Last week, word was that the due date for our mama goats was February 14. When that came and went, it was said that the actual date was really February 16. And when that came and went, I heard that maybe it was the 18th after all.

How it works: the buck is put into the pen with the ladies. He begins by rubbing his head on their sides, releasing scent that makes them go into heat, usually three days later. Then he gets busy. Having been penned up for almost a year away from the ladies, he makes up for lost time quickly. The gestation period is about 150 days; usually several mamas give birth on the first day of “kidding” because the buck was so prolific at the beginning of his gig. A doe’s cycle is three weeks, so the buck stays with them for a little over six weeks so everyone gets a couple of chances. After the first day of kidding, things taper off, with babies being born for five or six more weeks.

In my impatience, I went and looked up when the buck was put into the pasture, and that was September 14. Adding 154 days to this gives us February 15. So I’m not sure what’s going on. I’m sure there are a lot of variables and I wish I understood it all better. There is so much to learn!

Usually goats here aren’t bred during their first year. However, because one or more of our bucks got out and into the “baby” pen, all of the young ones are pregnant also. And we’ve had two cases of premature twin goats. I’m tired of digging graves.

“Just wait, Terrie…it will be totally different when we have 60 baby goats here all at once.” I hope that’s true. I hope we’re prepared for it. Failing that, I hope we have better luck going forward.

In the meantime, I’ve made a good friend in the baby pen:

She’s called “Arrow” by most people here, because of a marking on her side that looks like an arrow. I sometimes call her “Blaze” because of the big white blaze on her face that sets her apart from the other goats. She’s one of the more friendly girls; often if I’m standing at the baby pen watching them, she’ll come over for pets and to try to eat my binoculars. I’ve thought about trying to buy her (all of the pregnant “babies” are for sale), but after learning that it would require separate housing and pen, I’ve mostly given up on that idea. It’s not like there aren’t already dozens of goats here available to me at any moment!

And many more to come. Soon, I hope.

I’ve wanted to write more here, but have had a hard time getting started. With this blog, I wanted to start the process of writing publicly about very personal things. But when I start to do that, something holds me back. It’s the usual stuff…afraid of what people might think, afraid it’s all too stupid to post, that it’s trite, or just that it’s wrong. A familiar reluctance to speak my own truth.

Part of the problem with that is that I often don’t know what my truth is. The past six months have been a big identity crisis for me. Literally. I have a vision of me sitting in the middle of cards facing outward, and on each card is something I am showing the world of myself. To the world, what’s on those cards is what I am. Then, some of those cards got knocked away, and then all the rest fell, and there’s just me in the center. And who is that? No idea. Honestly, sometimes I look at my own thoughts and it’s clear that I’m insane (or at least part of me is). Sometimes, thankfully, it’s thoughts I can laugh at it…no, no insane-terrie, I really don’t want to create a fake facebook man to fawn over my posts to make everyone think that I have a plethora of potential mates at my beck and call. Thanks for the suggestion, insane-terrie, maybe you can go back to tweeting for your dog now…try to stay out of trouble…

I have been in a real funk. But, that is part of what I wanted to do here in this yurt during the rainy season…to go into the depths as far as I dared, and to try to bring something back up to the light. The problems of my psyche manifest most clearly in my eating. The most useful author to me in this regard has been Marion Woodman. I’m reading Pregnant Virgin: A Process of Psychological Transformation now and am both fascinated and horrified with how clearly she understands what goes on inside me. But still, in trying to dive deep, I haven’t yet gone deep enough, and sometimes I fear that I won’t accept the sacrifice that I’ll need to make to get there. I sit, doing nothing, unable to get the obsession with food out of my mind, trying to ask it what it really is, what the food symbolizes, and getting nowhere. In my dreams I accept what happens against my will, unable to speak up for what I want. I am served pasta that looks like snakes, and though they tell me that it’s not, some fall to the floor, and wiggle. I stab the snakes with my fork, cringing inwardly but pretending not to notice, because they’ve told me to eat it.

On Saturday, I sat outside, trying to get back to my sit-spot practice. Turkey vultures flew in close. “Go away,” I thought, “Don’t be hanging around here so closely. I don’t like it.” I tried to understand why I was feeling so morose. I have so many things to be grateful for; I have the best friends in the world, an amazing place to live, the wealth of pets and good food and beautiful climate, hyacinths blooming at my doorstep. Where had my optimism and my gratitude gone? Then I remembered. Oh yes.

It’s February.

I don’t know why the poem says that April is the cruelest month. I’m certain that February is the cruelest month. Even here, on a ridge on a sunny day, I’m unable to escape February.

On Sunday morning, I was heading out with Laika for a walk when we were called over to the house. They needed help; a mother goat had been found dead in the field.

So the four of us got the cart and went to bring her in. She was in the mud and muck, and we all grabbed parts of her so we could get her over to the gate and into the cart. I hadn’t thought clearly enough to change into my boots, and the shitty mud rose over the tops of my hiking shoes as I grabbed the goat’s collar and pulled. There is no escaping the thought that this is what they mean by “dead weight”. But we got her into the cart, and wheeled her to the driveway. There, P had us stop so she could rinse her off. I was touched by this kindness and show of respect. I ducked into the barn to check the collar number against the name list; it was Iris. P said that it is not uncommon to lose a mama goat this time of year; sometimes there are stillborn kids that are not ejected and they cause death in the parent.

We took the body to the empty field in the corner of the property, one that the bucks can get into. There, the four of us dug a grave and then worked her into it. P had us position Iris so that she looked somewhat at peace. Don Juan and Emilio came over and watched us, standing at the grave; hard to tell what awareness they had. And then we covered her up. There were a few tears, and it was ok that there were a few tears.

It doesn’t seem right to call the death of a goat a good thing. But I felt a surge of gratitude that I am here, on this piece of property, learning how to care for the goats from P. I like how she does things. I like that we respect the animals, give them names, and also accept that sometimes things aren’t pretty or ideal. It’s hard when animals die. But it is appropriate and good when we take as much care with how we see them out of the world as with how we help bring them into it, and that is one reason I like working with animals in the context of producing food. The great wheel turns.

Today was my day to feed the goats, and I watched them as they ate. Their bellies are getting big, and some of the milk bags seemed huge to me. We’ll have kids within the week, and my excitement is growing. I reported to P about the big milk bags and she smiled and told me that the older mama’s are always like that, and told me some other things to look for, and thanked me for telling her (making me feel not too bad about being such a greenhorn with all of this.)

Although February’s tend to be heavy and morose for me, they have also been times of great change. Much of that change has been positive, usually after dragging through the depths of some inner muck, and surprising me by holding the seed of something new. So I hold that hope. I don’t want much. I’m not looking to jump into another relationship or to push forward in yet another new endeavor. I’d be happy just to feel a creative spark again, enough to actually push me into an action of creating.

Well, that….and baby goats.

My good friends, Bonnie and Kim, made this little video to commemorate their visit to the goat ranch last weekend. I especially like how the soundtrack makes Bodega look so exotic!

Enjoy!

PS – Where did the weekend go?!!

We’ve gotten so much rain over the past week…and there’s probably much more to come. It certainly adds to the challenge of living here.

The storm last Wednesday morning was probably the most exciting. I woke up a little before 5am…Scout had stomped his way up the bed to my pillow, purring demanding his morning cuddles. When I pulled him under the covers, I felt that his back was wet, and was instantly fully awake. I sat up and turned on the light, scanning the ceiling for what I guessed was a terrible leak. Then I noticed with relief that the front door had blown open in the wind. No leak…Scout had either ventured outside or stood in the doorway. It was an easy problem to fix.

The storm was gathering intensity, and I got up and started my usual morning routine. A short time later, the power went out.

I grew up being afraid of thunderstorms, or more specifically tornados. Tornados are very rare here, but living in a yurt puts you more in the storm, and I’ll admit that I was anxious.

I decided to work on a painting as a way to pass the time, and was enjoying it quite a bit. It got my mind off the storm until the wall next to me suddenly flexed. I stopped what I was doing and packed a bug-out bag…change of clothing, dog food, computer. The yurt felt stable, but I didn’t know what to expect. The tarps were still lose enough to make quite a racket, all adding to the ferocity of the storm. After packing the emergency bags, I just sat on the couch for a while with Laika and Scout, soaking in the experience of the storm, and the experience of taking responsibility for handling any problems that might arise.

I made the most of my morning…it was like a “snow day” from school…a rain day from the internet. I painted, read, cooked breakfast and made a second pot of coffee. Eventually, though, I realized that I needed to at least check in at work, so I took the computer and headed for town. On the way out, J. warned me that, depending on the tides, the creek level might crest 6-8 hours after the rain stopped. When I got to the bridge, the water was still a few feet below it, so I continued on. Had to go almost all the way to Sebastopol before finding power (and internet), but I was able to answer the most pressing work emails before racing back to be sure I was on the same side of the bridge as my dog and cat. I opted not to make the trip to the hardware store that I’d planned, for more rope and tarp clamps. We’d just have to get through things for a while longer as-is.

The power came back on in the early afternoon, and things got back to normal…or as normal as they get here. I was grateful for my new Muck Boots…a big expense, but really necessary here. J. urged me to get the chore boots, and he is right…the big lug soles are really great to have when sliding around on the mud out here. With all the flooding in Sonoma County, I’m probably not the only person doning muck boots to do her dishes. But I’m probably the most cheerful!

It’s hard to remember where one storm started and another left off. The time was filled with tarp adjustments, bringing wood in, working, and catching up on sleep lost during thunderstorms.

Saturday was beautiful; friends came to visit and once again I was filled with gratitude for the support and friendship people have shown me. I really enjoyed having the windows of the yurt open for fresh air, and then having it filled with warmth and laughter of visitors. And I’m the benefactor of Kim upgrading her iPod Touch, and so am the delighted recipient of her old one. As much as I try to keep my gadget lust in check, there’s been no denying my desire for this one. They almost could not contain themselves as I unwrapped the package with smaller packages inside…first a giant dog biscuit for Laika, next a cute tiny mouse toy for Scout, and then…a sleek shiny toy for me. Unbelievable.

A few minutes after they left, opened my door to find my friend TJ, out for a drive and stopping for a visit. I had a great time showing off how different things looked from the first time she’d visited.

Later, I made a quick dash for Santa Rosa and visited Harbor Freight for the first time. How have I not been at this store before?! There I found the kind of tarp clamps you need for a big tarping job: EZ Grabbit Tarp Holders. In between storms, I’d found a few of these in a package under the yurt and tried them out. They’re fantastic! By putting tension directly on the tarp (rather than trying to hold it down with the ropes over it), the flapping is much reduced.

Yesterday I spent some more time tying down my tarp. And my knots are much better, yes, because there’s an app for that…Knot Time Lite, in fact. I’ve been really happy through the storm of today — less rain, but I can tell that things are snugged down much better now.

Today was my first day of feeding the goats on my own. The rain was pouring constantly (I think we’ve gotten about three inches in the last 24 hours), but I felt like I had a better time of it than the goats. They have some shelter, but are more exposed than I’d like. I’m probably a big softie when it comes to farm animals. I counted them today…we have 53 altogether: 23 pregnant mamas, 13 pregnant yearlings, 14 pregnant “babies”, and 3 billies. The yearlings were born in 2008, and so are really almost two years old. The babies were born last year, almost a year old. Usually, as commercial dairy goats, they wouldn’t be pregnant until they are yearlings and allowed to grow into bigger goats. But one of the billies, LeRoy Brown, has become quite adept at climbing out of fences where there are girls in heat around. So there will be 14 pregnant milk goats up for sale soon, suitable for backyard milkers. Want one?

Tomorrow the vet comes, so we’ll be rounding up all the goats so the vet can draw blood for annual tests, give them their shots, and we’ll do any hoof trimming that’s necessary. I’m looking forward to an interesting (and muddy) day.

One of the things I’ve enjoyed here is the wood stove. I’ve been learning a lot about heating with wood, and still have a lot to learn.

When I was growing up, our family had a wood stove that we used for heating the kitchen. It was quite different…covered in white enameled sheet metal, it stood a little over waist high and loaded from the top. Ashes fell into a drawer in underneath the fire area. In many ways, its design seems superior to the design of the wood stove I have now, but this one is much more beautiful. This stove sits low, and opens in the front, with a glass door so you can see the flame. There’s no separate ash tray. When I moved in, I didn’t realize that there were already about three inches of packed ashes in the bottom…I couldn’t believe it when I finally cleaned it out and found a random grate embedded in the bottom! (I found a manual for the stove online, and the grate shouldn’t have been there at all.) Still, I loved having this little fire in my home right away.

I also started going through my wood really fast. I was a little horrified. What was worse, my wood use wasn’t necessarily resulting in a cozy lifestyle. At night it was cold, and in the afternoon it was hot. I tried to keep the fire going to avoid having to make another fire. When I did have to make a fire, I had to use fire starter blocks…yet more stuff to buy, stuff to consume. The helpful bag of kindling I bought at the general store was much the same…worked great, cost too much. Really, I have been consuming a lot of resources!

I was spending so much time on my knees in front of the stove getting covered with ashes, I felt like the only thing I needed as a couple of wicked stepsisters and a fairy godmother. Alas, my footwear needs are more for muck boots with traction and not a pair of glass slippers.

Thank goodness for the internet. It didn’t take me long to find this page of tips from WoodHeat.org. That helped a lot. And some experimentation and common sense helped, too.

I bought a splitting axe and started making my own kindling. It’s taking time for me to learn how to split wood (videos on youtube help) and I can’t do too much at a time without developing a ferocious back ache. But it’s very satisfying.

I’ve learned some discipline from fire. On Saturday, I made kindling because it was obvious that the weather wasn’t going to cooperate for making it later. Want fire on Wednesday? Make kindling on Saturday. Same thing with bringing wood into the house before the rain.

You don’t manage a fire for the moment…you must plan ahead. I’m learning to back off on morning fires, because they’ll likely turn the yurt into a sauna by mid-afternoon on a sunny day. Evenings are similar…if I wait until it feels cold, it will be cold for an hour until the fire gets going enough to put out heat. So I have to think ahead.

And I have to pay attention. Fire can be dangerous. Ashes often contain hot coals, and it can be tempting to poke around too much in an effort to play “wood tetris” while feeding the fire, and those hot coals will roll out of the front of the stove if you do. Fire requires mindfulness; it will correct you swiftly and unmistakably.

A fire is like a living thing; you can ask yourself what it needs to grow, whether it might need to be reigned in, what it needs to be fed. You can do pretty well by learning the general rules and then tending it, but there’s always an element of uncertainty that makes a fire lively. Like most living things you might take care of, it can teach you a lot…a lot about fire, and a lot about yourself.

I’m still learning. I don’t always get a fire started as quickly as I’d like, and on a bad day, I’ll use the help of fire starters. But tonight, I got my fire going with paper and kindling on my first try. It feels just right in here…a welcome comfort in the calm between the storms.

Before moving here, the big question was whether Laika would be ok living here. The owner has a dog, Jasper, who’s very adamant about his position as top dog on the ranch. There are also three other dogs owned by the tenant in the lower part of the property. And don’t forget the livestock — many interesting kinds of poultry to chase, and of course, the goats. But I really couldn’t be happier about how it’s going. And Laika seems to love the place. It’s so great to see her running and playing with other dogs.

And why wouldn’t she love it? I think she’s finding treats all over the place, especially in my landlord’s kitchen, the place she runs to first when she gets to go outside in the morning. I hear her being exclaimed over in the other house like an honored guest, and if I wait to watch her emerge, I see her running up to her sentry position on the edge of the pond to sit and enjoy some delectable treat she’s been given. She’s quit begging for her dinner, and I’m probably going to be saving on dog food seeing as she’s getting fed so much at other houses.

It hasn’t been stress-free, that’s for sure. Laika is protective of our living area, and tends to bark too much at visitors. We’re working on it. I’m often on-edge about her unsupervised time outside. I don’t think she’s particularly car savvy, though most cars slow down properly while coming up the drive. And it will take a long time…maybe never…for me to feel that she’s bomb-proof around the livestock. I think we were lucky that I took her bed shopping with me last week. While we were gone, Jasper chased and killed a chicken…had Laika been here, I’m sure she would have been all too eager to show off for her new buddy by doing the same.

I have to give this dog credit — she really does try to please. During the first few days, she barked at any small noise. Now she’s developed a sense of what’s important and what’s not. I don’t tell her “quiet” every time she barks…sometimes a dog’s got to be a dog, and barking is appropriate. But, more and more, she listens when I do tell her “quiet”. Amusingly to me, she sometimes demonstrates her understanding by woofing very quietly. I think the most difficult part of dog training is to teach a negative. But woofing very quietly works pretty well for me. She’s also getting better at coming when I call her, especially if someone strange to her has arrived on the property. We still have work to do here, but I’m encouraged by her progress.

And delighted at her joy when she comes running up to me during her play time, ears flying and rear wiggling, a bundle of sweet doggie energy.

No wonder she’s getting all those treats.

I’ve always been a little envious of people who would stick with an exercise routine. They seem very in control of themselves; very orderly and organized.

I’ve never been like that myself. And because I’m not, I’ve tended to not get enough exercise. I’m hoping that will change with life on the goat ranch.

For example, meet my wood pile:

Today I stacked most of a cord of wood…enough to take me through a year, I’m told (though I bet I’ll go through mine faster). I’m grateful for the wood, a gift from my brother and sis-in-law. But I”m also grateful for the chore of stacking it. It felt good to have that physical activity, a way to enjoy this morning’s sunshine.

Speaking of sunshine, did you see the sunrise this morning? Gorgeous. Can’t wait to see what tomorrow’s is like.

Don’t worry, I won’t be writing this much every time. But now, when everything on the farm feels so new, I notice lots of things I might want to remember later.

I’ve been getting up at least once in the night to load the stove. Last night, I loaded in a large round log at around 1am and almost thought better of it. But I went back to bed, and after waking a few times to the coyote party going on in the moonlight and the coughing-shout of a fox, I ended up sleeping in later than I have in months…6:30 AM!

And it was cold outside of the blankets! The log was too big, and maybe too damp, and the fire had nearly gone out. Fortunately, the eucalyptus firewood that was delivered yesterday burns much better, and with a bit of finagling I got things cooking again.

Our morning walk was beautiful (a phrase I’ll probably repeat often). The fog that had settled below us was rising and the day was warming up. Before we left the property, I talked to J for a while, while Laika played with his three rat terriers. I gave him some feed money and said I’d get eggs on my way back.

During our walk, I saw some deer and leashed Laika before she could notice and give chase. When we got closer, the deer bolted and ran into some brush, and some other animals gave a strange cry. Laika stopped in her tracks and didn’t move, then tried to insist on running home with her tail between her legs. I’m guessing it was a coyote, but we never saw what made the noise, and eventually I convinced her to move along.

Got our eggs on the way back up the driveway. I started thinking of the eggs from our hens in Sebastopol as “coddled eggs”, since I took a lot of pains to provide clean nest boxes. If there was any dirt on them, I’d only have to brush it off. Here, the eggs are quite dirty, and I washed the whole dozen of the before stashing them in the fridge.

Living here is is much more deliberate than other places I’ve lived, much in the same way camping is. So far I like it, but I need to pay attention and stay on my toes. It’s up to me to make sure we have heat, that my firewood stays dry, that I have the water I need for the day in the yurt to save trips back and forth. It takes more effort to stay clean and tidy; I’m responsible for my own trash and recycling. I feel more in touch with my use (and reuse) of resources. I’m starting to feel my way into a routine, and so far have enjoyed that so many of the little chores involve more time outside.

We’ll see if I enjoy it as much in the rains. I was stacking firewood this afternoon when it started, then tarped everything back up and came inside to continue unpacking and arranging. My desk area and all books are now unpacked and mostly arranged. It’s looking pretty homey in here already!