On April 13 of this year at about 10:30 at night, my life was changed forever: these two beauties were born. I knew I ultimately want to live in a community with goats. I knew I have loved working with and learning about goats on Frugalbundance Farm since late last summer. I would revel in how cute, funny, and charming I often found our goats, and Jeanne would say, "Just wait until the kids are here." These are Jasmines' daughters, Amanita and Jewelweed. Jasmine is special to me: the goat who challenged me when I first started working with the herd. I had to learn quickly how to keep myself safe from a charging goat. She took the most work to allow me to milk her, too. I used to have to count a few squeezes, stop and give her a raisin, scratch her chin and rub her face, and then bargain for twice as many squeezes, three times as many squeezes... I used to call her the math goat. She's also really pretty, a calico goat perhaps. The night Jasmine kidded was my first time. Jewelweed came out first, little nose and front hooves leading the way. I was toweling her off and didn't see the other two arrive, Amanita second and their brother Juniper shortly after. I helped towel off Amanita, too - we wanted to dry them quickly because it was so cold that night, dipping down below freezing after a warmer spell. I was amazed how quickly the kids got up and started trying to walk around, very awkwardly. They and their mama were calling to each other, learning to recognize each other's voices. When I talked to the babies, they would come right up to me. "It's like they know you," commented our neighbor. They had heard my voice before: when I milked Jaz, I would say hi to them in her belly. I felt like I knew them, too. It was a zoo for a while, kids staggering around on shaky legs, Jasmine going here and there, licking first one kid, then another, then my hands and face, then another kid, four of us humans trying to be helpful. Then suddenly the kids started dropping off to sleep. Jeanne and I slept in the barn that first night to make sure Jaz didn't accidentally step on anybody. Despite Jeanne's careful arrangement - you here, kids here, mama here, and me here - we each ended up with kids in our sleeping bags and I had Jasmine smooshed up against me with her head on my hip. I was in awe. Amanita was curled against my chest, and Jewelweed by my belly. At one point I needed to move Jewel, confirming that she does indeed have the loudest voice. I barely dozed all night, seems like every few minutes I reached over to make sure they were there: here a head, here the legs, breathing, yes. For the next few days it was hard to be apart from them. I kept hearing in my head, "These are my goats." My mind would argue. I can't have goats! I don't have land. I'm not in the community yet with other people who want goats. My partner doesn't want goats! But my heart was quiet yet insistent. It was a big deal for me to admit I wanted them. It was scary. Especially when I started realizing I needed to transition out of partnership with the man I had been in life and business with for the past four years, leaving me to start over with close to nothing, was it scary. "The South Moon Node is about releasing what no longer serves." I kept thinking we could make it work, that something else needed to be released for the relationship to deepen. I stayed in denial until I couldn't. Right around this time I learned my mom had breast cancer. It hit me viscerally. She assured me she was fine, that the surgery would be no big deal, they caught it early, etc. I arranged to come home for the surgery to lend a hand with whatever. It was a pretty good visit, all in all. The surgery went well and her recovery was relatively speedy. My mom is tough, and she maintained a good attitude. At some point I talked about my goat dilemma, telling them how I'm looking for a new living situation where I can have these goats with me, how it's part of my eventual dream of living in community on the land. (I can't stay where I'm at; we don't have enough room in the barn to keep more goats.) Both my parents responded with something like, "Well, that doesn't sound very likely." And my dad followed up by telling me intentional communities don't work out, I'm looking for utopia, and basically something along the lines of, "Get real, kid." I was feeling particularly sensitive and easily discouraged that day. It was hard. The next day some kind of miracle happened. My dad said, "I think I know a way you can find a place for your goats. You write a book. It's called Have Goats, Will Travel. Most of it is already written: it's your life up until now. You put an ad on Craigslist, "Have Goats, Will Travel," and you write the next chapter from there. Either you write it about whatever happens next, or you make something up."
That is my dad. That's the creative thinker I've hardly ever seen him allow himself to be. Also interesting is how close he comes here to how I actually live my life, and how I'm mostly reluctant to admit to my parents how I live my life. Yup. To be continued...
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Amber DarkriverI am a collaborative experiential artist residing in Paonia, Colorado. Check out my Artist Manifesto! Archives
January 2020
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