Hee-Haw

We were outside after breakfast this morning, once again attempting to keep the goats inside the goat pen. I was reenforcing fencing with even more twists of wire, The Oldest was hauling rocks to fill in a hole they dug, and Littlest One was trying to herd them all back through the gate. (This part of the story is nothing new. It's a constant, seeing as goats are impossible to keep in any place you actually want them to be.)

As we were working, Littlest One says, "What was that? It sounded like a little donkey saying 'hee haw'."

We stopped and listened.

It didn't take long to figure out what was going on.

Mulan, the very smallest of the new chickens, the Japanese Bantam, was braying like a very small, very squeaky donkey.

Mulan will henceforth be called Genghis. Her His attitude will determine how long he lives.

Confessions of a Modern Homesteader

I just read Jill's post at The Prairie Homestead, where she talks honestly about all of her shortcomings as a homesteader. And it was inspirational... because it made me feel better about myself.

I hear a lot of "I don't know how you do it all" and even was recently called intimidating. Maybe it's because I use my blog generally to focus on positive things. But there is plenty of "dirty laundry" lurking on our homestead, too. I'm about as far from perfect as anyone can get, though sometimes I'd rather hide it. And to be honest, I look at other folks who live lives like ours, and I find them absolutely intimidating and wonder how they do it all. I spend most of my life feeling like a co-dependent failure instead of the self-sufficient homesteader I wish I was.

Here's why:

1. I keep the living room and kitchen of my house relatively clean, so that if company is coming I can have it presentable in about fifteen minutes. But if you come over, please, please don't look at the rest of the house. You might get lost under piles of dirty laundry or trip over scattered toys.

2. I also don't mop, unless the need becomes truly dire.. maybe once a month. Maybe not. So if you drop something on the floor, the ten second rule should not apply. 

2. I don't, in general, love animals. And I'm terrified of horses. I will admit that I've come to care deeply for our animals, but I'm not generally an animal person. I could do without anything that doesn't provide me with food. (The only exception is baby animals. If you don't love baby animals, something might be wrong with you.)

3. I love to garden, but sometimes I get overwhelmed. Like, I threw a temper tantrum and ended up crying angry tears in my garden last year as my husband looked on in bewilderment. It wasn't my fault, the weeds were taunting me and laughing at my pathetic attempts to keep them at bay.

4. I didn't clean out the chicken coop - not even once - all winter long. Finally got around to it this spring, at it was pretty gross. I also didn't shovel horse poo in the barn yard, but that's because it was frozen to the ground, so I have an excuse. (I've come to realize spring is the season for shoveling poo when you live in the mountains and have animals.)

5. I never water the house plants. They were my husband's before we married. I didn't come into this marriage with houseplants, because I'd never had any survive. "Have you watered the plants lately?" is heard with relative frequency around here, followed by my look of shame.

6. I don't iron (unless I'm sewing and need to press a seam.) If someone needs something ironed, my best advice for them is to take a hot shower and hang the wrinkled item in the bathroom with them. I also frequently wash whites last, and leave the load in the dryer so I don't have to fold them. I hate folding whites. If you need socks, go dig in the dryer.

7. My greatest parenting failure: I don't play with my kids. I just can't do it. I can throw a ball, push a swing, read a story with five different voices, I can create something out of nothing, let them help me cook and garden, go for walks or play board games... and I do all those things frequently. But I can not, for the life of me, sit down and make little animals talk and make Barbie dolls adventure around the play room. My imagination can do just about anything, but it shuts down when I look at a plastic replica of a thoroughbred.

8. We eat healthy all week long when we are at home and eating the food we've raised. And then, once a week, we eat McDonald's when we are in The Big City. I wish I had more willpower, but those fries really are the best fries in the world. I can't help it.

9. I take a nap at least three times a week. Right after lunch, when school is finished and I'd rather not be folding laundry, I call "quiet time" and make the girls read quietly in their rooms for half an hour while I catch a cat nap... that sometimes turns into an hour, if I was really exhausted. And I wish I could say I feel guilty for it, but I really don't.

10. I fix my hair exactly once a week, when I have to go to The Big City. Aside from that, it's lucky if I remember to brush through it before putting it in a pony tail. There are days - like yesterday, when my neighbor showed up unannounced - that I don't even get around to putting on a bra, brushing my teeth, and brushing my hair. To be fair, there is usually a reason... like a goat delivering twins unexpectedly... but that didn't happen until noon, so I'm not sure it really counts as an excuse.

11. I'm so terrified of wasps that in the summer, I only work outside before the sun comes up and as it's setting. Other than that, I stay in the house unless I absolutely have to go out. And once, when I found a wasp in the master bathroom, I shut the door and simply wouldn't use that bathroom until my husband came home to kill it.

12. I do manage to get dressed most days, but by "getting dressed" I mean grabbing a pair of jeans or overalls off the closet floor and putting them back on... for the third day in a row. My animals don't care what I look like, nor do my children, so I figure it doesn't matter much. My children can frequently be found in the barn wearing footie jammies and muck boots though... 

13. I know how to bake bread. I know how to make yogurt. But I'm also usually too busy to find the time. (Or just plain lazy.) I make both about once a month. Aside from that, I buy it at the store. I'm working hard to teach my daughters how to make these things so that I can delegate the responsibility, because I'd rather not do it myself good parents delegate.

So there's a little bit of my reality - the imperfections I don't tend to write about, mostly because I write this blog for posterity, I don't want my children to read them as adults and be reminded of all the ways I failed. But in case any of y'all think I "do it all", here's your proof that I don't.

Do I like homeschooling?

I've been asked a number of times recently, "Do you like homeschooling?"

It's a big question, and not one that has an easy answer, especially when it's asked by a parent who is considering homeschooling her own children.

If I were to reply simply, the answer would be a resounding "Yes!" But it's not that simple.

A more accurate response might be, "It depends on which day you ask me."

In general, I love homeschool. Ninety percent of the time, when I reflect back on the day I've shared with my daughters, the same thought recurs in my mind: "I love homeschool!" And I truly do. Each day is a blessing. It's the most rewarding thing I've ever done... but, as with parenting in general, there are days when I have to look very hard to see that blessing.

All children occasionally behave in ways that make their mothers wonder what planet they were born on, whose womb they came out of, because it certainly couldn't have been theirs. We shake our heads in confusion and bewilderment at the emotional outbursts, the displays of poor behavior, the absurdity that pours forth from our children in a seemingly random way. When you are a public schooling parent, you have the benefit of simply shaking your head, kissing your child, wishing them a wonderful day and sending them out the door, saying a silent prayer for normalcy to return before school gets out. Homeschool moms don't have that option. We shake our heads, kiss our children, and then pray fervently over the breakfast dishes that some Divine Intervention takes place in the hearts of our children before we lock ourselves in our bedrooms for the rest of the day with a basket full of the kids' Easter candy.

But after a miserable day, when we put them to bed and check in on their calm, peaceful, sleeping little bodies, we breathe again, and realize how blessed we were that we were able to stay with them through the rough spots of that day, to be the ones who helped them deal with their emotions... even if it means a few extra gray hairs.

And then the next day, our love and calm renewed after a good night's sleep half a night of interrupted sleep, we are rewarded with "The Lightbulb Moment". This is the greatest reward of any homeschool mother - seeing that concept, the one they have been working so hard to understand, finally "click". The eyes widen, a smile spreads across their face, and Mom breathes a sigh of relief as she lets go of the fear that her child may go through life never understanding how to do long division. On these days, I am energized, my belief in my own ability is renewed, and I say prayer after prayer of gratitude for these children I have been entrusted to teach.

Do I enjoy homeschooling? Absolutely. But then, I also enjoy hard work, and nothing is harder than teaching your own children. There is the planning of lessons. The constant nagging to "get to work or you won't get any free time." The fear that they may not learn enough, may be behind, might not ever have solid friendships, might turn out socially inept, may never learn to spell "conscience", may hate you for making them miss the prom...

And then you have a little conversation with them where the five year old explains that if you'd just let the plants in the garden bolt, you'd never have to pay for seeds again, and uses words like "apparently" and "inconceivable" in casual conversation. And then your ten year old presents to you her business plan for an animal shelter, gives you a history on extinct and endangered animals, and calculates the amount of feed she'll need for the two horses, fourteen dogs, eighty snakes and four hundred and twenty two birds she intends to care for. You go for a hike and they point out which plants are edible (just in case, you know) and puzzle out exactly what the outcome of the scuffle was when you see footprints and bits of hair scattered about on the trail. They go to the library and choose books about George Washington Carver and Thomas Edison. Your five year old walks along next to you off-handedly reciting "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost to herself.

And then you breathe. And you rejoice in how well rounded and positively brilliant these children are becoming... and not just by accident. Every moment of every day is lived intentionally. It's not just a walk down the road, it's a science lesson, a discussion about economics. It's not just collected eggs from backyard chickens, it's calculating profit and loss. Nothing in a homeschoolers life just happens. A homeschool mom seeks and finds every opportunity for learning... her job never ends. Do I enjoy it? Absolutely. Will you? Only you can answer that.

Homeschool isn't for everyone. And I'll say this right now - a child with a parent who is active in their education and life in general will do just fine. It doesn't matter where they get their schooling. What's right for one family may not be right for another, and no one but the parents know what is right for their family.

So... do I like homeschooling? You betcha. This is exactly what I was meant to do with my life. It's the hardest thing I've ever done on so many levels, and yet it's the most rewarding thing I'll ever do, too.

So there's the long answer to the very simple question... which really isn't all that simple at all.

Thoughts from Two Little Girls

When life starts to feel too complicated - and it often does - I would be wise to stop for awhile and listen to my children. They have mastered the art of simplicity in life, in appreciating what is there and making the most of it. Sometimes I think they have more worldly wisdom than I do, simply because they have not been so affected by the world.

As we were driving home one night at sunset, The Oldest piped up, "I'm imagining my honeymoon. Me and my husband will be driving toward the sunset, in a convertible." Where will they go? "Um... I think we'll go to the lake and go fishing. And then we'll catch crawdads, and then we'll make a crawdad pie for our honeymoon dinner."

(Nevermind the fact that I've never suggested we catch and eat crawdads... for such a big thing to be dreaming about, it is so beautiful in it's simplicity!)

And I must share this letter, from Littlest One to The Daddy while he was away at work. It outlines the very most important things of her day.

"I love you and I miss you.
I rode my bike. I got ice cream. I loved my day and I went out and fed with Mom. I went with a walk down to the mailbox with Mom, Chloe, Jussie, Libby, and Phillip and Aurora. And it was so fun that I just loved it. I climbed a juniper berry tree and Mr. Bear's tree. And we're gonna think of makin' a tree house. And I went through Cactus Canyon with Chloe. Cactus Canyon has rocks and cactus. It's on the hill. And I had nachos cheese with Mom. And Old Grandma Tree is doing fine. And Mr. Bear's Tree is doin' fine. Mrs. Squirrel's Tree is doing fine, too. Our tree is Grandma Tree."

How often do we stop to listen to our children when they tell us what meant the most to them that day? Trees and ice cream and baby goats top her list of Important Events in the day. It doesn't take anything fancy to please her, just the freedom to roam and explore and appreciate what is there.

Sounds like a pretty good life lesson, doesn't it?

Little Bits of Spring

 When we lived in the Big City, spring just sort of appeared one day each year. I woke up sneezing and sniffling and feeling like my head would explode, and looked outside. It seemed as though suddenly every tree had leaf buds, bulbs were poking up through the ground after their winter sleep, and Two Little Girls were playing out in the sunshine, barefoot on the grass.

Life is much different up here in the mountains - spring comes on at a much slower rate. While I'm certainly ready for green plants and bare feet, it's nice to feel that I'm easing into it all a little bit.

We haven't seen grass since the first big snow in early December. But as the temperatures begin to warm a little more each day, bits of snow are starting to melt off, revealing the long-forgotten yard that surrounds our home, the bits of grass that the horses are so content to nibble... and lots and lots of mud.

And with the (ever so slow) coming of spring comes the Spring Time Change. I love this day. I love feeling like I've got more time in the evenings to enjoy myself outdoors, where my frazzled homeschool- mom spirit gets to breathe deeply and relax.

The poor goats have been locked in the barn nearly all winter. Every so often I would feel terrible about this, and would open the doors wide, encouraging them to go out and get some fresh air. They would walk to the edge of the barn door, realize the ground was covered in snow to their knees, and would retreat right back to the dry comfort of their stall.

Now that the ground is covered instead with knee-deep mud, they are at least willing to venture out for a moment or two, gingerly picking their way through the corral to nibble at stray bits of grass, the babies bounding around between fence railings, slipping and sliding in the mud and having a grand time.

Since I had time after dinner the other night, and the sun was still out, I decided a walk was in order. Justice is wonderful on a lead rope. And wherever she goes, Liberty and the babies will follow. So off we went toward the yard by the house, which is still mostly snow covered, but less muddy.

Justice went right to work - she knows how to earn her keep. She began the slow and careful process of mowing the new grass and edging the yard. As far as yard tools go, she's excellent - she's quiet, she doesn't require gas, and she even fertilizes as she works. And then she converts the grass clippings into milk. Good goatie-girl.

The babies had a tremendous time racing up the hill and then bounding back down, tripping and tumbling when their feet sank in the deep snow and getting up and racing on. One can't help but giggle when watching baby goats. They provide all the entertainment anyone could ever need.


When they were all tuckered out from their jaunts up and down the snowy hill, Liberty taught them to prune dogwood bushes.

Before much longer, the goats will be confined to the back side of the property, where they won't be able to prune (read: destroy) plants and bushes. But right now I don't mind... and they don't, either.

Both babies are growing at a steady, healthy rate, and are just as friendly as can be. Little Aurora still begs for attention and cuddles every time we go to the barn... which of course right now is adorable, but will likely become a problem with she is a 150 pound goat jumping up on her humans to try to cuddle.

And Phillip is growing big and strong, playful as ever. I can't help but look at him and realize how meaty he is becoming. The Oldest doesn't like it when I mention this fact.

It's wonderful to have this evening time outside, when I'm not racing the sunset to get barn chores done. Spring is a time to enjoy these sweet animals I've been blessed with, and to take a few moments to breathe in the evening. I'm glad for those moments, especially with our busiest season on the horizon.

Happy Spring, everyone. Be sure to take time to enjoy it!

And the rest of the new chicks on the block..

We visited a hatchery today. We drove two hours to get there and called it a homeschool field trip. I'm pretty sure they learned some things. Definitely biology... maybe history, and definitely math. Plus some social skills. Yeah, I think we can call it school.

The Oldest is doing poultry for 4H this year. She needed some chickens to show, and wanted some breeds a little different than what the feed stores were offering. This guy had just what we were looking for, and was full of information about each breed. He walked the girls around and told them about each and every chick he had, and helped us pick out just the right ones.

 And so, in no particular order, I introduce our newest chicks. Most of them are worthless as far as egg production goes. Some will likely be roosters, as most fancy breeds are straight run (meaning they haven't been sexed.) But they're cute, and they're fun, so we'll enjoy them.

 If you've read my previous post, you've already met Geraldine the turken. I'm hoping she grows on me. She's kind of like a train wreck... you just can't help but stare.

 This is Mulan, a Japanese bantam. (Note: We have given them all female names, as if somehow this makes them more likely to be hens. That's how we ended up with a rooster named Tinkerbell last year.)

 Marian, a Blue Splash Old English Bantam. (Named after Maid Marian, from Robin Hood. Should she begin to crow, her name will be changed to Robin Hood.)

This is Comet, a White Cochin Bantam. (Yes, we got a lot of banties. They are easier for kids to handle, and The Oldest will have to be showing them all at fair.)

 A Light Brahma, as yet unnamed.


 
And Cupid, the Cuckoo Marans. 

 Of course, I couldn't leave without picking out a few of my own. This is Betty Blue, the Blue Cochin Bantam. I picked her because Cochins are known to be broody, and I'm all about having a broody hen do the work of raising chicks. And I really like blue chickens - it seems novel.



And Phronsie, a Partridge Cochin. (Bonus points to anyone who can tell me where that name came from!)

I also got my own Cuckoo Marans, named Jemima. Marans are known for laying eggs in a deep, chocolatey brown color, something we don't already have so it sounded fun.

These, along with the Blue Silkie and the Mille Fleur bantams that were added to our flock a week or so ago, and we should be set for chicks this year. We're looking forward to seeing what they look like as they grow up - should be a pretty flock when all is said and done!

So Ugly It's Cute?

I have always assumed every baby animal is adorable.

I was wrong.

Truly, there is nothing uglier than this:
 
A turken. It's a true chicken, though it has a naked neck that makes it look more like a turkey vulture. Or like a turkey vulture mated with a chicken. Or something. Something entirely unnatural, and downright creepy.

Regardless, The Oldest is positively in love with her turken, whom she has named Geraldine. 

 The sign at the hatchery said, "A neck only a mother could love." They weren't joking. But from all I've read about these ugly creatures, they sound like wonderful and very useful pets, great egg layers with fantastic personalities. And no, Geraldine will never grow neck feathers. She will otherwise grow to look like a chicken, but will always have that bare neck.

The Oldest is sure some of you will tell her how adorable her turken is. I figured you'd all have nightmares. So what's the verdict?

Boys are kinda dumb.

I am a mother of girls. For this reason, boys scare the daylights out of me. I just can't wrap my mind around the way they think. Their sense of adventure and general curiosity betray all logic. When faced with an opportunity to do something that could very well be inherently stupid, they act first, and then deal with the consequences later. Girls, as a general rule, are so much more cautious. Cautious, I can relate to.

And apparently, boy goats aren't much different from boy humans.

Phillip is trouble with a capital T. He is already a brute, knocking the girls down occasionally in a fit of desperate affection for them. He is an acrobat, flinging himself four feet into the air while performing a half-turn double twist, landing in a belly flop. He loves to cuddle, but only for 2.6 seconds at a time before he's off exploring whatever the highest perch is he can find.

So, so different from Aurora, who simply follows you around on her two hind legs until you notice her and pick her up, whence she settles immediately into your arms and begins nibbling your ear.

Most afternoons, we let the babies and the mamas out of the barn for awhile to run and get some fresh air. Because most of our property is still blanketed in snow, only the horse corrals are clear. I always keep a close eye on the goats because I'm still not sure I trust the horses not to hurt them.

But, as I learned today, the horses aren't the only danger in the corral.

The kids were happily jumping up and down on a platform in the corral made from railroad ties. It's a favorite jungle gym of theirs, and it's great fun to watch them. Near the platform is one of the horse's water troughs. I always vaguely wondered if a baby goat would be stupid enough to jump in, but I assumed once they looked, and realized it was water, that they wouldn't.

Clearly, I over-estimated baby goat intelligence.

Phillip pranced on over to the trough. He looked in. He sniffed. He stuck his nose in, then shook his head to get the water off. He looked back at me. And then he made a flying leap head first into the trough.

It was 24 degrees outside, and the trough had just been filled. What kind of moron goat jumps into a full water trough?

A boy goat, obviously.

What really confirmed for me how stupid little goats actually are though, was watching his reaction. Or really, his lack of reaction. He just kind of floated there. He didn't flail. He didn't try to doggie paddle. He did absolutely nothing. Not that I gave him much of a chance, as I immediately plunged my arms into the icy water and fished him out. I set him on the ground. He stood there for a moment, shook gingerly, and walked away. Then he looked back at me. I could see it there - the embarrassment, the shame. The look of a little boy that just did something that, indeed, turned out to be inherently stupid. He moped around for a minute before throwing himself under his mama and nursing vehemently... less out of hunger than for his need to soothe his hurt feelings, I imagine.

I fetched some towels, dried him off as best I could, and put him in his heat barrel with his (much smarter) sister.

Assuming he doesn't end up with pneumonia or something, he should be no worse for the wear... though hopefully a bit wiser now.

It's going to be a heaven-sent miracle if he survives to see adulthood.

Starlight, the lone chick.

I hate February.

In November, we are celebrating the end of the garden season, still busy with putting up food, and happy that we are going to get a break for the winter. In December, the snow flies and we celebrate the Christmas season, rejoicing in the beauty of the fresh snow that looks so clean as it piles up on the ground. January brings The Oldest's birthday and the start of a new school semester. And then there's February. It's still cold. The snow is still there and we don't remember what grass even looks like. School is mundane again now. And spring is still a couple of months away.

But February has redeemed itself just a little bit this year, with the coming of sweet babies to our little farm. In addition to the baby goats, Freckles the Trick Chicken hatched an egg.
 
Yes, "an" egg. She started out with four, but only this one was viable. I should have given her more when she went broody, but she's so tiny, being a banty, that I wasn't sure what she could handle.



Anyway, her baby is almost a week old now, and is still doing great, so I decided we can officially post pictures. We don't know if it's a boy or a girl, but the girls are calling it "her" just out of hopefulness' sake, and "her" name is Starlight.


Watching a chick raised by it's mama is so different from our usual chick experience, which involves a feed trough and a heat lamp. You can watch her teach the baby things, see them explore the nursery coop together, and when baby gets cold, she just scurries back under her mama to warm up.
 
The night she hatched was a bit of an adventure - I went out to gather eggs in the dark that night, and checked under Freckles for any 'extras' that she had claimed (as she did every day.) I saw none, so said goodnight to her and gathered up the eggs from the other boxes, when I heard a "cheep". I checked back under Freckles. No, there wasn't a chick there yet... "cheep!" It was then that I realized her egg was cheeping! I went and got the girls so they could listen to it. We sat for some time watching, and could hear the baby pecking at the egg, and saw a little crack form. After that, nothing happened for hours. I finally made the girls go inside. (They were sure they could just sleep on the roost with the other hens.) I got up ever few hours to check, and by five am, the baby was on it's way out. By the time the girls got out there, she had the whole top of her shell off, but was still wet and newborn. We watched for a bit and then moved her, with her mama, to the nursery coop, where they will live until Starlight is big enough to be around the other chickens.

And the girls adore Starlight as much as every other animal that ends up living at our Forever Home Farm. I've never known any other kids to spend as much time in a chicken coop as these girls do, especially when there is a baby to love on.



Just one more little bit of adventure, but a fun one, and especially neat since it is The Oldest's very favorite chicken that is the mama.

How to Milk a Goat (Or Not.)

I've spent the past week milking desperately attempting to milk a goat. I think I've finally figured it out not cried in the milking parlor for two days in a row and feel ready to write a post about it.

Here's what I've learned.

Just because you own what is possibly The World's Friendliest Goat means nothing when it comes to milking time. She may follow you around, lay her head on your shoulder, nuzzle your pockets for the treats she knows are in there. None of this means she thinks you have any business at all groping her udder.

Just because The World's Friendliest Goat has been milked before doesn't mean she'll remember it at all. You could put her up on that stanchion and, despite the fact that she's stood on it many times in her past, she might think you are locking her head in that gate so that you can torture her. And she will fight back.

There are at least twenty two muscles in your hands and arms that you didn't know existed. You will know, however, when you start milking. Because every single one of those muscles will hurt like hell for days on end. You will not be able to lift your coffee pot. You will not be able to undress yourself because your arms simply won't bend that way anymore.  The mere thought of going back out to the barn again will cause muscle spasms in your arms and hands.

Prior to your doe kidding, you should find a great chiropractor and develop a solid relationship with him/her. He or she will be your best friend in the coming weeks, when you throw your back out in six different places while you try to figure out how to properly squirt milk from a goat's teats while simultaneously holding a bucket in your hands to try to stop her from putting her foot in the bucket. Which will not be effective, by the way. Her foot will always end up in the bucket.

There is one benefit to having your doe kid in January, when the average temperature at seven o'clock in the morning is below 20 degrees (or even below 10.) You don't have to worry about getting your milk cooled fast enough. By the time you get to the house, it'll be slush. You'll have to thaw it before you can strain it and put it in the fridge.

Watch YouTube videos. YouTube is an amazing resource. There are so many "How to milk a goat" videos. This was tremendously helpful in making me realize that most of my problem is that I own the goat with the smallest teats in the world. The people in their videos were putting their whole hands on the teats - I'm lucky to fit my bottom two fingers on there! Just seeing this made me realize it's not entirely my fault that this has been such a difficult process. You can also see what a well-behaved milk goat looks like, so you can dream about how nice that would be. 

All kidding aside though (kidding, ha!) here a few little bits I've picked up in the past week.

Don't expect things to go wrong. Watch carefully, and always check for problems, but but don't go looking for problems that don't exist. I was told "if her udder gets hard, she may be getting mastitis." Well, when her milk came in, her udder was hard as a rock. Then I was told to milk her out a few times a day until it was softer. But the milk wouldn't come. The panic set in along with the symptoms of a congested udder, and the advice I found suggested milking every hour around the clock. I did it... for a day and a night. I was exhausted, I was in tears, and I was pretty sure goat meat was starting to sound pretty tasty.

But here's the thing: goats have managed to survive for a really long time without human intervention. I wish I had just slept, that I had just watched her for a few days. She didn't have mastitis symptoms, the babies were growing and full of energy, her udder was just really, really full. A few days later, when I decided I couldn't handle the constant milking, and had given it up, her body situated itself to the demand of the kids, and her udder is just fine. Yes, things can go wrong. Yes, you should know the signs. But trust nature (and your gut instinct) a little bit, too. Even a first timer has a gut instinct - I just didn't want to trust mine because I figured I knew nothing.

A wiggly goat on the stanchion is going to ruin every bit of milk you manage to get out of her. She will knock over the bucket. She will put her foot (or feet) in the bucket. She will get nervous and poop in the bucket. There are a lot of ways to fix this (including goat hobbles, which I seriously started looking into.) But we've found a solution. My goat eats her portion of grain by the time I've got her brushed off and ready to milk. By dropping a couple of alfalfa cubes in the bottom of the grain bucket, she has to work around them to get to the grain. It takes her three times longer to eat her grain. Then she slowly and methodically gnaws down the alfalfa pellets, buying me even more time. And then, if I'm still finishing (hey, I'm still slow at this!) The Oldest stands at her head and feeds her one raisin at a time. By the time she's had a few, I'm done.

I also learned to milk into a smaller stainless steel bowl, and dump it frequently into the bucket sitting on the ground next to me. That way if she kicks it, or steps in it, or poops in it, only a few squirts of milk are ruined, as opposed to the whole bucket. (By the way, Goodwill almost always has a great assortment of stainless steel bowls and pails and such. Just in case you're looking.)

Learn what your goat likes, and don't push her to accept more than what she's comfortable with. My goat absolutely hates for me to milk her with both hands. She holds relatively still now (with extra treats and a girl petting her and talking to her) if I'm going at it with only one hand. As soon as I try to grab both teats at the same time, she turns from mostly docile to a one goat rodeo. Some day, when she's perfectly comfortable with this milking process, I may try to work up to that again. But for now, I'm gonna do it like she wants me to. That means a bit more time on my part, but if that means I'm not getting kicked in the face, I'll do it. (Gosh, that whole paragraph just sounded a little bit like a bad "relationship advice" column.)

Patience is key. As soon as you lose patience with her, she will feel it, and she will get nervous. (Which means she will poop on the stand. Again.) You do actually have to relax to do this, though it's hard and I still struggle with that. There's a rhythm in milking - find it. (I've found it twice now. It's satisfying, but not easy. And that rhythm shouldn't include a foot in the bucket after every third squirt.)

When all else fails, when the milk you've worked so hard to get is in a puddle on the floor of the milking room, when your shoulders and your back hurt so bad you can't stand up or sit down, when you look at your doe and all you can see is a goatburger and fries... go into the stall with the babies and just sit there. Let them climb on you, let them nibble on your ear (or your coat, or your glove) and let them nudge you as they beg for some scratching on their heads. Just stay there until your heart rate is back to normal, until you are breathing properly, and preferably until you giggle at least once. Doing this will ensure that the next time you are walking out to the barn at seven a.m. with your milk pail, that you will have renewed hope that today will be the day she will hold still, that the milk will come easily, that this effort is all actually worth it. And then, when it doesn't work out, just go sit back in the stall with the kids again. 

Okay, so reality: milking a goat is a lot harder than I was expecting. Part of this (maybe most of it) is because my goat isn't the easiest milker in the world, for several reasons. Part of it is because I thought it was going to be easy, and it's not. But I have hope - I can see how this could be a peaceful, pleasant way to start my day... some day, in the distant future. I'll just keep hoping for that, and in the meantime, I'll try to keep from crying in the grain room.