Goats, the Something I Can't Talk About

I can't talk about it. No one can know.

It's bad enough we live out in the country. Far away from cool friends and places to hang out. Where there are gravel roads and soybean fields and animals who eat hay.

Where there are barns.

And to use the word "country" in conversation, or worse, the two that tell all: "country-living", is unholy self-depreciation.

Heaven forbid we add "goats" to our narrative. Goats are awkward, something we keep secret. Goats are something we don't talk about, especially around teenagers.

But I do.

Heaven help me but I do.

And here I go again.

I have goats. And I milk them.

You can stop reading now. I get it. It's okay.

My teenagers wouldn't have even gotten this far. I understand. Really I do. And the truth of it is that I wouldn't be inclined to read anything on goats myself. Goats are raw and dirty and real and sweet all at the same time. And anything I could tell you would only serve to make them less appealing.

But they are sorta cute.

Nevertheless, when people ask me what I do for a living, I tell them I milk goats. Sometimes. Other times I leave it at stating that I am a stay-at-home-mom. This is especially true when my kids are within an earshot of any goat convo. They regularly tell me they wish I was still in the media, that talking on the radio for their friends to listen was much better for all.

When goats are part of my narrative, there is an immediate reaction. A glazing over of eyes, an inability to speak, a failure to proceed. An unspoken word hangs in the air, thick between humanity.

Why?

Why would anyone that didn't have to do that?

In this technologically advanced world of ours, when so many good foods are available at our local health food stores, why would anyone choose to return to such a primitive, agrarian existence? To knock herself out at great physical toil, not to mention to suffer such defamation of character?

I don't know.

I mean, if one did feel the leaning to be more productive, to experience living in the country to the fullest, why not go with something a little more mainstream-say a cow, for example?

And anyway, don't people who live in the country usually have horses?

Yes, well. Trust me, I wanted horses. Desperately. And come to find out, I was intensely, most aggravatingly allergic to them in the absolute worst kind of way.

No one is more allergic to horses than I am.

So I asked my husband if we could get a cow. But he pointed out how much easier a goat or two would be. And how much healthier goat's milk would be and I have to say, he had really done his homework.

We both wanted to make a difference here in the country. He thought it would be providing horseback riding to kids with special needs. I thought it would be providing wholesome cow's milk to my children.

God thought it would be through milking goats.

For crying out loud.

Goats, we can't even talk about, even though they do give us amazing, fresh, creamy milk! It tastes fabulous and it's oh, so good for us.

It's too bad I can't talk about it. Or those goats that provide it. Without being awkward anyway.

But sometimes being awkward is good for you.

#milkandhoneyland #milkandhoneylandbook #countryliving #findingrainbowsinthewilderness #dynamic purpose #goatlove