Rhythm

The early morning  'chores' at the Dairy, shared with whoever may be around, shifting as the birds begin to chorus, include ...


stoke the fire in the kitchen, get the kettle rumbling;

sledge-hammer the ice on the waters for the different bunches of pigs (a snort of pigs, truly the most nakedly self-preserving single-track survivor species. It's sort of shocking. Is it that they suggest something about ourselves?), for the dogs and bucks and whethers and the main herd of goats;

milk the milkers, favourite Yonkers ('Yonkers Bonkers') of possibly Soy Bean. They're named by year, like all the named creatures (hens, roosters, wethers without much future, miss on names), so the young Maremma guardian dog Aticus was born last year, and we're now dreaming up names like Bonkers, Bruichladdich and Butterfly for the goat kids about to pop. Still none though Star was due today ... We started with 23 milkers, all by hand, though the machine is used when all's in full swing after the kidding explodes. What an intense thrill it was to get the knack, and day by day feel the growing rhyme in the fingers, the warmth of the goat's belly against your head, and see more and more of the milk actually in the pail. Gorgeous creamy milk - Nancy breeds for a high fat content rather than for quantity. Bit by bit the milkers were dried up as their due date approached, though we still had four going when we had to suddenly abandon the farm to get Kai to A and E. He charged out of the kitchen to say goodbye to Nancy and co, just leaving for Albequerque, meant to be leaving us and Mike with the farm. Tumbled with enough force to dig a clean, deep split in his forehead, through to the dull glisten of skull. So we all end up in the truck, Kai bandaged as a pirate. The scar will grow with him, and the tale. That was then that, by the time we returned 3 days later, the four long-runners were all dried up;

bottle-feed the lambs that Nancy picked up from a friend, not doing too well there, now long-legged and proud, fed and lavished with love and attention by Freya and Kai. They move them around the higgle of barn rooms, once the goats are gone, as if they're stars in a ballet.

Having said that, we managed to lose them both yesterday, they slipped out under the long legs of the herd. We hiked out with the radio-tracking device linked to collars on a couple of the goats, but they were far off and away over the rocks at speed, and Freya was the first to hear bleating as we tracked them. They wouldn't have survived. But are now very happy lambs, safely tucked in with the most expectant of the goats,



 

move them goats! Alpine, Nubian, La Mancha and Oberhasli, agile as mountain goats, many incredibly long-legged and able to reach high to graze on the juniper. F and K as Crazy Monkeys at the rear, getting the show on the road. Only in the wildest of blizzards has the herd not been out, but usually the goats are up and away, the Maremmas weaving in and out and around them. They're huge dogs (80 - 100 lbs plus), sharp, LOUD, with the guardianship of the herd (from wolves, bears, coyotes) rooted smack in the middle of their chests - they were doing the job in the Italian Alps 2000 years ago. And they learn quickly - Aticus, still only a pup, wearing his responsibilities as if they were medals, shouldering the abuse he gets from his father Utah, so proud when he returns from the day job in the mid-afternoon and gets if lucky a little praise,

get breakfast rising - good, solid, farm breakfasts, with chores under the belt, blast of blue sky, sharp oxygen, rooster, the rounds of the dairy checking the way things are, then the echoing din of the one of the kids hammering at the thick length of pipe - the Coonridge gong - and in to smoke and warmth and piles of pancakes. Or waffles, or biscuits and gravy. And yep, the odd porridge.

Back to Star - we checked her, like all the other imminent goats, this morning, feeling to see whether colostrum was beginning to gather, if their 'pins' had fallen away - when the tendons that hold the pin bones on either side of the tail widen and loosen - and if their vulva felt soft and puffy rather than tight. There were five who seemed real close, so they've been at home today, in their own wee pen with alfafa and hay and Freya, Kai, Julie to keep them company, between making vast piles of cheese. So that's where I'm heading now, for a final check before the moonless trail to bed. Having said that, Nancy says they often come early morning, so Freya's the best eyes for any problems. She was coming into the kitchen on her own, first thing, no-one else about, saying she liked the time to herself. But now she heads straight to the goats and the lambs, Kai in hot pursuit.