Howdy y’all. Ben here, with another communiqué from Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage, Rutledge, MO.
Right now, having been awake four hours, I sit in my humble home of earth and straw, appreciative of the westerly breeze ventilating across me, sweeping the last vestiges of winter stank from my dwelling, quite pleased now that the goats are on fresh pasture, and that approximately three quarters of the one-hundred-ten odd trees I’m planting this spring at the Critter Chicken Ranch are in the ground and still alive. Though the burr oaks may not bear a mast within my short time here on Earth, I expect the mulberries, chokeberries, hazels and grapes to fruit before the decade is out.
The days have been summery as of late, with wild cherry buds bobbing and swaying in the sun and wind. Precipitation has been scant, two tenths of an inch here and there, just enough rain for the livestock, the greens, the seedling trees, and the constant onslaught of diaper laundry. I reckon that Arthur produces the lion’s share of diaper laundry, already a prodigious defecator at two months of age, though I occasionally require a diaper for the odd wound or spilt drink. Baby goats, in my experience, do not require diapering. To be fair, neither do baby humans, though polite society often encourages it. Alice was the first of our nannies to kid this year, and did so in epic fashion. I’ll set the scene.
One week ago today, our herd was near a quarter mile from where they are currently grazing, smack dab in the center of town. The farther off pastures, where a nanny can drop some kids in privacy, hadn’t quite greened up enough. Goats, like lots of critters, have an order of dominance, and a constant point of contention is access to shelter. Typically, goat gestation is something you can set your watch to… it’s five months. But are we talking thirty-day months, or thirty-one-day months? And then there’s February.
Well anyhow, Alice was being denied shelter late in the afternoon, two days before her calendar due date, with NOAA weather radio claiming a storm was headed our way. She looked funny, which goats are also prone towards, but it seemed clear something was up. She was perhaps in the early stages of labor. Mae thought it would be best to move her to the barn, and so with an ominous aura of gray in the west I slowly led her down Crooked Root.
That little walk must’ve knocked something loose, for as soon as she made it into the barnyard fence, out dropped a baby goat, seemingly effortlessly. Ten minutes later the same, both of them doelings. I have seen both of my human children born, but had adequate time for mental and physical preparation (I cannot speak for Mae, who did most of the work). I have seen chicks and ducklings hatch from eggs, and cicadas crawl out of their shells, but I have never seen kidding in person until now. It usually happens at an odd time, and then it’s like, “Hey, there’s some baby goats over there.” I felt pretty elated, and Alice seems relieved. There was no storm, just a faint trace of drizzle of the sort my garden peas really needed.
Now unlike newborn humans, goat kids can just get up and start running around, which seems like quite some burden to me. At two months old, Arthur is, at his most active, like an oversized, fleshy, wiggling bobble-head that either coos or screams. I’m thankful to not have to worry about him getting lost in the tall grass or stuck undera chicken coop.
On the other hand, Alice doesn’t have to lug her babies around. Getting Arthur to fall asleep while not attached to me is like bending spoons with my mind: I can’t do it and neither can you. On the other other hand, I don’t have to clean his bum with my mouth like a nanny goat, so I got that goin’ for me.
In other news, the nettles are knee high in some places, violet blooms and spinach await plucking, and there’s surely some morels down in the draws, though I haven’t spent any time looking. Morels are tastier when I don’t eat ‘em every year, and the little people that live in the woods appreciate my leaving them be. Besides, I’m personally happier to garden than to gather. It seems if I’ve gotta toil to get some food, I’d rather know where the food is going to be, though I do enjoy a good tromp through the brush now and then.
To that effect, I put in a little time inoculating shiitake mushroom logs with Sharon and Ted this week. Mycoculture comes with all its own challenges, mostly time- and condition-based. The logs must be freshly cut, though not too freshly cut. There’s a sweet spot where the antifungal magic present in the once living wood ceases to exist, and that is when your fungi of choice must be sown. The log chunks are riddled with drill holes, stuffed with shiitake spawn, then quickly capped with melted beeswax. That was the easy bit. Hauling them into the woods is the part that doesn’t seem so fun to me, but it’s nice to think of it as dispensing necessary organic matter and carbon back to the land, from which we humans have stripped more than our fair share.
Things are finally greening up in earnest here, every few feet of pathway and road ditch on farm contains a mouthful of greens for the taking. My current favorites are the yellow cress flowers that taste like some spicy broccoli, and the peppergrass, which tastes like pepper. I’ve personally had my fill of chickweed, but the chickens themselves appreciate their daily bucket of the stuff. The wild parsnip is at the peak of its delectability, and I have already been through three separate incidents of contact dermatitis from cutting the stuff.
And then there’s the ticks and hornets. The former are just a part of life on the prairie, and much alleviated by the free ranging of gallinaceous fowl, and I seem to have struck a deal with the latter whereby I get use of the outhouse when the sun is low or down completely, and they get it the rest of the time. We’ll see how it goes.
The pastureland here is developing quite nicely, and we’re excited to venture into new areas this year with our grazing. The areas we have consistently grazed are looking less and less like bramble and goldenrod thatch, and more like stands of native grass and legumes, like birdsfoot trefoil and partridge pea. Not that I have anything against with goldenrod thatch, or brambles, I just like tastier goat cheese and less thorns up my pants.
The oaks are beginning to break bud, with their shimmering little lacy frondy leaf babies blowing in the breeze. Birds both wild and domestic are nesting or preparing to do so. I have watched a pair of house wrens flirting and scolding about Holler-a-Way, and two paired up Canada geese, Sid and Nancy, can be seen flying low about the various ponds. The other day I was looking at the ground (I do it a lot) and was nearly struck down by a blue heron that I musta scared up. Redwing blackbirds, cedar waxwings, and cardinals all frequent our warren in the early morn and flush out for other parts before breakfast is made. Further out on the land, turkeys call to one another. The maples are fully leafed at this point, many of them ornamented with pale golden green samaras. On the mornings after a still night, I can see a trace of tree pollen on the counter of our outdoor kitchen. Tree love is in the air.
Well, I reckon I’m about as busy as a squirrel kit today, and should get on to fixing lunch, fixing the pasture shelter, fixing the fence, and fixing whatever else needs fixing. I can guarantee that the pleasant weather will not hold, and some day soon, perhaps tomorrow, something I should have thought about before will go flying away in astorm.
Might as well plant more trees and pray for an easy rain, since I can’t remember what it is I’m supposed to stake down anyway.
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This fourth of July weekend we hope you’ll join us for the first ever Midwest Sustainable Communities Conference, here at Dancing Rabbit! We’re hosting a weekend of community building, sustainability learning and climate change activism, filled with talks, workshops, networking opportunities, and plenty of connection and inspiration. Check out the Conference webpage for more information.
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Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage is an intentional community and nonprofit outside Rutledge, in northeast Missouri, focused on demonstrating sustainable living possibilities. Find out more about us by visiting our website, reading our blog, or emailing us.