Hi everyone! I’m Jackie, a city girl turned farm girl. I grew up in Orlando, Florida and all my life had a calling for living on a farm. I would run into farmers and tell them that my dream was to have a farm. They would look at me like I was crazy and say, “I didn’t know people dreamed of doing this.”
So, after years of dreaming of having a farm, we finally made it a reality! Three weeks ago we moved to the mountains of Western North Carolina to fulfill our farming and homesteading dreams. One of the first things I did, even before we moved to North Carolina, was look for a goat. I wanted to be able to have fresh milk every day. So, I bought a goat. I bought two goats.
We moved to North Carolina, ditched our sleek, sedan, pimped out Altima and bought a old, cornflour blue, pickup truck. We hopped into our new “ride” to pick up our goats. The kids sat, excitedly, in the back seat and we arrived at our destination. “Ok…now what?” Ummm, ok…the big mama goat got shoved into a dog kennel in the truck bed…and I’m talking SHOVED. Poor thing. The (not-so) baby goat sat ON MY LAP in the front seat. “Helloooooo goat”.
So, here we are, a family from the city that just moved into the country and we are driving in a 21 year old pickup truck with 2 goats that are bleating incredibly loud! “Oh what a dream.” One is pooping in the dog kennel, the other is trying to climb into the driver seat, and my husband is getting hit on by a local redneck woman driving next to us. “Hello, I’m the wife and, yes, we those are goats. Hot, right?” The kids had no idea what to think. But we arrived home safely, tucked the goats into their new barn, and said goodnight till the morning.
Oh the day has finally come! Oh sweet morning! I have dreamed of this for years…milking my beautiful goat out in the mountain breeze; pumping fresh, warm milk into a shiny new bucket. I jump up from bed at around 4am, I just couldn’t sleep. Let’s do this. I washed and sanitized the bucket as all the articles had said, and I set out to milk my new goat. As I walk out into the cool air in my new rubber boots carrying my shiny, new bucket, the thoughts of chèvre, feta cheese, and goat milk ice cream dance in my head.
Into the barn I go. I prepare the milk stand that my husband, so graciously built, for me. Then call Sophie, the mama, to the stand. She doesn’t move. She stares me down. “Oh, Sophie, come on you old goat. I’m your new owner…I know you got some delicious milk for me.” I, literally, have to drag her to the milk stand. It’s almost abusive. My desire for milk is becoming squashed by a stubborn goat. “Oh, no Sophie, I will get some milk. Don’t spoil my dream.“What is her problem? I bribe her to the stand with grains. Up she goes and I lock her head in. Ok, here we go.
What in the world am I doing? Am I really about to milk a goat? One look at those hairy teats and I about lose it. Oh city-girl Jackie…where am I again? Some old farmhouse milking a goat…my mother is probably dying laughing at the thought of this.
I grab my homemade, organic, udder wash for Sophie and go for it. Get them teats all nice and clean. Clean teats make clean milk. Thank God I was by myself. It took me almost 10 minutes to clean them teats. Sophie was almost done with her food. “NOoooo, slow down, I still have to milk you.”
Alright, here we go….I grab my shiny silver bucket and give her teats a squeeze. Nothing. Ok, let’s try this again. Squeeeeeze. Sophie about jumps a mile high. Sorry girl. I’ll get this. I squeeze again and I shoot myself in the neck with milk. At least there’s milk! All I can think about is all the times I spent milking myself!
“Do her teats feel like my nipples did?” God, I sure hope not. I aim, set, and fire away…I’m doing it with two hands. “Look at me, twooooo hands!!!” As soon as I start getting it, Sophie steps in the nice, new, shiny, clean bucket and my heart sinks. “Are those poop particles floating around in there now? Shoot, I guess I can’t use this milk.” I leave the goat strapped into the milk stand and run in to get another bucket to use. I come back and get back into my rythym. Squeeze, aim, and fire away. Sophie wiggles and squirms and kicks me over and over again. “WHAT????”
She squats and an enormous amount of pee comes out. Really? Is this really happening? A goat is, literally, peeing on me.
I clean the table…then I clean her udder again. “I want some friggin milk.” Squeeze, aim, fire…squeeze, aim, fire. The sound of milk hits the bucket and I smile. I am here…no longer a dream. I’m milking a goat…my goat. So beautiful!
“OMG what is eff is that falling from the sky???” The sound of a million little goat turds hit the table. I back away and look at the goat. How could she disgrace herself like that?
I clean the table again…then her udder AGAIN…and she kicks me over and over. I manage to get about 3 tablespoons of milk that morning. Whew…what to do with 3 tablespoons of milk?
Thankfully, Sophie and I have an understanding now. I let her poop and pee before bringing her to the milk stand and she gives me almost a half gallon of milk every morning.
shared on : Prairie Homestead
One step can make all the difference, even if it feels like a teeny tiny step to you right now. Who knows where YOU’LL be in five years. Perhaps a yurt in the mountains of VA, or feeding your friends and neighbors out of a backyard garden, or managing an urban farm on a city rooftop.