Sweet Sunday...

 I hit the ground running this morning. The goats cheered on my efforts. 

 I cleaned out the goat cozy and then tackled my little milk room. It was a job long overdue. I evicted untold numbers of spiders and brushed their webs from the ceiling and walls. I swept the floor. I organized feed and tidied supplies. Everything looks bright and clean. 

The last load of hay was delivered, and the cats are so pleased. 

We had the Owlet and Cygnet here for several hours while their parents attended a funeral. The wee one took a two-hour nap on my chest, and that was precious. It was the longest she'd ever been apart from her parents, but she barely fussed. 

Chris and I ended the day hip to hip at the picnic table, dining on fresh wax beans from my generous neighbor's garden, new potatoes, and excellent steaks perfectly cooked on the grill. 

It wasn't the most productive day, but it was sweet. 

Hay, pizza and beach day...

 Although it is high summer here in Maine, we need to plan for the long, cold months ahead. Our firewood has been delivered, and we made space for hay, which began to arrive Friday. 

The garage now smells like summer condensed, and the cats are happy to have bales piled high for climbing on. 

It is a comfort to know that my goats will have plenty of food during the winter ahead. Every year I see people on the internet begging to know where they can get some hay for their livestock once the leaves fall and cold winds begin to blow. I feel sorry for them and for their livestock, but I also feel slightly smug to know that I have hay to the rafters because I planned ahead. 

On Friday, a friend sent me a message about a food truck in Belfast that has especially good pizza. I texted Chris and asked, "Want to take me to dinner here?" He said, "Sure." 

The view was unmatched, and the pizza, cooked in a funky old bus, was sublime. We had salmon with pesto—perfection. 

Today, we planned to take the grands to the beach. The Owlet has enjoyed the beach before, but the Cygnet has never been dunked into the Atlantic. We went to Birch Point State Park, a small beach well off the beaten path. The Owlet explored a warm tide pool, dug for "treasure" with her little shovel, threw rocks in the water, and then waded out to find them and throw them again. And again. We showed her how to make a dribbledly sand castle, and some bigger kids introduced her to several crabs they had captured before they set them free. There was stomping and dancing and splashing and joy.

A seven-year-old girl introduced herself to us, "I am Austin. Not like Texas, like Jane Austin the writer." She did cartwheels at the water's edge and told me she lived in California, where it hardly ever rains and is like heaven.  She hung out with us, chatting. Later, she said, "Your legs are cool." Her little hand splayed out against my thigh. "I don't mean cool like in temperature; I mean, they look cool." I looked down at my 64-year-old legs, lumpy, pale, I looked at her legs, tan, slim, unblemished. "Is it because you are old?" she asked. "Yes," I told her. When people get older, their skin changes. My legs used to look like yours." She patted me again, "I like them. It's nice you have legs like that." 

The Cygnet was dipped like a tea bag into the sea. At first, she was not amused, but then she began to kick and laugh. Rachel brought her a little floaty with a cover, and she loved it as we towed her through the sea. 

The weather was perfect, the water was lovely, the kids were a delight, and my thighs were cool.  So far, this weekend has been a win. I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings. 

How goats keep me busy...

 True confession. Our garage is a mess. It's where things we don't know what to do with go to die. And the things that belong there are not neatly stored. Yesterday, Chris and I worked for a few hours and cleaned half of the place. We store hay for the goats there, and we needed to remove all the old remaining bales and move the wooden pallets that we stack the hay on. We needed to rake and sweep up all the spilled hay lying on the floor and haul it away. 

This morning, I finished sweeping and got after the cobwebs in the rafters and walls. I also washed the windows on the now clean side of the garage. Then, I laid down a long sheet of thick plastic, carried in the now-clean pallets, and placed them on the plastic. I will be ready when I get the call that hay is coming. It all looks so nice, and I am now very motivated to get the other half clean and tidy. I'd show you a picture of the horrible half, but it would hurt your eyes. 

Meanwhile, while cuddling little Charm goat, who is five weeks old, I felt little horn buds on her wee head. The veterinarian had taken off her brother's horn buds during his first week, and the vet told me then that she thought Charm might be polled. That means that she was born with no horns. I was delighted. So it was a bit of a shock to feel the little horns growing all these weeks later. I messaged the vet, and she very kindly came over this afternoon. 

She gave the little goat a sedative, then injected around the horns with a nerve block. It was all over in a few moments. A shot was given to reverse her sedative, and within moments, she was back with her mama, having a soothing drink of milk. Her head boasts a silver "hat" of medication that will help her heal up. 

Before supper, I cleaned the goat cozy and gave the little herd their evening meal and some sweet, fresh hay. I locked them up because we've heard coyotes sing in the wee hours lately. I hung over the door, looking at them for a while, watching them nibble hay and shuffle around in the fresh shavings. My little goats bring me much joy. 

And much work. But they are worth it. 

Blooms, moo-ves and sweetness...

 It is lily season in Maine. My gardens have a variety of colors blooming, all gifted by friends. That makes them much more special. 

The wild birds kindly plant sunflowers for me here and there. I let them grow if they are not in a totally inconvenient place. This one is as tall as I am and growing in the hen yard. 

When we moved here twenty-one years ago, I brought a root from this purple coneflower from Memphis. It has flourished here. Last week, I cut a bunch of them and put them in a cobalt blue vase on the table. The Owlet saw them and said, "Oh, so cute!" 

Farmer Cheryl and Mike came today to collect the three cows that have been grazing in our pasture since May. They have done a bang-up job, and only weeds they don't like remain. The ladies were way up at the top of the field. Cheryl called, "Here, boss!" Moxie, the oldest cow, raised her head and mooed loudly. "Here, Boss!" Cheryl repeated. All three cows came to her at a dead run. I've seen dogs that won't come when called, but these cows have an impressive recall. 

They put halters on the cows, and Mike masterfully got them across the lawn and into the trailer. One of them was not terribly cooperative, but in the end, all was well, and they moved to a new, lush pasture nearby. Soon, our fields will be mowed, and if we have rain and the grass grows, the cows will be back to decorate our views. I miss their benevolent presence here already. 

Chris and I worked together on an unpleasant project today, but we accomplished it together, and it felt good. We make a good team. Music playing, side by side, no words needed. While we worked, Chris smoked some delicious beef ribs, and it was a delight to smell them cooking all day. We had them with local corn on the cob and warm ciabatta rolls. It was a picnic fable feast, with dancing goats for entertainment. It is summer, and life is sweet. 

Fair Season Saturday...

 The local Union Fair was in full swing this past week. Country fairs offer bright lights, music, unique scents, sights, and tastes—something to anticipate all year but enjoy for only a brief window. 

 Chris was excited to take the Owlet to her very first fair. The weather was sizzling hot, but we decided to give it a go. Rachel wanted to join us, so she and both girls came along. She strapped the baby to her chest, and I pushed the Owlet in her stroller. She pointed excitedly at all the rides, "Look at THAT!" We all anticipated seeing her ride on the carousel or maybe in the big tea cups. She wanted none of them. She was interested in the ball pit and spent a long time sitting neck-deep in the colorful ocean of plastic orbs. Other kids came and went, and she stared at them with great fascination, but mostly, she was just happy to be there. 

She also liked the cows. There was a long shed filled with braces of steers, mostly lounging in deep bedding, chewing their cuds. She had us go back multiple times. "Where cows go?" she'd ask. We'd push the stroller to see them. It made her happy. 

We offered a tasty fair-food corn dog, "I no eat that. That yucky." She slowly ate a bowl of chocolate ice cream while it melted in the blazing heat. Lots of it ended up on her clothes, skin, stroller, and all over the adults who tried to clean her up. It was sticky joy. Both girls were hot, tired, and fretful by the time we got back to our cars. I felt sorry for Rachel, who had to take them home for a cool bath and naps, but she was, as always, totally competent and got the job done. 

We often keep the Owlet for what we call "Saturday Night Spend the Night." She seems to enjoy it and has the whole schedule of the evening planned. It goes something like this, "I stay Lovie Pop Pop Flirty Bravo. Read Each Peach Pear Plum. Read Llama Llama Red Pajama. Sing ABC, Blue Skies Rainbows. Snuggle."  Rachel delivered her as planned, pajama-clad and ready for all she had described above. We asked what she wanted for supper, and she replied, "Chicken (which is what she calls any meat) and peas." Chris grilled some rib-eye steaks, and I served her a pile of peas which I thought I had way over-dished. She ate every bite. While she was here, she schooled me. Her pint-sized self looked up at the kitchen counter, which had a little weekend clutter, and said, "Lovie. Kitchen maken messen. You need clean up."

Excited by her stimulating day at the fair, she had difficulty sleeping. She finally succumbed but was bright-eyed at dawn. "Lovie, Lovie, Lovie!"  Wee hands patted my face. I opened my eyes and saw her, all curls, rosy cheeks, and happy spirit. This child brings that fair feeling to every day. I know I only get to enjoy this phase for a short window. I cherish every sweet, sticky moment. 

Arrivals...

 Last week, some much-anticipated visitors arrived. Chris's sisters, Brenda and Meg, Brenda's daughter, Lisa, and two of her best friends. Brenda and Meg bunked with us, while Lisa and gang stayed in a hotel in Camden. They came from Mississippi and Texas by way of a trip to Niagara Falls. Rachel and I couldn't adjust our tricky work schedule, so we missed out on some of the fun, but there were meals shared, babies held, lots of interesting conversations, and more than a few laughs. Of course, I trotted some goat kids out for photo ops. 

Lisa has an enviable core group of several close friends, and they often go on travel adventures together. Spending time with Lisa and two of the pals on this trip was a treat. After a few days poking around the mid-coast, they headed up to Bar Harbor for Independence Day. Brenda and Meg stayed here a little longer, and we certainly enjoyed the visit. It's always sad to say goodbye when they return home.

More arrivals came yesterday. Chris and I put a large dog crate in the back of my truck and drove an hour to the farm where all of my goats originated. The farm owner had told me she was selling a two-year-old doe this summer and would let her doeling from this spring go with her if I was interested. Though I didn't really need any more goats, I felt powerless to resist. We tucked Aurora and her kid (now named Meriweather) into the crate and headed home. They are both very pretty, and I am delighted to have them here. 

The resident goats have not exactly rolled out the red carpet for the newcomers, though I asked them nicely to avoid acting like mean girls at high school. There has not been any overt violence, but they make it clear that the new ladies are not welcome in the goat cozy. I set a calf hutch up next door for them to bunk in, and I know from experience that they will work it out, but for now, I feel very sorry for the new goats as they try to adjust to their surroundings. Aurora comes to the gate each time she sees me and bleats as if to say, "Ok, take us home now, please." 

They make a very attractive, colorful group, and it's a pleasure to see them together. I'll enjoy watching them become a cohesive herd.

All of these recent arrivals have brought us much joy. As summer continues, more guests are slated to arrive, but no more goats! Stay tuned.