued from, or a rapturous release, like her arrival at the sanctuary, or a seismic shift like Louie's absence – to shake, charm, or punish a sound out of Libby. It's not that her voice was frozen in fear, like so many of her fellow refugees. It's not Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-52867793756038373282009-05-15T20:34:00.006-06:002013-04-01T02:44:57.017-06:00Just Before DawnIn Spanish: Justo antes del amanecer
What passed between them transformed them both. Yet, even though it was communicated in close proximity, it grew and flourished in each other's absence. Their most dramatic encounters, the now famous Slow Speed Chases, were not the real exchanges and, for all of their spectacular pageantry, and despite our desire to dwell on them and relive their excitementJoanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-33430256800717711692008-10-20T22:17:00.003-06:002016-10-23T06:03:40.376-06:00RestorationIt's like the pitter-patter of rain, the sound of their small feet rhythmically tapping, patting, stamping the ground, stirring up dirt in their enthusiastic rush to greet you and follow you around – a soothing, rustling, living sound. They follow you excitedly, flapping their wings, fluffing their feathers, craning their necks the better to behold you.
If you stop, they stop too and, with them,Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-28185757034259643462008-05-02T18:53:00.004-06:002012-12-07T19:49:46.604-07:00Letter From A Vegan WorldIn Dutch: Brief uit een veganistische wereld
In French: Lettre de la part d’un monde végétalien
In German: Brief aus einer veganen Welt
In Greek: Γρ?μμα απ? ?ναν vegan κ?σμο
In Italian: Una lettera da un mondo vegano
In Norwegian: Kjære venner og medaktivister
In Romanian: Scrisoare dintr-o Lume Vegana
In Spanish: Carta Desde Un Mundo Vegano
In Turkish: Vegan Bir Dünyadan Mektup
Dear Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-35746363873799034142008-03-17T14:55:00.003-06:002012-11-24T00:45:41.954-07:00Sun Day
Melvin has been strutting up and down the hallway since dawn, hoisting his enormous body across the 20 step stretch from the kitchen to the front door where he lingers, swaying unsteadily from side to side like a tower of mismatched dishes, gazing expectantly into the driveway, trilling sweet things at it, puffing his chest, arching his wings, looking for something, waiting, stirring, shimmeringJoanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-52358854620630413892007-11-13T19:29:00.004-07:002014-10-25T14:42:02.740-06:00Coming Home
Click to see Video
In Portuguese: De Volta Para Casa
I don't know how they experienced their arrival at the sanctuary – that moment when the van doors opened, and the light of day filled their eyes for the first time in their lives – but I know that, for one breathless moment, when we first looked at the one hundred souls safely tucked inside, we didn't see the tangled mess of soiled feathersJoanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-71525130591877378842007-11-13T16:51:00.005-07:002014-10-25T14:43:54.082-06:00The Faces of "Free-Range" Farming
Read the story of the hens' Rescue and their Restoration.
If you want to present this video on a large screen, please contact us at peacefulprairiesanctuary@gmail.com and request a high resolution version.
When showing The Faces of "Free-Range" Farming, we strongly recommend that it be accompanied by our complementing literature, for complete information on why vegan living is the only Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-59630767028576613762007-08-12T15:18:00.003-06:002012-11-24T00:46:43.557-07:00A Wing And A PrayerBefore that bad December spell, that stretch of dark days when the fury of three consecutive blizzards left them trapped without heat, food or water in a frozen barn, Libby and Clara had pretty much ignored each other. It's not that they disliked each other, it's just that, other than gender and species, they didn't have much else in common.
They were different persons, with different Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-45885802947091651572007-06-13T12:22:00.003-06:002012-11-24T00:47:03.893-07:00Herd Mentality
I know why I want to be Hillary's friend. She is interesting, she is gentle, she is beautiful, she is full of being and of happening and full of praise for being and for happening, she is full of knowledge, insights, and subjective experiences I can't even imagine, she is selfless, she is strong, she is subtle, she is brimming with social, emotional and ethical intelligence.
I can also guess Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-82813186561882093692007-05-16T15:33:00.012-06:002014-02-15T14:43:14.955-07:00Portrait of Marcie... A Beautiful Soul
In Greek: Το πορτραίτο της Μάρσι... Μια όμορφη ψυχή
In German: Portrait von Marcie... einer schönen Seele
In Hungarian: Marcie... a megtört lélek
When Marcie arrived at Peaceful Prairie Sanctuary, she had already lost everything—her freedom, her community, her family, her youth, every baby she had ever had, everyone she had ever loved, everyone she had ever trusted, everything that was Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-21652694660554195242007-03-20T15:33:00.003-06:002012-11-24T00:48:18.964-07:00A Passionate Life I heard Louise's voice long before I met her in person, commenting along not far away from the phone, actively participating in every conversation, offering comments, reprimands, or just plain merrymaking – joyous, questioning, telling sounds to the world. Because every conversation, regardless of language, was irresistible to her, she showed up whenever others talked – people, turkeys, cats, Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-74566563019265797152007-03-07T12:40:00.004-07:002012-03-21T13:37:23.851-06:00The Slow Speed Chase IllustratedJoanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-15201820404118842992007-02-25T17:36:00.003-07:002012-03-21T13:38:58.255-06:00Yesterday's Blizzard
After nearly two months of melting and shoveling, the 5' x 50' snow drift was finally down to bare (mud). Following last night's blizzard, we're back to square one.
This morning, the 8' tall barn doors were completely blocked by 8' high snow drifts. All east facing doors are also blocked by floor-to-ceiling drifts, piled on the inside AND the outside of each door. Everyone was trapped inside Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32310193.post-1169755668302007352007-01-25T14:10:00.003-07:002012-11-26T15:23:42.113-07:00Pig Love Pigs may "speak" the same emotional language as all other sentients – same desires, same hopes, same loves – but they look like us doing it – wrinkled noses, smiling lips, round cheeks, bare bellies and all – and the feeling of resemblance is probably mutual. They smile, spy, inquire, scold with their eyes, they gape in wonder, they cheat with calculated coolness, they slump in defeat, they Joanna Lucashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09303744193282166871noreply@blogger.com