11-27-11 "Life isn't beautiful..." My friend recently wrote, "Life isn't beautiful, but it can be a warped miracle, if we pay attention." 11-20-11 "Meet the babies"
We currently have seven bottle babies looking for homes. They include the following: 11-13-11 "The days that do not end" If you are a member of our CSA you may have noticed a shocking lack of farmer presence this week. 11-06-11 "Zoro" It's that time of year, the time when we introduce a new leading guy to our leading ladies. This year, our strikingly handsome gentleman is a Spanish billy by the name of
He did not, I am certain, mean it in the warped way in which I translated it. This then, with apologies.
In the morning the baby goats clamor for milk.
They clamor from inside their stable from the moment they hear the completely deaf dog begin barking.
The dog barks for no reason other than she sees me approaching and such an approach can mean only one thing: Morning! Freedom!
Once she was in charge of protecting the chickens and goats from fox or coyote attacks, now she sleeps blissfully through any assault the earth may care to wage and wakes each morning convinced beyond reason that she has done a fine job of her appointed task.
We do not have the heart (or patience) to explain differently.
(As Amos Oz said, To do so would be like trying to explain butterflies to a turtle.)
I free her from her confines of the barnyard and she prances her fluffy dog body around my feet for a moment before racing off to secure the garden perimeters.
This too, a celestially appointed task.
It is autumn, the temperatures are cooler, if only slightly. The dog is a Chow mix, uprooted with me from Maine. This is not her idea of living. Not for her these November days that reach digits of most elderly grandmothers.
But in the mornings there is a coolness, often now a fog, and she is delirious in her quest for anything out of place which needs repurposing. Squirrels to chase back into trees, cats to nose awake from their slumber, geese to frighten.
Meanwhile, the baby goats have heard the dog's excited shouts and then my approach, they are staring. For a moment there is only a cry, then two, then the full-on assault.
We are feeding seven on bottles now.
After the bottles there are the nannies, almost everyone has kidded and is nursing. The babies have fed in the pre-dawn and now the nannies cry for substance, breakfast, food!
They are not patient in the demands.
One morning Abby refuses to wait, runs BA over then turns and butts her square on. This is not good Abby behavior.
And Katie, "Kiss me, Kate!," has demands never before realized in the world of goat.
She does not want simple goat feed, she wants goat feed topped with cracked corn. And bread! And not just any bread, no seeds or cheese, plain white is best.
Once the animals are fed, we turn to the gardens.
Everything is growing.
Early in the week, briefly, it looks as if the carrots will be consumed by weeds. A battle ensues; farmers vs. weeds: farmers win.
Later there is the harvesting. It is Thanksgiving and everything is bursting. For a feast we find the first head lettuces, radish in a rainbow of colors, greens of as many varieties as even my Southern Grandmother could demand, and winter squssh and sweet potatoes to complete the feast.
At my house we steal the first cauliflower, chop and roast it with a cream sauce, divine!
There is salad too, and wilted kale with bacon and vinegar, and pies of both farm pumpkin and pecan.
Everywhere we look there is bounty.
The days are exhausting. We grow and weed and feed and repeat. Peter is, perhaps, more correct than he knows, "warped" and "miracle" indeed.
Sage
Sage is a tri-color boy who is outgoing and friendly. He loves his bottle and plenty of snuggle time.
Joseph
Jospeh is a big boy and a looker. He's a stand-out in every way. Sure to catch your eye, he's the Elvis of this bunch!
Little Man
Little Man is the smallest of our babies this year. He is a little shy and never finished his bottle but he loves to be held.
He will need a little patience to bring out his personality.
If you are interested in purchasing any of these babies please contact the farm (ba@sapelofarms.com).
If you drive past the farm with any frequency you may have noticed a few (37 as of this writing) new additions to the farm gang.
This has been the week of kidding. Kidding! Not really. Farmer joke, sorry.
This has been the week for goat birthing.
We began with Poopie who delivered three on Tuesday (we could discuss her name but we'll save it for another post).
On Wednesday Abby had two more additions. Thursday was the real day, though, on Thursday we added 16 baby goats between the hours of 9am and 6pm.
To clear up a few misconceptions, no, we don't usually do much during birthing. Our goats, for the most part, handle all of the particulars themselves (and prefer it that way thank you very much).
As diligent farmers we monitor from a respectable distance and help if ever there should be a call for such help.
Thursday morning Little Girl delivered one baby without complication. Fifteen minutes later, she appeared ready to deliver baby number two when -- pause...no baby number two.
I waited. Fifteen more minutes. Nothing.
And so I do what any reasonable farmer in my position would do, I panic.
First I attempt to flag down BA who is two fields over and driving the tractor.
As it just so happens, I am wearing a red sweatshirt, perfect for catching someone's attention.
I wave. I flag. I jump up and down and scream. Nothing.
Plan B. I run for the house to fetch soap and warm water, birthing necessities.
I return five minutes later to find Little Girl still struggling to deliver her second kid. I leave birthing materials in the field with her and resume flagging while also running across two fields to retrieve said tractor driver.
Exactly ten yards from said driver she manages to look up and notice my presence, shrug.
In full panic, I do the "Nanny Goat In Trouble, Must Save World" dance.
She shrugs again, turns off the mower and turns the tractor for home.
Back at the pasture gate, once the roar of the tractor is silenced, I offer encouragement in quick bursts, "Hurry, Little Girl needs help. I have soap and water."
"Ok," she says, "ok," and clamors off the tractor and into the pasture.
We rush towards Little Girl, me insisting on speed, just in time to see baby number two slide into the world.
"See," she says, "nothing to worry about."
I stumble, in disbelieving exhaustion, towards the goat, watch as she stands to clean her second kid, and mumble a few words about the ungratefulness of farm animals.
A few minutes later, Little Girl delivers kid number three and farm life resumes at the near frantic pace demanded by the kidding season.
By 7pm that evening, we stumble into the house exhausted.
The following morning we will observe the coyote trotting, carefree down the center road in front of the farm before turning and extending his morning jog across the pastures and into our back woods.
Panic will again ensure (as will delivering goat kids, feeding goat kids, tending goat kids and a million other tasks).
For the time being, we fall into a weary stupor of making dinner, feeding cats and dogs and enjoying the evening's fire.
Simple pleasures are sometimes all we have energy to withstand at the end of the days that do not end.
(drum roll please...)
ZORO....