Thursday

A cool, blustery wind, sunny skies, June flowers. You need add little else to this lovely tableau.

A robust garden, quickly moving to its summer fiesta...






A walk through all the fields, just to check on things (I do this so many times, throughout the day)...






Breakfast with our guest, but in the kitchen. It's a bit too cold to take it outside.






Last minute conversations, some shop talk between the two men, with me throwing in only mildly relevant suggestions.

And that's our morning?

Not exactly. Or at least it doesn't end there. I made an appointment with a local homesteader to look at her Nigerian goat kids.

I did worry that once I saw them, there would be no going back. Not necessarily because I would fall in love, but because I would see the animals in real time and my mild apprehensions would fade. I'd come out thinking -- this is doable! I can do it!

And that's exactly what happened.

(I'm holding the two month old doe -- she is perfect. Her temperament is exactly right.)






(Her brother is a possibility as well; the homesteader and I haven't flushed out the details of who should be the partner goat. There is some talk of taking the mom, but I'm not sure I want to take on milking just yet. So maybe this little guy...)





I should say that this is not a completely seamless project. As I grow more certain and decisive, Ed grows more ambivalent. And as I'm ready to give a definitive yes, he is ready to give a definitive no.

He is a reluctant goat farmer for many, many reasons. Here's one -- he does not really want to take on the project of building fencing or putting up a shelter. He'll say it nicely -- I just want to hang out with you... But the reality is that his interventions at the farmette have always tended toward low key minimalism. If there are flower beds here, it's because I've planted them. Trees are trimmed, grass is mowed (ever so rarely) because I insist on it. The chicken coop has too few roosts for the hens. He wants to make do with what's there.

With the goats, Ed finally tells me -- go ahead and do it, but it's all yours. You deal with the fencing, the shelter, the hay. I don't want to.

And why exactly do I want to? I mean, they're sweet goats -- playful, friendly -- but am I really going for the milk? The homesteaders are a thriving community here, in Wisconsin (and perhaps elsewhere): they grow their foods, home-school their kids and make cheeses and soaps out of the milk the goats provide. I am not in any way part of that movement.

Yet, I want goats here, at the farmette. At least if I can get someone to put up the fence. (I've already found someone to build the shelter. It's not going to be me!) I'm thinking -- goats are much different than chickens. And maybe that's a good thing!


In the end, we leave a deposit, I make the phone calls, but as morning morphs into the afternoon, I realize that I am yet again embarking on a solo project, one that Ed wants to take a pass on (reminiscent to, say, travel).

I put the brakes on the whole thing and call it off. We have plenty of incompatible interests already. We don't need another. Especially not one that require a long term commitment. So -- no more talk of goats. I'm done.


Snowdrop is here in the afternoon. She is a much needed distraction!


(hi, ah-ah! Whatcha doing ah-ah?)






(running to smell the alyssum... I've taught her well!)






(are you going to be outside, ah-ah?)






(bubbles and butterflies)
















(let's feed the chickens! please! ah-ah let's me!)






(I found more asparagus!)






Yes, a beautiful, beautiful distraction.