Sylvia Jorrins May 2005 Farm Story

A Day in April for May 2005

There is something to be said for spending an indeterminate amount of time in the barn. Oh, I am in both the barn and the carriage house many times during the day. But always briefly except when stacking hay, and most often on a specific errand or with a chore in mind or perhaps just with something that has to be evaluated. It is the other times that I love. The times with no specific task to perform when I can look around and see unexpected solutions to problems or find things I've been too focused on a single task to discover. In today's instance it was the carriage house. It couldn't have been nicer. Of course, had Elizabeth Cavanaugh freshened that would have been nicer. But she hasn't. At least not yet. Elizabeth is the first goat to be coming in this year. She is a Nubian-Toggenburg. Was given to me. Is somewhat hostile. Definitely skittish of humans. Very nice looking. And has well earned the designation, an impossible goat. She has been bagging for a month. Growing wider for three weeks. Could have been bred by my former herd sire, Tobias Witherspoon on December 01, when I put her in with him. And in many ways has presented a number of challenges to me. Until I penned her I had never touched her.

When I went into the carriage house today I did not see her familiar face over the gate looking for me. We've progressed far enough for her to take grain from my hand and she has allowed, on occasion, her neck to be stroked. Where was she? I raced over to her pen and saw Elizabeth lying on a neatly arranged nest of hay, grunting and straining. She was about to freshen. Or so it would seem. I ran back to the house for towels for the kids, molasses for the doe and 7% Iodine, my notebook and a pen. Upon my return I found her standing leisurely chewing her cud, as if nothing had happened. And, in fact, nothing had. I stayed. It was good.

There are three pens in the carriage house to date. One is a double one with two keyhole feeders

accommodating eleven animals at once. I had kept eleven dairy sheep in there last year, very nicely at that. But goats are different. They have long term unrelenting personal animosities. They have been known to kill one another. I've one flawlessly beautiful Toggenburg doe who has to be tethered when she is in with the other does. At that she knows how to trap her most detested flock mate with her lead. And that poor victim loves to butt the big old hornless Saanen in the side repeatedly. The Saanen is bred. I worry about her. She was lead goat. Very tame and exceedingly aggressive herself. But she knows now that she is vulnerable, and keeps as well as she can out of range. These three plus a kid live in the largest pen. They need the room.

In a smaller pen are sheep, impossible Marvy Chapman and her lamb, Adelaide Merriman who is bagging and Pembroke-Worthington who is not. Pemb seems to be the goat beaten upon in that pen. Which is not a bad thing. Pembroke's mother was a wild creature I bought at an auction who trained Pemb to be equally difficult. But Pembroke now realizes she needs me. And I can pet her and talk to her and put my arms around her neck. She seems to want me next to her. She is a lovely creature. She was born here and I so badly wanted her to be home. Adelaide Merriman is my tamest goat. Sweet. Personable. Friendly, leads like a show horse. I can take her everywhere. She is especially fine when I need an animal to interact with guests. She has chosen Elizabeth Cavanaugh in the next pen over to hate. I've nailed mesh onto the gate between them. Had I not, I'm certain I'd have found one or both gravely injured or dead one morning.

I decided to spend as much time as appeared to be necessary to wait for Elizabeth to freshen. The carriage house is a lovely space, somewhat ignored, beautiful in proportion, with pretty windows and a small attractive office tucked under the stairs. The latch to the larger goat pen can be and has been worried open on

occasion. I've built a bar across the top of the gate to prevent them from jumping over it. That also requires me to either duck my head or push aside upon bringing the goats their water. The bar is long and has a

tendency to slide off when I push it open, so it finds me ducking my head while carrying very heavy five

gallon jugs.

While waiting for Elizabeth to freshen I began to tidy the carriage house. I found an oddly shaped piece of wood that fitted quite nicely in the hand. It was the perfect thing with which to make a turnbuckle to form a second latch on the recalcitrant gate. It now has a sliding bar as the principle closure fitting nicely into the bracket I built. The long bar raising their threshold of opportunity to leap to their escape, and a very nice, heavy turnbuckle as a safety catch. I was proud of myself. I also built an additional bracket to guide the long bar in its track. That also, to this non-carpenter, is immensely satisfying. As was building props to keep the winter shutters on the windows open.

I brought two large bundles of haylage to the goats and Marvy Chapman. Fed hay. Re-designed the watering system so the overflow from the jugs being filled in the big blue trough on the outside of the pen will provide water for the remaining unconfined goats in the carriage house. I found a few treasures. There were some pale blue quart sized jars that shall serve in which to store beans this winter. And part of a meat grinder that would be of great use if I could find its innards. And an unopened bag of lime. So far that is. And still the doe had not freshened.

She looked at me. Put her face in my hands. Pawed the bedding to make a nest. Occasionally lay down in it. Pushed and moaned and scratched her right side with her horns for a few minutes. And then got up as if nothing had happened or shall ever happen.