Happy Thanksgiving, Friends!
I’m going to back up a few days and tell you how I arrived in snowy New Mexico.
Last Saturday I had my final day of work. While I was playing the piano at Columbia College, my sister was at my house with the movers. By the time I got home, there was nothing left in my condo except Barb, the cats, and a big batch of cookies my cousin baked. There was no place to sit, no glasses to drink out of. It was crazy. I ended up sleeping on top of a folded blanket on the floor. I guess I could’ve planned that a little better!
On Sunday morning, we got up before the sun, packed up the cats, and headed out. We had a reservation at a cat-friendly hotel in Oklahoma City. The hotel charges more for cats to stay there than for humans. I guess they figure the humans aren’t going to puke on the carpet or try to climb the curtains. I was just glad to find a place that allowed cats!
I was amazed at how well my cats traveled. I was really freaked out about driving for two days with them in their crates. I got a lot of advice from my vet, who thought it would be fine. Still, I was terrified that we’d arrive with crates full of dead cats. I’m so glad we didn’t! But, look at them lounging on the hotel sofa. They look completely relaxed!
It took us about fourteen hours to get to Oklahoma City. The next day, though, we were only on the road for nine hours, and we switched from Central Time to Mountain Time, which meant that we arrived at the goat farm in Los Lunas while the sun was still up. YAY! The Land of Enchantment!
Thanksgiving morning we woke up to a world of white. Snow covered everything. More than six inches of snow were on the ground when I stumbled over to Jan’s house with my coffee before the sun was up. Snow continued to drift down, with that funny, cottony sound that feels so profoundly still.
I checked on-line later. The previous record snowfall on Thanksgiving here was 1.5 inches of snow. In 1934. So, this was a really unusual snow.
One of the two Great Pyrenees (the dogs who guard the goats) had never seen snow before. He ran up to me with a big doggy grin on his face and a coat covered in snow.
Jan and I headed out to the chicken coop to let them out for the day. All their dishes, which we'd left out in the yard when we shut them into their coop the night before, were completely buried in the snow. We had to tromp around, feeling for the dishes with our boots in the snow in order to find the dishes and give the chickens their feed. When we opened the door to their coop, they looked at the snow and refused to come outdoors. Most of them had never seen snow before, either. So, we put their grain, their milk, and their water all into the center of the coop - away from their perches so they wouldn’t poop in their food.
Next, it was time to feed the goats. Jan went to the closet and grabbed a blow torch. Yikes! Who knew feeding goats in the winter could involve a blow torch? OK, OK, it wasn’t a blow torch. But, it was, like, a culinary blow torch. You know, the kind you use if you’re making that nice crispy brown part on top of creme brulee. Jan explained that we might not be able to get the gates to the pens open without it. The latches to the gates can freeze solid. The culinary blow torch works better than, for instance, a cigarette lighter, because it won’t blow out in the wind.
We had filled the hay cart the night before, so all we had to do was pull it out to the various pens, but pulling it through the snow was really hard. Jan pushed from the back while I pulled from the front. I felt as if we ought to sing “Anatevka” from the final scene of Fiddler on the Roof. Remember the cart with the grandmother all swathed in quilts, sitting up in her bed as her family pulled her through the snow and mud? I’ll never watch that scene in the same way again.
It felt like we were pizza delivery guys for the goats. The goats all came to the door of their huts when we walked up to them with flakes of hay, but not a one of them set a hoof outside their doors. We delivered their hay into their tubs (Jan had had us move the tubs into their shelters the night before - anticipating bad weather) and then we had to haul their buckets of water to their shelters, as well.
Look at Casey watching the snow. The goats all complained about the snow. It was as if they were saying, “well, why did you make THIS happen?”
We finally finished feeding and watering everyone, and got back indoors, and all was still again.
I am amazed at my good fortune that I get to live here.
Happy Thanksgiving!