Goat Mamma to the Rescue

I saved a life last night.  I am absolute certain I did but I know there may be a few of you to argue my point once you read the full story, that is fine.  I'm still convinced of my udder (yes) farmer brilliance.

Miss Fatty Patty the Pygora goat

So, at some point during the night last night Dr. Farm Hand (Timothy) starts talking to a deep sleeping me about a goat that is making noise.  He kept going on and on and I honestly could not grasp what he was really saying and was waffling between yelling at him to shut it and incorporating said goat noise into some type of distressed nightmare.  It took me a good while to actually realize I had to wake up and address this.  (That, I am blaming on the all too common decision lately to  have a second margarita after dinner.)  After I decided he was serious and it needed my attention, I went to the cracked bathroom window to get a better listen and sure enough I could hear a goat that sounded very distressed.

Now, the things going through my mind were varied.  Of course, it could be coyotes.  I haven't been too worried about them before and by most accounts, goats can take care of themselves.  What I was most convinced was happening was that I was going to walk into a goat birth.  I have two does and a young buck, so eventually this will be the case.  The buck is still young though and might not be tall enough to actually get the job done just yet.  I spend serious minutes every day looking at goat privates and bellies to get a feel for what is normal in appearance in hopes that I will eventually know what I am looking at when one is pregnant.  But alas, there was no baby being born.

What I did find was my sweet faced Fatty Patty sitting outside her bedroom with a cocked neck, her mouth stuck open at a very strange angle wagging her tongue around and making a hideous racket. At first glance I was sure she was having some type of neurological fit, the way she was carrying her head and only moving to one side and the very curious angle of her neck and jaw.  It was NOT pleasant to watch and I indeed started to panic that she had a serious issue and was going to need to be put down.  The Life of Fatty Patty flashed before my eyes. After a couple of minutes watching her, though, I realized there was something caught in/on her lip. I quickly grabbed her by the fleece and stuck her neck and shoulders between my legs to secure her, all the while with her resisting and protesting VERY loudly.  She sounded alarming enough that Dr. Farm Hand actually walked outside the bedroom in his imaginary pajamas to see what I had found and assess my need for assistance.  Turns out, it was a matt of fleece that she had gotten stuck in her side teeth when she was scratching an itch on her neck.  I was able to free her lower jaw from the matt of hair and massage her jaw and little chiny chin chin without even getting bit!  She immediately ran over to the matriarch goat, and hid behind her, as if looking for reassurance.  Then, she burped.  She burped a bunch.  I have no idea how long she had her jaw caught, but after about another 10 minutes of observation I was convinced she wasn't going to die and everyone was ready to return to sleep.  It's worth noting, though, that this entire time I was saving Fatty from Certain Doom, Petey, the goat that thinks he's a dog, seemed to think I had just appeared out of the blue, at 3am, solely to rub his chest and head.

So there you have it.  I was cool in the face of crisis.  I muscled in and wrangled a desperate goat in need of medical attention, unaided.  I used all of my faculties and tools available, which last night consisted of a flashlight and a cell phone in case I had to hysterically call a neighbor.  And I did all of this at 3 am, in the mostly dark, without my glasses.  I am, a Lifesaving Goat Mamma.

The big disappointment

One of my biggest excitements about our new house is the pomegranate tree.  About 10 years ago, after we had been in San Diego county for a while, I passed the strangest looking tree-bush while driving home from work.  So strange it was to my horticultural eye, I had to pull a U-ey at the next opportunity to make sure I saw what I saw.  And yes, it was my first glimpse of a pomegranate tree.  I was beyond excited that they grew in our environment, but alas, living in subdivisions doesn't allow for wild, sprawling fruit trees, just maybe a dwarf....if you're lucky.

When we took our first look at the three acres surrounding this house, the first thing that made me catch my breath and squeal like a child was the fact that the previous owner had GOATS.  Why?  I have no idea.  I guess because I couldn't imagine why any 'normal' person would just have goats around.  (Now I have 4 of my own, and will reserve comment.)  The next discovery, that caused me to jump for joy was the HUGE pomegranate tree in the orchard!  Oranges and lemons, yes, those are typical around here, but pomegranates...not so much.  And by the looks of it, this tree-bush was going to produce DOZENS for me to hoard, or share.  Maybe.

So, flash forward to the fall when the property is ours, the rest of the orchard has been harvested and the last fruit of the season to ripen are the pomegranates.  And there were, in fact, dozens.  And I did share, just a few, though, to select special people.  I had some grandiose dream that I could somehow consume 100 of these delectable fruits.  THEN, I read that you can actually store them for months in the refrigerator, so we have had most of our produce drawer storage full of ripe pomegranates just waiting for the right occasion and recipe.

My plan has been to make jam.  I made several batches of plum jam from our fruit this summer with great success, so this seemed like the logical way to preserve my bounty.  This week, the time seemed right, and despite the fact that several friends commented on the mess and amount of work required to free so many arils from their tough casing and in turn, liberate the juice from said arils, I proceeded unfazed.  That may have been my first mistake.....

The recipe called for juice from 8-9 pomegranates (totally 5 cups of juice).  This lady must have had soccer ball sized fruits because I ended up peeling around 30 freaking pomegranates if I peeled one. I did half the first day, and then had to stop because my allotted time to make the jam start to finish was used after obtaining just 3.5c of juice.  I was still undeterred and giddy.

The next day, after finally obtaining enough juice, and staining about 4 dishtowels, a tshirt and cleaning the kitchen counters and floor half a dozen times, I started with the rest of the process of jam making; boiling, adding sugar and pectin, boiling longer, testing gel stage, pouring into jars and processing in a hot water bath to sterilize.  Let it sit on the counter overnight and in the morning, wake to a beautiful deep, vibrant jam ready for your toast.

If only that was the case.  So, after washing, peeling, separating, blending, straining, pressing, skimming, boiling, mixing, pouring, canning and sterilizing.......I have sweetened, slightly thickened pomegranate juice.  I let the jars sit for an extra 12 hours, hoping some miracle late gel would occur, and when it didn't, I covered the jars with a dishcloth so I didn't have to touch them or look at them.  And there they still sit, 3 days later. 

I've been ignoring them for days now and get this, they STILL have not decided to gel.  I have been consumed with what to do with them.  Recooking them and processing the jam again would be more time I don't want to commit to something that failed so miserably.  Yet I have so.many.hours. into this project I can't just toss it either. It's not even thick enough to use as syrup on pancakes!

This morning I woke up to a light, steady rain.  The kind of rain that makes farmers and transplanted Midwesterners breath extra deep to capture the earthy smells while a little extra spring appears in their step.  I walked the orchard in the rain today and noticed I have buds forming on my plum and peach trees already and some of the oranges have finally lost that last tinge of green, ready to be picked.  Another cycle begins, another opportunity.  And while the pomegranate substance in those jars, on the counter, under the dishcloth could not even be mistaken for syrup, I found a GREAT recipe for mixing pomegranate juice with tequila.  Not all was lost.  Maybe next fall I will hoard less and share more.  You can all hope......

Getting my Zen back

The past few weeks, I have had a hard time not sweating the small stuff.  I get glimpses of reality where I realize my lack of housekeeping isn't really a big deal, or that what is meant to happen will happen and for the right reasons.  But in general, my anxiety levels have been high over things like finding a soccer team for G or learning how to sheer my goats perfectly the first time.  These two items in particular have struck a chord with me, because I have realized this weekend that it's a prime example of me creating a situation where if my kids are paying attention (which is not guaranteed) they can learn some really bad habits. I'm a perfectionist, I always have been.  I want to be perfect the first time.  Couple that with my need to be efficient and not waste resources, it's a dangerous combination.  My  kids have tendencies towards this already and I want them to LEARN to be more patient, to enjoy the experience of gaining experience, two things I am not good at doing.  Two things they can only learn by example.

Fatty Patty needs a trim

Two of my pygora goats could use shearing.  They are off schedule, so it's too cold, but if I leave it on then it could ruin their one and only kid fleece. What do I do?  How do I process the fleece? How do I maintain the lock structure?  Will it be too coarse if I don't have the guard hairs removed?  Will I waste length if I use hand shears versus trying my hand at electric shears?  Should I dye it? Should I put it in a mixed batt or spin alone?  I suck at spinning!!  I need lessons!! I need help and I hate asking for help!! I'm going to fail!! and last but not least...I suck!!  That old negative, circular argument that keeps me paralyzed from even starting something has returned.  There will be more fiber and more shearing opportunities, obviously.  But I'm not enjoying the EXPERIENCE of gaining experience.  I'm putting pressure on myself to be perfect at something I've never even done before.

Saturday I tried to work on finding my Zen through a rough workout, outdoor time and dinner with good friends.  Sunday I tried to find it through family time, football watching and knitting.  Monday, it was back to the gym for boxing which very therapeutic for me.  Beating on something helps.  But what made me turn the corner was a conversation with a friend about a memorial service for an 8 year old boy.

I knew this boy, his parents are friends of good friends and I have spent time with them over dinner and at parties many times over the past 7 years.  Max was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor at age 4.  For 4 years we have heard stories of experimental treatments, unthinkable side effects; we have participated in fund raisers and silent auctions.  As an outsider, it is easier to ignore or stay ignorant to the trials and heartbreak of caring for a child with a terminal illness, I think.  You don't know the details of what they are going through and it is harder to imagine something so hard and tragic and obscure.  But now that Max's journey in this life has gone and he has moved into something free of pain and limitation, that is easier as a parent to imagine, I think.  Death is permanent, there is no ambiguity for those of us left here.

I was recounting my conversations with my friend to Tim last night.  We were trying to put ourselves in the shoes of the parents who had just lost their only child, who was only weeks younger in age than our oldest.  Yes, we would be heavily medicated.  Yes, we would be going through the motions.  But what....what event would cause you to change from that state?  How do you recover from that and live your life?  In our case I would think that still having one child would help pull us through.  But losing your only child after knowing what that experience is like and fighting for it for so long.  How cataclysmic does that event have to be to pull you back into living a life that is a constant reminder of what you have lost?   I just don't know.

One thing that Tim and I both realized though, was that the small stuff has to step aside.  We've been guilty lately of being tense with each other, not engaging enough with the kids, worrying about things like money and a messy house. We have forgotten how very fortunate we are, and how perhaps, we need to be more appreciative and grateful of the people and things that cross our paths, however long we might travel this journey together with any of them.  What these two situations that I have described have illustrated to me is the importance of understanding one thing.....Control.

I like to view life in the lens of one of my favorite outdoor activities, hiking.  I picture myself on this beautiful path through untouched landscape.  Sometimes the path is a single track, sometimes it is wider.  There are many forks in the path, there are hairpin curves and steep rocky sections as well.  One thing about being out in nature that is a given for me, it is always beautiful.  There is always something of wonder in your field of vision whether that is a emerging mushroom on the forest floor, the bubbling breath of a sand crab coming through the sand as the waves retreat or a wide, expansive vista at a mountain top.  There is always beauty.  We have the opportunity to see beauty every day if we chose it, whether it is rare glimpse of a bluebird in your yard, the gentle sloping curl of your child's hair right behind her ear, or the way your dog takes ultimate care in choosing his spot in the sun making sure to tuck in each and every pug toe to keep them warm.  When I am hiking and I see a steep, hairpin curve up ahead, I don't stop in fear of whats beyond it, I feel excitement at what might be on the other side.  When I come across a spot that is rocky and requires the use of hands and maybe even knees to get over, I don't stop and cry because it's going to be hard and I might fail.  I don't get paralyzed by fear, I look around for a more practical option to reach the same outcome and if none present themselves, I press on without hesitating. I just do it.  These are the two aspects that I need to remember to bring back my Zen.  Picture the trail.  Enjoy the experience.  Enjoy the journey.  You don't have control of the trail, but you have total control of the decisions you make on it, and how you greet it each day. See the beauty in life, it is there, everywhere, you just have to pick you nose up and not allow your vision to be obscured by the things that are less important, like money or clean houses.

Nature is Happiness

This quote just about sums up why we moved, or I should say, why I wanted to move.  I've been in Southern California for almost 14 years (gasp!) and while I can't complain about much, it has never seemed like home.  After returning from a trip, I am always pleasantly surprised at how much I like the scenery and the weather, of course, is always amazingly beautiful.  But I guess I've expected it to become, over time, like a favorite pair of old jeans, or a favorite pair of comfy shoes that instantly make you breathe deep and smile when you slip them on.  And it hasn't.

The dream of having space and animals started years ago.  The space I have always craved, So Cal subdivisions have always felt claustrophobic and 'cult-like' to me, very...well, wrong.  And having a long history woven with plants of all sorts, it just seemed natural to have gardens which postage stamp sized lots don't allow. The animals dream came once I started knitting and met my first alpaca.  Or maybe it started when Tim and I got our first dog, Curly-Fries, way back in 1994.  Being avid animal lovers, and the realization that Curly was the Best Dog Ever, we instantly wanted space to have 10 pugs and run a rescue.  That was the pipe dream anyway.

What I don't think I realized was my need for space, until we actually moved.  In just weeks it seems, I was happier, more productive, more energized that I have felt in years, honestly.  Our 1979 house is nothing like the professionally decorated model home we moved from.  Things are mishmash. Things barely work. Things like cupboards and closets are seriously lacking.  Things break all.the.time.  Yet, it was almost instantly home.  Even Tim, who bears the financial responsibility for all of this and does enjoy his creature comforts, felt it too.  He told me after living here for 6 months that this was the first place we have lived in our 20 year history that he could not imagine losing or leaving.

Tim's comment meant the world to me, though I'm not sure I've duly expressed that to him.  You see, he is always the man with Plans B and C lined up if his business goes bust or the world does come crashing in around us.  All of those plans eliminate whatever mortgage we are paying at the time, being our biggest budget item, and at least one of those plans always involves moving into our tow trailer on his parents property in north Idaho and shooting squirrel for food.  The fact that he is having trouble creating Plans B and C without the farm is huge!  But perhaps the most rewarding compliment and confirmation that this is, without a doubt, the right move came from the Boy a few day ago.

G releasing Olive Ridley hatchlings in Todos Santos

My son is almost 8, and his heart and soul are so much like mine.  He is sensitive to a fault and goes through phases where his emotions are just too much for him.  This holiday break has been great, as most are, and the past week he has been very weepy about it coming to an end.  He is scared of fitting back into a routine, school will be hard, he will miss his dad and I SO much after spending so much time together.  He's been in tears everyday, several times a day for....days.  Sunday I asked him to come outside with me, it was a gorgeous day and I had farm work to do.  He grumbled a bit but followed. We collected eggs, found some mushrooms, trimmed and planted succulents, fed and pet the goats.  After 15 minutes he stopped and looked at me with a huge smile and bright green eyes and told me how happy he was.  "Nature is Happiness, mom" is what he said to me and asked me to remind him of this moment the next time he felt sad.  We proceeded to have a long, deep conversation on our feelings and the benefits of nature and living things and what spending time outside and care taking the land and animals actually provides us physically and emotionally.   As I continued to watch him that afternoon I realized that this moment may have been a catalyst moment for my boy.  The type of moment I was sort of hoping this move would provide.  The type of moment that you remember forever, if not in exact detail, by the way it shifted your path.  Only time will tell.

New Year, New adventure.....

The idea of a keeping a blog has been in my mind for several years and has always been accompanied with excuses as to why not to start it.  The main one, I have accepted recently, is that I want to hit the ground perfect.  Anyone who knows me isn't surprised, and those who have been on this journey with me the past few years aren't surprised that I'm just foraging ahead anyway, none the wiser.

What will this blog be about? How often will I write? Will I remember to spellcheck?  Will it ever be interesting?  Well, I have no idea to be honest.  But what I do know is that I've reached a point in my life where I am happy, I am confident in what I am doing for the first time in a long time, and I want to capture it in writing.  There will be lots of tales from the farm, some funny, some which might be funny in years to come, some which might be sad.  I have big plans for this little homestead and the queasy pit in my stomach tells me I'm afraid to fail, so I must be on the right track. There will undoubtedly be tales of parenthood, which has guided so much of my journey these past few years.  There might be knitting and spinning as I try to push my fiber hobby and affection into something more accomplished, despite my lack of clear talent.  You will just have to tune in to see. What I can promise you, is that it will be from the heart.  And it is my hope that I can impart some laughs, some comfort, some useful information to those of you who choose to read.

And with that.....let's begin....

Petey the goat.  Our latest addition.