Another 7:45am start. I am starting to get good at this. It is irrelevant that I said I would be starting at 7:30am. I am still the earliest riser on the farm.
Except for these guys.
I let the goats out of the barn, because that is now my morning chore. It is a delight every morning to open the door and be inundated with the smell of chicken poop, goat poop, and feta cheese. Why feta? Apparently, goats just smell like feta all the time. I have asked multiple times if cheese is being ripened somewhere, but right now Planet Goat is experiencing a milk shortage, so there is no cheese. Only feta-cheese-smelling goats.
Very idyllic.
The wind remains unwindy and as such, I return to the turd trenches. Today there is less poop-handling, but I know that will not last long. I return the dirt I dug out to whence it came, covering up all the pig poop. Amending the soil, I believe it is called. I want to return to the day when man discovered that covering the ground in poop made his crops grow better. Whoever discovered it was certainly thrown out of his village for a while, until his crops were growing awesomely somewhere close by and people were like, "What's your secret?" and he was like, "SHIT, IT'S SHIT, I TOLD YOU A MILLION TIMES."
Shit and perseverance.
I clean up the greenhouse and water the plants. Having not much to do until Lauren comes out, I wander around and take pictures of things, like this little cow who is confined to the arena because he escaped too many times.
"Hello, Clarice."
Lauren arrives, and we return to working on the Crap Tunnel. We furl the back flap, stand back, and admire all of our lovely work in wrangling the whole thing into submission. I TOLD YOU IT WASN'T OVER, GREENHOUSE.
Satisfied with ourselves, we go inside to eat lots of lamb and eggs, because that is what winners eat.
Full and proud, we return to the greenhouse after breakfast to inspect the seedlings. Only...they are kind of, well, eaten-looking. A few things struggle to connect in my brain. Earlier I had seen a hoof print in the trench, and wondered, "Hey, that's weird, what's this hoof print doing here?" Now the plants were eaten. We look around, and realize the gate to the scrap yard was left open, which leads to the greenhouse, which means goats wandered in and ate everything.
Gate-closing having been my responsibility, I consider throwing up my lamb and eggs because losers do not deserve to be full of winner breakfast.
Stumpy the chicken thinks I'm an asshat too.
My second thought is that perhaps puking on the plants would be just as bad as letting them get eaten, so I abstain. Besides, surely this can't be the worst thing anyone has ever done.
"I really wouldn't worry," Lauren says, and I feel my redemption nearing. "It's not the worst thing that's ever happened." The worst was a girl from Germany who 'cleaned' the squash seedlings by wiping all the dirt off their roots and laying them in the sun to dry. Which seems pretty bad to me, and nothing like what I did. "This is probably only the second worst."
Dangit.
I am not consoled by being in the top two worst mistakes made on the farm, but Lauren seems unperturbed, despite the fact that I just set her crop back about two weeks. I am the world's worst grower. I want to exile myself from putting things in the ground. I am certain if I got pregnant I would give birth to a tomato plant that had been eaten by a goat, because that is now my only experience at growing things.
I do not mention this to Lauren, since I've already made Second Worst Mistake in her WWOOF Hall of Fame and don't want to make First Probable Murderer too. She tries to cheer me up by mentioning it is Go Into Town Day, but even though she told me yesterday that was what we were doing today, the inability to return to doing useful things makes me sad.
Chick pity party.
We go into town anyway, because life goes on despite idiotic occurrences. Going Into Town is an interesting experience that I do not generally contemplate, living, well, in a town. But one must store up all of their things they need to buy for one big trip, because there is not enough free time to drive half an hour each way to get this or that. I figure if I ever have a farm, this will be a non-issue, because either I will be so far off the grid that I will have superseded needing town-like objects, or I will order everything off of Amazon.
Our first stop is the local pawn shop, where Lauren procures a Western saddle to start training Ruby, who is seven but still bad at wearing saddles. It means I will not get to ride her, but I can still pet her, so there is that. Then we go to a place that actually cheers me up: the ranch store!
It's like a pet store for ponies!
I am amazed that things like horse chow exist, and goggle at all the weird things I would never have thought would just be in a store, like the multitudes of spurs and chaps that I do not seriously consider buying and certainly do not double check prices just to make sure they're definitely out of my spending range. Lauren buys a bridle and other tack for Ruby, and we are off to our next stop, which is less fun and does not make my day any brighter.
Walmart is always exactly what I expect: screaming children and their parents who are telling them to shut up. Only this Walmart is in Tooele, the main town near Rush Valley, and is more of a social club than anything. In the checkout line I hear people making plans to see each other at church, and how they are so glad they ran into each other. I thank goodness that I did not end up on a Mormon farm, or I might have had to spend a lot of time hobnobbing at Walmart. I did not even know that one could hobnob at Walmart, but after all, this trip is about learning.
It is imperative that we split up, because we are nearing a time crunch, as the farrier will be arriving at the farm to shoe both of the horses. As such, Lauren tasks me with procuring 'green things' while she goes off on another errand. She adds, "You know, green beans, peppers, stuff like that," which is good, because I was pondering whether Walmart sold green bouncy balls (assuredly they do). We split up, and I get green beans and peppers, and nothing else, because I would be embarrassed if I bought something weird that people don't actually put in meals, and she realized I have no real knowledge of how to sustain my own self, let alone a farm.
Then I do my shopping for my own eating purposes, and discover something that puts me over the moon.
I'm gonna need a moment alone with this picture.
Honestly, I do not even know how I have survived until now. But with my stores repleted, I am ready to tackle anything, including closing gates so that goats do not get in.
When we make the half hour drive back to town, we realize that the crop-eating was not the only mistake of the day. In our rush to return home to make it in time for the arrival of the farrier, we got a few wires crossed that resulted in leaving AN ENTIRE SHOPPING CART OF GROCERIES back at Walmart. For the first time since we've met, Lauren looks stricken. Farm mistakes she takes in stride. Town mistakes are harder.
But not for meeeeeeee!
Being very used to doing things in town that make absolutely no sense why they would have happened, I quickly get on the phone with Walmart and ascertain that our groceries are still at the store. I tell her I will go get them. She asks if I am sure, since it is a long drive, but I say, "Do not fear, dear lady, I shall retrieve your groceries and return, for I am nothing if not adept at rectifying mistakes of the city fashion."
Or I said yes. I don't know, I was high off my own ability to be useful.
I hop in the car and drive off while Lauren deals with the farrier. Along the way, I take a few pictures of Rush Valley, since I did not take the time to do so on the way in.
Storm's a brewin'. I think. Maybe.
I procure the groceries using Walmart's Customer Service. The man at the counter does not understand how a cart of groceries could be left behind. I point to the cart behind him, show him my receipt, and say that those are my things and I want them. It does not compute, and I am worried he will not relinquish my things, but the other girl working helps him out ("Just give her the cart, Matt, she's holding the receipt!") and I return to the farm victorious. Lauren is grateful, and I achieve hero status.
Also lesbian status.
The farrier is still at the farm when I return. I want desperately to take a picture of him farrier-ing, but I find myself unable to, since farriers are gangsters of the highest order, crosses between blacksmiths and pony-whisperers. Though this farrier is a nice young man named Casey, I still only take this stealthy picture:
Can't believe he didn't notice.
By then, our day is pretty much done. What with the extra hour needed to go back to Walmart, the day ends at 8pm, instead of our customary 2pm, but it is no worries because it contained 50% less physical labor. We sit around and drink hard cider and talk about survivalism, and I discover Lauren is an accomplished tracker, marksman, and falconer. She agrees to teach me to track and shoot, but will not teach me to falcon, maybe because I reference admiring Mongolian golden eagle hunters and fur coats with an enthusiasm that borders on insanity.
One day...
Also we don't have a falcon. Boo.
By now it is time for bed, for all manner of creatures, Roxannes and goats alike. Ed, the usual foreman of the night chores, has long since passed out, so I get to help put the goats in the barn. This involves Lauren singing a little lullaby of her own invention, which does not have a name, but I call Go To Bed, Goats, mostly because that's how the lyrics go. I say goodnight to the goats.
"Sweet dreams, human."
I go inside and take a night time shower, having learned that the only time one can be clean on a farm is right before going to sleep. Despite the presence of soap in my life, I smell like a wet dog in a way that no amount of showering will deter. Having long thick hair on a farm is a Very Bad Idea. I consider cutting it all off, but then I figure the smell will make me more popular with the animals. I am briefly concerned by how Dan will feel about it when he arrives, but I figure he can cross that bridge alone, because I will have transformed into a goat by then.
And I'll live here for ever and ever and ever...
GOAT OF THE DAY: Nichomacus
Nichomacus looks like a cow goat. He was born with deformities that make him thin and spindly, unlike the other chubsters. He was going to be culled, but he just kept being awesome, so he got to live. His likes include peanut butter sandwiches, and not being dead.
"Whatcha doin'?"
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