What's It Like, Living in the Country?

A friend asked me today what it's like to live in the country.

I gave him a completely inadequate and rambling and rather superficial and stupid answer.

Yes, I did.

But on the way home after our visit, driving into the Northern Sonoma County Wine Country I call home, I contemplated that question, and thought about all that country living means to me, and what I should have answered.  If I'd had half a brain at the time.  I blame heatstroke from my not having been able to sit in the sunshine for the last few months.  Or I can blame the giddy happiness of being able to catch up with my friend again after such a long time.  But look what I'm doing - I'm rambling again!

As I thought about it while driving past antique stores and vineyards and the fragrant pungent dairy next door, I recognized that country living is simply life.  Being a part of this lifestyle is all the pain and glory of what real life is all about, something most of us are insulated from when living in modern society.  Here's what I have concluded so far...

Country living is pitch black and truly quiet nights, sometimes punctuated by the midnight call of the rooster. (If you haven't lived with one, you don't know that roosters crow 24/7, not just at dawn!)

Country living is dust and mud and giving up on keeping your car clean.  When I recently purchased a new(er) vehicle, I washed it once a week until I got tired of the frustration of seeing dust all over it as soon as I arrived home, within a half hour of the wash.  Now it gets washed for special occasions or when I'm fed up with it or the dust gets too thick for my carpool teenagers to navigate through so they can get their backpacks in and out of the back.

If you really listen, country living is not quiet.  As I write this today, I hear songbirds calling to each other and pigeons cooing, and tonight I'll hear owls and coyotes and perhaps a fox or bobcat.  However, there are no regular sirens, motorcycle engines, or neighbors rowing next door (or overhead), blasting music (except mine) or freeway rumble.

It's sweat and backache from digging, weeding, planting, and then harvesting the garden.  It's kicking back on the deck at night with a cold beer and food grown and prepared at home.  It's the sweet smell of flowering trees and plants and the taste of blackberries in late summer. It's reading a good book in the sunshine on the back deck, watching the sun rise, knitting in front of the heater in the winter.

It's hot, sweltering days and pouring rain with wind so fierce I think the house will fly away or fall around me, hoping if a tree falls, it doesn't fall on me or in my way.

It's a glorious, star-filled night sky, and a full moon so bright I feel like I'm under floodlights at a Friday night high school football game.

It's goats run amok, head butting each other or daring to try to head butt me, cloven hooves stomping on my toes, having the guys at the feed store wrap hay in plastic to fit it into my SUV without destroying the carpeting, filling water buckets, and chasing goats when they run off, usually in the pitch black of night.

It's good neighbors, and trespassers who just want to hike up my driveway - I politely turn the latter around.

It's also the warmth of a full udder above my hands and soft fur belly to rest my head on in the wee hours of milking.  A gentle creature who thoughtfully chews grain as she listens to me intently while I ponder or sing or brainstorm or vent or cry.

It's a fiercely protective rooster that I have to patiently encourage to vacate the coop so I can safely gather the still-warm, smooth, and beautifully colored eggs.

It's falling and getting back up and dusting myself off.  It's not enough time to mend the fences, do the laundry, clear the tall weeds that spring up overnight, or clean the barn when I want/need to. It's flies and wasps, and butterflies, and a purring barn cat winding around my ankles.

It's burying animals even when the ground is rock hard, so they have a place to rest in peace.

It's the joy of spring goat kids bounding about and climbing on my back as I lie in the grass.

Country living is real life - it's the "mud and the blood and the beer," it's quiet and chaos, it's new life and letting go, and fresh air and dairy fertilizer.  It's 6 miles to the nearest grocery store and 20 to work, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.  Some people travel far away to vacation in places like this; I get to vacation here at home every day.

A Bear on the Road?

It was dark as we drove home last night.  Winding down the country road to our home, classic 70's music on the radio, Bex suddenly exclaimed, "What was THAT!?"

"What?"

Deadly serious:  "I think I saw a bear by the side of the road."

"WHAT??"

I asked questions about what she'd seen and where as I looked for a safe place to turn around.  We *had* to check this out.  As we drove, I told her about the two bear sightings in Sonoma County that I knew of - both at places we'd been to recently:  Occidental Art and Ecology Center, and St. Dorothy's Rest and Retreat.


As we approached the area she'd seen the animal, we saw a dark shadow on the side of the road.  It was big.  It was bigger than a coyote, black as night, barely visible in the gloom, and I was beginning to think that she was right!

She cautioned me not to get too close as I slowed the car, making sure that no one was coming (absolutely NO ONE was on the road at that hour).  I turned the headlights toward the creature, and it squarely faced the car.

I said, "What?  It's a pig!"

We have wild pigs in the area, so not too shocking, but this was BIG.  Uncertain, I continued to slowly inch the car closer, as Bex urgently told me not to.  "It will ram the car, Mom!"

"It's a boar!  Wow - that's the biggest boar ..."

Huh?

The animal turned slightly and I could see that it was neither a bear, nor a wild pig, nor even a wild boar pig, but a dog.

I turned the car back onto the road, as we began to laugh hysterically, both from the relief that this wasn't a dangerous wild animal, but also at how silly we both felt!  As the adrenaline subsided and we turned the car back around to head home, we discussed how absolutely massive that dog was.  I wish it'd been lighter outside so we could have seen it more closely to figure out the breed.

So - that was our "bear" adventure.  Maybe we'll see one, but hopefully not too close to home.  Whether we ever do or not, we have a funny story to relive and retell for many years to come!

Pushing Past Fear of Failure

I've had a bit of a struggle this morning.

I'm making goat milk glycerine soap.  I've been doing this off and on as a hobby for quite some time and recently started listing it seriously on Etsy. 

Then an order came in that changed my life and my view of this whole thing - a significant order for a vacation rental.  The possibilities expanded.  The abyss of the unknown opened.

I started off this morning exploring options and looking at places other than Etsy and word of mouth to sell my goat milk soap.  As I did that, I started doubting myself.  Then I ran across another local soap maker and started doubting myself more.  The questions start running through my head about the viability of this venture, and then the accusatory and mean voice in my head starts up.  The one-way conversation is telling me that people are being nice, that some like the soap but that it's no better than others.  The voice tells me that what I'm doing isn't creative or "real" craftsmanship, that I am taking the easy way out.  That if I were a "real" artisan, I'd put on the gloves and goggles and learn how to make soap from way-basic-scratch.  I am a fraud.  My soap is too fragile to put in a market.  Even though I love my packaging and see the benefits and value, the voice tells me that it's lame and cheap.  It tells me that I don't have the capital to invest into this and that starting slow and building up is stupid, that I am wasting my time.

How the heck do I get past this?  What keeps me moving forward instead of digging in my heels to a stop, putting away my dreams and goals, and settle miserably back onto the treadmill that I want to escape, that is stifling me, that doesn't allow me to live the life I want to and to be the authentic me that I want to be every minute of every day?

I've done this before.  I've stopped, using excuses.  This time feels different, and so there's a push-back today to the negativity.  I know I like this.  I know I use it every day.  I know others like it.  It may appear "easy," but there are components (goat milk) that are unique (raw, homemade, not store-bought) that make it special and more beneficial than what is currently available.  I know people find it helpful, enjoyable.  I am gathering feedback from family and friends and making adjustments.  I am brainstorming.  I am learning.  I am making preparations to take the leap.  I will.

I Am. Going. To. Do. This.

I Am.

Stray Goat Shuffle

Saturday morning, the first thing I did was check to see if the stray goats were still in the pen.  They were, and they actually appeared quite content!

I went about getting them some food, and then set up the "kid pen" for my own goats, rather than try to move these goats again.  They are still quite timid, and though they'll come close, they will not allow me to touch them.  With their horns, I also felt they were safer in soft fencing rather than wire fencing, where they could get caught and injure themselves more seriously.

My goats were not happy at all about bypassing the new goats in the place they were accustomed to going, and crowded the gate every time I came by, wanting to get back out of the kid pen.  Eventually, everyone was settled in and I went about my morning business until leaving to pick Bex up from her sleepover.  Before we went home, we stopped by the Healdsburg Animal Shelter to report the found animals, and I was told we were in County jurisdiction.  She gave me their phone number and collected information on the goats we had found in case someone called.  I planned to call the County when I got home.

We talked about the goats on our way home, and when we got there she went in to see them.  She was able to touch one three times, but then they got playful.  We're used to playing with our goats in this pen.  They run and bounce around, playing tag and head butting each other.  What I did not recognize was that these goats are much leaner and more agile than my dairy goats.  Suddenly, the oldest one, who I think is the mom of the others, leaped over the four-foot fence, clearing it easily.  This sent the others into a panic.  The escapee came back immediately, and started circling the enclosure to find a way back in with her herd mates.  She simultaneously and vigorously avoided coming near me and Bex, who were actually trying to help her get back in!  Things went downhill from there.  One of the other goats leaped over the fence.  Then one of the smallest amazed us by running straight toward a large oak tree located on the other side of the fence, leaping up, landing five feet off the ground with all four feet planted on the side of the tree trunk, and then catapulting off the tree to the side, over the fence, and to freedom.  Acrobats!  The last remaining goat panicked and tried to push its way through the fencing, getting caught up, but then getting free with a little help from me, but moving too quickly for me to catch it.  It soon found the section of fence that had been pushed over a bit in the pandemonium and got loose, as well.

We looked at the goats back out on the driveway, stunned.  They were headed back toward the road, so I asked Bex to hurry down and close the gate while I grabbed leashes to see if we could either catch them again or drive them back into the pen.

I walked down the driveway, and my phone rang.  It was the Healdsburg shelter, asking if these goats were pygmies.  I told her no, that I thought they were a Boer/LaMancha cross, and she asked if I had called the County yet.  I explained that I hadn't because shortly after we got home, the goats had escaped and we were trying to catch them again.  She took my address and offered to call the County for me, which offer I gladly accepted, though I didn't think there'd be any goats to catch when they arrived.

As I walked down the  driveway, I was surprised to see that there was no one in sight.  No goats, no Bex.  I called her name, but heard no reply as I went down to the still open gate.  I hoped that she hadn't thought I meant the main gate, which is 1/2 mile down the drive.  She, of course, had left her cell phone at home.  I hurried back to the car and started driving down to find them.  She rounded the bend and climbed into the car, having followed them about 1/4 mile down the driveway before they took off onto a hill.  We tried to herd them back toward the house, but they slipped easily through barbed wire fencing and onto the retreat center property.  We figured they were long gone.

When we got back to the house, I contacted the folks at the retreat center to let them know they had goats. Then Bette stopped by and we talked about the escape and her efforts to find out who they belong to.  While we were talking, I received a phone call from Justin at Animal Control, who was at the main gate.  I told him how he could get in and that we didn't have the goats any longer.  I walked to the main driveway to meet him.  I stood on the driveway and looked down the hill.  Much to my surprise, in the exact same location they'd been discovered the night before, there were ... four stray goats in the pasture!

I called Bette, and we reviewed the situation with Justin, moving vehicles and cutting a small section of fencing to be able to herd them into a smaller secure area so Justin could catch them.  Nancy wasn't home, but her dog, Tim, was.  Though we didn't know all of his commands, Bette knew she could tell him to lie down and that he would do most of the work on his own.  Bette, Tim and I walked into the lower section of the field, and slowly started pressing the goats toward the opening in the fence.  Justin was off to the side, to make sure that they didn't bolt for the hill.  As we got closer to the goats and they began to look a little anxious, Tim kept looking at Bette, as if to say, "Hey, what do you want me to do?"  As the goats filed in through the gate opening, I wanted to shout and dance for joy, but contained myself so as not to amp up the level of their anxiety.  We all went through the opening and secured the gate, getting prepared to catch and put the goats into Justin's truck.

We learned that they tended to go toward the place they'd come into the enclosure, which put them into a nice, tight corner, making it easier to catch them.  The horns were a big problem, though, so after we got them to a place they could be caught, Justin ended up holding onto the horns while Bette got the lead around its neck.  Then, it was a matter of bringing the fighting goat out of the enclosure to the truck, up the ramp, into the truck, then removing the lead and starting over again.  Justin used the horns a lot to move them around, and while Becca and I had a hard time with this (Becca even more so), I knew that it was probably necessary and wasn't going to hurt them badly.  It was an extremely strenuous venture, and we'd take a break between each goat to catch breath a little bit.  Justin commented at one point, "I'm not doing enough cardio," and we laughed.  This was a real workout!

It took about an hour for all of the goats to be safely tucked away in to the truck so they could be transported to the farm section of the shelter.  They'll be cared for there and hopefully their owner will be able to find them.  Even though they were here for just a short time, I miss them already.  They are sweet little things that need a little taming.  It's probably a good thing they had horns, or I would have been seriously tempted to hold onto them if we couldn't find their owner! 

Three Grandmas, Four Stray Goats, and a Sheep Dog

My darling daughter has found a church-based youth group through a couple of her friends at school.  She's been going once a week after school for a couple months now.  They are going to start a band, this small group of 14.  So they are having a sleepover at the church tonight to learn some songs.  They'll cook dinner together, play music and video games, try to get some sleep, eat a good breakfast in the morning, and then I'll pick Bex up.  The three adult coordinators who will be present for the night are kind-hearted, firm, hip enough for the kids, and make it fun.  It will be interesting to see where this goes.  Sometimes there are way too many flashbacks to about 30 years ago.  It is fun tho'.

So ...  I get off work at 5pm, exhausted, my wrists and hands aching from an overly stressful and busy day.  I pick up the kid and we head to the grocery store to grab some ice cream for the overnighter.  I've already stashed cajeta (caramel sauce) in the car as a special treat for the kids.  We are headed down the freeway toward the church when I get a call from the "next door" neighbor at the retreat center.  (We are city blocks apart from most of our neighbors.)  Now, Carolyn doesn't usually call.  We aren't sharing care for a baby goat and exchanging milk for empty bottles.  So ... I'm worried something is wrong at the ranch, so Bex answers the phone for me and holds it to my ear while I drive (gotta be hands free!).

She tells me that her son went for a walk and reported that he saw four black and white goats near the road on our driveway.  She wondered if they were mine.  Well, that's a fine thing to wonder as I'm trucking down the freeway about a half hour away from home, headed in the opposite direction!  I don't know if they are mine or Bette's.  We agree I'll call her when I get home and let her know if anyone's missing or if we need help goat wrangling.

I decide to call Bette to see if she can check and count goat heads.  She's in Santa Rosa, too, she tells me, as Becca holds the phone to my ear still.  She'll call Nancy, who's at her house, and ask her to check.  I get the call after I drop Bex off that all our goats are accounted for.  So who are the mystery goats?

I call Carolyn to let her know they're not ours and to ask more questions.  Does "black and white" mean black goats and white goats or multicolor?  That would narrow down potential escapees.  They were multicolored.  Big or small?  Big.  That rules out ALL of our goats.

I get home about 6:45 pm.  There are no goats or any animals in sight as I drive up the road to the house.  I get the milking equipment out, turn the burners on low to start heating dinner, preheat the oven, and head out to take care of the chickens.  I figure whoever lost their goats has found them.  It's getting dark when I head over to my goats to get them out and to the milk stand and barn.  Bette drives up about then and stops her car on the drive directly opposite of me.  I don't understand why ...  If she wanted to chat, she usually drives to the house.  Then she backs her car up slightly and her headlights shine directly on ... four goats in the pasture across the drive.  I'm shocked.

I walk around and down gravel and dirt in the dark to take a look, seeing four mostly white critters with brown (black?) necks and heads (Boer), but small elf ears (possibly a LaMancha cross) and long horns.  They are slender, some young looking, but not kids.  They shy away, but don't run.  They come closer to the fence when I squat down and put my hand through.  They won't come too close, they won't let me touch them.  Bette and I discuss options, and then decide she will go get Nancy, I will get grain and leashes, and we'll see if we can get them into the pen I use for goats who are about to deliver their kids, the "kid pen."

She leaves, and I trudge in the dark to grab two large scoops of grain and sling four leashes around my neck.  I go back to the fence and call to the goats, rattling the grain around to draw their attention.  When I hold a small container out through the fencing, they sniff the container.  Not the grain.  I put some in my hand and stick it through the fence, so they sniff my hand.  Not the grain.  It's pretty clear they have no idea what the stuff is, so seeing them munching on grass, I go back to the house and grab a flake of alfalfa.

That works.  They eat a little bit from my hand, and then slowly follow me down the fence line.  We are inching our way toward the gate when Bette's car arrives, drives past me, and goes to the gate.  I hear the gate open, but am focused on moving the goats that direction.  Then I hear a voice gently calling and see a flashlight in the pasture.  It's Nancy, and she is speaking softly and gently, but I can't understand what she's saying at first.  Then, in the light of my headlamp I see a dog approach the goats.  They see him, too.  I understand then that my alfalfa trick will not work nearly as quickly as a seasoned, well trained, sheep dog.  I step back softly and slowly to observe.

I've seen dogs work sheep before, but only in an arena or a large field on a bright afternoon with a man's big voice.  It's pitch dark now except for the light of the waning full moon, flashlights and car headlights down the driveway.  The white coats of the goats gleam as they bunch together, horns occasionally throwing a dull spark of light.  Nancy's soothing voice quietly directs her dog as the dance begins.  He moves swiftly, then slows or drops to the ground.  The goats watch him.  They move toward the gate.  It's amazing to see the movement in the direction we want them to go.  They are not panicked or frightened, simply very aware.  I have the alfalfa in hand, and think they may follow me while moving away from the pressure of the dog behind them, so start slowly walking toward the gate.  Nancy calls out to see if someone is there, and I tell her.  She asks me to walk behind the animals, which makes sense - to keep the gentle pressure up, rather than stop their flow with my presence in front of them.  When they get near the gate, I quickly move past it to guide them back up the driveway when they come out.  They begin to walk up the drive and then get distracted by my goats, which are still out in their pen.  They leap across the ditch and get to know each other, walking around the fence line as Nancy and her dog follow.  I hurry to the "kid pen," where I want them to go, and put the alfalfa in the bin and open the gate.

The goats move up onto my driveway, but won't budge toward the shed and the kid pen.  They keep dodging through the trees back to my goats.  The three of us are grandmothers.  Bette's children are grown and a little older than my oldest children; Nancy's grandson is my Becca's age, and I'll be an official grandma in six months.  The three of us are trudging through leaves and trees and rough terrain in the dark, trying to get these critters to obey and get into the kid pen for safe keeping.

After quite a while of this, getting them closer, only to have them take off back another 10-15 feet to meet up with my yelling and running goats, we decide that I'll bring one of mine out to see if they'll follow her to the kid pen.  I get inside the fence and clip a leash onto the first one I see, who is making the most noise, which happens to be Salsa.  She's also white and the herd queen, aka boss.  I walk her out and toward the kid pen after securing the gate and putting the board back up to keep the other goats in.

Then, the three smallest of my goats escape.  Running pell mell, they head toward the milk stand and - I think - the barn.  That would be good.  Lily is still inside the pen, but she can stay for now.  I can't turn Salsa over to Bette, because she is much smaller than I am, and Salsa has hauled me onto my keister before.  With Salsa in hand, I get the goats to run to the barn, but then mom Imbri turns around and runs back toward the strays.  Her kids follow.  I get Salsa onto the milk stand to free my hands, and grab the collar of Moonshine, the wether.  Usually they'll follow each other, and the other two start to come to me, but Imbri, his mom, is being difficult.  I'm able to grab her collar and head to the barn with my hands full, calling Luna to follow, which she does.  She won't go into the barn until the other two are closed in, tho', so I have to herd her to the barn and skootch her inside.

As I'm walking back to the front of the house, I smell my dinner.  Uh-oh.

By the time I get to the milk stand, Salsa is yelling because she's run out of grain already, and I hear from Bette and Nancy that the stray goats are getting INSIDE the pen that my goats just vacated.  I see one of them push down the soft wire fencing and step through and over it.  Lily is still in there, and starts to challenge one of the strays, but it has horns and she isn't quite sure what to do.  I get inside and grab her.  Bette and Nancy secure the gate while I put Lily into the barn and get Salsa more grain.

We decide to let the strays stay in the pen overnight. 

They're close enough to the house that they'll be safer from coyotes than where they were (the reason we decided to catch them). I throw them some alfalfa and fill the water bucket, thanking Nancy and Bette profusely.  Bette will call the owner of the dairy next door to see if he knows who the goats might belong to.  We wonder if they might have been "dumped" at the end of the driveway since the gate was open.  I still need to finish feeding the chickens and milk Salsa.  The chores are done as if through water - I'm out of breath and tired.  It only takes 10 minutes to finish milking, and then I sit down and look at the time and just breathe.  It's been about an hour and a half since we started all of this.  I'm beat.

With all the goats running around, plus the dog doing his job, and the three grannies trying to herd goats, it was another night that needed a web cam.  It's a night I'll always remember, and laugh.  A funny, if exhausting, adventure, and we did it. 

Now to get some rest and figure out how in the world I'm going to move them across the driveway to the kid pen, where I really do want them to be.  I have to get my goats out of the barn tomorrow, and these guys are kinda in the way of that.

But I'll figure that all out in the morning.

Winter Goat Pandemonium

I started to write that it’s winter time, which means more pandemonium than usual at the home farm, but that’s not really true.  There’s adventure to be had no matter what the season here, and goats will provide plenty of entertainment, aggravation, exasperation, wonder, joy, and sustenance no matter what the season.  I guess I thought winter was the greatest season of pandemonium because it’s wetter, wilder, and more physically challenging.  Today was a day for the outdoor motion detected camera, which is still not purchased, let alone installed.

I was up until 2am the night before, so waking up at 8am gave me six hours of sleep instead of the three I would have had if I’d gotten up when the alarm went off.  It was Sunday, so although it put me behind schedule, it didn’t make me late for anything.  I remember hearing the clock radio blasting the Sunday morning local talk/interview thing and hitting the snooze button once, but remembered nothing about the two hours it blasted after that, plus an hour of blissful silence.  I definitely needed the extra hours.

I stumbled out of my room to take Duncan outside to “do his duty.”  It was raining.  It was coming down in torrents.  Poor Duncan gingerly made his way out into the wet like a good boy, and briskly trotted back into the house when he was done, shaking as he went through the door.  After feeding him, Breezy was next, and she pulled back at first, not wanting to get wet, but nature’s call won and she eventually did what she needed to, getting us both overly soaked in her hesitant, procrastinating process.  She shook three times when we came in; I changed jackets and shoved my hair inside to try to stay warmer.

I gathered the hay and put it under the tarp shelter in the goat pen, then opened the door to the chicken coop in case they wanted to venture out into the downpour.  The rain came down in sheets as I opened the barn door and walked into the relative calm of goats lying down.  They slowly stood and stretched, and I felt regret as I clipped leashes to their collars and gave them their morning scratches.  It was wet outside, and I’d rather they have the option to stay in the barn, but they kept breaking out of the new fence attached to the barn and going back to the old pen.  Without a battery hook-up for the new fence, it made no sense to try to keep them there.  I knew they’d break out and end up going to where I was going to lead them anyway, so I pushed aside any feelings of guilt, took Salsa’s collar in hand, and opened the barn door.

I usually wait with Salsa while the rest of the goats file out, leaving last so as to avoid having to come back for a straggler.  None of them wanted to leave.  I walked to the back of the barn with Salsa, who is the “herd queen” and the boss, thinking pressure from her might get them to move.  Imbri hopped out and over the soggiest part of ground in front of the door, and her kids followed.  Lily was last, but trotted when she left the barn.  As I walked Salsa toward the milk stand, I saw trouble brewing.  Lily, who never does this, had jumped onto the milk stand, then put her front hooves on my milking chair and was beginning to reach her head toward the surface where the milk bucket, strip cup, sanitizing spray, hoof trimming implement box, and Salsa’s morning grain in a large blue scoop were waiting.  I shouted at her to get off, knowing it was fruitless to do so, and stepped faster, still careful on the slick ground. 

I was too slow.  Before I could get 20 paces from her, Lily had knocked the milk pail to the ground.  As the metal clanged and clattered loudly, scattering the protective cover across the cement tile, it startled all the goats and they jumped and took off.  Unfortunately, Moonshine and Luna’s leash had become caught on the metal milk stand, so they dragged it out into the rain 6 feet, pulling it over onto its side on the gravel as I approached.  I released them, then hooked Salsa to a post so I had hands free to get everything fixed again.  Becca came outside to see what the ruckus was all about, and held Lily while I righted the milk stand and maneuvered it back into position.  Imbri and the kids had hightailed it back to the barn, so once I got everything back into place, I had to walk back to get them in rain that was now being blown sideways in random gusts of wind.  The three of them stood side by side in the doorway looking out, all of them maaaing loudly.  A missed Kodak moment, but in the pouring rain, there was no way I was pulling out a camera.  I grabbed leashes and they came willingly, though very vocally.  Eventually, everyone got into their proper places, I re-sanitized the milk bucket, and finished off chores by milking, mulling over what had happened and what could be done to avoid it in the future.  I chuckled to myself while the cat wound around the legs of the stand as I realized that there was nothing to do but enjoy the occasional chaos.  Their independence, spunk, curiosity and playfulness are some of the things I love the most about goats.  Ours certainly have plenty of that!

Goat Panic and Wonderful Bread

Tuesday morning dawned bright and clear dark as night.  As the days shorten, my mornings require the light attached to my ball cap in order to be able to get around outside and get the critters cared for.  Often on mornings like this the goats are quite happy in their barn and aren't eager and cooperative about going outside.  Rainy days are worse.  Those days, I often have to pull some of them out of the barn.

So it wasn't unusual when I opened the door and walked into the dark barn that Lily, the black LaMancha, was lying down, sleeping.  I thought it was an odd location and she was in an odd position, but I know I sleep strangely sometimes, so I shouldn't be surprised goats do, too.  I decided to let her snooze as long as she wanted to while I put leashes on the other four goats first.  I kept glancing at her, watching for her to stir and get up.  She didn't.  I started getting worried.  There was a lot of ruckus in the barn, with the other goats tromping around and Salsa re-establishing her authority by pushing and butting the other goats around.

Finally, I couldn't put it off any longer.  Lily hadn't budged.  With a worried and hesitant tone in my voice, trying to sound a little confident as I started to walk toward her, imagining the worst, I said, "Hey, Lily, time to get up, girl."

OHTHANKGOODNESS.

Lily immediately lifted her head upon hearing her name, looked at me, and slowly stood up, stretching.  I felt like I'd been confronting a teenager who just wants to snooze just a little bit longer...  She punked me!  With a sigh of relief, I clipped the leash to her collar and gave her some extra scritches and scratches in all her best itchy places.  I let everyone out of the barn, relieved that I could still plan to breed her this fall.  Salsa's milk production is still good at 1/2 gallon a day, but she is visibly drying up and it's time to give another goat or two a shot at being milkers.

---

I had what was turning into a long section of this post devoted to The Day I Slept Through Two Alarms.  Upon rereading it, I realized that it is really not that interesting to anyone else and I was bored reading it myself. Of note, the kids were only 10 minutes late and I got the tardies (four carpool kids) excused for them, and She Who Does Not Run or Jump (Me) ran.  'Nuff said.

So let's talk about Food, shall we?

Now that I am working full time again, my cooking exploits are jammed into every spare moment of the weekend, and I am frustrated because there's not enough time for all I want/need to do.  I am contemplating asking for a four-day work week, though not expecting any type of positive response to that.  Besides, with the pay being so low I'm not sure I could make it worthwhile ... though it is coming up on holiday season and I could ramp up soap making ...  Ah, to think of for another day.

I've been learning how to can pickles, both sweet and garlic/dill now.  I am a salsa and tomato soup making machine.  If you want to know about the Best Tomato Soup Ever, let me know and I'll write all about it and share the recipe.  I am spoiled by my homemade soup now and doubt I'll ever willingly go back to store-bought, ever.

I discovered that focaccia is really easy to make using a bread machine.  Super simple.  The problem with my homemade focaccia is that it is rather delicate and doesn't hold up well for sandwiches.  It makes a great base for my arugula and parmesan bruschetta, but BLTs, no.

Bex and I love to go to the Windsor Farmer's Market on Sunday mornings.  We have fallen in love with Mama Tina's new meatballs and sauce that she sells by the twos in a little pouch.  I can easily warm those up and slice them onto ciabatta rolls from the baker at the farmers market, topped with mozzarella cheese, for an easy and filling dinner.  I was contemplating that this weekend.  I doubt I could beat Mama Tina's meatballs, especially since she just won Double Gold at the Harvest Fair for them, but ciabatta bread.  Now that's another story.

I decided to try a bread machine recipe and see how it worked out.  The recipe said that the dough would be "sticky" and not to try to add flour to it.  As I looked at the dough after the bread machine was done with it, practically sloshing it around in the pan, I muttered to myself, "Sticky?  More like soupy!"  With some apprehension, I poured the dough/batter onto a floured cutting board, scooped the edges up as much as I could so it would fit under the largest mixing bowl I own, and set the timer, hoping that it wouldn't ooze out like The Blob all over the kitchen.  After 15 minutes was up, I gingerly removed the bowl and was relieved that it pretty much stayed together.  Despite flouring the sharpest knife I have, the dough still stuck to the knife and did not seem at all to want to be separated into two pieces.  I forced the issue and then transferred the halves to two floured pans to rest and rise for another 45 minutes.

Resting time after dough prep for the focaccia is just long enough to preheat the oven, about 15-20 minutes.  There's the extra time for the ciabatta.

I popped the risen dough into the oven for 25 minutes (25-30 is what the recipe calls for) and it was a little darker than I wanted it to be when I took it out, so I'll go for 20 next time.

What I received for my efforts were two good-sized beautiful rustic loaves of golden bread, crispy on the outside and light and perfect on the inside.  They were crispy enough without me bothering to spritz water on them every 5-10 minutes while they baked (I'm all about making it as simple as possible - why bother?).  I made a sandwich with part of the cooled loaf and discovered that it not only tasted good, but it held up very, very well.  I have a winner.

Sorry focaccia, you will be made for special occasions for the bruschetta, but ciabatta is my new go-to weekend bread making buddy, stickiness and all.

If you'd like to try your hand at ciabatta, the recipe is at http://allrecipes.com/recipe/ciabatta-bread/ and below.  (P.S. I did not "dimple" the bread.  Unnecessary for ciabatta.)  Enjoy!

Ciabatta Bread

Servings: 24
Submitted By: Marina    

"This is a bread machine version of the Italian classic which still bakes in your oven. Though not sour, this bread has the crisp crust and coarse crumb one expects from ciabatta."

Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups water
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon white sugar
1 tablespoon olive oil
3 1/4 cups bread flour
1 1/2 teaspoons bread machine yeast

Directions:

1.     Place ingredients into the pan of the bread machine in the order suggested by the manufacturer. Select the Dough cycle, and Start.

2.     Dough will be quite sticky and wet once cycle is completed, resist the temptation to add more flour. Place dough on a lightly floured board, cover with a large bowl, and let rest for 15 minutes.

3.     Lightly flour or use parchment lined baking sheets. Divide into 2 pieces, and form each into a 3x14 inch oval. Place loaves on prepared sheets, dimple surface, and lightly flour. Cover, and let rise in a draft free place for approximately 45 minutes.

4.     Preheat oven to 425 degrees F (220 degrees C).

5.     Dimple dough for a second time, and then place loaves in the oven, positioned on the middle rack. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes. During baking, spritz loaves with water every 5 to 10 minutes for a crispier crust.

Stretching That Birthday Out

There is a bit of benefit when you cannot have all of your friends together to celebrate your birthday.  I used to find it humorous that my son-in-law Anthony likes to celebrate his "Birthday Week," but this year I am beginning to see the fun in that.

My friend Roni is one of the sweetest people I have ever met.  She is kind, intelligent, funny, kind, witty, energetic, and did I mention she is kind?  She is near the top of all the people I know who has the biggest heart, and no matter what is going on in the world or in my life, we always find ourselves laughing out loud together.  You know the kind, big belly laughs, with mouths wide open, often bent over, unable to contain it all.  I love spending time with her, and now that Becca has gotten to know Roni, she loves spending time with her, as well.  Yes, Becca loves Roni's cats and her new kitten, Leo, but that's not the only reason.  The kid has a respect and admiration and love for Roni that sparked early and deep, which is pretty unique.

Roni asked if she could take Becca and me out to lunch for a late birthday celebration.  I love spending time with her, and no matter where she wanted to go I was game.  She picked one of the best spots in the area, The Tides at Bodega Bay, so on a bright and sunny Saturday, we headed over to her house to meet up.  Of course, there had to be a little play time with the kitties beforehand, but we kept it short so that we could go enjoy the coast.

We headed out Highway 12 and through downtown Sebastopol, then off on the curvy and winding road to Highway 1.  The rolling hills and quaint farm houses dotting the scenery as we drove made it feel as if we were truly traveling into a different place and time.  The sky was overcast, but it wasn't too cold, and Roni and I pointed out the old town of Bodega and the church made famous by Hitchcock's film "The Birds" to Becca.  She'd seen the movie in class recently, and it was fun for her to see these spots in person.  We rolled up the highway, and as we approached Bodega Bay the fresh scent of saltwater became more evident.

We found a parking place easily and walked into the restaurant.  As we waited very briefly we admired the freshly baked pastries in the nearby display case and Roni said that we would shop here after lunch to bring some goodies home.  The restaurant was busy, but not overly so, so we didn't have much time to admire the surroundings before we were able to be seated.

We had a great view of the bay from our table, and Becca spotted a sea lion playing in the water not long after we sat down.  It was hard to focus on the menu when there was such a beautiful view outside, but we were hungry and attended to that quickly.  Roni suggested dungeness crab cocktail to start, and we agreed.  Becca and I had never had one before.  We really enjoyed it, but next time I think I will do without the sauce.  It was good, but covered the delicate crab flavor.  We enjoyed our meal over lively conversation, Roni having perfectly prepared calamari and me closing my eyes to savor the fresh fish and chips.  We teased Becca that she wouldn't be able to get the tall club sandwich she ordered into her mouth, but she worked hard and was able to prove us wrong.  All in all, it was a spectacular lunch, enjoyed with Roni and I sipping margaritas and Becca a Shirley Temple.

After lunch, we perused the glass case containing all those wonderful pastries, and each of us selected some to bring home.  We stashed those in the car and grabbed the bag of stale bread that Roni had been collecting for the seagulls and headed out to the pier.  We settled at a table and I started to open the bag.  As soon as I had the bag open and my hand touched a piece of bread, suddenly a loud cry started from the seagulls and we were surrounded!  We had a ball feeding them, at first tossing them to the ground so the birds could grab the pieces, and then learning that the seagulls could easily catch them if we lobbed the bread just right.  Eventually, Roni discovered that they would eat from your hand, so the three of us began a combination of feeding by hand and playing "catch" with the birds.  The sea lions were playing, and one was trying to take a nap through the chaos of the calling and flying birds.  We spent quite some time in the fresh ocean breeze playing with the gulls before depleting the store of bread and heading to the car.

Our conversation on the drive home was just as animated, and we briefly visited with the cats at Roni's before heading home to rest up and take a nap after our coast adventure.  It's amazing how tired good food and ocean air will make you!  It's a day I'll never forget, especially learning to feed the birds by hand, which was a special treat.  Thank you, Roni, for a special day!!

Birthday Surprise

On Friday, August 10th, I was exhausted at the end of the day.  Dragging.  But really happy for the weekend and looking forward to seeing my family for dinner.  It was Friday, after all.  Because this was the family dinner night closest to my birthday, I knew that Mom would have cake and there would be singing.  Bex had gone down early with Manda, so "Corsica" and I car pooled down after work.

A few weeks earlier, I had mentioned to Jess that I knew that this was a big birthday for me, and I knew how big her and her sisters' hearts are, that I suspected that they might be thinking of planning a surprise, and not to worry about that please don't. I didn't want to be caught unaware and possibly embarrassed.  (What if I was wearing something wrong or my hair needed a shampoo or some other such thing?)  Jess' face fell, and suddenly she was the little two-year-old towhead that I'd disappointed, and I immediately regretted the words coming out of my mouth.  How selfish was I!?  I backpedaled fast.  I told her that if she wanted to do something, that she could, just please make sure I wasn't embarrassed.  She agreed.

Fast forward a week, and we are all at Six Flags/Marine World when Mandi tells me that Jess told her about our conversation.  She said she was going to come clean.  They had been trying to plan a party, but it wasn't working, so I didn't need to worry about it.  They were trying to figure out who on my list of Facebook friends were "real friends" and not acquaintances, old classmates I didn't really know, old coworkers, professional contacts, etc.  Besides, they had asked my dear friend Tammy if she could come up, and she could not make it, so they just lost all the umph they had in planning it.  Tammy's arrival would have been the biggest part, and they weren't able to make it work they way they wanted to.  We had plans already to go dancing on the 11th, closing night for my old stomping grounds at Kodiak Jack's, so I was told I could invite who I wanted to go.  The list of people that would want to or be able to go there was small, so that was easy.

Back to Friday night.  We pulled up to the house and I recognized Kyla's car, remembering that she and Loren would be visiting for dinner, as well.  This was going to be a lot of people, more than usual.  Still tired, I walked in the door and into the living room.  I always make my way to my mom to greet and hug her first, and so I was weaving my way through toward her, feeling somewhat stunned in my exhausted mind at the birthday greetings being said and shouted from all around me.  Smiling as I slowly walked, I noticed a blur as someone rapidly appeared from the hallway and walked across the room to stand in front of me.

I blinked.  I think my mind went completely blank for a moment.  I couldn't wrap my brain around what I was seeing.

It was Tammy!  And right behind her came Emily, her daughter and Becca's best friend. 

The surprise had been delivered after all, and boy what a great surprise that was!

Tamily (Tammy and Emily) live in Orange County, and I was trying to figure out how long she'd been in Sonoma County, so I blurted out, "Where are you staying?"  She said, "With you, I hope?"  Of course!!  My brain was trying to figure out where we'd pick up their stuff, never thinking that they might have traveled all day to get there.  I have some pretty darn amazing friends!

We had a glorious dinner and visit, and I think it was one of the best birthday dinners I've ever had.  We got home late, and it's always great to have Tamily there to add more joy to the morning and night time rituals of caring for the animals.  Quick sheet changes (a weekend chore that needed to be moved up the list pronto) and fresh towels, and we were ready to collapse into bed ... and talk more. 

Becca and I love being with Tamily.  I am always so grateful that Bex and Emily get along and love each other as much as their moms do. 

The horrors that widely differing personalities could have inflicted on our long and deep friendship are too much to even try to imagine.  When Tamily are present, our family is whole.  We look forward to a few years down the line when they can live closer to us, and fantasize about what we can do with the studio next to my house to bring all of us together.

Saturday morning I awoke early, as usual, shutting down the alarms so as not to disturb everyone, and quietly went about getting ready to move and milk the goats and feed the critters.  I was surprised to see Emily slipping out, and she asked if she could help.  What a treat that was, to be able to spend some quiet time with her in the morning.  She milked Salsa all on her own, and is a real pro.  Reading, and odds and ends followed until Tammy and Becca got up.  Then we made breakfast and enjoyed spending time together until time to go to our early dinner.

Pack Jack's BBQ was *the* BBQ place for me for years.  Brick oven smoked, simple fare, in a plain yet funky environment perched on the side of Highway 116 just outside of Sebastopol.  Paper plates and cups, plastic utensils, lots of napkins, and finger bowls (large!) to help with cleanup after enjoying ribs with their homemade sauces.  Fire destroyed the restaurant many years ago, and I was so happy to hear that they were reopening this summer.  Being that Tammy was a Sebastopol native, as well, we knew we had to go there for dinner, so off we went on a lovely drive through the country to meet the rest of my kids for another birthday dinner.  We stuffed ourselves and had a great dinner visit, then drove into town to meet my parents at Starbucks.  The plan was for Becca and Emily to spend the night with them so the adults in our group could kick up our heels at Kodiak Jack's.

After fortifying ourselves with some caffeine and sugar for the night, we kissed the girls and my folks goodbye and headed into Old Town Petaluma.  The memories that flooded as Tammy and I chatted on the way were so fun to share with the kids.  This place was our stomping ground from the day it opened, as we are both western dancers, with Tammy teaching and me competing with some teaching on occasion.  We met at Kodiak's under unusual circumstances that solidified our friendship into a bond that is hard to describe and is lifelong.  It shows the kind of people that Tammy and I are - we weren't petty and stupid about fighting over a man who had been two-timing us, recognizing instead that he was the problem, and discovering on the way that we had a lot more in common than getting involved with a cheater!

Kodiak's is closing, and the 11th was actually their closing night.  We had such a fun time walking up to the bar and seeing Barry's shock of recognition of the two of us together there again.  It made me feel even more like I was home when he remembered my old habits and got our drinks started.  We found a table and gathered together with other friends and family, high spirited and enjoying being together.  It was karaoke night, so it took a while for us to be able to get onto the dance floor, and Barry touched us all with his closing speech about this home away from home, and then sang a modified version of "I Love This Bar."  (There's a cover charge. :-) ) 

Tammy and I put in our requests to the DJ and waited mostly patiently for dances we could do.  So much changes in the world of line dancing and we hadn't been keeping up with the newer dances.  We took a refresher lesson and got some of our non-dancing friends and family involved, so we had a good group when that song was played. 

It was like old times on the floor with Tammy again, but we were beginning to despair toward the end of the evening that we wouldn't be able to dance our absolute favorite, when Tammy went up to the DJ and pulled a connection card.  She used to work as a DJ and dance teacher at Two Steps Up, and when she mentioned that, magically our favorite dance was played shortly.  It's one that isn't taught much these days (Hawaiian Hustle, choreographed by Petaluman Sue Shotwell), but it is soooo good that the few who knew it flocked to the floor with us and youngsters were trying to learn it on the fly.

Shortly after, the booty shaking and freestyle music started, so we gathered our things and regretfully said goodbye to the old place and old friends.  Maverick's is opening in Santa Rosa and Barry will be there, but it just won't be the same as the old brick building filled with memories and spirits of old friends.  There are new ones to make at Maverick's, so we'll have to check it out.

We had done all the chores before leaving home, so everyone was tucked in as Tammy and I rumbled up the dirt driveway well after 1am.  Though we were tired and knew we should sleep, we collapsed on the couches in the living room instead and chatted another hour or so.  Tammy and I needed to meet up with the girls in the morning so she and Emily could begin another long drive south on Sunday.  Eventually we recognized that we needed sleep and that the goats wouldn't wait for milking in the morning, and headed off to bed.

Sunday morning, we decided to meet up with the kids for breakfast at the airport in Petaluma, and were able to spend more time together, laughing and talking over good food, before they had to hit the road again. 

It was a full weekend, little sleep, but what an amazing way to spring into my 51st year!  Many thanks to my girls for pulling this all together, to Becca for being such a good keeper of a good secret, and to Tamily for making that trek up to make it a truly special time.  I am looking forward to the next time!!!

Da God Squad

On July 28th I gathered some close friends together who were a part of the California Wind Children with me in my youth.  This is a group that is difficult to describe briefly, but I will try for those who are unfamiliar with this part of my past.

Based at an Episcopalian church, this ecumenical group of teens from 14 and up, created musical performances and performed them locally to raise money for their summer work projects.  Those same performances were sung and played on one-night stands across the country as they continued to earn money while traveling to the projects.  Individual responsibility and teamwork were important to the group, as the teens were completely responsible for all aspects of their functioning, from purchasing, repairing and maintaining the buses and other vehicles used for travel to finances, public relations, sound, choreography, every aspect necessary to keep the group functioning and meeting their goals.  There was a director, yes, but he did some steering, that was about it.

The group worked with the Cree, Navajo, Shoshone and Arapahoe tribes on reservation projects and helping run summer camps for children.  Other projects included establishing a summer program for youth in Camp Meeker, CA modeled after the Outward Bound programs in Europe, a trip to Wales to work with the rangers there on renovation, bridge and fence building, erosion control and other projects, and a peace focused project in Ireland.  Francis Ford Copola supported the group's work with Native Americans by providing studio time and the opportunity to record three record albums at his studio in San Francisco.  There is so much more to tell, but suffice to say that for many who participated (last count is 234 individuals participated in the group in one form or another over a span of nearly a decade) it was a life-changing experience.

I like to get together with my old friends from this group from time to time, and although only five could make it that July weekend, we had such a good time and a great visit, lasting long into the night, which unfortunately caused a couple of my guests to arrive at their South Bay homes in the wee hours of the morning.

I discovered the day after this visit that a youth group would be camping on the property behind my house, which belongs to the Bishop's Ranch - yes, an Episcopalian retreat center and a terrific neighbor.  So ...  Episcopalian youth group from the Bay Area, camping and working at the retreat center, what is this group all about?  I was told they are "The God Squad," so I went to the internet and did a search.  It's a group of teens from several churches in the Alameda County area who do work projects, including work with the Lakota in North Dakota.  And Lakota youth and adults that these kids knew would be joining them that weekend.

I made some queries and found out that we could go visit the group one evening.  I got together a large quantity of ice cream and a couple jars of cajeta (caramel sauce I make from goat's milk) and we headed down there to dispense some cheer after their long hot day of work clearing campsites and trails, and to find out what they were all about.  Unfortunately, due to family issues at home, the Lakota were unable to make this trip, but what a great group of kids were there.  Becca and I drove down to the campsite with our neighbor, Bette, bouncing over ruts in the trail and driving through a dry creek bed.  I introduced myself to one of the leaders of the group, and he asked the kids to gather round.  Several of them had already been sitting near the campfire with guitars.  He explained that I used to be with a youth group in Novato, and one of the other adults interrupted and asked, "Were you in the Wind Children?"  Surprised, I said yes.  She then stated excitedly, "I have one of your albums!"  The kids oohed and aaahed, looking at me with fresh eyes.  Album?  As we dished out the ice cream with lots of cajeta over top, we chatted with some of the kids, who were really appreciative and came back for more.  I asked the woman with the album which one she had, and she couldn't remember.  Then she said that she knew all the songs, and her favorite went like this:  "Wind Children of the Wind Children of the Wind Children of the Wind."  I laughed with delight.  That theme song was on the Flower and Flag musical history of the US, written in response to an invitation to perform on the White House Lawn for the bicentennial in 1976.  I told her that I have extras of the third and final album we recorded and that I would bring some down for them in the morning.  (For those in the know, yes, I was expecting her to sing Sim Cu Na!)

I enjoyed learning about the projects these kids have worked on, in East LA, on the Lakota reservation, helping with recovery efforts in New Orleans after Katrina, and in Galveston.  These kids are hard working and inspirational, much like we in the CWC were as teens.  I am looking forward to finding out more about what they are doing and how I can support them in their efforts.  How exciting that this spirit of helping others, learning how to be responsible, and how you can do more than you ever imagined possible, is still around and being nurtured in young people.