The panoply of horrors dumped on this planet on a daily basis by my government, the Israeli government, and far too many others is exhausting.
However, early March brought great joy into my life, so I wanted to share it.
My husband and I manage a small non-profit vegetable farm in southern Colorado. This past year has been tough. We’re in a rather severe drought which so-called winter has not improved. We live at 6,700 feet, and it is supposed to be 80 degrees next week!
But on March 1, our dairy goat Maravilla was safely delivered of her first baby, a girl we have named Sumud (Palestinian Arabic for “steadfastness”). The next day, not to be outdone, our doe Arugula was delivered of her first baby, a boy, we’ve named Rio in honor of the river which runs through the land. On the same day, Mark and I also gained a great-nephew, Reece Malachi, grandson of our brother-in-law, Steven! All 3 kids (ha, ha) are strong and healthy, and their mommas are recovering.
Above: Momma Arugula bathing her son.
The fact that our goats had single births rather than twins or triplets (more common) is a testament to the land’s health. The drought, and their overgrazing, has stripped it of its ability to produce much forage right now. We supplement the goats’ diet with hay and grain, but they need a diverse buffet of quality browse—trees, bushes, various plants, some grasses—to provide adequate nutrition for themselves and their babies. The land on which we are privileged to live can’t provide it at the moment; I don’t know when it will again.
Above: Momma Maravilla bathing her daughter.
But even in this desolation, these magical girls brought forth LIFE!! And I had nothing to do with it. I am away from the land at the moment, so my husband and our marvelous new intern, Matias (originally of El Salvador, late of Texas) magnificently midwifed these precious creatures into the world.
Goat births are always a bit scary. The last thing you want is to lose either mother or child, but it happens. We are neither medical doctors nor veterinarians. Yet, like almost all who husband animals, we’ve had to learn how to keep our goats alive. The nearest vet is an hour away and doesn’t make house-calls. You may find this hard to believe, but it’s not always that easy to get a very pregnant, or injured, goat into the back of one’s truck.
So we learn from others, sometimes neighbors, sometimes kind strangers on the ninnanet. Yet, even with good advice and the best of efforts, we fail far too often. We have lost two beloved does to bloat, another to crippling arthritis, and one to a mountain lion. We have lost bees to the cold (we failed to insulate their hives sufficiently), and chickens to illness or aggression from their coop-mates.
It is always terrible to fail the lives for which we are responsible. We grieve our dead friends deeply; and their passing fills us with self-recrimination and remorse. Each time we learn and resolve to do better next time.
A goat birth heightens the risk of death exponentially, so to have everything pass well feels more than a little miraculous. As the babies grow and strengthen, they start doing a kind of goat parkour which is hilarious and adorable and brilliant.
Enjoy the photos of new life coming into the world, and let it ease your mind a bit and comfort your heart.
Life continues. It’s stubborn that way, thank God.
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