“How could this happen,” I whined recently. “I’m losing all my friends to nature.”
And it’s true; I’ve had three friends who dropped out of the “traditional” workforce and take up the land. Maybe it’s something in the water, or the air, or the food. I’d say it has more to do with the lighting, and the cubicles, and the Excel spreadsheets. Either way, it’s impossible to write about without rehashing a recent New York Times Style piece.
In the interest of maintaining a presence on the cultural bandwagon, I went to visit my homesteading friends to do some investigoogling.
Just kidding. I went to go play with baby goats.
J & A have adopted two goats, both about 3 months old. One was abandoned by her mother (Coca Cola), the other (A&W) was raised by her mom for a few weeks and then brought onto their farm. Naturally, it is A&W who is the neediest, the crier, the one who has become quite the lap goat and will wriggle into anyone sitting down in the vicinity.
I’m always staggered when we visit over how much work it takes to do things I take for granted. Hot water comes from solar paneled trays, heat from a little squat stove, and the toilet is compost.
We took a ramble Sunday morning and got to see the lay of their property. A lifetime renter, it must be immensely gratifying to be able to look and know all around you is yours. And there’s nothing quite like witnessing a baby goat scale the side of (an admittedly low) cliff. Because next time I see them, I probably won’t be so pleased if they crawl on my lap.
I dunno, man, go find your own friends with a cabin.