goat doula

milking Sitting on a short log stump under the lean-to, I can feel the moisture wicking up into the seat of my jeans. My one hand is grasping a cold glass mason jar, the other a warm, hairy teat. I’ve been milking goats now for 7 years. At first, it was a challenge and a struggle for many reasons. How do you get the milk out, how do you keep the goat from kicking over the bucket, how do your hands keep from cramping up, how does maintain any sort of social life, when you have to be at home … Continue reading goat doula

Chapter 1 – Winter, South Dakota 1985

I have on my snow pants and giggle at the sound the polyester makes as my legs move down the porch stairs. My 3 year old little sister and I climb over the monstrous snow drifts towards the derelict red barn.  The bright white sun reflecting off the glistening snow is almost painful. My cheeks feel cold and hot all at once. Nearly weightless little girls, we easily slide in our snow pants and moon boots across the crusted tops of the drifts, but sometimes we fall through and have to climb our way out. We approach the old barn … Continue reading Chapter 1 – Winter, South Dakota 1985