Goats and chickens...

The new baby goat is the apple of our eye. I let my 6-year-old great-niece choose her name. She will be known as "Shine." 

I want her to be tame and friendly, so I pick her up every chance I get. This morning I brought her into the backyard for a cuddle. She closed her eyes and took a little nap. It was blissful. 

I am puzzled about what color she will end up becoming. When she was born, I thought she was black with just the big white swirl on her head. After she was well dried, I could see little white dots sprinkled about. They seem to become more pronounced by the day.  In the sun, the hair on her face is almost silver. And one eye is blueish, the other more golden. The white tip on her tail is the cutest.

Plenty Goat is not sure what all the fuss is about. She is convinced that she is the prettiest of the herd. She certainly is the bossiest! 

Last week I saw a post from the guy I have been buying my chickens from the previous two years. He had some Lavender Orpington pullets for sale. Orpingtons are calm, docile birds and decent egg layers. The Lavender ones are particularly lovely. Although I think our current laying flock of 6 hens and a rooster is enough, Chris was convinced that the birds would stay warmer in the big coop this winter if there were more. Who am I to ignore my husband's suggestion that we get more animals? Yesterday we had a lovely hour-and-a-half drive to a little town near Bangor, where we gathered our 6 newest flock members. They are pretty now and will be beautiful when they mature. 

They are in a temporary coop until they get bigger and acclimate to the place. Last night we had heavy rain. I went to check on them at bedtime, and the foolish things were asleep in a pile, pressed against the grated door, getting soaking wet. I trudged back up to the garage, got two thick flakes of hay, and laid them at the center of the coop, up off the damp grass. I put a small flashlight into the enclosure so they could see and nudged them away from the door onto the dry hay. With mutters of protest, they complied. I watched, getting drenched, as they preened some water from their feathers and settled down. I secured the cover of the gas grill over the door to prevent rain from blowing in that way in case they decided to resume lying there, left the light on for them, and went to bed, fretting.  They are all fine this morning, nibbling on grass, catching the occasional bug, and basking in the sun. After this one display of stupidity, I hope they will mature into excellent farmlette additions. 

Goats and chickens are my current focus these days. What could be better? 

The good, the bad and the peaceful...

I love to kayak. Everything about it makes me happy. The sight of sparkling open water, the fringe of trees rising over the rocky shoreline, the scent and motion of the water, the solitude. It all fills my soul with joy. 

I was scared to take my kayak out this summer. It's a little heavy, and I was worried I might not be strong enough after my surgery and recuperation to get it in and out of my truck. I was also concerned that I might not be able to get in and out of the boat with my dandy new knee. I finally gave myself a firm talking to and hauled the kayak out from where it had been leaning against the side of the house. I displaced many spiders from their nests and dragged the little boat to my truck. I lifted the heaviest end first and rested it on the tailgate. Then I pushed from the light end and, to my delight, was able to slide it right in. I was filled with a giddy kind of triumph. I gave it a little extra push before I closed the tailgate.  A sickening popping sound ensued, and the rear glass of the pickup window shattered into a bazillion pieces. That was bad. 

I started to let this accident ruin my day. Then I got a grip and continued on with my plan, driving off with the sound of tinkling glass raining out from the ruined window. I unloaded the kayak near the boat ramp and managed to haul it to the water's edge. I got in as gracelessly as I did before my surgery. And then I shoved off, reminding myself of the rhythm of paddling. Aside from some splashing children loudly proclaiming summer joy, the lake was nearly silent. No motorboats interrupted the still surface, but a large fish splashed beside me, its scales flashing silver in the late afternoon light. 

A turtle watched me with a sharp eye but didn't relinquish his sunny spot as I passed. I stayed out as long as I could, but supper and evening chores were waiting, so I turned back. Nearing the ramp, I was delighted to see a loon as it surfaced right next to me. I stopped paddling and stayed as still and quiet as I could. The bird dove, sending up huge bubbles, then surfaced even closer. We stared at each other for a while, and I rejoiced in the entire triumphant, peaceful experience. 

New kid..!

 Grace Goat has been looking very pregnant. By my calculations, she was due next week. She was showing some signs of kidding... the ligaments at the base of her tail were relaxed, but her udder wasn't filling up, and she was acting very normal. During a heavy rainstorm this afternoon, Chris came down from his office and said, "One of the goats is yelling a lot." I abandoned poor Rachel to the dog we were grooming and headed out. A brand new, soaking wet, tiny kid was just inside the door. Her mama and the other adult goats were on the other side of the cozy, staring in wonder at the wee dark blob.  Chris was right behind me with clean towels. I scooped the kid up, cleared her face, and gave her a good rubdown. 

In a moment or two, her new mother overcame the delivery shock and dove in to help clean the new arrival. I took a moment to check; it was a girl (doeling) and such pretty markings. 

After she was cleaned up some, we helped her get a little drink. She had no trouble grasping the concept. 

The family came out to meet the new arrival. The Owlet was a little unsure. 

In the past, we've had kids from full-sized goats. They were small, but not this small. Here is the new arrival next to my shoe for a size comparison. 

She is up, nursing, and looks pretty healthy and robust. Her mama is eating, drinking, and taking excellent care of her new kid. I am delighted with the latest life at FairWinds. We are casting about for the perfect name, so please feel free to send suggestions. (The current goats are as follows: Plenty, Grace, Glory, and Happy. A name that follows along a similar theme would be good.)

Welcome to the world, baby girl! 

Unexpected guest...

 From where I sit to work, I have a fantastic view of the goat cozy, Billy Goat Gruff bridge, and many animal antics. It's a delight. Yesterday we noticed three goats standing at one end of the bridge, on full alert. They were posed similarly to this picture, but ears forward, eyes intent on something, and bodies rigid. They stood statue still, just staring. Rachel checked to see if there was a fox or something concerning and could not see anything to be alarmed over. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But still, the goats stayed statue still, riveted to something we did not see.  Rachel checked again and returned breathlessly, "Mom, get your camera!" 

I did as instructed and was so glad. Although we see deer in our meadow often, I've never seen a fawn up close until I turned the corner in the backyard and glanced into the chicken area. 

                            

                             

 It stayed about an hour, then wedged through the fence and went crying to find its mama. 

A lovely, unexpected guest. 

Earning your keep...

Many people who keep chickens choose not to have a rooster. Although handsome, they are loud, crowing all day, not just at dawn like some suppose. They can be aggressive with other animals and even with their human caregivers. An attack by a rooster is no joke, either. They have sharp spurs on their legs and are fearless and fierce. Someone I know had a spur pierce deeply into her skin, and her bone became infected. She narrowly dodged surgery to repair the damage. 

But having a good rooster is a beautiful thing. A proper rooster tolerates humans, keeps his hens in a safe group as they forage about, finds food and calls them to it with a sweet song, and protects them from predators. This week I heard a hawk repeatedly calling overhead. It was circling the farmlette, its haunting song piercing the still afternoon. Stan the Man heard it. He saw it, too, and made some sound that caused his ladies to dash for shelter under the ramp to Billy Goat Bridge. He pushed them deep into the shade, safely under cover. He put himself under, too, with just his head peering out, one bright eye tilted skyward. 

After the hawk had moved on, the hens gradually ventured out from safety. Still cautious, Stan the Man led them up an embankment where they were under cover of some overhanging branches. I watched all this in admiration. A good rooster earns his keep. 

Home Sweet Home...

 Twenty years our little family was happily entrenched in Memphis, Tennessee.  We had moved there from Massachusetts when Rachel was 3 months old to take advantage of the chance to buy the house Chris was raised in for a song. We later sold that house and purchased a larger one in the art district. We had good friends; I had a successful business, and Chris had a job he loved. Rachel was about to age out of the beloved Montessori school she had attended since she was a tot, and we were at a loss about what to do for her high school years. The public educational system in Memphis was not something we were excited about. The private high schools were not in our budget.

One night while we chatted at the supper table, Rachel asked, "Why don't we just move somewhere with good public schools?" The conversation ground to a halt. Chris and I locked eyes, and the possibilities that opened up with that one innocent question came pouring out at us like Pandora's box. 

As a pet groomer, I could find work almost anywhere, and his degrees in business administration and computer science made him highly employable as well. Rachel's innocent question led us to begin thinking way outside the box. We bought a map of the U.S. and began exploring where we might like to live. We came up with a list of criteria for our ideal homestead. We wanted a place with low crime that was scenically beautiful. Of course, it had to have good schools. Ideally, it would be near the ocean. Near family would be great, but not so close that anyone would pop in unannounced. We looked at Mississippi, the Carolinas, and the Pacific Northwest. We considered Virginia. 

Since I was a little kid, I have yearned to live in Maine. Growing up in Massachusetts, some memorable Maine vacations caused me to fall in love, hard, with the state. I never mentioned it during our search because my dearly beloved husband hates winter. And Maine has winter in spades. 

One day Chris came home from work and, at dinner, announced, "I found a place for us. It has good schools, very low crime, it's beautiful, and near the ocean. It's an easy drive for your family to visit, too." My mind reeled; where could he be talking about? He gave me a triumphant grin. "Maine!" I started to mention the months of snow and cold, but my higher power gently placed a hand over my mouth. "Maine?!" I said. I swallowed my glee down hard and said, "What a GREAT idea!" 

We began to spend every Sunday morning in front of the computer. Him with a cup of coffee, me with herbal tea, looking at real estate advertisements. We were optimistic dreamers, planning our next adventure. 

We made a springtime trip to Maine to look at houses. Our patient realtor showed us 14 homes in a day and a half. Our heads were spinning. After much discussion, we made an offer on a place I had fancied from the day it first popped up on our computer screen. We moved here in early July 2003. 

It fits us like an old pair of comfortable blue jeans. The last twenty years in Maine have been the sweetest of my life. All of it centered here in this good house. Chris grouses every time a snowflake falls, but I don't think he'd change a thing. Rachel lives five minutes down the road with her husband and daughter. 

When I was a little kid and wanted ALL the pets, my mother used to say, "You can have all the animals you want when you are a grown-up." As I sit writing this, I hear my rooster crowing, the hens crooning and clucking as they hunt for bugs and tasty greens. Four beautiful goats are dancing in the pasture, with plenty of room to roam, browse and play. It's a dream come true. 

 Tonight the supper table will be filled with friends and family for Saturday Supper. This old house shelters our love and our loved ones. Here there is a peaceful easy feeling that even visiting customers recognize and appreciate. We are so grateful to have had twenty years in this lovely place. 

Happy on the hoof...

 It's been a while since I brought any new livestock home, so that had to change. I've been missing milking goats, and none of mine are producing milk right now, so I contacted the farm where mine came from to see if she had any freshened (a goat who has recently kidded and can be milked) does to sell.  She had three to choose from, and I liked the looks and description of one she called "Effie" the best. It took a few weeks for our schedules to be compatible, and today we took a drive and met the newest herd member. The farmer's handsome son gave her a lift to the truck. 

The other goats were lounging on Billy Goat Gruff Bridge when we arrived home. They hopped up when the new girl bleated. Here they are assessing each other. 

The existing goats, Plenty (center), Grace (left), and Glory (right), were all sporting fresh bandanas for the occasion. I put a rusty orange one on the new girl, thinking it would compliment her colors. I was right. 

We decided to change her name from "Effie" to "Happy," we hope she will be happy here at FairWinds.

One by one, the resident goats came to meet her. She posed prettily for the camera between introductions. 

Soon everyone was having a snack together. I am concerned the herd might not let her into the goat cozy tonight, but there is an alternative place for her to bunk in a little shed next to the cozy if they are being bratty. I hope they will all settle in and become a cohesive group soon. 

I look forward to having fresh milk again and getting to know our newest Caprine friend. Welcome, Happy.