a fine saturday
I spent the entire morning in Manchester—doing laundry, running errands, the usual town stuff. I always bring the dogs with me on these Saturday excursions, and together we listen to music in the car with the windows down. (I am not an air-conditioning person. I do not want the world to feel like a morgue to avoid sweating.) After laundromatting, all of us putz around the Northshire Bookstore (where good dogs are welcome, which I love). I picked up the new issue of the Small Farmer's Journal and grabbed a sandwich to go. Can you handle the non-stop action of this very exciting young person? Eh?!
We drove home listening to some CDs. I recently got a package of great music by a band called Trapper's Cabin. While guitars and banjos sang on the car stereo, Annie hung out the window smiling. It is hard to be angry at any part of this world with a smiling wolf riding shotgun.
When I returned to the farm I really got down to business. I let the sheep out into their pasture to dine on some green grass. They were so excited to be off hay they literally made it three feet out the gate before they started eating away at the tall green blades. While the sheep enjoyed their buffet, I let Finn out to run around and chase chickens (basically, just be a kid). He loped about and then came when called when I offered him lunch. He drank a bottle of formula while I leaned against the back bumper of the Subaru. I fed him while watching the sheep graze among the hens and roosters circling around their feet. I looked over at the garden, bursting with new seedlings, listened to the crows above and felt glad. Things are very good right now in this life. They won't always be, but in that little moment my life let out a long sigh, stretched, and smiled.
Finn joins me in the garden most nearly every day. He's fine. He doesn't touch the veggies, but does wander around the inner fence chewing on weeds. Today I picked him up and he reeked of onions...LEEKS! I looked around the fence and pulled out two dozen fresh wild leeks, which will be part of my dinner tonight. Foraging is something I do little of. I prefer the safety of a well tended garden, but when I score something like this I feel rich. Who knew I had a leek-sniffing goat?
We're down to four kits. Another one died in the night. Sadly, half of season's first litter has perished. But I am happy to report the remaining four are healthy, already growing fur, and starting to open their eyes. Bean is doing the best job she can, and her man Benjamin (the Angora Stud on my porch) is also doing well. He's due to be shorn soon.
Tonight this girl rests. I'm building a fire to keep me and my instruments company during the rain storm they are calling for, and will happily repose knowing that my hoofstock got some hours in the pasture, my poultry have a clean coop, my rabbits are in clean hutches, and I broke sod, tilled, and planted two new beds in the garden (we're now at 13!). I will not want to peppers and potatoes, that is for certain.
Tired and happy. That is the way to end our days. Sore, tired, and happy.