Day 15 and 16

Day 15.

Yesterday was my last real day of work. Today is technically my day off, but since I have nothing else to do but farm, I wake up and go about watering the plants and letting the goats out to eat things other than the tables I just sanded.

The pumpkin patch is looking really depressing. The cold temperature a few days ago has left most of the leaves black, and the vines brittle. To me, this means that they need a little extra TLC, so I kneel down next to one of the pumpkins to move some mulch away to water it better, and the whole thing just snaps off.

I find myself curious as to how I ever managed to keep my niece alive when I was watching her, seeing as how I can't even give water to a pumpkin without severing its body parts.

As I am contemplating these mysteries of the universe, I feel a prickle on the back of my neck and turn around to THIS.

"Dude, turn around, act like you don't see her."

Ohh, everyone thought I was paranoid, but I am not paranoid. These fuckers are following me. I start to worry that perhaps I have pissed off some turkey god that is exacting his revenge, but I do not even like turkey that much. Even at Thanksgiving. I would be much more understanding if it was the bacon god or the god of mashed potatoes, but neither of those things are following me around. Then I think perhaps the turkey god is mad that I am not eating ENOUGH turkey, but before I can follow that line of thought to completion, Lauren calls me back in for breakfast.

Today, I introduce everyone to the glory of gluten-free blueberry pancakes. Lauren is shocked at how much it tastes like a really good, really substantial pancake. If there is one silver lining in attaching oneself to a questionable exclusionary diet, it is exploring new and interesting options in cuisine. Lauren might never have discovered a heartier pancake, and I might never have discovered tuna fish.

That second part might be more detrimental than helpful, but damn if it isn't delicious.

The pancakes fill us with delight and wonder, and also nutrition. We are now ready for our trail ride! As it is my day off, I insinuated that I would have nothing to do in the hopes that someone would suggest trail ride. And wouldn't you know it, my subtle and cunning manipulation paid off, and Lauren offered to take me riding with the ponies. She did offer to let me go by myself, but I have no confidence that I would ever come back, be it from general being-lostness or general holy-shit-I'm-a-cowboy-now and then I'd turn up in Montana somewhere, having procured a dog and a drawl and a job herding cattle from the back of my 31-year-old Thoroughbred mare.

Taking a buddy just seems safer.

We strike out on the trail, which is actually the road, and we think about going up to the mountains, but Lauren mentions that one of the men who owns a 600-acre cattle ranch is baling hay nearby. That sounds awesome enough for me to suggest we go talk to him, which we do, and he offers to let us ride all over his land.

Like God telling me I won the life lottery.

I am thrilled. More than thrilled, I am exuberantly ecstatic. I get to ride all over a Utah range, and what makes it even better is that at one point, the owner's mother was dedicated to converting the ranch into an agrotourism business. Her plan was to make little cabins out of antique sheep campers and let people rent the space and then do whatever they wanted, whether it be riding, fishing in the creek, or running around like a crazy person in circles because it's the fucking country, who gives a shit?

For anyone not cool enough to know what a sheep camper it, it is this:

Oh hello, COOLEST THING EVER.

These are little campers that sheep herders would hitch their horses to so they could follow the sheep around while they grazed, and make sure that they did not get eaten by wolves or try to join the Occupy movement. Each camper has a place for a bed, a little wood-burning stove, and storage for whatever you would need to take with you. In short, my new life dream is to follow a herd of sheep in a sheep camper, playing the ukulele and tambourine at night, like a Persian gypsy who happens to own a bunch of sheep.

Alas, the mother's dream was not to be, because she moved to the city and her son does not like people. But their loss was my gain, because instead of a polished encampment where there were people celebrating honeymoons or giving into their Unabomber tendencies, there is only a hodgepodge of old Western cabins and knick knacks. I feel exactly like I have wandered into some pioneer's campsite, and any moment a man in denim and a cowboy hat will come ask me if they've been annexed yet, and whether the railroad is going to make it as far as Utah.

"And how is the Indian massacre going?"

I wish not for the first time that there was a 'capture the entire feeling of this moment' setting on my camera, but I imagine that if that were invented, robots would run the world so I am content with just taking this picture instead.

I like the can that says 'Can' on it.

Lauren and I share a couple ciders, and then we mount up and turn back for home. It pains me to do so, because I think that I could stay in this spot forever, fixing up my little sheep camper and never having to be beholden to anything except the amount of cows I can poach from the property I am squatting on.

 And how fast I can drive the fence.

Lauren points out that I do not even have a gun, which would probably be necessary to realize my dream, and I curse her for the very correct person that she is.

Select mode: American.

Since this is America and not having a gun is pretty much a crime, we go back home and shoot shotguns. There is no good reason for this, we are just on a farm and have nothing better to do. We don't have clay pigeons or anything good to shoot at either, so we mostly just throw strips of leather into the air and try to hit them through some miracle of fate. Not being Annie Oakley or anyone remotely good at doing things like this, I pretty much am just firing a gun into the air Yosemite Sam-style. You know, the way guns were intended to be used.

I mitigate this rustically violent act with baby goats. The No Name Twins have names now! They are Castor and Pollux, which feels a little adult for them, but they will grow into it. Castor is the little goat who loves me so much that he lets me do things like this:

Of course, immediately afterward, he goes crying for his mom, so I dunno.

I spend the rest of the night inside after the goats go to bed. I can feel that it is getting time to leave, and I hate that feeling. I read articles about the French Revolution to console me that leaving a farm is not the worst thing that could happen to me.

That cloud could be a guillotine.

Still, it feels pretty close. 

MEET THE PONIES: Coco and Color Me Ruby

Coco is an old pony, as I have mentioned, but I did not mention that she was basically on her way out when she got to Planet Goat. She has a sebaceous gland problem, and apparently sweat is something that kills ponies, or there were other problems, I don't know. Either way, Lauren rehabilitated her and now she is a lovely pony with way too much energy for an old animal. Trotting on her is like gliding on air.

Ruby has similar circumstances. She came from a neighboring farm, where the owners bought her because they wanted a pretty, registered paint pony. Then they realized that she was a fidgety, spoiled pony who was no good as a riding horse. She has a lot of bad habits that Lauren says would have developed into sending her straight to the glue factory. After a week and a half, those habits are slowly dwindling due to the proper care she is receiving. She is a puppy pony and will follow you around the yard and always come up looking for treats.

"I'm pretty sure she's watching us again."

Day 16. 

There is nothing to say about my last day on the farm. I am not one for goodbyes, so I refuse to go around petting all the cute animals I will never see again.

I leave the farm in the only fashion I know: destroying everything before it gets me first.

It's pretty effective. 

And finally, time to go pick up Dan from the airport and traipse through Zion and Bryce Canyon, and hope he still loves me even though I smell like a goat.