New Kids on the Block

"So, I heard you got goats yesterday."

The voice on the other end of the receiver wasn't asking a question so much as stating a fact she already knew.

"Yeah, yeah we did. It's pretty exciting," I eeked out the words, a little bit taken aback by the rate at which news travel in this news community. We might have spotty reception, but word still gets around I guess. Gossip chains aren't a favorite societal function of mine--however it's a price you pay when your community is small. Mrs. D was one of J&E's friends. She and her partner live a few minutes away. They have a dog that likes to chase sticks and are expecting a little one in a few months. She and J see each other almost daily. I shouldn't be surprised that J&E already told her.

"That's so great! Was it Lula Mae that I heard?"

I paused. Maybe the community gossip chain wasn't that strong after all. I cringed. "Does that mean you...could hear her from your house?"

She laughed, a kind and gentle laugh mixed with no hint of annoyance.

"She was, er, a little upset by her relocation. I think it's settling down now?" This last statement was less of an educated guess and more of a desperate hope. Lula Mae had been making awful, heart-wrenching noises--multi-tonal, throaty bleats that felt more like screams than anything else. Mid-bleat she'd drop her bottom jaw and stick out her tongue to further prove her point.

"Lula Mae's a..sensitive goat," she said, choosing her words carefully. "I'm sure she'll settle down soon. It just takes her some getting used to."  You see, Mrs. D used to help milk Lula Mae in exchange for the milk, and was ifact the neighbor that helped us make the move to becoming her new owner.  She'd probably know. "Anyhow, do you think I could come by some time and visit them?"

"Of course! How does Tuesday sound?"

"Great! See you then!"

I hung up the phone and beamed with pride in our new goats mixed with a feeling that I could finally contribute to the community I've gained so much from.  Integrating into a community is tricky business for the inexperienced. When the natural community of childhood fades away with life changes like relocation and radical personal transformation, it becomes much more difficult to find a friend group, a neighborhood of connections, a "tribe," or any other name you call a community. Social institutions like school and faith groups are great facilitators, but where does that leave those of us without such ties? Homesteading can be an isolating lifestyle by default, so it takes intentionality to avoid that fate.

As we find ourselves with an abundance of eggs and goat milk, we want to share our good fortunes with others. It's simply a fine line between feeling like you are "paying  your way' into a community and finding a way to give back after you've benefited. Community may contain elements of bartering, however, it's hard to remember that transferring goods isn't the only transaction that counts. As individuals in Western Society, it can be challenging not to judge your sense of community worthiness and belonging by what you bring to the table instead of who you are. Well, it is for me at least.

As for Chloe, she is still small and cute and surprisingly calm for such a transition. The day we got her, I gathered a bribe of over-ripe blackberries in my palm, hoping she'd forgive us for uprooting her from her known world and transplanting her into this foreign patch of land overrun with brambles if I made an early offering of peace. She pressed her muzzle into my hand and snatched up the gushy fruit. Ah if you can feed a being, it will know it's loved. Red staining juice lingered where the berries had been, and Chloe cleaned it up with her velvet tongue. Yes, you're home now. Welcome to our family. Welcome to our community.

Family Planning: Same Story, Second Verse

We're courting some goats right now.

Yes, you heard me right: courting and goats.

A few weeks ago we received a somewhat serendipitous call from a neighbor we met once who heard we might be in the market.

She tells the story of some other community members that had raised goats for half a decade, and are ready to move on. Four goats need good home. An excellent breed for milk and even meat.

I thank her for thinking of us and take down her number. Mostly, it feels like a true inclusion into a community that I desperately want to be part of. Mr. Bee's been wanting goats for some time. Something about an overwhelming portion of our land inhabited by an invasive species of blackberries and more Salmon berries than we could feasibly consume in a season. Or was it the benefit of fresh milk? And cheese?

Now I'm not a fan of blackberries, but I can't justify twice daiy milkings. Mr. Bee, however, can. And Mr. Bee is close at hand.

"Let's take them."

I laugh. "We don't need goats."

We later show up at a beautiful forested property. A couple of ducks in a pen. More than a handful of hens running around. Roosters strutting at our feet. And four kinder goats.

Just what we'd expected.

Except two of the goats are babies.

I'm not prepared for this. My defenses are down. They are five months old. Still nursing occasionally. Did
I mention that everything around me is reproducing? My college roommate is some four months along with her first. J&E have the sweetest newborn you've ever seen. My Facebook (yes, us homesteaders still use FB on occasion!) feed is filled with high school acquaintances posting photos of their toddlers and baby bumps--it is a toss up which is most prevalent.

"Yeah, thanks for having us out . We'd love to take two, maybe the mama and one of the babies?"

I'm surprised to hear that it's not Mr. Bee's voice. It's my own.

So now we're slowly letting the goats get used to us as were visit in our spare time and work to fence a pen of blackberries and build a shelter for the pair.

Soon enough we'll have a baby of our very own. October is our planned arrival. Of course, we'll post plenty
of pictures on the day she arrives. We'll post pictures of her mommy too.

Of Greater Consequence

We were only going to be gone for a little while. Just a quick trip. 2 hours . Max.

And that’s all the time we were gone for.

Dusk settled in around our car as we pulled into the driveway. It was quiet but it often is this time of day. 

“You bring the stuff in, and I’ll put the ducks to bed,” I directed to Mr. Bee as I slammed the car door and rushed toward the duck pen. No ducks were in sight. Some nights they go into their house without assistance when the sun begins to go down or they get chilly. I love nights like these. So, so easy. All I have to do is put Edgar [AKA Blind and/or Brave duck] inside.

I checked the Edgar’s usual spot and found emptiness. Maybe, just maybe, he found his way into the house?

Nearly impossible, but worth looking.

I leaned over to poke my head inside the Duckmahal and take stock. Only I didn’t get very far. The Duckmahal’s main door was already latched.

I looked closer.  It was latched improperly, but very intentionally latched nevertheless.

“Someone put the ducks away already. Do you think J&E would have done that for us since we were out later than normal?” 

“Maybe, I mean, last night J did ask whether they had to go in at night and I told him it was because of the opossums. I’ll have to tell him that it’s okay if they’re out for a little past dark and that he doesn’t need to worry about it.”

“Crazy. They’re really great neighbors,” I replied all the while impressed that they managed to get 12 ornery ducks and one Blind and/or Brave Duck inside their house without our Pavlovian tricks. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were true duck-whisperers!

I shrugged my shoulders, rang the bell anyway and gave the already-housed ducks their 5-minutes of supper.

Inside, Mr. Bee loomed over the sink in the awkward position I know all too well as the only way to get partial cell phone reception to listen to voice mails at our homestead. “Who’s that from?”

No response.

“…ducks..[static] …inside…[skip}…so I…[skip]…[skip]…dog…[crackle]…neighbor…”

My heart rate slowed then sped up faster than it was beating before. “What? Who is that? What happened?”

Still no answer.

I jumped up on the counter, getting closer to the source in hopes of making more sense out of the broken-up message I’d walked in on half-way through.

Finally, the message was over and Mr. Bee explained. “It’s Maya. She was in our yard. In the duck yard. She had one of the ducks. In their pen. E&J got her out. The ducks all ran in their house. Except for one. They put it inside too and locked everyone up. They wanted to let us know what happened. They said no one looked hurt.”

Maya is the one neighborhood dog that has taken an interest in our property and our livestock. Despite fencing, the 6 month old husky finds her way into our place by any means available. Tonight, it was the back gate we left open, thinking we’d only be gone a little while.

Most of the lessons we’ve learned in the country, we’ve learned the hard-way: experience. In the city, we would usually discover the error of our ways just before we made a decision. Other times, it would be right afterward, but they were usually trivial in nature. For example, if you find something you are obsessed with at Trader Joe’s, buy a lot of it before it disappears. Every time you go to the store. Because one day, it will be gone. (Do you remember those seaweed rice puffs?) It’s also important to keep a log of when you called and whom you spoke with when trying to resolve a bug infestation at your apartment complex. Or a leak in your wall, for that matter. Lastly, QFC brand bacon is not very tasty, even when it’s on sale.  Especially when it’s on sale. The only big exception to our trivial rule was the time we bought a used car that later showed up on consumer reports’ “worst used cars” list. That one had some lasting (read: expensive) consequences.

In any case, our learning curve now is one that is both steeper and of greater consequence. It has greater risks but also greater potential for reward. One lesson that we’ve taken to heart tonight is that we really do have some pretty amazing neighbors. Well, the ones without dogs that is.

Homestead Wins

With so many homestead fails in the last week, it's good to have a win or two.

Those of you who know us personally know that we love learning to forage for our own food. In particular, we (primarily Mr. Bee) love hunting gourmet mushrooms. We've found chanterelles, porcini (and a host of other boletes), lobster, chicken-of-the-woods, oyster, inky caps, shaggy parasol, prince, matsutake, hedgehog, shrimp russula, slippery jack, blewit, candy cap, witch's butter, edible puff balls, and fairy ring to name a few. But in our two years of hunting, we had never found the famed Morel.

That all changed this week. We don't have good phone reception at our house, so on our way home from work we pulled over to make a few calls. On our way back onto the road, Mr. Bee found his prize. In fact, within an hour we had loaded the paper bag we keep in the car for just such opportune "sightings" with more than 300 morels. (I can't describe to you how many that is. Think like, uh, if you reached down to pick up what you thought was a dollar bill and it turned out it was two 100 dollar bills. That kind of crazy!) Most are black morels, which are the most common kind in the PNW. We also have yellow morels and even a few of the West Coast-native red morel (NOT the red false morels, mind you). It was a mushroom hunter's paradise and I'm proud to say that my morel spotting skills are almost as good as my legendary chanterelle locating skills. With more practice, I'm certain they could be refined.

How many morels can you find?

Hint: there are at least four that are visible in this picture!

You can see the answer below the jump.

Week Three

This week has brought lots of visitors for our little flock. We've had friends, coworkers, neighbors and family out to feed and socialize them. Week three is full of changes. Remember when these guys could fit in your hand? Well, not anymore. I barely remember what it was like to have them so small.

 

The ducks are used to me hand-feeding them. Since I was holding 

the camera, I couldn't but the big Pekin (yellow) is reluctant to 

believe she'll have to eat off the ground!

Neighbors (part II)

We were definitely not prepared to go without water for a long time. Sure, we had plenty of almond milk but where were our prescribed stores of water? Shouldn't we have had jugs in the garage waiting for this inevitable emergency? We'd read books, calculated the amount, and even knew to periodically replace it.

Not even a month in, and we'd already experienced our first official Homestead Fail?

Immediately my mind rushed to J&E. They had water stores. Of course, they knew to have water during this storm.

Neighbors (part I)

We have the most amazing neighbors you could ever imagine. I know, I know. You didn't realize we'd found a place? Well, we did! It's wonderful and you will hear all about it later. First, I have to tell you about our neighbors.

J&E are the couple on the East side of us. They are in their early-thirties. Educated but not pretentious. J teaches and manages land for wildlife preserve nearby.  E? She works from home as a consultant (full-time no less!) doing important social and environmental sustainability work.They are outgoing. Kind enough to lend us a shovel during our dreaded Snowpocalypse.* Have tons of friends coming and going all of the time. Married for the same length of time as Mr. Bee and I. Expecting their first child in a few months. Did I mention E is social? She can carry on a non-awkward conversation with some of the most awkward people I know (Mr. Bee and myself!)

And they compost. I'm sure they do. I think they might also be vegan. Or at least eat lentils on a regular basis. Like I said, they are a-mazing. Yes, I just hyphenated that word. Our neighbors are that great that their existence warrants the use of unconventional punctuation. I might be a little obsessed with them right now, but how could I not be? They've got the future that we are working toward!

*A crazy snow event that may or may not wreak destruction worthy of the term "apocalypse."

day one.