Octobers end...

 The spectacle of brilliant autumn foliage has passed, and any lingering leaves are burnished bronze. The pasture has been grazed down to almost nothing. The goats and visiting cows find a bit to nibble on but are happy to see hay delivered to the feeder rack. 

It was a chilly, misty morning. The water pans and tubs had a thin layer of ice, and everything was coated in frost. 

I like to play a little game with myself, trying not to turn the furnace on until November 1st. Of course, we have the wood stove, but it does not heat the whole house. I nearly caved in this morning. The inside thermometer read 51 degrees, and my bare feet on the cold tiled kitchen floor were unhappy. I lit a fire instead, layered on more clothes, found my stored slippers, and indulged in a hot bowl of oatmeal for breakfast. 

Flirt loves fire season. 

After chores and breakfast,  I picked up a new knitting project and huddled near the heat for a bit before tackling my to-do list. As the sun warms the day, I will get outside to work on projects, but for now, smelling the woodsmoke and watching the flames dance is an excellent way to start a Saturday. 

Unfolding...

 Chris has a saying about certain days. Days when nothing is precisely planned. "Let the day unfold." This was a blank-slate weekend. Perfect for unfolding. There was nothing on the calendar that had to be done. No social engagements. No appointments. Of course, I had a long "to-do" list, but nothing was pressing. On Saturday, I ran errands with Chris, accompanying him to the bank, grocery store, and other weekend chores he usually does alone. We also grabbed a fun little lunch out at a favorite haunt. The Owlet had a spend-the-night with us as she often does on Saturdays, and it was sweet. I don't sleep a lot when she is here, mostly because I spend a lot of time checking to see if she is too warm or too cold or if she's breathing. But I don't care a bit because I get to look at the curve of her cheek in the dim light, the shadow of her eyelashes, the shape of her little hand flung out in repose. I hear her soft breathing and enjoy every second of just being with her.  I especially love to watch her wake up. She starts by moving restlessly, then her big, beautiful eyes pop open, and she looks around to gain her bearings. Then she stares at me, and her face lights up into a giant, happy smile. Her whole body gets in on the joy.., arms flailing, sturdy little legs kicking. She begins to babble and coo, and her entire demeanor says, "Let's get this party started!" Time with her is pure happiness.

Her mama retrieved her early Sunday morning. Chris and I had breakfast and read quietly for a while, enjoying a morning without rushing. Later I puttered in the backyard, putting things away and getting ready for winter. I cleaned the little chicken coop and the goat cozy. Grace goat came to investigate what I was up to. She let me stroke and cuddle her, then leaned in, very close to my face, and stared deeply into my eyes. "We are bonding," I thought happily. And then she belched. A mere inch from my face. In case you have ever wondered, goat burps do NOT smell like roses. 

While I was puttering in the yard, I heard the local murder of crows calling out in alarm. I kept an eye out because this usually means there is a predator about. Within moments I saw something trot into the pasture from the woods. At first, I thought it was a fox, but as it came closer, I saw that it was much larger. Its thick, grey fur undulated as it boldly approached. A coyote!  In broad daylight and up close. I waved my arms and yelled a little. It paused only a moment, eyeing me,  then kept approaching. As I pondered what to do next, it lowered its nose to the ground, sniffed, and veered toward the road. It disappeared into some brush, and the crows ceased their screaming. 

Today I was home alone. I started out listening to music but turned it off and relished the quiet. The house has its own sounds. The soft hum of the refrigerator, the washing machine's happy chugging, and the dryer's whir. It was a rainy, foggy morning. Not cold, but the house felt clammy, so I set a fire. Add the pop of burning wood to the house sounds. I cleaned the kitchen and straightened up the downstairs rooms. I took a break and read a few chapters of my book uninterrupted. 

Upstairs I cycled laundry, made the bed, and folded clothes. Simple chores at my leisure. Though in general, I am not a fan of décor that announces things like, "Wash, Dry, Fold" in the laundry or "Eat" in the kitchen, I confess to being delighted with my nifty enamel dust pan that boasts, "Spotless." It makes it almost fun to sweep. 

Lately, I've been reading a string of novels that include a lot of recipes. I had earmarked two that looked interesting, one for pumpkin muffins and another for honey oatmeal bread. Both required milk, and I have lots from the goats. Since I had a little free time today, I looked them up, made a tray of mini muffins for the grooming studio this week, and then mixed up the dough for the bread. 

The kitchen smelled of yeast and cinnamon as the rain spattered down. It was cozy. Tomorrow my day will be structured and scheduled again, but it's alright because I had a long weekend of gentle unfolding. 

New pastures...

 I hesitate to write this post because it is sad for me. 

Today was Spirit and Bliss's last day at FairWinds. They were both born here, have had kids here, and have been milked here. I have trimmed their hooves, scrubbed their water tub, hauled their hay, and mucked their house. I have worried about them, loved them, and done my best to keep them healthy and happy. Last spring, my lovely veterinarian suggested they might be a little big for me to handle as I toddle along into my 6th decade. In the past few months, they've knocked me down many times. They are not mean in any way; they just don't realize their size and strength. According to the orthopedic doctor, I need a new knee this winter. I am pretty sure getting bowled over by livestock is not recommended. I began to think I might need to find my good goats a new farm to live at. 

When one has livestock that needs to move on for whatever reason, it is a problem. I didn't want my beloved goats to go where they would be mistreated, and it's impossible to know their treatment when you send them off with unknown people. Another option is to euthanize, but I certainly didn't want to put perfectly healthy animals to sleep. Then I had a fantastic idea. Two years ago, I sold the last kids these goats birthed to a wonderful couple who live about an hour from here. They are customers of mine, and we have become friends. I knew they loved the kids they got from us and gave them a great life. I sent a message and asked if they might consider taking their goat's mothers. They agreed instantly. 

Today was moving day. Cheryl and Mike came with a livestock trailer, and the girls got on politely. On this warm, misty morning, we drove on beautiful back roads, enjoying vistas of rolling hills and spectacular foliage. I was delighted to see the beautiful farm they were moving to. Acres of pastures, with meadow and browse. Excellent fence to keep them safe. A big, safe, gorgeous barn with good stalls and even a built-in climbing play area for them to enjoy. 

Cheryl skillfully backed the trailer to the pasture gate, and the ladies hopped right off. The goats and Icelandic sheep there heard the commotion and came out of the barn to see what was happening. 

The new owners wondered if they would recognize each other. I don't know the answer, but there was no head-butting. 

In a herd, they all walked off, muttering and eyeing each other. 

Spirit and Bliss checked out their new barn, complete with goat climbing and a play area.

 They seemed to approve. 

They came to the gate as I left, and I imagined they were saying, "This was fun. Now let's go home." It was hard to drive away, but I know they will have an excellent home and be treated with great care. 

I came home to the three small Nigerian Dwarf goats seeming concerned about their missing friends. I cleaned their house and gave them scritches. I will miss my big girls, but my soon-to-be new knee and I will enjoy staying vertical. 

Adapting...

 One of the things I have loved about my almost 4 decades of pet grooming is that I have been able to adapt my work around my family. When I had a baby, I groomed pets in people's homes on evenings and weekends when she was with her daddy. When she got older, I had a mobile van. I worked all day and then picked her up after school (often with a pal.) They could have a snack and do homework, then play while I groomed a few more dogs. She was grown and doing her own thing when I opened my grooming studio at home and thought my days of creating my life around a child were over. 

I decorated one end of the grooming studio so customers could sit in a rocking chair, have a cup of coffee and a home-baked goodie and wait while I groomed their pet. This has been a success for eight happy years. And then The Owlet was born. She has been coming to work with her mama since she was a tiny bundle. We added a baby swing. We added a bassinet. When she got a little bigger, we added a bouncy chair. Things got crowded. We removed a rocking chair and added some toys. Now she is crawling, pulling up, getting into everything. It was clear that more space needed to be dedicated to her needs. I had a few ideas, and luckily sister Deb is an early childhood development specialist. I asked for her help, and the plotting began. The idea was to gift the Owlet with a space all her own for her first birthday. Sister could come to Maine this weekend, so we moved the timeline up just a bit. We were as excited as kids at Christmas. 

Chris helped by assembling a child-sized bookcase, a whiteboard, and a magical play tent. We had a vision and teamed up to make a cozy space for The Owlet. 

The new shelf is filled with beautiful wooden toys from Deb, aka "Aunt Dovie." Puzzles, blocks, and all sorts of developmentally appropriate toys to help a baby explore and grow. 

A wee rocking chair was gifted by a kind customer. It belonged to her great-grandmother in Canada. Now it is a sweet perch for an Owlet. 

We added a cozy play tent (with twinkle lights!) and an ottoman that doubles as a seat and has toy storage inside. A cozy Ruggable rug is comfy and machine washable. (Important in a grooming studio!) 

We kept the coffee maker, a rocker for customers, and the table that holds home-baked goodies. We added some pastel heart decals on the walls. And now, my career has offered me another chapter. A place and space to allow my granddaughter to grow and thrive. Grow on, Owlet! 

The long view...

 When we were house shopping in Maine from Memphis almost 20 years ago, we spent every Sunday morning with a cup of coffee for Chris, tea for me, and a few hours on the internet researching realty. I vividly remember the first time I saw the listing for the house we now live in. The photo was taken from the end of the driveway; snowbanks towered on either side, and a brilliant blue sky arched over the scene. The sturdy-looking home was deep in pristine drifts, and I was captivated, "Oh, honey!" I said, taking the long view and picturing myself living in the house pictured there. 

The main entrance to the house is actually on the side, and when one comes in, they find themselves in a small room that opens to the kitchen on the right. We call this room "the snuggery" because it houses our woodstove and is a cozy place. When we first moved in, we stuffed a sofa, television, and stereo in there so we could be near the stove. This was how things were arranged when Rachel was in high school. Early in her high school career, we began having Friday night dance parties here almost weekly. We would cook up a vat of food or order pizzas for a gang, and her friends would pile in. We would retreat upstairs, and the bones of this old house would rock as the kids played music full blast. Dancing and the sound of chatter and laughter would flow up to reach us in our room, making us smile. Many a Saturday morning, I came down to find teenage bodies asleep under quilts on the sofas and on the floor, a mountain of cast-off shoes teetering by the door as I stepped over prone forms and crept out to do morning chores.  One by one, sleepy kids would emerge from under blankets and filter out as their parents came to fetch them. I suspect I used to grumble as I cleaned up sticky soft drinks and washed dishes from the festivities, but mostly I was happy that this nice friend group called our place home base. 

Today Addie, one of the original dance party pals, popped in to visit with her husband and one-year-old son. They live in Nebraska now but kindly took the time to see us on their trip. We gathered in that same front room, and the Owlet and Vincent played on the floor and visited a bit. It was just cool enough out that I had put a fire in the stove, and the room was cheery and warm, filled with babbling babies and chatter as we caught up a bit.

 Listening to the conversation, I was suddenly taken back to the nights when the room was a haven for teens, and it occurred to me that I never could have imagined that some of those friendships would have lasted all these years and that now a whole new generation would be playing on our weathered wooden floors. 

This morning, while folding clothes in our bright laundry room, I glanced out the second-story window to see all five goats relaxing on Billy Goat Gruff Bridge. This structure was built with goat lounging in mind, and it does not disappoint. I love to see them there, playing or relaxing and chewing their cuds.  It was interesting to see them from this perspective.

As I made our bed, I glanced out one of the small windows in the front of the house. On this first day of October, the trees are beginning to change color. A glimpse of orange, where all was green the week before, caught my eye. 

From my vantage point of our office in Memphis, the computer screen filtered through the steam from my mug of Sunday tea; I couldn't quite imagine what life would be like in the stout white house listed for sale. But the view was filled with promise.