Da Boyz

Louie, Herve (Elvis), and George

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As I mentioned two days ago, our does are enjoying visits from their fellas this week. In the picture above, you see Louie (a wether, despite those impressive horns), and stinky Herve and George. George will be the father of my Nubian goat Faith's kid(s) this year, and he positively oozes male hormones. Despite his amorous nature and impressive strength, he has a tiny little bleat when he's left alone (which he absolutely hates). Imagine a big, stinky, horny goat, who spends all day chasing down and mounting does, sounding like a cartoon goat. That's George.

Louie and Trevor, my grandson.

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This is where the bucks usually live; the bachelor quarters. They get along fine. Louie has been moved to the sheep shed recently, to keep our little buckling company and to get some exercise. There's a picture of the two of them heading my blog. They look like father and son, but they aren't. Old Louie is getting fat. He sure is handsome, though! Kathy tells me she hitches him to a goat cart occasionally. I can't wait to see that. Don't you think Trev is brave, facing that huge goat?

Herve (center) and his harem. Note the 'do. That's why we call him Elvis.

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Bringing the herd in at night has new challenges with two Billy goats in the mix. My first order of operation tonight was removing the milky does from the field they were in (with George) because one of the kids had her head stuck in the fence in the next field over. I've seen kids' necks get twisted in a crush of goats this way, so I wanted them out before I extracted her. It required ratcheting bolt cutters, but I got her out. Next, I needed to get the does into the barn yard, then the holding stall. That's when the funniest thing happened.

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Herve was in the field with the growers (2 year old, hopefully pregnant does), which was right next to the run where we had deposited the milky does and George. The growers are not terribly interested in Herve, most likely because he did his duty a month or three ago. The milky does who are entertaining George this week must be in heat, because poor Herve went crazy. Here's how it went:

Herve: "Sneeze, sneeze, sneeze"...runs in a circle. "Meh! Meh"

George: "Sneeze, sneeze." Sticks out his tongue and curls his lip at Herve.

Herve: Pushes his head through the fence and sniffs a doe provocatively. "Sneeze!!!"

rolls his lip at her and sticks out his tongue. Barks again: "Meh! Meh!" " Sneeze" George, absent-mindedly: "Sneeze......"

Doe in question: "Sneeze"...winks at George.

Herve runs away.

Doe who was George's last conquest hides behind a section of fence.

George continues sneezing with his tongue hanging out.

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By the way...Billy goats STINK. Even if they are cute.

The Robins have Flown South

( This dove will have to do.)

"The North wind doth blow

and we shall have snow,

And what will poor robin do then,

poor thing?

He'll sit in a barn

and keep himself warm

and hide his head under his wing,

poor thing."

Feeling a bit down today; work related, so I won't elaborate. If you know me, you know why; just read the newspapers. The garden comes in, the frost falls, and we settle for the season. I hope we settle...

This too shall pass.

Decanting, First Frost, and Conjugal Visits

Today, day 7 of the fermented fruit experiment, is also the predicted night of the first frost. To mere mortals, this may mean nothing. To gardeners like me, this means one thing: bring in your tender plants, or lose them. Ironic that the decanting of the wine and the decanting of the garden fell on the same day. It seems meaningful, somehow. Perhaps the waning moon has something to do with it. Poor, bruised moon. How dare we plunge a satellite into her?

The fruit has been removed from the wine, and it will age until Thanksgiving, when we'll try it for the first time. It's going to be a very festive Thanksgiving.

The frost-fearing garden yielded the following goodies today: tomatillos, cherry tomatoes, green tomatoes, rhubarb, Swiss chard, kale celery, okra, onions, leeks, mint, peppermint, rosemary, parsley, thyme, sage, marjoram, lemon thyme, lemon balm, basil (English, Thai and purple), two green cutting tomatoes, and three miniature sweet peppers. Then there were the pots that will come in:

Patchouli and lemon grass, buttercrunch lettuce, rosemary, sage, basil, thyme, marjoram, chives, oregano, Thai basil...

Swiss chard, and tarragon. I have been plowing through the pile tonight, but I believe I'm done for now. Back to it when I have some time tomorrow.

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Farming is a full time job, especially when the seasons change. The goats are enjoying a conjugal visit with their one husband George this week; I've never wrestled a stinky buck before. It took a little imagination to separate him from the does for the night (the bucks sleep separately because of the smell in the barn). Their other husband, Herve (AKA Elvis) had to be brought in from HIS visit with the supposedly pregnant growers (he was lonely alone and cried, so Kathy brought him up to visit the girls). The boys like the girls, as is the way of the world, and preferred not to sleep in bachelor quarters, but I eventually won, and left intact, but odoriferous. That's OK. I kind of like the smell of goats, though I did undress and shower IMMEDIATELY when I came home today. I'm hoping for a crop of pretty kids from this week's goat planting. We'll see in the spring! I'm hoping Faith will produce a little Toggenburg/Nubian doe with potentially full udders and good breeding capabilities. Pretty Faith...she seems so delicate for those big bucks. I chose not to breed her to a registered Nubian, even though she's registered, because I'm more interested in working stock than show stock. We'll see how it turns out.

We are Stardust.

We are stardust

We are golden

And we've got to get ourselves

Back to the garden

Last night, I had the great pleasure of reuniting with an old and dear friend (Tom), and his partner of 10 years, Arial. I have never met Arial in person before, though I've heard so much of her from Tom and his twin brother David (near and dear), that it felt like I knew her, too. Tom has also never met my husband Peter, as he came into my life about 10 years ago as well. Here's our back-story (the Cliff Notes).

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Way back in the 70's, Tom and David were young hippies, selling African beads on the flea market in Gilbertsville, PA (Zerns). I was a restless teenager, and my best friend at the time, Mary Ann, knew them both well so we met. I was an artsy kid, and they were looking for weekend help, so I was hired, for some small sum that was perfectly fine with me because I enjoyed the company. They taught me to do all the things with beads I do today; not to MAKE the beads, but to make things with them. I've used that skill for 37 years now. And the conversation was always interesting, as was the group of people that gathered there. We became good friends, the type that help mold each others' lives. These people are important to me, to how I view my true self, as I look back over time.

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Tom and David were working their way through college. Eventually, Tom became a microbiologist (later a biology teacher). David became an optometrist. I (12 years their junior) eventually became an art teacher. Marriages and divorces, changes in dance partners came and went, and we always remained friends. David's long-time wife, Bonnie, taught me to cook; she cooked a special Asian soup (cloud-ear soup, for healing) the day I came home from the hospital with my infant daughter. Tom and David became brilliant spiritual seekers and experts in so many things. Tom sold his cottage in Berkeley and retired; He and Arial bought a house and land in Tennessee. David, Peter and I are still working. Arial, Tom's partner, is a brilliant woman: a writer, editor, horsewoman and animal lover; a spiritual, whole and centered woman. It was a magical evening. You can never be bored in their company; besides, they remind me of when we were all young, hopeful and beautiful. We can still see our younger selves in each others' eyes.

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There are hundreds of stories that I could tell about our times together, and our journeys, but those things are meant for later days. Suffice it to say: I grew up with these friends, and they are part of me. And they are beautiful.

Timing is Everything

Fresh local tomatoes with home made goat cheese and home grown basil; "Drunken Goat" cheese with jersey shrimp; pita chips. Potato leek soup (local).

Tonight's dinner, finished exactly 10 minutes before I got the call that Peter wasn't going to be home for awhile (he's running experiments at work). Dang.

I'm a Goat, Right Mom?

Oh, OK! I'm a goat!

Right mom? A goat? Mooo...I mean, Maaaaaa...

It's an exclusive club, and they talk funny. I'm outta here.

New Buy Hand Ideas

Recycled Cans Rock. Nuff Said.