A Winter's Feast

Last night we had breakfast for supper. French toast, with slabs of my homemade bread with Brad's own maple syrup. A side order of Cheryl's breakfast sausage. Accompanied by a sparkling hard cider that we brought back from Quebec last year. It doesn't get much better than this!

Colorless

The monochromatic landscape of winter: gray skies, dirty snow, brown dead trees, leaves, grass. Black and white and brown goats, gray shingled house. Black, white, gray and dirty cars. Where are the colors?

I lust for a two-tone, candy-colored car. I miss the jewell-colored macs. So I had to go buy a pink shirt. Is this why Valentine’s Day is in the middle of February?

Christmas Past

This is post-holiday tree recycling at its finest.
The buck goats get a holiday treat of the Christmas tree, and within a day, they've reduced it to a spine.
Their breath smells like balsam pillows.

Year End Accounting: Taking Inventory

It’s not what you think. 2007 was the Year of the Goat-Inflicted Injury.
Feb: Got knocked down by the goats onto frozen nanny berries, which are like marbles, bruised my knee. It’s still sore.
Mar: Sprain my thumb catching kids during round up for the Easter meat auction. It’s still sore.
Apr: Reduced mobility in my bucket shoulder. It’s still sore.
June: Rip open my leg on fencing while rounding up escaped goats, in the dark, in a thunderstorm. Nice scar.
July: Get front teeth knocked in catching kids during the next meat goat round up. Emergency trip to the dentist. Not covered by insurance. Months of dentist visits to fix. They’re still sore.
Dec: Lay open the back of my hand during goat round up for expensive health check required by the state. Another unfunded state mandate. No trip to the emergency room, can’t afford the time. Lovely scar.
Jan: Buck gets ugly on me, and knocks me down. I whack him upside the head with a shovel, and he just shakes it off and shows off by ripping a board off the wall of the barn. I hope he’s still sore as he boards the meat truck.
Notice a trend here?
Resolved for 2008: No more goat roundups. All cull animals go at one week of age, or in the bucket of a tractor. No more expensive vet visits to test for diseases that don’t exist in Maine. My body can’t afford it.

Full Hibernation Mode

Well, I am in full hibernation mode. With the short days, long nights, deep snow and cold driving me inside, all I want to do is sit on the couch and watch movies... I am only milking a handful of goats, so chores don't take that long (unless I have to shovel yet more snow). Evening chores are done before it starts to get dark. All the signals tell me it's time to go to bed, so I have a hard time staying awake past supper.
My sister tells me she can always tell when I'm getting enough sleep, because I start to get new ideas. New cheese flavors and types dance in my head. I find myself tinkering in the kitchen planning new product lines for summer. I truly believe I have time to bake bread and pick up the house.
All too soon, it will be kidding time, when I go from 0 to 60 MPH in about ten days. I have lots to do before then: a full scrub down of the dairy, winter repairs, a new hoop house for the kids. And oh my god, the taxes and financial aid apps for Fiona. Christmas books to read. Web pages to update.
This is the irony of winter. Not enough time.

Another customer rant

Here comes another rant.
We are not open at the farm for cheese sales. My schedule is so packed that when I am home, I am busy in the dairy making or packing the cheese, or in the barn tending to the goats, or in the house enjoying some well-deserved family time. Poor Brad doesn’t need any more interruptions from customers who drop by and want to buy a teeny bit of cheese or, worse, “see the goats.” We usually suggest that customers come seek me out at a farmers’ market, or check a local store. If I’m not home, I”m usually on the road, with all the cheese.
But somehow people just don’t get it. They just can’t manage to get to a farmers’ market or a store, and insist on just dropping by. Just this week, someone had a gift certificate to redeem, and although I caved in and said, sure come on over, they still couldn’t manage to come during the two days that I was home and waiting for them, and they showed up in the middle of a blizzard.
I do six farmers’ markets a week during the market season, and one a week during the winter. That’s at least 150 opportunties to find me somewhere with a full array of cheese ready for their selection and my full attention.
And yes, we do have a "closed" sign. It's up permanently...

Snowmobile Hell

It’s been such a snowy and early winter that the snowmobilers must be living on their snowmobiles. Many trails go through our neighborhood, and this year, they are also using the roads. It sounds like a heavy industrial park around here. It drives me nuts. I want to go outside and hear nothing but the snow falling. I don’t want to hear the roar and snarl of those damned snowmobiles.
In contrast, Brad’s iceboat customers have been strangley quiet. Usually he starts getting the calls to get their sails repaired as soon as the first ice is safe. This year the snow came before the ice, and it’ s not looking good for good skating or iceboating ice. Somehow, iceboating and skatesailing appeal to my sense of winter sports much more than snowmobiling. Probably because it’s quiet.