Envy

If only I had more time, I could learn more about photography.  I could be outside at sunrise or sunset to catch the best light, wait quietly in the woods for birds and wildlife, drive around the countryside looking for picturesque old buildings and landscapes. 

I find myself saying that a lot -- not the photography part, the 'more time' part.  I look around at all the cool things other people around me are doing.  Painting, photography, writing, pottery, community work, etc.  In my mind I come up with excuses.  Those people don't have young children at home to care for.  Those people don't have a job they have to go to.  Those people don't have to worry about spending money on non-necessities. 

Yes, I know, I know.  The most important thing I need to be doing right now is raising three little boys.  Growing and feeding them good food, helping with their schoolwork, keeping them healthy and happy, teaching them hundreds of everyday things.  One day, ten or twenty years from now when my boys don't need my help on a hourly basis, I will have lots of free time to devote to whatever I want.  And when that happens, it's likely I will want to give it all back, and be able to play and tickle and snuggle with them again.

But I am still envious.  Just a bit.

Warning: rant ahead

Begin rant<

I can't stand to read blogs and websites where people spend all their time writing about how beautiful their life is.  Lots of pretty pictures and heartwarming stories.  That's all bollocks, that is.  And it doesn't make any of us who don't have perfect lives feel any better.  What I want to see are the ups AND the downs, the smiles and grimaces, the proud victories and sheepish mistakes.  Otherwise it's just like reading a never-ending Hallmark card.

>End rant

Lessons learned

Chickens are easy.  Give 'em a place to roost, a place to lay eggs, a coop and a fenced run and you're good to go.  Some bedding and some grain and some water and a bucket of kitchen scraps and they're happy.  Sure, occasionally you have to deal with a resident o'pposum, or a raccoon/fox/mink/neighbor's dog attack, but once you've made your coop and fence stalag-tight, those problems become fewer and fewer.  We haven't lost a hen in eight months now.  Knock on wood.

Goats, however, are not easy.  At least not angora goats.  You have to deworm them.  Often.  And not just for one type of worm--for several.  You have to delouse them.  Often.  During the summer you have to go out at least four times a week and rescue some dumb beast who's gotten its head stuck in the fence.  You have to trim their hooves, which is sorta like trimming the toenails of a small, angry, kicking caribou.  You have to shear them twice a year.  Which, because I am not a professional shearer with professional shears,  takes me about an hour and a half--for each goat--and consists of lots of swearing, sweating, threats, back pain, numb fingers, and more swearing.

And unless you have a pristine grassy meadow for them to graze in, their fleece won't be worth a dime because it's full of sticks and burrs and seedheads.  Even in winter (see above).  Because unless you are feeding them fine grass hay, whatever prickly stuff that is in their feed will get in their fleece.  Some people compensate by buying or sewing goat coats and keeping them on all year round.  From my experience with chicken saddles (long story), livestock and clothing really don't work out too well.  Besides, if I wanted my animals to wear clothes I would have bought a herd of Scottish Terriers.

I could handle most of this, I think, if I got a bit of love in return.  Alas, however, my goats have no love for me.  They won't let me pet them or hug them or rub their bellies.  At best they will let me pat their backs with one hand if I feed them treats with the other.  As soon as the treats are gone, they are too.

Sigh.  As of now the goats are big, furry, high maintenance, unloving pets.  If I had grassy pastures, and access to better shearing, and better fencing, and more time to spend with them, things might be different.  Mohair and baby goats can be quite a lucrative business.  And I've got good animals here, with good mohair and bloodlines.  But I just don't have the time or the resources to make it pay off.

Sigh.  I never should have let the boys name the kids.  If we do decide to sell them, it will make it all the more difficult.

Gifts and Giving

Giddy as a schoolgirl, I was.  Just ask my husband, who was there when I opened the package.  A few days ago I received my 'pay it forward' gift from the lovely lassie at CowGaels in Tir na Blog.  Isn't she sweet?  I've put her by my potted herbs in the southwest window for now.  I think she likes hangin' with the greenery.

And, in keeping with the tradition, I am hereby offering a homemade gift of my own to the first three folks who post a reply.  Leave your name and email in a comment, and I'll see what I can do to spread some gift-giving love.  The only hitch -- you must share some of your own handmade gifts with other folks, sometime in the future.

Consider it a pyramid scheme for presents.  Normally I don't go in for gimmicky internet stuff, but I couldn't resist when I saw the poppets with their radish balloons.  Sooooo very cute.

And whereas my giftie won't be nearly as sweet-looking, it will definitely be sweet-smelling.  That is, if you like the cherry scent of sweet almond oil...