Last night Ruby died. We don’t know why. The kid she was carrying also died.
In the dark, we dug a hole next to Bob, buried our beautiful goat girl and tried to make sense of it.
We examined our lifestyle choice; Maybe we’re just no good at it. Maybe we should just plow up the gardens, sow lawn, get rid of the livestock, and we at-Homesteaders get “proper” jobs.
But then morning rolled around again, like it always does, and the menagerie needed feeding. As we walked down the path, they were so delighted to see us; quacking, clucking and maa-ing. They scrambled over each other to get to us, and in the goat paddock, our two big girls nudged us with their noses and leaned up against our legs as if they were comforting us rather than berating our lack of experience or perceived shoddy care. So, there will be no lawns sown in the near future at Union Homestead. We’ll continue mucking along in our haphazard way, sure in the knowledge that this is real life. You win some, you lose some, and sometimes it takes a while to see the big picture.
As for those proper jobs: there is no way The Milk Maid is ever, ever, ever going to squeeze her feet into a pair of high heels again.