Simon may have been the first kid of the season for us, but he’s not the last!
On Thursday (the day little Simon was born), I noticed that Bianca (aka B.B. – because all of our goats have nicknames, don’t you know?), had bagged up (meaning she had milk) and she was losing her plug (meaning, and we’re about to get a little TMI here, there was a string of clear discharge hanging from her, uh, nether regions). Both signs of nearing kidding.
Fast forward to Saturday morning, the clear string of goop had turned amber in color (amniotic fluid, and a huge sign that kidding is imminent). B.B.’s tail was arching down and she was stretching a lot (contractions), and all the while, softly baa’ing.
Naturally, I told her, “It’s a stall day for you, girlfriend.” She quickly agreed, and the goat who hates to be confined, eagerly followed me in to the maternity house to her stall.
By afternoon, these two little guys had made their entry to the world.
Looking through the photos I took in September, I realized I didn’t take that many.
A little advice, which is totally related to the above statement. . . . if you’re allergic to, oh, let’s say peanut dust (I know, it’s such a weird allergy, right?), possibly the worst place you could ever live is south Alabama. During fall.
In other words, peanut picking time. There aren’t enough antihistamines in the whole world to make September and October my favorite time of year.
Except I do love fall decorations. And fall food. And pumpkins. And college football. And, yeah, even fresh boiled peanuts.
And my birthday is in October. So, maybe I do like this time of year a little bit even if I do look like a sneezing, red eyed, sniffling hot mess.
But that’s for another day. Another post. Let’s get back to the topic at hand. . . .
If you’ve been following this blog for a while, then you’ve most likely heard plenty about farm poodle, Bryony. And believe me, there is plenty more I could tell you about Bry (my absolutely, without a doubt spoiled to the brim dog).
Like, for instance, that I picked up 19 dog toys off the floor the other day Count ’em 19! I seriously need to teach her to put them back on her own 😉 But enough about my spoiled dog.
You may not know that I also have two Weimaraners: Remy and Hunter. My gray ghost dogs.
Hunter is my old guy, and turned eight years old in September.
And while, he was much more, uh, precocious than even Bry in his younger days. Yeah, precocious. . . . that makes it totally sound funny and cute, doesn’t it?
It wasn’t. At the time. It is, now. We’re talking Chew City. Nothing was off limits to my precocious little guy.
But Hunny’s mellowed out over the years into a very polite, quiet gentleman, and mostly spends his spare time practicing his favorite hobbies:
And catching some Zzzzzs.
Followed by, “Who can nap with you taking pictures of them, Ma?”
Mose also had a birthday last month. Three years ago our very spoiled donkey (who’s always ready for a selfie and acts more like a cross between a goat and a really big dog most days) entered this world early one morning.
The boy goats, meanwhile, are in rut. Big time! Which, if you’re not familiar with goats, just means that they’re acting like a bunch of hormonal, obnoxious, extremely smelly, lip curling teenagers that are concerned with one thing and one thing only. Girls. More specifically girl goats.
This is the time of year that I try not to touch the boys or honestly, even get too near them if I don’t have to. And only if I have old clothes on. And I’m not going anywhere special in the next day or two. The short and sweet of it. . . . they stink. And whoever said farming is glamorous?
In other goaty news, soap has been on the agenda lately. Lots of soap. . . .
Check out the ombre action going on with Shades of Grey. How cool is that?
All four of the above soaps, along with a couple more, will be listed in our Etsy shop this week.
So, how does my garden grow? Me of the seemingly eternal gardening killer thumb, that is.
Well, I think I may have finally made progress on the turning-said thumb-green front. Oh yeah. I’m feeling good about it 🙂
See for yourself:
Tomatoes!! My very first tomatoes!!! I’m so excited. Can you tell?
I have so many tomatoes, I don’t know what to do with them all. I’m almost to the point of chasing random strangers down on the street and handing them a tomato.
I told you.
But I’m not complaining. Really, I’m not. I’m just super proud of being able to say that I’m finally a true Southern woman because the one thing that all Southern women are supposed to be able to do is grow tomatoes. And despite being born and raised here all my life, that’s one thing that has eluded me. But I can now finally join the club 🙂
There’s also Clemson Spineless okra that has just started producing.
And little baby okra.
If you follow any of our farm/blog social media accounts then you know I’m very much looking forward to one dish in particular. . . scrambled okra. Literally the best stuff ever. If you’re an okra lover, that is. If you’re not, then the worst stuff ever. Good thing I happen to be of the loverly variety. Ooh, and if you’re wondering what scrambled okra is (and there’s a good chance you are because I’ve been asked more than once). . . it is basically just sliced okra sauteed in a little oil. Indescribably good.
And as soon as I have enough to make a dish of it, I’ll be sure to share it with y’all.
Back to the garden.
There was also yellow squash planted in the garden. Emphasis on was.
And they were huge with little baby squash just beginning to form – thanks to my secret weapon (more on that in a minute). Until the ducks developed a taste for squash. Oh well, at least I’ve learned a lesson for the future. . . . make sure the ducks can’t get to them.
My new feverfew that I was given in April by the Satsuma Lady (She grows, among many other things, satsumas. Of course.) has been blooming for several weeks.
And we have pineapple sage. Which really is very pineappley.
A little strawberry.
Not surprisingly, no blueberries. But that will change.
I was told recently during a conversation, “If you want blueberries, get three or four bushes and in a couple of years, you’ll be drowning in blueberries.” Which lead me to say, “Three or four? But I have six planted.” So, to all local readers and berry lovers, in a couple of years look for us (and a mountain of blueberries, of course) at the Enterprise farmer’s market.
And now on to my secret weapon that has really made a huge difference this year.
That’s right! The goats. I really should thank them for helping to make some extra effective compost for me. Thanks guys!!
Now, if I can just keep my two escapees (Clara and Rosalie) out of the garden.