UNDERPANTS FOR SALE!

GOATS IN UNDERPANTS

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Afternoon Kisses

The Grandmaamaa smells like strawberries and molasses and love

and kisses us all over our faces everyday.

Plum Duff for EVERY Goat!

with Much Love for a Happy Christmas Day

from

The Sisterhood of the Goat!

How To Borrow An Irish Goat

Wee Fionn from Eden Hills Farm
www.edenhillsgoat.blogspot.com



What a wondrous week of sunshine and the promise of Spring!
And no better time to have wee goaties blossoming like crocuses!

As a Goat Borrower, I'm always poking my nose into other people's goats
and was fortunate this week to have Teresa from Eden Hills Farm allow me to actually name one of her fine, wee newborn goats!

I chose the name Fionn MacCumhaill (Finn McCool) as I was in an Irish sort of mood and the first thing that struck me when I saw this precious kid was the size of the lad! And with Fionn being a Giant among Giants....well, there was naught for it but to pin a great legend upon Teresa's goat!

I include a wee story of the real Fionn here this day but I urge you to search about.
His stories are endless...and timeless......much like I hope my new borrowed goatie to be!

with love,
The Goat Borrower
***********************

Fionn MacCool, was no ordinary giant. He was the biggest and the strongest giant in all Ireland. His voice could be heard for miles around. He was so strong that he could lift a hundred men in one of his enormous hands. Fionn lived with his wife in the hills of County Antrim. Fionn's wife was called Oonagh.
One day a messenger came to Fionn's castle. He had come all the way from Scotland with news for Fionn. The messenger told Fionn that a Scottish giant called Angus wanted to fight him. Angus wanted to show that he was stronger than any giant in Ireland. Fionn had never seen Angus before, but he knew that he was the biggest giant in Scotland. Fionn was not afraid.

The next day, Fionn began to build a path across the sea to Scotland. This path was called the causeway. It was made of thousands of rocks. Fionn built many miles of the causeway with his great hands. When Angus heard about Fionn's causeway, he decided to build the Scottish end of the causeway himself. For weeks the two giants worked hard at building the causeway.

One morning Fionn was in the forest near his castle. He saw his wife coming towards him. He ran over to her.
She said to him, "I have heard that Angus is the biggest and the strongest giant in all the world. He is twice as big as you and twice as strong!" Fionn was very worried. "I cannot fight a giant that is twice my size!"

As the sun was setting, he heard a knock on the door. It was the messenger. "Angus wants to fight you tomorrow at sunrise," he told Fionn.
"Yes, of course," replied Fionn.

He went into his bedroom when the messenger left. He took the blankets off the bed. Fionn and Oonagh worked through the night. They cut the blankets and made giant baby clothes. Fionn put on the baby clothes and got into the giant cradle.

At sunrise the next morning, Oonagh heard a knock on the door. It was Angus. Angus asked Oonagh was Fionn there. Oonagh told him that he was gone for a walk and that he would be back soon. She invited him in. It was not long before Angus heard a cry. He asked whom it was, pointing to the cradle. Oonagh said, "That's young Fionn, our baby.
Angus thought that if this is the size of their baby, how big could Fionn be. Then he ran out of the castle as fast as he could. He ran across the causeway and did not stop until he reached his country. He was afraid that Fionn might follow him.

Today, if you go to County Antrim, you can still see a small piece of the causeway. It is called the Giant's Causeway, because it was built by Fionn Mac Cool, the most famous giant in the history of Ireland.

The Goat Poop

Peek-a-boo.....wake up, wake up.........

This having a goat is exhausting

My rumba pants!

Ok. I'll run really, really fast and this time you follow me right down those stairs.......seriously, it'll be fun...

Na-na-na-na-na.....BATMAN!

Froggie-went-a-courtin' jammies

SUN-day nap

52 degrees on Friday.
5 degrees on Saturday.
Freezing today.

Darla remains.

You'd think I would have more to report but I don't.
Life with Darla has settled into a pleasant routine and I relish the weekends when I can stay home and snuzzle and laugh at the freezing winds outside.

Saturday's Hoof Extravaganza was a challenge for me. Turns out I'm an excellent head holder/comforter but not ready to snip anything yet.

Mostly I'm just sick of the cold. Oh, how I long for some green.

So I'm Blow Drying the Goat's Butt......

THINGS I NEVER IMAGINED I'D DO

BUFF DARLA

DARLA THIS WEEK

SEVERAL WEEKS AGO...WHEN WE WERE STILL SKINNY...AND THE CAT WAS STILL ALOOF

So, I'm blow drying the business end of the goat this morning and I'm thinking:

A. This is not a sentence I ever thought I'd have occasion to write.

and

B. Who would have ever thought that a goat would let you do something like that?

But animals are amazing, aren't they? They'll do just about anything to please you as long as they feel safe and understand what it is you want from them.

From almost the get-go Darla has accepted the fact that tubby means changing.
She stands still, picks up her feet to the words "stepy-stepy" and knows there's a scritching and a snuzzle at the end. The blow dryer came after, after I didn't return Farmer's goat "next Tuesday" and I knew that I was going to have to be diligent regarding hygiene. We started out by just playing with it, graduated to turning it on away from the tubbie and then finally butt success. No issues, really. Amazing.

In fact, I am amazed at every turn how very few issues there have been in keeping a goat at an undisclosed location.

Oh, there was the time the dog, in no uncertain terms clearly said aloud in an appalled voice: "Madame, that is my penis. And I will thank you to stop treating it otherwise." But he tries to herd her and guards her 'barn' and I know he's going to miss her when she goes.

And, though I can't prove it, I'm pretty sure I know how the Stairs Incident occurred.

The cat, who couldn't stand ignoring us any longer, is now Morning Goat Play Buddy.....up to and including leading Darla a merry chase.......right to the top of the stairs....and down. To her credit Darla puts on the brakes like Wile E. Coyote every time but I still cringe when I hear thundering hoof and paw overhead.

And the craft corner. The bane of my goat world existence. I have tried everything imaginable to discourage the pilfering of this corner. Distraction, removal, idle threats to the point where I noticed she only went there when I would sit down at night with a cup of coffee. Ah-ha. Maa will get up and chase me if, and only if, I go to this corner. She's fine if I gum everything else in the house but for some human reason this corner is off limits. Hmmmm.

Sooooo.......I had to go to my last resort.......my final, desperate act: The Gypsy Coin Torture.

The Gypsy Coin Torture is quite effective. And the method is simple.
Insert gypsy coins into plastic coffee can. Shake at appropriate moment. Watch goat go straight up in air. See goat return to corner. Repeat. See goat run. See goat stop. See goat do related math on scratch paper with borrowed pencil. Watch as light bulb goes on over goat's head. See goat begin to return to corner. Simply reach for Gypsy Torture Can. Watch goat run in opposite direction. Viola!

It's funny about animals. All the experts tell us they don't think logically. Ha. Anyone who has ever lived with a pet knows different.

I watch Darla grow and am so happy to see her healthy and I'm proud of how smart she is. This morning during bottle time the cat, no lightweight, walked completely underneath her! I guess I don't remember when she grew up on me.

We'll be returning to the barn soon. (I know...I know....we really are, I promise!) This experience couldn't be bought. Nor can it be duplicated, for should I do it ever again the wonder and discovery wouldn't be quite so fresh. This was special.

I'll really cherish this time, this time when my kingdom truly was peaceable.

~Mimi

Attention: No goats were tortured in an effort to keep them from ingesting six foot of quality yarn, several fabric scraps and a half dozen pewter buttons. It's just the name that's effective.
;)

WANTED: Own Barn

LIPS MADE FOR KISSIN'!
MY PEOPLE

How lucky is this three day weekend so back I go amongst My People!
This is the last day that I have to spend all day taking care of Darla until the weekend comes again. I'll only be able to do the evenings. I hope she doesn't forget me or feel sad that I'm gone. (or think someone else is her Maa.)

Perils of goat borrowing but still, I feel blessed.

xoxoxo

DARLA the DIVA

Maa says I'm a diva in my beautiful new sweater!


I wanted to show you the pretty bow on my new sweater. Isn't it lovely?


This is me in my beautiful new sweater and my cousin New Bill.
We're the exact same age but he doesn't have a sweater! Ha!

A Note from the Goat Borrower:
This past two days has been such a whirlwind of happenings!
I hope to find time to set it all down at some point but for now
just a few pics of my Darlin' Darla! She's breakin' my heart!
Thanks for all your kind comments and good wishes!
It truly is a wonderful time for me!

THE GOAT BORROWER'S MIRACLE

My Darlin' Darla

My Sweet Bill laughing at Darla's goat dance!

Today I am very lucky...I smell of goat.

The phone rang early this morning and it was Farmer Lyle telling me to come on right over...the new goats were here! I tossed on my barn clothes and headed out the door.

I've been waiting for these wee ones since my adventure with Sweet Bill the Yule goat back in December. It's been a long wait.

I've known from the start of my goat borrowing that to borrow a goat usually means standing betwixt goat and fence, passing over some apple bread and getting a few much appreciated snuggles in return. It's always rather sad to have to leave the farm never really knowing the joy of true interaction with the herd.

But that all changed today as I spent the day feeding, snuzzling and loving the brand new kid who was ignored by his Ma. Sad, but I understand that these things happen and it's up to the humans to step in and make things right. I was ever so happy to be that human!

Two other kids were born as well but their mothers took charge and they are doing very well. They look so big and strong beside my wee goat. I feel so bad that she isn't accepted by the others and is rather bereft in the big barn. I was adopted from Heidelberg, Germany so I guess this must be how I was before my new family came for me. We make a fine pair then, eh?

At first I just wanted to take her home with me and let her gain strength in a pen in my house but Farmer Lyle said while that sounded like a good idea she would become acclimated to neither the barn climate nor, more importantly, become educated as a goat.

So I spent the day learning to feed and care for not only the wee one but also the others and then got a latches & lights tour of the barn. Farmer Lyle says that if I care for this goat and get her used to me that she will be the goat we use in our storytelling adventures! He has high hopes for this wee one to become our fairytale goat and learn to visit the children and teach them all about the goat world. With luck and love all will go well and she'll also be designated Yule Goat this coming year!

I also got to see my Sweet Bill who followed me everywhere and gave me many, many snuzzles and whispered a few goat secrets in my ear. It was good to see him again. He'll always be special to me.

I'm honored that Farmer Lyle would trust me, a mere goat borrower, with his barn and goats and am overwhelmed with joy at the prospect of taking on the care and feeding of this wee babe. An everyday occurrence for a great many people and a small miracle to be sure but to me a miracle nonetheless.

Farmer Lyle has 50 years of goat raising under his belt....I'm so blessed that he has agreed to teach me.

My wee charges name is Darla....Darlin' Darla...and she is, darling that is!
I love her so already. My heart is bursting at the thought of caring for her.
She's so frail yet, though spunky, and has already done a wee goat dance for me and Bill and she made us laugh and laugh!

You can be sure that I will do my best to keep her safe and healthy and I look forward to sharing the experience with you all. Millie, you were ever so right....goats ARE knocking on my door!

And like my dear wish-friend said to me today: "You never know how your day will end."

I have to run now...time to go back to the barn.......

~Mimi, The True Goat Borrower
;)

More CAPRA PROJECT Treasure!

It's really so exciting to wait for the mail everyday and have someone put that special envelope on my desk! It makes me feel special. Thank you so much, friends.
Some come with stories...some with blessings but all, I believe are sent with caring and love. I've set down below the latest.
~Mimi

*Deb Liverpool, NY
~Victorian Button from Grandmother's button box 1875-1955

*Susan Wolcott, NY
~A piece of the cover from the schooner Sarah B
who I have sailed, taken lessons and reenacted upon!
~A piece of the mains'l from an Alden yawl named High Heels.
She sailed the Great Lakes about 60 years. I have never sailed upon her.
She ended her days about 10 years ago in Fair Haven, NY

* Helen Liverpool, NY
~Embroidered flowers
Colleen Liverpool, NY
~pink watered silk

* Anon St. Paul, MN
~Hand dyed batik
"Discharged with love and a bit of magick"


I am loving this project. It's a really nice to feel connected to another soul on a chilly wintry day.
xox

CAPRA and the MAGICAL GOAT BLANKET PROJECT

CAPRA & the MAGICAL GOAT BLANKET PROJECT
By: Mimi Foxmorton c. 2010

FOXMORTON’S CAPRA PROJECT
~A Universal and Creative Adventure
Won’t you join me?

Hail Fellow Goat Lovers!

Welcome to my CAPRA and the MAGICAL GOAT BLANKET project!

After 50 years of never taking much notice, the Universe gave me a (firm) nudge in the direction I now know I was meant to travel. On a rare Autumn day the Universe sent me...goats! Lovely, wonderful, snuzzly, wise goats!

But there’s also a catch. I live in a townhome. Uprooting, selling and buying a farm isn’t something that can be done in a weekend...especially if you live alone. And while I have no doubt that the Universe means to see me through to goat fruition I’ve been forced, in the meanwhile, to become a Goat Borrower. Not all that easy.

Luckily the Universe sent me a life long, area goat farmer, Lyle Young, who turned out to be pretty amiable about letting me Goat Borrow. And, fortuitously, was agreeable to working together to combine my costumed storytelling career with his goats. You really have to thank a guy who’ll let you put a hat on his goat.

In the first of my crazy adventure we appeared with one of his billys at a Yule Goat event I designed. (Which you can read about at www.thegoatborrower.blogspot.com)The rest, we’re hoping will be history.

So...here’s my plan:

It is my intention to make a wondrous CAPRA BLANKET for use in the upcoming 2011 Yule Celebration. A Capra Blanket is a colorful cover for either the actual goat or a Symbolic goat and used in the honorable Romanian tradition of Dancing Capra. (There are many, many wonderful videos that can be seen on YouTube...a raw and beautiful ceremonial dance which celebrates and honors the rebirth of living things and the eventual coming of the sun and the renewal which is Spring.)

When I first set out to make this blanket I knew I’d have no problem as my scrap bag is chock full of fabric and trim from past projects. If you sew at all you know what I mean! But then I got to thinking how wonderful and magical this blanket could be if it were created from scraps of fabric from the Four Quarters! That is, the smallest of scraps sent from people from Thither & Yon who would like to be a part of this goat magic!

So...I send this request out to the Universe and ask that anyone who would like to be a part of my Capra Project please send me a small scrap of fabric , trim or bead that has special meaning to you. It needn’t (nor shouldn’t) be bigger than a basic envelope size and should pose no problem to send. I ask for no last name or return address and want to be very clear about that as I seek no personal information regarding the sender. But if you would like to include a story about the history of the scrap that would be wonderful as I intend to keep a log of location and story to post on my blog as the blanket progresses.

It is my hope that the final outcome will tell a story of unity.

Why? While I was sorting scraps to begin the blanket the idea came to me and I thought how grand such a blanket could end up being and how like the tradition of Yule. A simple joining together of those near and far into a blanket of peace, love & celebration. I’ve found that goats are wise and open their hearts to all who seek to know them. Perhaps this blanket could be a reflection of that.

And that’s my story. As simple as a scrap. And as big those with stories to tell.

You can read my story and follow the progress of the Capra Blanket at
www.thegoatborrower.blogspot.com and contact me there.

Scraps can be sent to:
The Town of Clay
THE CAPRA PROJECT
Att: Recreation Department
4401 Route 31
Clay, New York 13041

If you like this please feel free to pass it along so we can make this project as Universal as it should be.

My sincere thanks for indulging me in this project.
*Mimi Foxmorton


*Mimi Foxmorton is in reality Chrissy Clancy, a Recreation Department employee at the Town of Clay since 1991. She thanks the Universe, and the town, every day for allowing her the freedom of creativity in her job to bring unique and diverse programs and projects to the community. She believes that discovering new cultures and new stories is the key to a better world. She also believes in the power of the oral tradition of folklore and thinks we can become all the better for discovering new tales. The Capra Blanket Project, she believes, will be a tangible joining together of the many stories that make up our community and our world.

This project is dedicated to The Town of Clay Wanderers, her group of wandering senior citizens, who follow her each week on a new adventure of discovery. She appreciates their support more than they can imagine as they indulge her in each new journey and keep to their motto: “All who wander are not lost.” (Tolkien)

This is not the first of Chrissy’s wild adventures...nor will it be her last. C.2010

THE GOAT BORROWER: The Beginning

THE GOAT BORROWER
By Mimi Foxmorton copyright 2010

The Goat Borrower: The Beginning

Certain things happen to you as you begin to get older. You develop an obsession for
fiber arts for instance, this time using a much better quality of yarn and you take the time to unravel the row with the dropped stitch. Your younger self would plead youth and inexperience regarding the gaping hole. Your older self knows better. When the dog suggests a midday couch nap snuggled in said fiber arts blanket you don’t think the kitchen floor could use a good damp mop or if you ran the vacuum now well then you’d still have time to get that second load of laundry hung on the line plus bleach the bathroom tiles while you’re at it. Nope. You’re older now and definitely wiser so you get busy taking that nap.

And you begin to develop a passion.

A passion is a wondrous thing. You begin to see things in a soft and new light. You open your eyes to the fresh and endless possibilities before you. You take the time to thoroughly investigate and explore. And you begin to ask yourself how you could possibly have lived your whole life without ever noticing this new and wonderful thing.

You also, if you’re me, begin to question your sanity.

I’ve never done anything 86%. (Well maybe that knitting back in sixth grade but I’m atoning for those dropped stitches, I promise.) For me it’s always been a 150-whole hog-pedal to the metal-get out of my way I’m coming through affair.

A storyteller, children’s theatre director, senior and recreational event coordinator by trade I’ve twenty plus years under my hat of taking a simple theme then wringing and savoring every last glorious drop of sweetness from it. Shakespeare, historical pirates, Rom gypsy culture, fairytales. The list is endless. I once designed an entire summer program around the single word: time. I research, design garb, explore and dig to bring out the succulent, diverse and, more often than not, deeply hidden sweetmeats of a topic.

So it wasn’t a surprise to anyone, least of all me, that I took on my latest theme with feverish dedication. What did surprise me was the profound effect said theme was to have upon me in the coming months.

The topic? Goats.

Yep, goats. What better interest for a single, non-agriculturally zoned, town home dwelling, two scraggly tomato plant-one ten by ten failed blueberry patch ownin’, goat clueless female to have, eh?

But it wasn’t to be stopped. Not by a long shot.

It all started quite innocently (doesn’t it always?) by way of a job. I arrived one lovely Autumn day to the Cracker Box Palace in Alton, New York, a humble animal rescue farm specializing in the care, housing and loving of formerly abused/neglected farm animals. A place I thought initially would be sad and forlorn but is amazingly under a spell of peace, hope, love and happiness. I happened that day to be garbed in full gypsy regalia to volunteer my service as a storyteller for their annual Autum fund raising event.
I job share during the year with a wild life rescue person and was doing a friend a favor.

Now, I’ve seen goats. I can identify them at the State Fair. (The sign says: Goat Barn) and the ‘G’ for Goat page in the children’s alphabet book is pretty clear. I like goat cheese. But I never paid goats much attention. They’re goats. They eat stuff. Tin cans came to mind. They smell bad. Not much in the way of personality I wouldn’t imagine. They’re goats. (I know, I know. But settle down I’m on my way to that part of the
story.)

The goat path is located directly across the path from my favorite, elderly ex-race horse, Stormy, who lives apart from the other horses because he still, God love him, likes the ladies. He’s also old and pretty near toothless at this point so I’m sure to bring him a special treat, apple oat bread, which always makes him my best friend. (As long as the bread holds out.)
This particular day a single goat stuck his head through his fencing and was insistently calling my name. Or maybe he was saying: “Hey lady! Give a goat a break with that bread will ya.” I wasn’t yet fluent in goat. But in any case, I went.

The first slice went into that goat like a piece of junk mail into a paper shredder.
I was greatly amused. So I did it again. And again.

Fear and responsibility of overfeeding was the only thing that stopped me as by this time I was laughing my self silly and making cartoon shredding noises as the bread slices went in.

I hadn’t laughed myself silly in a very long time.

So, you’d think it would have stopped there, as a pleasant moment. But it didn’t. The Universe apparently had Her eye on me that day.

A week or so later I had another event as a hay wagon gypsy at an apple orchard. As we toured the farm we came to the goat pen. Ah, more goats. Too bad I was fresh out of apple oat bread. (Insert cartoon shredder noise here.)

As people were milling about one goat came over to me from his feed and climbed up on the gate which gave everyone a chuckle as he was on top of the NO CLIMBING sign. (I’ve since seen many of these photos on the internet-goats standing on NO CLIMBING signs-you gotta love their sense of humor.)

The farmer who drove our wagon pointed out that “those goats don’t pay attention to anyone less they got food.” I had no food.

And then that goat did something no goat should ever do to a town home dwelling gypsy just minding her own business. That goat snuzzled me. That’s right. A clear cut case of goat snuzzling. That goat climbed right up the NO CLIMBING sign and, ignoring all others, began to softly work her lips against my cheek and neck. She looked as though she were whispering to me a goat secret. And then she just…snuzzled me. She nestled her head into my neck and snuzzled me.

Now, if you are a goat farmer you probably find this far less than extraordinary. Pretty common place in fact. City girl snuzzled by goat. Auh-yep. But for me, a wayward gypsy always chasing that for which I have no name, it was like an odd sort of Epiphany.

Except with a goat.

In that moment, that moment of pure, sweet goat snuzzling I felt completely and utterly at peace.

In that innocent and ordinary moment the extraordinary occurred. I felt an immense crack open inside of me as every ounce of negativity, every shred of midnight worry about my future path, every sleepless night dissipated into the crisp Autumn air.

And I was irrevocably hooked.

Of course this is the part in the fairy story where I run bounding home full of rapture and resolution, withdraw my life savings, sell my town home overnight, load the dog and cat into the car and move effortlessly onto a one hundred head goat farm that I fortuitously found for sale and was just within my price range whereby I meet my handsome, though brooding, bachelor neighbor-who is also a goat farmer-one day while chasing an errant goat, the scamp! (the goat not the neighbor) through the back pasture and right at the moment I fall keester-first into a pile of goat poo, with only several hairs strategically escaped from my pig tails, we discover said errant goat to have just given birth and as our eyes meet over the newborn kid we fall insanely in love, merge our goat farms to greater financial gain as I discover a hidden talent for making the rarest of all goat soaps, and live happily ever after. Cue romantic music and cut to long shot of couple sitting on a grassy hill at sunset surrounded by peaceful goats. The end.

Yeah. Except none of that happened.

What did happen was I became the most dreaded of all creatures. I became (dramatic pause) a Goat Borrower.

Well, it’s not like I didn’t check into getting my own goats. Just two. Modest really. Just two I could snuzzle and love and provide a perfect life for. But I happen to work in the same building that houses the Planning Department for our town and I now know there are many (many) pages in the law book devoted to: WHY MIMI CAN’T HAVE GOATS. I know. They were read to me. Something about hooves. But because they know me and my penchant for fairytales and costumes I’m sure they keep a wary eye on me and secretly imagine I have procured two illegal goats which I dress in sausage curl wigs and spotless pinafores ready, at a moments notice, to be passed off as my visiting twin nieces from Peoria. Obviously I didn’t but its fun to keep them guessing.

So, back to goat borrowing. Which isn’t like borrowing a cup of sugar. You can’t actually borrow the goat, as in ‘I’ll bring this goat back next Tuesday.’ No. One must go to the goat.

Now, if you’re a farmer reading this you know as well as I do that while you’re probably more than open to visits and education you are also a very busy farmer and indulging a desperate stranger who desires nothing more than to sit in a pile of your goats for several hours is not something you probably have time for. Also, if you’re me and live in Central New York you come to find out that there aren’t an over abundance of goat farms less than an hour or more drive away. So I tried to soothe my goat jones by stopping back at the apple farm. For fifty cents you could buy a pack of goat feed thereby becoming queen of the goat pen as long as your quarters held out.

Bad move.

“May I please feed the goats?”

The look on the lady’s face behind the store counter was actually stricken. Like in a comedy.

“Um. Well. They’re not here.”

I just figured they went to town or something.

“Oh. When will they be back? I’ll wait.”

Again the stricken look.

“They’re not coming back.”

I had to know.


“Um. Where are they?”

Now, she could have lied. But she didn’t. She did, however, have the grace to pause.

“Slaughtered.” She whispered. She actually did whisper it. I pictured the goat who loved me even though I didn’t have food. I guess now I know what that goat was whispering.

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, they were old and we’re getting new ones in the Spring.”

“Oh.”

We said our goodbyes and I made it to my car.

Slaughtered? Couldn’t she have said ‘they went softly into that sweet night’? Old? Being replaced? And yeah, yeah I know. Circle of Life and all that. But still.

And then I burst into tears.

I cried for the slaughter. I cried for the goat who loved my even though I didn’t have food. I cried for the whispered goat secrets that I failed to hear. And I cried for myself, the girl who, after all this time, figured out by accident what would finally make her whole but had absolutely no idea of how to attain it.
And if you really want to know…I’m crying now.

Yeah. I’m gonna make a terrible farmer.

Well, the good Lord did provide the world with a bounty of goats so I guessed it was up to me to figure out how to get my share. Just the two, please. Thank you.

And so I read. I discovered the history, the legend, the realities, the pitfalls and the gift that was a goat. I began making fiber art goat dolls and spent countless hours designing a beautiful goat crochet tapestry. I visited a far away farm on the spur of the moment on an afternoon drive with some friends. But it was closed and all I got to see from the drive way were curious goat eyes peeking out at me through some open slats in the barn. I’ve always been of a mind that the Universe provides you with what you need when you need it. And so I waited.

One day several weeks later while on my way to a Victorian home brunch event a close and always supportive of my craziness friend sent me an email which read: “I wish for you to find a goat farm this day.”


A lovely sentiment but highly unlikely given my destination for the day.

It was a work event that I had arranged at a nearby Victorian home so there were many local seniors from our semi-rural community. One conversation led to the next in the elegant dining room and eventually I uttered my catch phrase: “I love goats.”

“Goats?”

“Yep. I like to snuzzle them.”

“Go up ‘round the corner and see Lyle Young. He’s got lots of goats.” Offered one lady.

“There’s a goat farm around the corner from where I’ve worked for twenty plus years?”

“Yep.”

“Do you think he’d let me snuzzle them?”

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask.”

And so I did.

I found somebody who knew somebody who knew Lyle and his goats and was willing to vouch for the fact that I’m not (completely) crazy and a week to the day from the Victorian event I had succeeded in scheduling a morning farm visit and goat petting for my senior club, the Wanderers. I called my wish-friend that evening and she didn’t even appear surprised.

The morning came and I loaded up on plain Chex, carrots and a giant bag of greens donated by a sympathetic produce worker at the local grocer. Besides goats there were to be cows, a chicken, and Elvis the donkey who is handsome as all get out but likes to kick. I was prepared.

We pulled into the farm early that morning and Lyle had the animals gathered at the hay pen and there they were. The goats. And mine for the snuzzling!

It so happened that the billy, eight months old presently, had been hand raised due to circumstance and was as amiable and as friendly as my own yellow lab. I fell immediately and madly in love.

Bill (his name) had a personality as big as a barn and was the star of the visit. Lyle was the perfect farmer host who took the time to regale us with stories, facts, anecdotes and realities. A goat man all his life he spoke of doing the morning milking before hopping the school bus each day.

As the others left, Lyle and I continued a discussion as to how we might combine my love of folklore and theatrics with his goats. In addition to his farming Lyle also contracts wagon rides with his two giant Belgium horses as well as the occasional petting zoo for various events. By the time I left we agreed that we just might make a good team. The Universe, it seems led me straight to the perfect barn door.

We scheduled our first event for three weeks later. Bill was to appear as the Yule Goat at a town tree lighting I was coordinating. I would appear in costume with a plethora of Yule goat lore and Lyle would provide the goat.

I found the folklore to be fascinating and spent the three weeks prior devouring everything I could get my hands on. There’s the Swedish Julbock (the Yule goat) and his elf partner Jultomen. Germanic tradition has the St. Nick arriving astride a goat. Thor has his goat chariot. But the most beautiful of all I discovered was the Romanian tradition of Dancing Capra-children dressed as goats in fabulous garb retelling the story of rebirth. (I highly recommend you YouTube it. It is quite raw and stunning.)

I also spent many happy hours assembling the perfect Yule garb and designed a wreath of holly, ivy and purple and red feathers for my headwear. We decided to forego dressing Bill as, amiable as he was, we hadn’t had near enough time to get him used to the idea and above all I wanted this to be a comfortable experience for him.

The day came and Bill arrived to many huzzahs and was once again the star of the show. He offered himself up to the crowd for petting and admiring and allowed the children to touch his warm horns in awe and wonder. I thought about the birth of the Baby Jesus and knew then why he had chosen a barn. Animals, without doubt, have the purest of souls.

And there was poop. I won’t lie to you. But Lyle and a friend acted as subtle Poop Wranglers so all remained pleasant for the crowd. Of course it was an exciting time for Bill bringing a tense moment of nervous diarrhea during the pre-tree lighting speeches. But people laughed. People always laugh at poop if they don’t have to clean it up.

And then it was time for the lighting.

Bill trouped outside, dutifully following the crowd down the narrow path to the tree. Snow was falling thickly as the choir began to sing, Santa magically lit the tree and standing close to me Bill witnessed his first Yule.

Inside I snuck him a Christmas cookie and kissed his wee nose good-bye. He whispered with his goat lips in my ear something I am quite sure sounded like, “Happy Christmas, Mimi.” And off he trotted to his waiting van.

Lyle and I have more plans. Tentatively deciding how we might bring this combination of farm education experience and the spoken word to the public. And in the meantime I get to goat snuzzle.

Bill’s growing and he is a billy and all that that entails so it probably won’t be feasible to use him much, if any, longer. But he’ll always be special to me for being my first Yule Goat.

New kids are to be born in a few weeks and Lyle has promised me a hand in their care in which I might learn what I need to know. Maybe someday I’ll have two goats to call my own. But for now I’ll wait and learn. We’ll go forward slowly with this new and diverse project and see where it takes us. We’re sure the goats will lead the way.

I look forward to the rest of this story.

To my friend who wished me a goat farm I say thank you from the bottom of my heart for believing me when I said I found my bliss. And to the Universe I can only wonder what She has in store for me on my way to finding where I need to be.

And so for now I leave you with this:
Kneeling in the snow with a soft, warm goat snuzzling your neck…leaning heavily and contentedly against you while fluffy, white snowflakes are falling…listening to Silent Night being sung by a choir…will heal all wounds. Of this I have no doubt.

END

Mimi Foxmorton c. 2010