The young spring breeze freshened my hair and I glanced out the window in time to see a red-winged blackbird playing in the open stand of trees outside our "renovated" goat house. Refocusing on my task - milking - I enjoyed a moment of peace. After years of dreaming, planning, and blind leaps, I am finally stepping into the life I have longed for.
We've had the goats for two full days now, and thankfully they have gone off a lot better than I expected. Although it was with nervous anticipation (what if they don't like me??) that I began my milking experience, it ended up being easier than I thought as such things usually do. I am enjoying a new skill and Emma is learning about where milk comes from.
I've read that raw milk is a treat, but I still had my doubts until my sometimes difficult-to-please husband had his first sip. (Will he like it, or did we just waste $400 on an expensive soap-making project?) In classic milk-mustache amazement, he pronounced it better; after I tried it, I had to agree. I never knew milk had flavor. It's like a melted milkshake, smooth and creamy, that makes the plastic carton stuff look like watery nothingness.
Maybe I'll start drinking milk.