Oh Very Young

It takes three things to make springtime. First it takes the frogs in the pond singing. That started two nights ago. It’s funny how they do it: it isn’t one and then another and then after a few days a whole jamboree. Instead it is none, not a peep, and then the next night a hundred frogs singing 'denim blue fading up to the sky.'*

Actually I prefer it the way they do it, I guess they know what is best.

Then it takes flower heads. Our last (we hope) snow is gone and all around we can see little furled flower heads poking up out of the dirt.

Third, and most important, it takes baby goats.

There are four very fat ladies in the barn, and the barometer is dropping. That means one thing, and only one thing.

The candidates: Lucy Goosy is Penrose’s daughter, she will be a first freshener, and from the expression she has been wearing the last few days, she is going to be very surprised at what happens next. Then there is Wronny, fabulous last place Wronny who has never had a buck kid and who holds the world land speed record for delivery. Really, she should get a job at FedEx.

Then there is Winnie, who made the farmer mad by coming back into heat after she was bred so that now we don’t know if she is going to kid tomorrow or in three weeks. Then there is old faithful Peaches the mini-mancha, big as a house and just as mobile.

“But wait,” says the farmer, looking at the chart, “wasn’t there someone else bred in October?” There is a smudge on the chart, as usual, probably caused by a free-range goat under Wendell’s supervision.

The farmer gets out some sat-on scratched-up reading glasses and peers in dismay at the chart, muttering darkly. The farmer looks around at the fat ladies. “Where is Hannah Belle?” the farmer asks no one in particular.

Stay tuned….


*that's what it sounds like they are singing, anyway.