Wonderful News!

A lot of wonderful things happened on our farm this week. The first, most amazing thing was: somebody forgot to schedule the butcher! So, Molly is still alive! Here she is, covered in hay.

Our conversations now are slightly different.

Me: Death is real, comes without warning.

Molly: Did you bring me peanuts?

Me: You know, that’s one of the Buddhist Four Reminders that Turn the Mind Towards the Dharma.

Molly: I can smell peanuts in your pockets.

Me: You want to hear the other three?

Molly: Or, maybe you brought me animal crackers?

Me: OK. Here’s a peanut.

Molly: (snuffles me with her mouth)

A day after we realized that someone had forgotten to schedule the butcher, Jan and I were talking. Molly seems happier, suddenly. Seeing her enjoy life a little more, Jan said that maybe we’ll just try to breed her one more time. Molly! Hang in there, Molly! Just when you think things are darkest, something completely unexpected happens!

Here’s another unexpected thing: the other day we were gathering eggs. In general, we’re drowning in eggs. We’re pretty much leaving cartons of eggs in unlocked cars in the grocery store parking lot at this point. NO! That’s not true! But, we’ve thought about it. I’m making several souffles every week, and I’m looking at innovative recipes for egg salad. But, the other day, there were a suspiciously small number of eggs in the laying boxes. Jan suggested we check the shelters we have for the feral cats, and look! Someone laid an egg in one!

And here’s something I’ve been thinking about this week: capriciousness. This is one of the many words that come to us from the root “capri” which, of course, is goat in Latin. I’ve been thinking about it because I am so struck by how non-capricious our goats are. I’m thinking about Phoebe right now. When we bring Phoebe into the milking room, she walks a strange pattern before she gets up on the milking stand. She makes a circle in the room, then turns around, and finally heads over to the milking stand. When she started doing this, Jan said that her mother, Cleo, also used to walk a strange pattern before she got up on the milking stand. It was a slightly different pattern, still, this kind of compulsive behavior seems to me the opposite of capriciousness.

This is a photo of Pete (the buck), then Not-Spotty, and Spotty (Pete's wether companions) being capricious.

Other words that come to us from goats are: Capricorn, caper, and cabriolet, which used to be a 2-wheeled horse drawn carriage, but more recently it’s referred to a car with a folding top. It comes from a French word that describes goats leaping. More unusual words are: capriloquism, which means to have a high-pitched voice that sounds like the bleating of a goat; and caprifoliaceous, which means belonging to the honeysuckle family - which used to be called the “goat leaf” family.

But, what I want to know about are the Isle of Capri, and capri pants. The Isle of Capri is an island off the coast of Italy, renowned for celebrity vacationers and the Blue Grotto. It’s about 4 miles square. Did it used to be an island occupied entirely by goats? Capri pants were popularized on the Isle of Capri in the 1950s and 1960s. But, let’s just think about how Latin dresses a name up. I’m not sure that goat pants would’ve ever been so chic as capri pants, no matter which celebrities were wearing them.

Another thing I’ve been thinking about this week is the ubiquitousness of hay. Seriously, when I first moved here, every time I came indoors and took off my coat, a shower of hay fell to the floor. I finally talked to Jan about it, because that didn’t seem to be happening to her. She said, “that’s because you pick up the flakes of hay and carry them on your shoulder, so all the loose hay falls inside your coat.” Oh. So, I am no longer a hay fountain every time I come indoors, still, every pocket on every garment I own is somehow full of hay.

I went to Chicago last week for a class I’m taking. I went on the Amtrak. My seat mate was sneezing, coughing, sweating. Yuck. I decamped to the observation car, where I stayed for the entire 26 hour trip. But, when I stood up to go back to my legitimate seat at the end of the trip, I noticed that there was a pile of hay all around where I’d sat! Good grief!

And THEN, I went to my Buddhist Meditation Center this past Sunday, and I was careful to remember NOT to wear my goat shoes. I wore a pair of shoes that has never been out to the pens. And a pair of tights that has never seen a goat. And yet, when I arrived and was taking off my shoes, my feet were covered with hay.

This is a photo of Sugar - she is helping me remove excess hay from the back pen by stomping on the hay once I've shoveled it into the gorilla cart.

Our hay guy came this week and delivered more bales. I noticed that he put on a sort of leather apron. It was like the old cartoons of cowboys wearing chaps, only he didn’t tie the leg parts around his legs, he just let them dangle. But, he put the apron — it was more like a partial floor-length skirt, really — around his waist so that it covered most of the front and sides of his legs. And then he picked up the bales with bale hooks. And tossed them into our breezeway. When he was done, he took the apron back off and folded it up.

Is that what you have to do to keep from being covered in hay at all times? It makes me think of the term “hayseed”. This word first came into printed use in 1875, and was a derogatory term, meaning unsophisticated. But, it came from people who are constantly wearing hay on one part of their bodies or another. Like me. I am a hayseed.

So, I'll sign off with a photo of Triscuit. This was taken the same day as the one of Sugar. Only, Triscuit, instead of helping, knocked the gorilla cart over so she could scratch her head on the wheel!