Goat party
Mr. A left this morning for a two-week gig in Southern California. It's the longest we've been apart since we met. He didn't find out about the job until just a few days before he had to leave, so I haven't had much time to think about it or freak out.
This afternoon I went to a party at a friend's place in the mountains, in a little hollow on the other side of the valley. It's not really all that far from town but it feels like a million miles away, up a narrow, winding road passing through steep, close hills and overhung with enormous eucalyptus, bay laurels and oaks. The little seasonal creek is bubbling along, moss and ferns are springing up everywhere, and blossoming fruit trees and little tufts of white narcissus growing up through the leaf litter on the forest floor make everything smell fresh and good.
There was a heavy drenching rain all day, which made everything even sweeter. The party was in an enormous stone and timber barn which she'd cleared of trucks and tractors so that long wooden tables could be set up with food, drinks, and the piece de resistance – a sheep she'd slaughtered and cooked up for the occasion. The south side of the barn is open to the view of a heavily wooded hillside (shrouded today with clouds and rain) and at each side of the opening there were wood fires burning in a couple of old barbecues. Inside the barn was cozy and comfortable and full of friends – mostly winemakers, farmers and carpenters, when I took a look around. That interested me; most of my friends until now have been more what I think of as intellectuals, artists, academics and high tech people. Although of course there's plenty of overlap in all those categories. My favorite black and brown farm dog was also there, snuffling around in his fluffy fur coat and charming the babies by licking barbecue sauce off their faces.
A young friend who's just finishing high school this year took me up to the shed to show me some twin goats who were less than an hour old. They stood on wobbly little legs, calling piteously to their mother and trying to nurse. Their umbilical stumps were still shining; their placenta, lying in the straw on the floor of the barn, was still wet. I held one of their baby cousins, a little brown boy born yesterday afternoon, who snuggled up in my arms like a cat and fell asleep, sighing deeply. His fur was still soft, his hooves were still smooth, and the little nubs of his horns were just barely big enough to feel on the top of his head.
I sort of fell in love with the little guy, and it's got me thinking again about trying my hand at goat herding. I had been thinking that if we do get goats this year it would be better to get two girls, since males stink and tend to be aggressive. But maybe that's not a problem if you neuter them? In any case, I'm not interested in breeding them, or milking them, or starting a goat cheese factory or any of that – I just want to see how they do at keeping the grass and star thistles down in the back field. So maybe their gender doesn't matter.
My only real experience with livestock so far has been with chickens, and I have a feeling they're a lot less labor-intensive than goats. I never had to give them worm shots or trim their hooves, for one thing. Having misunderstood the concept of "free range" chickens, I never even really built them a proper coop to live in – just a little nesting house, which they never deigned to use, preferring to roost (and poop, copiously) on my front porch at night and lay their eggs in the bushes under my bedroom window.
Goats need more formal living arrangements, though, I think. A securely fenced area and a little shelter to live in, at the very least, plus some kind of miniature mountain or pile of rocks to climb, plus toys – a soccer ball, or one of those things they hang in trees for horses to play with. Also, vet visits, wormings, attention to hooves and horns, and eventually ... someone to help me figure out how to slaughter them. Augh! Could I really do all that? Would I really be willing to kill and eat that little gorgeous darling animal I held like a baby this afternoon?
All I can say is that his auntie sure was delicious. Also, because I knew her personally, I felt more ... thoughtful, as I was eating. It was impossible to ignore where the meal had come from, and as a result I felt especially grateful for it.
To eat an animal you've loved and taken care of and paid attention to seems somehow less barbaric than eating one you've never met or cared about.
Anyway – it was a beautiful party, very lush and exotic in its rusticity. This is the kind of afternoon that makes me feel like I belong here.
This afternoon I went to a party at a friend's place in the mountains, in a little hollow on the other side of the valley. It's not really all that far from town but it feels like a million miles away, up a narrow, winding road passing through steep, close hills and overhung with enormous eucalyptus, bay laurels and oaks. The little seasonal creek is bubbling along, moss and ferns are springing up everywhere, and blossoming fruit trees and little tufts of white narcissus growing up through the leaf litter on the forest floor make everything smell fresh and good.
There was a heavy drenching rain all day, which made everything even sweeter. The party was in an enormous stone and timber barn which she'd cleared of trucks and tractors so that long wooden tables could be set up with food, drinks, and the piece de resistance – a sheep she'd slaughtered and cooked up for the occasion. The south side of the barn is open to the view of a heavily wooded hillside (shrouded today with clouds and rain) and at each side of the opening there were wood fires burning in a couple of old barbecues. Inside the barn was cozy and comfortable and full of friends – mostly winemakers, farmers and carpenters, when I took a look around. That interested me; most of my friends until now have been more what I think of as intellectuals, artists, academics and high tech people. Although of course there's plenty of overlap in all those categories. My favorite black and brown farm dog was also there, snuffling around in his fluffy fur coat and charming the babies by licking barbecue sauce off their faces.
A young friend who's just finishing high school this year took me up to the shed to show me some twin goats who were less than an hour old. They stood on wobbly little legs, calling piteously to their mother and trying to nurse. Their umbilical stumps were still shining; their placenta, lying in the straw on the floor of the barn, was still wet. I held one of their baby cousins, a little brown boy born yesterday afternoon, who snuggled up in my arms like a cat and fell asleep, sighing deeply. His fur was still soft, his hooves were still smooth, and the little nubs of his horns were just barely big enough to feel on the top of his head.
I sort of fell in love with the little guy, and it's got me thinking again about trying my hand at goat herding. I had been thinking that if we do get goats this year it would be better to get two girls, since males stink and tend to be aggressive. But maybe that's not a problem if you neuter them? In any case, I'm not interested in breeding them, or milking them, or starting a goat cheese factory or any of that – I just want to see how they do at keeping the grass and star thistles down in the back field. So maybe their gender doesn't matter.
My only real experience with livestock so far has been with chickens, and I have a feeling they're a lot less labor-intensive than goats. I never had to give them worm shots or trim their hooves, for one thing. Having misunderstood the concept of "free range" chickens, I never even really built them a proper coop to live in – just a little nesting house, which they never deigned to use, preferring to roost (and poop, copiously) on my front porch at night and lay their eggs in the bushes under my bedroom window.
Goats need more formal living arrangements, though, I think. A securely fenced area and a little shelter to live in, at the very least, plus some kind of miniature mountain or pile of rocks to climb, plus toys – a soccer ball, or one of those things they hang in trees for horses to play with. Also, vet visits, wormings, attention to hooves and horns, and eventually ... someone to help me figure out how to slaughter them. Augh! Could I really do all that? Would I really be willing to kill and eat that little gorgeous darling animal I held like a baby this afternoon?
All I can say is that his auntie sure was delicious. Also, because I knew her personally, I felt more ... thoughtful, as I was eating. It was impossible to ignore where the meal had come from, and as a result I felt especially grateful for it.
To eat an animal you've loved and taken care of and paid attention to seems somehow less barbaric than eating one you've never met or cared about.
Anyway – it was a beautiful party, very lush and exotic in its rusticity. This is the kind of afternoon that makes me feel like I belong here.
1 Comments:
That sounds so magnificent, Tina. It left me full of longing.
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