I’ve been collecting materials for a memorial of sorts, and realized that today might be a good day to put it together.

Moving into a yurt did nothing to dispel my interest in traditional Mongolian culture, which started when I first heard of the Mongolian eagle hunters. One of the things that fascinates me the most about the Mongolian nomads is the place that animals have in their lives. Certainly they use animals for food, clothing, and other goods, but animals seem to be very important in the spiritual realm as well.

I found some photos of Mongolian monuments to horses….there’s one here (scroll down), and a great one here.

My version is a bit more stylized. You might notice that there isn’t a goat skull here…I have a nice one that I’ll be adding above the sheep ram head. J brought me a nasty gooey goat head about a month ago, and with a few more weeks in the compost pile and it should be ready to hang. (J shakes his head and laughs about making my wish come true with such a loathsome object…J is a good guy. He also gave me the sheep skull.) The bottom skull is of a cow, and I’ve had it for years.

It’s memorial to the animals of the ranch, past and present; a way to remember the ones that we’ve eaten or buried, and to the wind that enlivens us with their spirit.

Update: the goat skull has been added — click here for an updated photo.

Last week, we got the milk line rolling, finally. It’s been interesting to see how this milking process works.

First we cleared the pasture of non-pregnant goats. Then we picked the ten goats who kidded first, plus Dahlia, and moved them to the main pasture without their kids. (Dahlia had a stillborn kid, so we’ve been hand-milking her to keep her milk in so she can be on the line.) Boy babies were sent to one pasture, and girl babies were put into pens in pairs. The girls are bottle-fed, not because they still need milk, but because we want to imprint them and get them as tame as possible. They’ll be on the milk line themselves in two years. I’m told that many goat dairies separate kids from their moms just a couple days after they’re born. These get the “luxury” of being with mom for a few weeks.

The milking barn is full of dairy equipment to automate the process of milking, and I dreaded the first day. Since they didn’t milk last year, the equipment has been unused for almost two years. We cleaned it up, but I had little faith that it would work. I did not feel better when it turned out that we were missing parts and could not use the machinery. Our first day of milking, Sunday morning, was all done by hand. Already dealing with carpal tunnel issues, I was nearly in tears when we finished. It wasn’t even so much the strain, but knowing that we’d have to repeat the process Sunday night and then Monday morning before the dairy machinery guys could make it out to our site.

The whole process had also been a group project, with four or five of us trying to piece together machinery and figure out (or remember) how it all works. It was really painful for me. I get grumpy and irritated, fast, especially when I’m tired and haven’t had the chance to take care of myself. I was (and still am) in dire need of some quiet nature time, some time to take care of my introvert. Being aware of it helps.

Somehow, parts were found on Sunday afternoon, and we miraculously finagled the equipment to work and were able to milk by machine on Sunday evening.

P. tells stories about days past, when all milking was done by hand. How they’d almost drowse, face against in the warm side of a goat, listening to classical music. She suggested that maybe we could get a radio. I’ve had fantasies of having the quiet barn to myself and the goats in the mornings, listening to the birds outside. I’d already decided to leave the radio off. It will be so peaceful…

It turns out that milking equipment is REALLY LOUD. It’s all air compressor and engine and pumps…well, I really don’t know what all it’s made of, but there is a fierce din. I can’t imagine trying to play a radio over it! However, I can certainly sing my lungs out to the goats if I want, because no one will be able to hear me.

The week wore on; more hours, both in the morning and evening, and more equipment failures add up to a general feeling of exhaustion, but thankfully I’m in a pretty good place with that. I take naps when I can. My days now start with the alarm going off at 4am…if I want to keep some of my morning time for myself (and I do…it’s my most creative time by far), I have to get up early enough to be at the barn and ready to milk at 6am.

One equipment failure was caused by a goat who became tangled in the hoses and tore off part of the air compression system, which meant another round of hand-milking. So often I am reminded of Temple Grandin’s book, Animals in Translation. We’ve changed procedures, and let the goats out of their stanchions one-by-one now, guiding them gently around the hoses. I really enjoy working with the goats in this way and tending to their care while we’re milking them. I picked more calendula this weekend to make more salve for their udders, and it’s very satisfying how we’ve been able to heal the ones who showed irritation from their babies nursing them mercilessly. I think the machine may actually be more gentle…those babies can bite hard!

Last night, we separated another set of babies and mamas, and will be adding a second string of goats to the line this morning. The second string includes some of the two-year olds…these are goats who have never been on the milk line, and some (Madrone, in particular) are quite wild. I’m pretty apprehensive, but am sure I will enjoy the challenge. Later in the week, we’ll add another group, and then hopefully we’ll be able to ease into a regular schedule where I”ll have evenings off.

Life is hectic, busy, and tiring. But I’m reminded regularly of so many things I am grateful for, not the least of which is for this very experience of being so busy. There are not many places for a woman in her 40’s to get such a hands-on education in work like this, and I am grateful every day that P. took a chance on me.