Saturday, July 22, 2017


So ... we made our way through darkened streets, past our favorite all night dinner place without stopping [Damn it], then down a river road to 'the gate.' At the gate we entered our code [there's a scanner for a prox card, but guess who forgot to bring it.] The gate retracted, and goat boy drove his spiffy, newly-washed truck through, stopping just beyond to wait for the gate to cycle closed.

The river is seldom glassy smooth, but it has its moments. This morning it reflects the moon perfectly. We drive on. Gravel crunches under our tires. We cross a short narrow bridge. And we arrive. Goat boy opens our pasture gate. It locks with a chain and an Abloy lock.

I make breakfast. Oatmeal with an obscene amount of butter and maple. We eat it outside. This is our 'hot' time of year but at five a.m. it's on the cool side. There is coffee. I like coffee. I toe my shoes off, wiggling my feet. There is a contented sigh or two.

The birds wake. We hear their tweets and chirps. They come in waves: The sparrows first, then the killdear with their quick movements, quail dart through the shrubs and ferns, a seagull lands at my feet. I hate them; they're parasitical. I shoo it off. We are blessed with a flock of goldfinch. Lovely birds. And then they've all scattered, looking for food and sex elsewhere.

Another cup of coffee and an earnest conversation about daughter two's boyfriend and we're ready to work. Goat boy grabs some tools from his truck and, with the determination of an old soldier, marches out to the irrigation pump. I open the barn to quiet. Most of the goats are asleep. A few are not and they greet me with assorted baaaahs. My oldest female is awake. She follows me everywhere; loves a nice rub and pat.

Those awake wander out of the barn. The kids slowly wake, and a few of them mob me. I give them pats. One tries to climb into my lap. I pick her up and carry her for a while. I open a new bag of sweet corn feed. Make sure there's water in the tank. The sun is up, turning the river to a ribbon of silver and gold.

Goat boy yells something that sounded suspiciously like DAMN! He packs up his tools and trudges back to me. He's scraped his knuckles. I examine his hand, wash it with disinfectant soap. I talk sweet comfort, and then ask him why he didn't wear gloves. "Forgot them," he says.

The kids are running in mad circles as is there wont. We sip more coffee. Goat boy points to the gate pole. A huge blue heron is perched on top. I'm thinking thoughts not at all related to gorgeous birds. Goat boy is immersed in the wonders of nature.

Goat Boy Immersed in the Wonders of Nature

Don't get me wrong. I love creation with all its wonders. It's just that I'm more interested in Goat Boy at that very moment. He's part of nature too. I take the most direct path. Direct is usually good.

This Pixies Direct Path

A satisfying choice.

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