Dust, Dirt, and Failures
The goats have arrived!
Two months into my dietary restrictions and I am still simplifying the pantry and menus in our household to more align with what I can eat. Granted, many days the table still offers choices with which I cannot partake, but we’ve all come to appreciate pumpkin as a substitute for tomato based sauces and, surprisingly, really do enjoy a quinoa crust for our pizza (even if the recipe linked has a photo obviously not made from quinoa!). As the garden gets harvested, I avoid replanting for the fall what I am staying away from (kale, onions, lettuce…) and instead load up on what I can (Italian dandelion, shallots, arugula…). Our family’s local raw dairy closed up shop, so it is a good time to transition our family’s supply to goat sources. Good thing I already had that option in the works!
Twelve years ago, I sadly sent off the last of my milk goats as we downsized from our big house in our “everyone out of the pool” season to reassess what we were doing and—more importantly—why and what the point of it all was. I still remember standing on the gravel driveway, limply waving as the matriarch of my herd mournfully bellowed (and bellowed) all the way down the road until her bleatings faded with the last of my stoicism.
I missed them all greatly and carried my aunt’s milking bucket from rental to rental, just in case. Someday… Maybe….
When she recently sent me the teeny goat bells her own goats had worn, I knew I wanted necks for them to adorn. The very day the fencing was finished, I began looking to restart my own herd (Happy Home Kinders, of course!).
And now, here we are again!
I didn’t grow up with livestock at all. The closest I got to anything other than our pomeranian was the hedgehog that knocked over our morning milk bottles on the doorstep. Our one little dog was kept clean and groomed at all times. Any mention of a cat was squashed immediately as a filthy animal because it would leap onto furniture (especially the kind you weren’t supposed to sit on other than at Christmas). It was made clear to me that barnyards, and I suppose by extension, farmers too, were dirty.
The problem was that when I went to my weekly horse riding and jumping lessons, I was rather pleasantly intoxicated by barnyard smells and in awe of the trainers who were lucky enough to go home smelling like one. Mix in summers spent at my Greek grandmother’s home in the village where she threw feed to backyard hens from her apron…and already in the deepest recesses of my heart were planted seeds for homesteading. The melodious tinkle of bells that woke me as the goats clopped past the house in the morning is one of the most blissful memories of my childhood. I am thrilled I can hear those tinkles again!
The home in which we reside now came with two overgrown pastures surrounded by sagging fence lines. I suppose there is nothing wrong with having land for the sake of having land, but in my mind, pastures are made for the use and pleasure of livestock.
We first began working on the smaller pasture by carving out a small area for egg layers. We dragged across the property an old half-greenhouse shed that had been used to store the cider press and converted it into a lovely chicken coop.
Within the chicken coop, we hung two large rabbit cages, and several Saturdays ago we put a mini lop baby into one of them. The chickens love to scratch underneath the cages, mixing the stray bits of hay and manure that will inevitably end up in my gardens. Our little “Patches” is quite the salve for the sadness of losing our kitty.
I understand the benefit of having hens on grass, and that is yet another project to come. When our old livestock dog died, all of our small animals became more vulnerable to our coyote, bald eagle, owl, and raccoon population. The safest place for our poultry is currently in the coop. Better cooped up than dead. I won’t bring on more barn cats until we can get another dog.
Nearby to the hens, we fenced off a corner to raise a couple of pigs. This is our second year of that, and although raising them is rather easy (once you have them back from their jailbreak), I don’t think our family consumes enough pork to justify the expense involved. Far better for us, methinks, to buy from our local farmer who treats his or her animals the way we treat ours: organically, holistically, with their health and happiness top of mind and practice.
In case you missed my chasing piglets through the woods:
We picked up our three four-month old Kinder goats the same day we got our rabbit, and they have been a funny and welcome addition to our property. The goats (Ivy, Willow, and Hazel) will, Lord willing, be sharing their pasture in the future, and the shelter I had built is the proverbial cart. Every day I stand in it, mentally feeding and turning out the equine friend (or two!) I hope will come. My nearest neighbor, a horse lover and long time rescue pony volunteer, is just as enthusiastic and will I hope be a wonderful resource.
I’ve wanted my own horse for most of my life, and maybe (I do say “maybe” a lot) it will come to pass. I dream of trail riding but mostly of offering a daily apple in exchange for the pleasure of grooming and walking and inhaling the scent of his or her mane. I’ve hesitated to share this hope with most people, as most of the time when I do, I get very little encouragement. Most people bring up the expense (“hay burner”) or the trouble (“vet…farrier…dentist…) but ignore the pleasures. I’d gladly trade a Miata (which to be fair, I do not own) for a mare.
I understand that life is full of opportunities that carry risk and benefit; my goals and lifestyle don’t always align with others. Truthfully, I think being addicted to a smartphone carries more risk to health and well being than an occasional horse ride, as my hands are then touching something more alive, present, and real.
I still have another pasture to repair and fence, so I will take my time.
This morning, I turned on the drip irrigation on my way out to the gardens, and once there, I looked to see what was available for the next couple of meals. I picked an enormous bowl of French green beans, some of which will be for our supper, the rest blanched and frozen. I choose the largest fennel and pulled turnips, carrots, and tomatillos to roast together for another side. I cut a handful of savory to crumble on top of it all after I pull that pan from the oven.
I like this lifestyle. I like the progress we’ve made, little by little. I don’t mind the dust, dirt, failures, or time spent. I enjoy being outside hearing various animal noises and apples as they fall, plopping to the ground for deer to find later in the evening. I enjoy hearing the breeze right before seeing it ripple through the tops of the tall and stately cedars around me. I like the crunch of walking a long gravel driveway and the smell of rain before it arrives as it sweeps the air—and our home with many of its windows wide open—clean.
As I write this, I admit that last meal’s dishes are not washed yet, and I’m almost at peace with letting that perfectionistic tendency go (oy, the idols that chew us up and spit us out!). I might even have a little goat dirt on my jeans (in the house!). I have no idea what tomorrow will bring, but adding these animals to our lives again has brought a sweet little bliss to our days. It feels doable, comfortable, and timely. I look forward, Lord willing, to goat’s milk for my household.
I just love how you see the world!