For Mother's Day, Carey and I drove out to Mom's farm in Kingsville, smack dab in Amish country. There are little boys in black hats and bright blue cotton shirts everywhere, and when you drive down the gravel road to her farm, you have to watch out for the farm cats jumping and running through the fields. It was my first time out there since winter, and the main house is built now, with a proper kitchen and living room stove and porch. The lawn is still torn up and unturfed, but there's a pond now, that's filling up quickly with rain water. My mom and dad are good at building homes. First they renovated the house on 54th, and turned the empty lot next door into apple trees and gardens. Next they renovated the house on Archwood, and the backyard became a secret garden. Now she's got this whole new house, built from scratch, a well, a pond, animal pens. It's their talent, making places to live.
Bruno the Landshark/Dog is obsessed with killing the goats. All he does the entire time he's outside is run around and around the perimeter of the fence, trying to get in. There's no distracting him, and around the fence is a deep muddy rut he's worn down with his circling. He is singleminded in his passion for goat. Elf, the little black and white goat, just runs around teasing him, moseying up to the fence then dashing away as he tries to nip her nose. He got in once, and she's got a big chunk taken out of her hindquarter to prove it, but she won't stop.I love her best. When I was trying to feed them, she practically climbed up on the stable roof trying to get at the bin, pawing at the tar with her long spindly legs. I wish I could put her on a leash and keep her as a pet, teach her to fetch frisbees and chase balls.
Daisy the Insanely Absurdly pregnant goat has still not popped yet. She's practically carrying a full grown goat inside her. She waddles around eating, always eating eating eating.
The new addition is Francis the baby steer. Don't get upset but Mom says she's raising him for slaughter. There's a good possibility Carey may launch a guerrilla rescue in the dead of night before that happens. I know Mom is a farm girl, and can kill things, but we'll see. He's going to have get inconveniently big before that happens. Right now he's the cutest stupidest thing in the world. All he cares about is suckling on things. Your fingers. Your arms. Your legs. Your skirt. If you don't let him suckle, or if you do and he figures out there's no milk coming from your elbow, then the headbutting starts. He's kind of a brat. Even Bruno leaves him alone, he's already too big to be practical prey.
I don't have anything smart or witty to say about Mother's Day, only that I admire my mother's ability to reinvent her life at will. New homes, new jobs, new people. An army brat, a party girl history major jetting around Europe, a hippie midwife spiritualist, a church going nurse, and now the retired Farm Mother who lovingly calls her livestock assholes as she puts them to bed. She just decided she was going to make this place exist, and then she did, that's brave and strong. I wish it was closer, but it's turning out beautiful. Man, I can't wait for baby goats.