Tag Archives: homesteading

The Sunrise, the Sunset, and the Long Space In Between

It started here, and I’ve been walking in the subdivision across the street every morning at sunrise ever since.

Then this happened, and it caused me to climb out of bed one day and make pizza with my kids and I’ve been slowly transitioning back into mealtime ever since. Then I bought bento boxes for my kids’ lunches because I also decided to remove gluten from their diets so bye bye hassle free poison industrial complex lunch!

Now now my kids and I pack their lunches every day except when we forget and my husband ends up having to do it at the last minute in the morning, which he loves.

A body in motion stays in motion. So it is with a body, the same is true with my mind. My therapist asked me for notes so what we can make an action plan for when this happens again,so that we might shorten the lifespan of the next horror show of inactivity. It wasn’t until after I left that I made the connection between arthritis and the last several weeks of cozy bed time, but I don’t want to talk about that now.

Right now, I have a list. Everybody likes lists.

Sometimes, I feel like two people. There’s an urban Summer, who loves delivery breakfast, sidewalks, structured runs, multi-plex, manic panic, kitten heels, customer service management and power suits. Then there’s the me that lives here, now. Petulant, anti-grocery store me that wants to get her food from somewhere, anywhere but that place with those tubular lights and that cold white tile. The me that craves, all year long, the season that isn’t here. Cold in the summer, just want to shed my damn coat already in the winter. The me that tries so hard every year to turn this sand dune into something that will give us edible crops but this year is ready to give up and let the animals eat it and trade their milk to the locals who do a better job.

Today I wandered around this house full of other people’s cast offs and wondered where I fit into the world we live in, the life we’ve created, and my family’s world. Their life largely functions fine without me, by necessity of my illnesses, but the hole left when I’m absent is undeniable.

My hope is to create a different set of values for my family, and below is a partial list of the reasons why.

Because we care what’s in that biscuit, my kids should be able to pronounce all the ingredients.
Because it matters what happened to that animal before it died and ended up on our plate.
Because I was curious and I forgot, for so many years, the scent of a properly canned jar of pickles
Because after enough days in a row, kids stop asking for the remote and begin complaining when you call them inside.
Because video games and streaming movies are only for rainy days when there are no cookies to bake or fun books to read and even then, uno is a pretty fun game.
Because as far as I know, there’s never been a paper on whether severe mental illness can be treated with extreme homesteading but perhaps it’s time for one
Because who can be sad when GOATS.
And also GOATS
And also someone has to milk the GOATS.

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where I manage to talk about confederate flags and goats in the same post

A few weeks ago we were hanging out at my mom’s playing with the trash fire (shut up, I LOVE living in the country) when I noticed the mama goat acting weird. Cleo is a relatively new addition to the herd at my dad’s place. She’s a pygmy, and she came with a baby who was a few months old. Mama and baby (Cleo and Nellie) assimilated nicely, and Nelly quickly grew larger than her mom, since her dad was a full sized male. Nelly’s not that old, really-just a few months. Here’s a picture of her on her first day at the farm, back in November:


Anyway. A few weeks ago I mentioned to my mom that Cleo was acting weird. And maybe getting kind of fat! Could she be pregnant? No way, we decided. All the male goats at the farm are fixed, and she was nursing a new baby when she arrived, so she couldn’t have been hitting it with the males at her old farm, right?

Wrong.

Evidently, you CAN get pregnant while nursing. Meet Bunny, the newest addition to the herd at chez Robinson-Page. Note her itty-bitty stature; she is a true pygmy, which makes her Nelly’s half sister. She is, as you can see, smaller than my cat, and I must repress the urge to smuggle her out of the goat pen under my shirt every time I leave my mom’s house. Maybe tomorrow I can get a picture of her in a sling! Notice how I keep calling her “she” even though we don’t know the gender. That’s how sexist I am. Small things are always “she”. I blame this regression on living in a place where confederate flags fly in half our neighbors’ yards.

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Happy Buy Nothing Day

Happy Buy Nothing Day, folks!

There’s not anything like a baby goat to get Black Friday started on a good note! After the usual cajoling, arguing, snapping and finally Laying Down of the Law, we had TeenHer dressed (after a fashion-in a Lakers jersey, basketball shorts and a purple bathrobe), fed, and all geared up to help us with the BND Holiday crafting Extravaganza.

And then the phone rang. I didn’t get much back-story because as soon as I heard the words “baby goat” I was out the door in my pajamas. My mom always gets the cool toys! We sped over there in the van, because it was WAY TOO COLD to walk the ¼ mile to my dad’s place, plus you never know what kind of snake/gator/wild dog might be waiting to pounce on the only pedestrians to see the side of P.D. Road in like, 6 months. This is an adorable sweet baby, Internet. I’m not sure what would be cuter than a BABY PYGMY goat, but I invite you to send me pictures of anything you think could compete. Stupidly, I hurried out of the house without the camera today. I pledge to get lots of syrup-sweet baby goat pics online tomorrow.

Delbert was our very first goat, and yes he was named after Delbert McClinton and yes I knew who he was when I was 11. We loved Delbert, but he got to be a stubborn, stinky bastard and my dad and I sold him to some other farmer. We split the 25 dollars-I bought a chair from a flea market with my 12.50, which was the most money I’d ever had at one time. I remember that chair; it was a cube chair. Entire nights were spent curled up in that chair talking on the phone my parents had the dreadfully unfortunate judgment to install in my room.

We got more goats after old Delbert, and soon we had quite a little goat clique out in the pasture. When my brother was a few months old, I was 17 and not living at home. My relationship with my parents was strained, but not so much that they didn’t call me right away when 6 babies were born on the same morning one day in May. I suppose to get really technical about it, six baby goats is pretty off the cute scale and probably does actually beat the baby pygmy goat I cuddled today. That day in May 17 years ago, I was able to watch a couple of those little guys take their very first steps. Baby goats learn to walk when they are like, an hour old. Those little bastards have to know how to run and hide from view under rocks and in holes to avoid getting snatched up by hawks-as much as a mama goat wants to head-butt and bleat dire warnings your way, the mama goat just doesn’t have all that much ammo in the protection department. Milk, she can do. Hiding from Big Scary Birds is up to the baby.

When Toddler A saw that baby goat, she let out a shriek that would have caused the ears of innocent bystanders to bleed had we been indoors. More of a maniacal laugh-scream-squeal than the standard Baby Squeal. She let loose with a string of baby-ese that tumbled out of her mouth as if her brain was going faster than her mouth could form the words. And then she took off after the poor little pygmy baby, whose name is Nelly.
Avery and Nelly
Nelly must have sensed another of Her Kind in the vicinity because she was as friendly at that moment as I’d seen her all day. Babies know babies, no matter what shape, size, or species.
Nelly the Goat
Please, Internet-remind me of this day when I am full up on W04 stickers and Jesus Fish. Remind me that we came here for baby goats and Thanksgiving with friends around us and kids in the yard. We came here so that every day my kid can run to the window and wave bye to her grandfather as he walks out the driveway, and so that one day we’ll fence in our own yard in front of our own house, and have our own little goat city of grass and concrete and truck toppers.

You can keep your public transit and your skyscrapers and your sidewalks and your shopping malls and ethnic food. I have 2 acres of my own and 8 more to play on. My kids have trees to climb and cats to curl up with and butterflies to chase. We have baby goats and my parents. It doesn’t get much better.

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