A Goat By Any Other Name

 
     I can always tell a skeptic when I call my goats by name. Some say it's bad business, and I confess, it does prevent me taking them to auction. But to me names are everything... the naming process --ritual. Though they may look identical to the layperson, their names lend meaning. While YOU may laugh, THEY care. The whole name game, we take very seriously around here.

On Dasher, On Cupid,
(No Comet) On Vixie!

     That said (and this doesn't happen often) I have been known to change a name or two. For instance, with my first lot of 8 goats (7 predominantly black and one mostly white), we went with reindeer names. Given the time of the purchase, the group thing was an easy call, but in time, as I started to learn their little goat personalities, well, some names I had to change. Others, worked right off the bat.
      For instance, Donner got so dubbed because she births in multiples which means you can always spot her by the happy kids that follow her wherever she goes. This reminds me of my Aunt Donna, a full of life, natural mom, so Donner's name we keep. Dash was likewise an easy one: she has a dash of white across her face. (This isn't rocket science.) Cupid is my lover goat--easiest of the lot to identify as she comes straight to humans the second you step near her gate.) But those were the easy ones; others we had to change.
 

A Stella & Elsie Selfie

     For instance, Casper (the white goat of the family) became Casper the friendly goat (usurping the name Comet, which made her sound like a sink cleanser). Rachel I renamed for Biblical reasons. When, after losing her first baby owing to the idiot who allowed a brush goat to breed her (unbeknownst to me until the baby arrived with legs longer than her mama's) suffice it to say "Prancer" no longer fit. There was nothing prancey about this scenario. As I watched her mourn her excruciating loss, weeping for her baby, wandering about the wilderness of my yard, it took me back to scripture: Rachel, weeping for her children (but they were no more). It was stressful. It was painful. And to me it was downright scriptural. So Rachel she became. (She had a rough life.)
     Of the original 8, 7 have now had babies of their own. (Rachel has since passed). First baby on the scene, I named Ari, for the archangel Ariel. Arriving in spring, he came in like a lion, (which is what the name means), what's more, he was loud... (like trumpet loud). Adding to the meaning, he was my rebel child (who, in his teen years developed an unnatural fondness for his mother which landed him on another farm where he is now happily doing what male goats do, only not with his next of kin).
     Next came Gabrielle. Technically not an archangel, but an obvious special angel, netting my baby girl a special angel name. After that, came twins. Callie and Coco got named after a picture contest on Facebook. Given the calico coloring, Callie came naturally. Coco was just cute. Tannish brown in color, it was a good catch when Miss Patsy (who gets full credit along with grandmother rights) IM'd the suggestion. (Again. Some things just stick.)  
     Last year's winter Olympics (set in Russia) netted  us a Sochi, a Stoli and one Anna Karinina (littlest goat gets the longest name). We also have a Pippi who arrived sporting marks of a long stocking on one leg. But now that this generation is likewise reproducing, well, here's where things get tricky...

The Russians Gave Us 6!
(Granted they do look lots alike)

     At present, I have 16 goats. 2 are males. Of my 14 girls, 13 are pregnant (7 immediately so; 6 most likely in February; the remaining (based on Heffner's mood yesterday) is likely to birth a kid five months from yesterday, so 14 births between now and May...(yes, I will be selling from here--preferably to those wanting pets) ...but keeping the lines straight is the stuff ancestry.com was made for.
     As a matter of keeping up with the goatses, I designed my own little flow chart to ensure no one gets matched up with her brother. (Permissible as that might be in Tennessee, we're not for it.) And while I know them by name, keeping up with who birthed what in which year...well that starts to get complicated save for one little trait that I find so utterly darling I had to share it.
     Just about the time I'm asking "Was Sochi from Vixie or was her boy Stoli?" (4 days/4 goats/Rosey's pups/arctic blast....it was all a blur), the good news is goats and God make it easy for us, for when I need to recall which identically colored goat goes with which identically colored mom, I simply wait till bedtime...where nature makes it easy as (goat figure) goats sleep in family units. No matter how many generations removed, come nightfall, they cluster...in little family tribes. Granted Heffner, and now Charlie, do a bit of rotating, but as for the girls, they are as faithful as a puppy when it comes to lining up at bedtime in their loyal, little lineages.
     (Here's to the family tree for which I proudly serve as my goat's branch manager.)

Tethered to the Temps: The Countdown Begins

   

     Tis the season for heat bulbs and blowers as I watch my broad brood of nannies waddle their way between walls and stalls in attempts to get comfortable for the night. Nothing cuter than jumping baby goats, though awaiting the the arrival of said kids is a tethering sport to say the least...
     The social life I once knew now dwindles to zilch, as leaving the premises on single digit nights can mean life or death to innocent newborns. For me personally,  I don't mind the solitude. (Trust me. No one can feel lonely in a place so teeming with life.) The barn itself exudes this warm orangey glow, partly from the lamps, yes, but more it feels, as if God herself sent a delivery blanket in advance to wrap the babies soon to enter this cold, cold world.
     In the quiet of these midnight hours I marvel ...
     Four big-hearted dogs to aid in my watch, I think back on their own arrival one year ago today, where once again I was hunkered down, same anxious energy, same freezing temps as if Rosey herself was whispering,  "Thankyouverymuch Mom, but I'LL be the one to decide just where I'll do my birth thing."  Birthing her babies in the throes of Al Roker's polar vortex, all 11 within a three-foot crawl space beneath my front porch (as opposed to inside where a warm and toasty bedspread-lined refrigerator crate could've graced a Martha Stewart make-over magazine)...well... it was my lesson to learn about love and life and releasing control in exchange for fully present.
     Minds of their own, each arriving pre-wired, these critters show up to make you smile...Today I watched a flat-footed Cupid suddenly topple straight over when the baby inside of her did a back flip without warning. Tonight it was Hix, head cocked in patient perplexity, waiting for his best bud Charlie to finish his cud full of hay (something Hix has yet to comprehend as a food substance, given its lack of flavor and proper texture). My little family of 20 (on the outside) is soon to expand, and with it, my heart.
     I bless each by name as my vigil begins...My weekend plans are booked and very simple to follow: pray without ceasing  --  my only charge...From here going forward, the only thing to consume my waking thoughts will be the safety of these mothers, the health of their babies and my new year's wish for more meaningful moments such as these that I live for, for they all serve to remind once again how very precious, how very sacred, how very fragile this thing called life.
     May we never take it for granted.
     Given the Christmas I've had, the losses I've grieved and the lessons I've learned in the year that was, I can honestly say I have never found such simple farm moments more meaningful. (For those seeking the same, I recommend it highly.)
     I welcome your prayers as well.
   

Hunkering Down for the Count

   

      Not sure what's up with my goat girls and their baby cycles, but last round of goat babies came mid winter Olympics, (making for such baby names as Sochi, Stoli and Anna Karinina in honor of our Russian hosts). If you'll recall it was equally cold this time last year. (It was also when we added such phrases as  "arctic blasts" and "polar vortex" to our vocab.)
     This year we're back on track, awaiting the count, as once again, the temps dip into single digit zones. The good news is, we're heat-lamped, space-heated and rocket stove ready this go round, with a pup to goat ratio of 1 - 4 (meaning every 4 goats gets a dog of her own for protection).
     For a girl who never had kids, I'm making up for lost time as my 16 will soon become ....? (Time will tell.)  If girth is any indication, I'd say we've got a few twins and triplets in the mix....Good news is, the only thing cuter than a baby goat is a whole bunch of baby goats~ Soon and very soon the place will be hopping' (literally).

When Goosebumps Appear

     I could tell from the number of shares it was bound to be good, but it was the repeated reference to "goosebumps" that sent me on a quest. How could so many people get goosebumps, and how could they know that "I" would get goosebumps? Surely KNOWING something goosebump-worthy was coming, would be reason enough NOT to get goosebumps, after all, goosebumps are not a thinking thing, and I was thinking way too long about this.
    Well familiar with the show concept--(The "X" Factor being another version of Britain's Got Talent)-- I braced. So this guy's going to knock it out of the park. I say "Bring it" and I click the little arrow.
     Nice dramatic contrast: Christopher Mahoney...visably uncomfortable, trembling with nerves, is an average Joe, who is clearly going to knock our socks off with his talent just like Susan Boyle did a few years back. And, true to form and just like Susan, this dude also delivers.  No biggie.  But why, (even when trying not to) did I TOO, get goosebumps? After all, there was no sudden temperature shift...no bolt of surprise. I had ample warning of what was in store--you'd think that would be a buzz kill for goosebumps, but no. I got 'em too. So when it comes to goosebumps of a non-chill nature, what's really happening to our bodies?

(To test your own goose bump meter, go to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1T9-I3wx8I)
   
     I recalled from my "I Didn't Know That" days, that goosebumps were named for chicken skin... newly plucked chickens to be exact...Chickens whose skin muscles still worked to pull up the feathers as a protective reflex against the sudden cold (only they were pulling up phantom feathers...cause they'd been plucked. The bird was basically nekked as we'd say in the country).
     Same things happens with human skin, only in our case the tiny skin muscles go to work plumping up phantom fur, which we've since evolved out of~
     But what's with emotional goosebumps? How come certain songs, a particular performance or something totally unrelated to weather can generate the exact same effect to your skin, in a bodily reflex originally designed to help protect us? What happens when a spine tingles? What happens when something sends a chill?
     Biologically speaking, the answer is adrenaline happens. The same hormone that puts us in fight or flight mode, designed to keep us alive when facing a threat like freezing to death, is the exact same hormone that does it for us when we hear the National Anthem done right. But why, when we're neither in a mood to fight or fly, can such moments trigger our bodies this way?
     Science has no great answer for this one save to say in our evolution we have some residual stuff still remaining in the pipeline.... But I have another theory.
     My own goosebumps (being a goose bump officianado, now that I've been googling for 2 hours on where they come from) ...mine come in moments of spiritual happenstance. To me, goosebumps are a spiritual barometer. The moments they pop up (when I'm not encountering cold air) are magical moments of sheer awe. I call them my Namaste moments, when the God in me spots the God in someone else...a little fifth dimensional high-five of spiritual recognition.
     By this definition, the fight or flight rule still applies, but not in the way of our ancestors. When I'm having a spine-tingling moment I want to fly alright...But not away from. I want to fly TO. There is no fight in me (save to fight back the occasional tears), but the flight in me is alive and well, though anything but fearful. This flight resonates as a matter of longing for something higher...something greater than myself, which I believe also to be our wiring. These moments we want to last longer..we like how they make us feel for they bring out the highest in us, which is to me is to me, why we tingle...It is flight in the most spiritual sense of the word.
    (Yes, I have been known to analyze such things to smithereens, but having spent the last two hours now googling what happens really when our flesh goes prickly, well... it's as good a theory as anybody's. Furthermore, it's my theory so I'm sticking with it.)
   

New Week/New Year

     As the weekend blogs will attest, I allowed myself to take full advantage both of the holiday and the lengthy weekend that followed. True to form, I was a resolution-writing fool. (Or just a writing fool. Or just a fool. Take your pick.) But to ensure things take root in the garden of my life, I allowed my seeds to bask in the soil they'd been planted for a few days, if for no other reason than to make up for a Christmas that barely got salvaged.
     Of all the gifts I gave myself, however, the number one item I discovered I must have if 2015 is to reap any reward, is the gift of HELP. Being strong willed and stubborn as the goats in my yard, I'm not sure when the "independent me" came to be, but age will break you if life doesn't, and for once...in order to fulfill even more of the things ever growing in my heart to experience in this lifetime, I have decided that help (of all things--help) is a perfectly good thing to have. As I have stated on numerous occasions, farming and gardening...these are not solo sports. Oh yes, I may come to the garden alone, but about the time those plants are ready for harvest, you better find yourself a village. As for me, in 2015, I'm in village planning mode.
     So help it is: both here on the farm. Likewise with the books. I may've thought I was coming home to hole up and write, but if I hope to keep doing it, I'm best reaching out to those who do other things that I'm not so keen on (or not that good at, or simply don't enjoy)...Things like billing (needed, but not fun to me) and warehousing (ditto)...In garden terms, things like canning and sharing...(I actually enjoy these, you just need a village if you hope to clear your kitchen in a week.) Every element that goes into running a business, goes into maintaining a farm, goes into living your life, so while the end of year found me simplifying (something I carry over into the new one) the new one finds me visualizing, and building on my dream. I've decided I'm committed to this farm-living thing, therefore, it's time to recruit a little help (as I'm discovering I'm not the only one starting to think in "sustainable living" terms). It was a big aha moment for me to recognize, "It's ok to ask." And it was an even bigger moment to realize, "And it's really ok to allow."
     So get ready 2015. If one can make a difference, imagine what happens when 2 or more are gathered...
     Here's to the year ahead~

Celebrity Apprentice: Land of the NPDs

   

     With New Year's Day falling on a Thursday I allowed myself more television than usual this long holiday weekend, justifying that projects on tap for 2015, require I check out the current landscape of reality shows. (Note, this was simply me justifying. I confess I'm a sucker for certain shows and for once, as a last little weekend gift to myself, I sat down to watch with no laundry, no ironing, no multitasking before me... just me and the remote~ Like a guy, I was watching for sport.)
     I was thrilled to find a new season of "Celebrity Apprentice" had begun, though with no Nashville representation on this one, I may not last the season. (Nashville participants may be banned at this stage, given we've won the last two (#thankyouJohnRich #thankyouTraceAdkins). Suffice it to say, I am intrigued with the gamesmanship of the show, but I am also intrigued as to why people watch this show in the first place (myself included).
     It's pretty clear to anyone who has watched for more than one season, that the key to winning is CYE. (Control Your Ego) While egomaniacs like Gary Busey are no doubt kept on a few extra weeks for the sheer insanity of things, seems the trick is to "tame the beast" ESPECIALLY at the game's onset, for bragging on yourself, pointing fingers at others, taking credit for things you did not do is NOT cool (after all, we the viewing public can see who is doing all the work, or at least who appears to be by way of the edited footage we're shown).
     I was told by a friend who once auditioned for such a show that there is a specific type they go for in the auditions (thought of which made me LOL, but also made so much sense I was surprised I hadn't thought of it before). The ideal personality type? (It's actually not a type, it's a disorder ~ ) The NPD (as in Narcissistic Personality Disorder). In other words, the more self-absorbed the person, the better the chances of landing a role on Trump's show, which, when you think about it, makes sense, does it not?
     That said, when I think about past winners (especially as it pertains to our boys from Nashville), the take away (at least from my perspective) was that yes, they all have egos (not sure you can be a country star without one) but winners tame their egos,  submitting to the larger egos in the room (be that other players; be it Trump). If you'll note, both Rich and Adkins kept their heads low but level throughout the game...focused, yes, but they acquiesced like my lug-of-a-pup Hix to the older, wiser TJ (king of the alpha barking rights and dog with the biggest head around here) which (as Hix is wisely learning) is the only way to keep yourself from getting killed.
   

Resolved

res·o·lu·tion

ˌrezəˈlo͞oSH(ə)n/

noun

1. 1. 

   a firm decision to do or not to do something.

   "she kept her resolution not to see Anne any more"

   synonyms:

   intention, resolve, decision, intent, aim, plan; More
2. 2. 

   the action of solving a problem, dispute, or contentious matter.

   "the peaceful resolution of all disputes"

   
   

      
   

   

        I'm intrigued with the notion of resolution. First cousins with the verb "resolve" (i.e. to decide firmly on a course of action), resolution means you've now made that decision and you are resolute in seeing it through.

   
   

        If Christmas "'tis the season for giving" then New Year's Day 'tis the season for giving back to yourself" as I see it...Giving back to my own soul by way of commitments I make to align my life to a certain course of action. It's my favorite holiday because it's reflective. It's personal to the individual. It's downright intimate. While you may resolve to join a fitness club or start a new diet complete with the support of others, the decision itself is an inside, one-on-one, soul-search of a job, and I for one, am for any holiday spent focusing on this kind of substance.

   
   

        As for my resolutions this year, some are personal, but most, if they are to BE, will at some point become known (so why not go ahead and share them early, right?)

   
   

   1) I am resolved to engage in more silence this year. I have found silence to be the balm of all healing balms. To talk less, listen more...Ponder first, act later...These are the sorts of energies that result from practicing silence. I have found the adage true that you get more of what you subsidize. For those times in my life that I have consciously chosen to adopt a daily discipline of silence, I have found I get more silence in return, and as a matter of energy invested, I can think of no greater dividend.

   
   

   2) Per the silence comes more writing, more creating, more "meaning" as was my wish entering the Christmas holiday. (I type this one cautiously, as so far, "meaning" has become synonymous with death here of late.) You want to cut straight to the chase of what's meaningful, let your best friend of 30 years cross over, or spend your Christmas wondering why the soul of your charitable board had to be taken away so soon. You'll find yourself knee deep in meaningful whether you wanted it or not. Still and so, with silence come muses and muse-wisdom is sorely needed on planet earth right now. I personally am making more space for it. Like the Motel 6 ad, "I'm leaving a light on for it."

   
   

   3) I am resolved to engage more...to share more of my time,  my space, my ideas with like-minded seekers.

   It started occurring to me around year 3 of my gardening/farming/sustainable living experiment that, much as I love solitude, the things I've just listed are not solo sports. I've said it before (only halfway kidding) but it really DOES take a village, and as I look to the year ahead (year 4 for me with the whole acre garden thing), I realize I should've PLANNED on help long ago. Was the greatest gift I've ever given myself when in December (yes, it took me this long to figure it out) I infused help into my equation. Someone to help structure the whole garden/farm/goat/dog operation AS an operation...to oversee future FFH interns or help me line up farm crews. 2015 is a year to work hard, yes, but more than hard, it is time to work SMART. What's more, I marvel at the number of folks who've reached out over this past year...wanting to know about gardening things or my thoughts on sustainable...Wondering if they had what it took to raise a herd of goats themselves. There's nothing mystical about any of this (well, there's plenty mystical, but as a matter of doing it, it is just that--a matter of resolve to just do it as the Nike ad states). I am here to support those teetering on the edge of simplifying their own lives. I cannot encourage you enough. And if experiencing the concept as a sort of "test drive" proposition helps, well, I'm all about that too. (More on this idea in the days and weeks to come.)

   
   

   4) I am resolved to observe more, consume less.

   I began an experiment roughly a month ago, of clearing out clutter. While a far cry from minimalist living (as was the game plan I found by googling--) I'm probably not going to move into 250 square feet of living space anytime soon, however my closet COULD use a good overhaul and my basement screams to be something other than a storage shed for dead-weight items. Putting space to good use is high on my list of priorities this year, as is becoming intensely aware of just how much "stuff" I do not need.  Einstein said it best (and quite simply I might add) with his E=MC2. In short, stuff is energy. Too much of it drains your energy. Less and less (I'm finding) rekindles your energy, and that notion excites me greatly, as that is energy I'd much prefer spending on more important things, such as new creations and people who uplift and inspire and meaningful friendships and relationships and experiencing inspiring places I've longed to experience with those I enjoy experiencing life with (even if that's just me or me and a  bunch of goats).

   
   

   In short, I am resolved to move past the pettiness I've let consume too much of my time...and move, with direction and focus, toward things that are higher...things that are nobler (for as the hymn states it) "...these have allured my sight."

   
   

Brain Full of Shark Tank

     Day 2 into the new year....And my biggest challenge so far has been watching the dang Shark Tank marathon from last year into this one, while the rest of the country toasted a countdown...(Ok. So I actually don't mind that I missed the countdown, but I confess a certain addiction to Shark Tank, resolution for which I'll have to save for another year.)

     Left brain (creative) arm wrestles that Right Brain (linear) thing to the ground over lapses such as these, but hey...It's New Year's...Technically I'm still on holiday, right?

     Before beating myself up too much, this is usually about the time I go and hug a bunch of pups.

     2015 promises to be the victor overall~ as the ideas are spewing like Old Faithful. And given certain guilty pleasures have not been removed from the line up, I think we're still in balance, so I'm going to let it slide.

     Here's to an entrepreneurial, entertaining and enthusiastic New Year all the way around~

     If (as I was taught) what you do on your first day of the new year follows you throughout the year, then I'm either in for some amazing business changes or Mr. Wonderful is lurking around the bend...

     (Should be interesting either way. I say "Game on.")

   

2015. Bring it.

     Those who know me best know today's my holiday. More than Thanksgiving. More than Christmas. Give me New Year's any day. It's my hand's down, all time favorite, bar none.
     The thought of silence, journals...year in review and blank pages ahead and I'm in paradise. (Throw in a Shark Tank marathon and we're talking nirvana...Little added bonus there I wasn't expecting, but suffice it to say we're off to a good start.)
     Truth is, for a creative mind, nothing is more appealing than a blank page, a clean slate, a brand new calendar on which to start mapping plans, and as one who was more than ready to bid 2014 a fond farewell shortly after Thanksgiving, I woke up to this day eager and ready to get the game plan on paper and the ideas flowing from the second my feet hit the floor.
    While Meghan Trainer may be "All about that bass" I've decided I'm all about that sustainable living thing, and after a year of some fairly serious research on the topic I know realize I'm not alone. For that reason I'm moving forward with plans in the direction of the dream, details for which I'll be sharing in the days and weeks ahead.
     For now, suffice it to say I'm ready for the new year. (More on the resolutions later. For now, I wish for those of you who graciously follow the blog, a most prosperous, peaceful year as well. Here's to exciting days ahead.