Hi Idyll

Oh. crap.

2009-02-09T14:21:00.000-08:00

Someone asked me how old I am, yesterday. I said, "I'm twentyffff - twenty-five. I almost said 'twenty-four'!" I added, laughing.

Then quite suddenly - startling myself as much as him, I think - I shouted "I'm twenty-six!"

Oh dear. My life stopped at twenty-four, apparently.

my sweet

2009-02-03T13:08:00.000-08:00

This is Coriander. One of my favorites (Shhh. Don't tell the others). When I go into the pasture to pick oranges (of which I probably eat seventeen a day - poor, poor teeth) she follows me around prodding at me with her nose. As soon as I pick an orange and place it in my bucket she sticks her head in the bucket, removes the orange, and drops it on the ground. Then she gives me a look of deep consternation as if to say, 'What are you playing at? I can't eat that.' This goes on for some time. Orange into the bucket. Orange out of the bucket. Consternation. Orange into the bucket. Orange out of the bucket. Consternation.

When I have done, and all of my dewy oranges are now covered in mud, I replace them into the bucket and, on my way out of the field, stop at a macadamia nut tree to pull a branch to within Coriander's reach. She'll chew on it for as long as I stand there holding it for her, and always looks a little shocked when I let go.

She is such a princess.

She is so cute.

Here she is, having just gotten her vaccines, enjoying a special treat.

Cutest. Thing. Ever.

my love

2009-01-29T17:53:00.000-08:00

I love him.

sorry guys. I really will figure out how to take sharper video.

...maybe I'll actually crack that instruction-manual-thingy.

get your goat

2009-01-25T14:42:00.000-08:00

Cliches as amended by the girls*:

[*note: they have plain terrible mouths. I apologize. I will severely reprimand them for making all you sailors blush.]

1) "Is that a peanut in your pocket or am I just happy to see you?"

2) "The grass is always greener on the other side of the electric fence goddamnyou."

3) "She has gone on to better pastures. That lucky little - "

4) "Many hands make light - whoa who the hell is THAT? and that? Don't touch me. I don't know who you think you are..."

I wipe a tear from mine eye. Phew. I've been cracking up all day.

laughing?

Come on kids. They're funny.

Okay. Fine. I'll leave you to chew them over for a while...

they're certainly laughing... can't you see the hilarity abounding?

Come back soon for more frolicking good times at the Hi Island Goat Farm!

on the other

2009-01-22T21:43:00.000-08:00

hand, how can one hate a place where - in the course of a single day - one sees fourteen rainbows and two (and a half) whales?

Perhaps, when I refer to Hawaii, I should temper my tongue a bit.

I do not hate Hawaii.

I merely resent it.

HA! take that rainbows!

blech

2009-01-18T22:30:00.000-08:00

i hate hawaii.

i do.

i really do.

i just discovered a slug in my water glass.

the one i was drinking from.

i saw it inside the glass as i was pouring its contents into my mouth.

not nice.

don't try this

2009-01-16T23:10:00.000-08:00

at home.

the 'self-sucker.'

She is bad. BAD! Naughty naughty goat.

This goat is particularly fond of self-sucking. So much so, in fact, that when she kidded a few days ago she took advantage of the pauses between contractions to have herself some little snacks.

Slurp slurp slurp.

da da DA!

2009-01-14T23:11:00.000-08:00

On particularly fine days the goats are well nigh impossible to bring in from pasture for the evening milking. You have to haul them one by one into the barn - and once you get them there, there is no guaranteeing that that is where they will remain while you fetch in the next forty-eight.

Still all hope is not lost for this Sisyphian task.

I have discovered the perfect way to get them all indoors quickly and (relatively) painlessly. Just wander out behind them in a vain attempt at rounding them up and, while reaching for one of the girl's collars, trip over your own foot and crash to the ground all pinwheeling arms and flailing feet. You'll scare the bejeezus out of the goat you nearly fall on top of, and she - in her panicked dash for safety - will panic everyone else in turn. The ensuing rout will clear the field in a jiffy. Leaving you plenty of time to limp back to your trailer and change your pants (as they are now covered in soggy goat poo).

Fret for my integrity, friends. For I have learned that insidious lesson in which all tyrants have been schooled:

How to rule with fear.

BwaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa!

from the shower

2009-01-14T07:50:00.000-08:00

I love these damn things.

woe to me

2009-01-12T22:46:00.000-08:00

Ummm... hello? Is anybody out there? yoohoo?

Oh good. There you are.

Hmm. I know I've been gone a while, but guys? it wasn't because of you. Okay? Don't blame yourselves. I love you and all that you stand for. It's me. My problem. Okay?

I know, I know. I come back all of the sudden and expect you all to be here. Just waiting. And caring. It's too much, I know. But please understand, I needed this. I needed to go away for a spell and just really wallow in self pity. You understand?

Of course you do.

I mean, poor me. Really. Trapped in Hawaii - wearing short shorts and running out of sunblock. I had all these plans to run off to faraway paradises but noOOOooOOOoo. I just had to go and get myself stuck here. Pshaw. Seriously. The beach is forty minutes away. What kind of Hawaii is that?

Also, I'm a farmer now. I want to enjoy the 'fruits of my labor.' Well I tell you the fruits are not of my labor or anybody's. How can I enjoy those fruits when I did not labor for them? When they are, in fact, so plentiful, that the labor is in enjoying all of them?

It's not like I can enjoy the 'cheeses of my labor' now can I? That just sounds ridiculous.

And nobody told me about the mold. Everything is moldy. Everything. Including myself if I stand still long enough.

To top it off the people are all really nice and laid-back. What the hell is THAT? Where is the angst? The ennui? I'll tell you. It's surfing, that's where. And drinking up sunshine on the near-distant beach. (When it should rightly be, in my opinion, slipping on icy sidewalks and grumbling into its cups in bars and cafes, not playing ukuleles. {And don't think I'm joking about that. Or exaggerating. I'm not. You show me a ukulele-free beach in Hawaii and I'll point out the fact that there is a screaming gale and it's 3:30 am.})

yak. all this sunshine is getting to me.

If you get some time, please forward pity.

There are ants in my

2008-12-15T20:32:00.000-08:00

I live in a trailer. Have I made that sufficiently clear? In Hawaii. A trailer - quite old. In Hawaii. (i.e. warm, low to ground, well-ventilated, not the most ship-shape). I have a bit of a pest problem. It's okay for the most part. The cockroaches and I have come to an understanding that if I don't see them, they don't exist. That's going well for us. The spiders are okay. They deal with the flies. Good. But the ants? They just came from nowhere - only to arrive somewhere in particular. In my pant...ies. They have invaded my underwear basket. The clean underwear basket. Not the dirty clothes basket. Or the bikinis/socks basket. Or even the fruit basket - where I have come to expect such things. Nope. They went straight for the underwear one. Theirs is a higher purpose. Apparently to make me act like a spaz.

Maybe I should start storing my underwear in the refrigerator. So far it's the only area that has managed to dodge the rampant pestilence of this place.

...brrr.

Having ants in one's panties adds a whole new color to the old phrase, don't you think? Perhaps it will see a revival.

Family Portrait

2008-12-04T15:02:00.000-08:00

Eddie was not at all obliging. But I tried.

It proved difficult to manage, with one arm, a squirming 56lb goatlet who kept trying to go after the camera in the other. Oh, Eddie.

rawsome

2008-11-29T16:38:00.000-08:00

sooooo. I kind of work a lot. Very strange hours. An hour to myself here. An half an hour there. Evenings often full up. So when I do have some time I'd much rather, say, drink tea and read ...play my violin ...ride my bicycle ...mess with Otis, pig ...sit and stare ...blog, than cook.

So here is a list of what I have eaten thus far on this day:
-peanut butter and honey on a spoon (several)
-three bananas (one with peanut butter)
-two cucumbers
-a handful of macadamia nuts with raisins
-several small cubes of feta off of the sample plate at the market
-four oranges
-a papaya (with seeds)

[note: the only items on this list from the supermarket are raisins and peanut butter.]

And tonight I plan on putting most all of those same things, as well as some broccoli, avocado, and tomatoes, on top of several different types of lettuce and calling it dinner. Living on a farm (especially one in Hawaii) is awesome.

I think I graze more than the goats do.

dip

2008-11-26T21:47:00.000-08:00

My favorite moments at the farmers' markets are when people point to the plate from which they have just sampled and ask "Is that made from goat's cheese?"

"It is goat cheese," I say. At which point they blink at me, apparently unable to grasp the subtleties of my semantics. "It is all goat cheese."

Then they point to one of the flavored chevres, "Is that dip?"

No. But you are.

give the gift of

2008-11-23T21:09:00.000-08:00

I have a special friend at the market. I do not know his name, and I do not believe he knows mine (unless, of course, my name is actually tina). But we have been special friends since my first time at the market. He is sweet. Old. A bit of a lecher - in that 'good' way. (He reminds me of all those curmudgeonly old men in Ireland with purple noses frittering away their days flirting in the pub). I do not understand a word of what he says to me, but I pretend I do, which seems to be enough. I know he is of Portuguese descent (what is known locally as a 'Portagee,' said with no inflection whatsoever). He knows I'm, um .

We get on swimmingly.

And yet, this knowing one another not at all occasionally asserts itself, interrupting the flow of our otherwise smooth relationship. For instance, when he brought me sausage. Sausage. LOTS of sausage. Portuguese Sausage. Homemade.

Maybe tina eats meat...

oh my god my gecko

2008-11-22T15:25:00.000-08:00

Oooooohhhhhhh noooooooooooooo!

My GECKO! Not Echo (the one that lives in my trailer whom I feed at the risk of inviting ever more cockroaches into my life) but Deco! (the one that lives on my deck and raids the pig-Otis scrap bowl and poohs on me when I'm doing yoga)

THIS gecko

(the one in the foreground - I don't know who that was back there) was swiped RIGHT OFF MY DECK by a bird just moments after I finished recording this. Ohhhhh, Deco.

I'm so sad.

fearsome

2008-11-19T15:01:00.000-08:00

Okay. So we all know I am a big ninny who gets a thrill out of bullying turkeys half her size. (No I'm serious. They are THAT big. Humongoloid turkeys tread here). I'm a big big weenie.

And now I have something new to dread. And when I tell you this new thing I fear you are NOT ALLOWED to pass judgment.

Trees.

Yep. Trees. And this from your bona fide tree-hugging-not-a-hippie-would-be-farmer.

I went for a bicycle ride yesterday. For about half of it, as I was cruising along a beautiful eucalyptus-lined pasture, my heart was in my mouth. I was truly terrified. More terrified, in fact, than those times when I was living in the hut in bear country and always had to go outside to pee in the middle of the night (accompanied by my trusty fire-poker). That, my friends, is terror. And so was this.

You see, it had been raining. All night, and all morning. 'Yeegads!' you say? 'Raining on trees? What horror!'

Ever heard the term "widow-maker"? Yep. That's when a tree limb suddenly comes crashing down on top of some man's head leaving his wife a, you guessed it, widow.

In my case, it would be an "orphan-maker" (my poor boy Eddie!) and a "make-family-angry-er...maker". You don't understand. I have seen many HUGE limbs come crashing down into the pastures. Especially after heavy rains. So when they loom over my head, I get a little nervous.

ih. Trees... if you hug them, you're probably okay. But when you're done? Run.

Jerky.

2008-11-17T16:20:00.000-08:00

So. Simply put the car ran over the cow's head. I SAW it. But the thing is. The cow didn't die. It jumped up and started trying to run off. Meanwhile the dude that hit it was looking at his car and was all pissed. At ME. And the COW.

I lied. I don't actually know the fate of the cow. All I know is that I saw the cow fall down and a car tire go over its head only to have the cow jump up again and gimp away with the other cows and leave me standing there with some dude who's freaking out about his fiberglass bumper. I hated that dude.

Jerk.

Cows still run from me. And turkeys, too.

The Thrill of the Hunt

2008-11-14T19:58:00.000-08:00

TARA! Terror of Terrestrials

-or-

Like a Sheep to the Slaughter - er, cow, i mean

-or-

The Scythe-Cycle

-or-

Death on Wheels

-or-

How I Killed a Cow (Without Really Trying)

I killed a cow. Okay I didn't kill the cow, but I played an instrumental role in its untimely demise. (Even more instrumental than that time in Ireland when I actually drove the cow to the butcher).

I was out riding one day. Twas a lovely day for cycling. For sightseeing. For slaughter. Or so it would seem.

Several cows had broken out of their pasture and were cruising along the road - Let me insert a quick note here: when I'm on my bicycle animals hate me. I am an unholy terror on two wheels. They'll placidly stand in front of a honking car with nary a flinch. But if I come along they all head for the hills. (Though I'll admit, I've really come to enjoy it when the turkeys flee. It's such fun to give chase - they're all a gobbling at the tops of their lungs and looking back at me sideways with their wee beady eyes. As they zig zag back and forth. And stay on the road. 'Ahhhhh!' They warble to one another. 'She's STILL behind us!')

umm... Where was I?

I'll begin again.

Several cows had broken out of their pasture and were cruising along the road unbeknownst to myself, as they were on the other side of a rather sharp bend, where the road circumnavigates a hill. I was going uphill (embarrassingly slowly). There was a car coming downhill (dangerously fastly). Keep in mind that none of us (cyclist, car, cow) was aware of the any of the others of us at this stage, due to the very specific geography of the place.

Now... how to explain without a diagram?

Cow was standing at the apex of the bend in the road, on the shoulder of the inner-lane - against the hill.

Car and Cyclist both reach the apex at same moment. Remember: Car go fast. Cyclist go (shamefully) slow.

Cow, not in road, sees car and cyclist at same time.

Cow, trapped with hill to cow's back, unhesitatingly flees from cyclist by bulleting past her, into the path of car (go fast).

Cows would rather throw themselves in front of fast cars than face me.

to be continued...

tacky

2008-11-12T15:31:00.000-08:00

Soooooo. Today I was changing fly strips in the barn. Simple work. Not enjoyable. Everything is all sticky. And dusty. And dead.

The sun was shining, though it were a blustery morn, and the wind whistled through the open barn. Stirring up straw. And dust. And fly strips.

As I climbed the ladder, oh, the third or fourth time, the wind blew a lovely whirlwind of air into the barn, caught up that fly strip I was reaching for, and oh-so-playfully wrapped it around my head.

Words cannot explain the state in which it left me. Just imagine. No really. Here: a) fly strips b) dust c) more dust d) I don't trust you guys to imagine enough dust e) flies, dead f) STICKY

Now take all the things from your little imaginary cart and put them on my face. And in my hair. Remove the fly strip (with no little difficulty) and leave everything else. There! Aren't I a picture?

I'm still having difficulty blinking.

i win

2008-11-06T22:25:00.000-08:00

If there is a "stinkiest helmet in the whole wide world" contest, I win.

My helmet smells like cheese. In that way of "things-that-are-not-supposed-to-smell-of-cheese smelling of cheese." In that "bad" way.

I am also considering entering the "moldiest bar tape in the Pacific" category. I think I would do very well.

Hawaii is not really the best place for a healthy self-image. At least for me. Wherever I go my nose is constantly encountering fetid odours. And my mind is constantly questioning "is that me?" Some may call this paranoia, but I have several factors working against me.
1) I work and live on a farm. A veritable olfactory factory. In that "bad" way.
2) Hawaii is a humid place. Everything is musty. Everything is moldy. You can use a dish rag once. ONCE. Before it stinks to high hell.
3) I don't have any deodorant.

But my hair is truly amazing. Until, that is, I put on my helmet.

hawaii is

2008-10-31T09:11:00.000-07:00

verdant.

It is very lush. Even in a "drought" one's eyes never cease swimming a sea of green.

fertile.

Everything grows. Everything. Including mold on my bicycle's bar tape.

And bountiful*.

There is fruit rotting on the side of the road. EVERY road. For instance, the other day I was invited to a young couple's home for dinner. So I grabbed a couple of cheeses out of the creamery and very carefully left them behind on my kitchen table. But no worry - this is HAWAII! On my ride over I simply scanned the roadside for fruit pulp (damn cars), espied some gravelly guacamole, and stopped to collect avocados. I found three that looked pretty smart and voila! I was again a considerate guest. (I also had a quick snack of guava, and snagged some lemons around the next bend).

...What is this "winter" of which I keep hearing? I remember it, as if a dream.

*I'm sorry if this word inspires in you visions of a sprawling suburban backwater. My intentions were to evoke "plenty" and "springtime" not "minivans" and "strip-malls."

Here's Eddie!

2008-10-23T15:42:00.000-07:00

Okay guys. I really should be banned from making videos. My narration skills are atrocious. I laugh at the most inappropriate times. Like after the word 'emasculation'. I breath heavily and I eat green beans into the microphone.

But at least it's Eddie! Enjoy!

'Tis true. Eddie is no longer fully male. He is a castrati. A eunuch. A neuter. A pansy. Then again. He's always been a pansy. - But he's been my pansy. 'Been' being the operative word. For the future of Eddie is not certain. (So Heather and Dick claim. I maintain "Eddie? Who is Eddie? Um. Those bleats coming from my trailer are the wind").

Which is why we whacked his balls. Excuse me. His avocados (as Dick insists I call them. I dunno. Must be a Hawaii thing).

...and those rather large craters you see on his head? That's where we burned his horns. Yes, we have heaped insult upon injury. And all of this so that he might live a long life as an obliging pet, rather than a short one as a curry.

ta DA!

2008-10-22T18:50:00.000-07:00

...em, sorry. guys. I have been a busy little bunny. Yep. Sure have. And really a very content one. And, you know. It's 'lack of fulfillment' that spurs my creativity. Then there's that 'routine' thing. That spoils any fun. Sooooo. Yeah. I really have very little to tell you. Not much has happened - save the charming antics of the goats, their babies, and their farmers. (Like when were artificially inseminating a goat and Dick answered his cellphone and Heather yelled: "Get off your phone! We're having sex.")

But, yeah. No news.

Oh. Except for that cow I killed.

But more on that later. In the meantime, here are some goats:

I promise I'll get you some Eddie soon. SOON. I promise.

And yes. The girls did knock me over.

hey pig piggy pig pig pig

2008-10-14T11:33:00.000-07:00

Way over yonder
piggies do wander
eating their curds and their whey.
And so they do plunder
all slurping like thunder
the leavings of each dairy day.

...if you listen carefully you can hear Dick say to me: "You see? One of those males has a scrotal hernia."

peanut

2008-10-09T12:55:00.000-07:00

If you give a goat a peanut, she'll probably ask for another one.

And another one.

And another one.

And another one.

And she'll follow you around, asking for peanuts and chewing on the back of your shirt - assuming, it would seem, you to be made of them.

And this behavior will continue for time immemorial.

Or at least a week.

And counting.

yick

2008-10-05T08:33:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, when I wake up in the night, I pretend I can't hear the little rustlings and shushes coming from my kitchen (which is my bedroom, which is my house). Because I don't want to think about all those HUMONGOUS cockroaches shuffling across my countertop, (and probably into my fruit bowl, and probably over my clean dishes, and probably inside my silverware drawer, but NOT on my toothbrush. I'll tie the damn thing from a string in the middle of my trailer if I have to).

The other night I awoke to a clacking sound, and got to chase a rat off of my porch. It was trying to capitalize on my macadamia nut forages.

A rat. Read it backwards and it spells "tar A."

i hate babies.

2008-10-01T13:29:00.000-07:00

I know I shouldn't. That it is against common decency. But I do. I hate them. I like mine. My baby. But I hate them. And you would, too. I'll explain.

Do any of you recall the opening sequence of the second "Jurassic Park"? Little girl, playing alone on beautiful beach. Suddenly emerges a little, harmless-looking dinosaur. She thinks it's cute; it - and all of its contemporaries - think she is lunch. And the horrific mauling begins.

Do you understand my metaphor?

Okay. How about this one: Piranhas. Got it? Good.

I mean, I change my clothes to feed the babies. I have to wear pants, a long-sleeved shirt, closed-toe shoes, and I should really consider gloves.

We feed them with a bucket (if you want design specificities, ask me later) in their pens. As I unlatch the gates one or another of them usually manages to get a good nip out of my knuckle. Upon opening the gate I crouch low, sweep my leg forward and out to knock the babies backwards and (hopefully) off their feet. Even so, no sooner am I in than I am surrounded and, holding a sloshing bucket over my head, am forced to wade through six baby goats suddenly transmuted into the hordes of hell. I plow through them. Little goat bodies fly to the left then right, only to throw themselves immediately back into the fray. It is not gentle. There is blood shed on both sides. I am not proud. Each time there is a rout. But they are never defeated.

Because I have to do it five times. Three times a day.

But I sure do love Eddie.

the other barley drink

2008-09-28T17:28:00.000-07:00

hmm. I can't believe it. I spent how many years working in an amazing coffee house? And now look at me. All I want is an instant barley beverage that looks like this:

I found it in my trailer. I wonder how long it's been here. Will someone please remind me to check the expiration date please?

hi & lo

2008-09-26T14:45:00.000-07:00

I went to Hilo the other day, on my day off. I put my bicycle on the bus and headed to the big city. (Which bike rack rubbed the sides of my tires so bald I have since had a total tire blow-out and am mildly depressed). In town I bumbled, puttered, appreciated, and recoiled.

'Hmm?' you say.

From the abomination which I shall refer to as the "middle-aged-tourist-fat-man...shirt?"

Just because you are on vacation, it is Hawaii, it is hot, and you are a man, does not mean you are entitled to loll about, on the sidewalk, eating ice cream, with your shirt off. No. Not off - that would be somehow more acceptable. But rolled up over your ponderous paunch.

And it was not one man. Not two. But five. Apparently all deriving some sort of ill-advised strength in numbers.

And they were with their wives. And not a wife looked around at the rest of us pinned to our cafe chairs in abject horror and quietly motioned to her respective husband to 'roll down your shirt.' (um...note: I do not subscribe to traditional gender roles - no no nope - but, in defense of myself, they seemed to).

And they were sunburned. Which transformed the merely obscene, into the macabre.

Ready Eddie?

2008-09-24T23:28:00.000-07:00

This is Eddie. He's my baby. I happened upon his mama birthing him in a field ten days before she was supposed to. He was such a wee little thing, all limp and blue. I stuck my fingers in his mouth and pulled out strings of mucous and whipped off my shirt (of all the times to be wearing an undershirt!) to clean him up and chafe some life into his little body. All the time I was babbling to myself. And his mama was yelling. And we were all covered in dirt and blood and goo. And I ran with him to the barn a'hollering "DickDickHeatherbabyBABY!!"

Poor boy couldn't see for the first three days and couldn't walk for six - but now look at him! Right as rain.

I love my Eddie.

heyday

2008-09-22T23:37:00.000-07:00

Some things I find in my hairbrush at the end of the day:
-hay
-bugs (dead)
-bugs (alive)

Some things I find in my shirt at the end of the day:
-hay

Some things I find on my shirt at the end of the day:
-hay
-pooh

Some things I find on the shirt I change into halfway through the day at the end of the day:
-cheese
-whey

Some things I find on my face at the end of the day:
-toothpaste (because there are no mirrors anywhere. And apparently nobody likes me).

Gecko Raid

2008-09-20T23:46:00.000-07:00

This is the gecko that does not live in my trailer, but in the external vent. Here he is shown on a raid. He is after the bowl of fruit peels set aside for Otis - El Chancho Fantastico! I apologize for the poor quality of the focus. Also the shakiness of my hands. The film is much longer than is interesting. And is not terribly exciting. Enjoy!

Look closely. You'll see his wee beady eyes from the get-go.

...what should we call him?

How I Picked an Avocado

2008-09-20T00:11:00.001-07:00

a short "how to not."

What you will need:
-an almost idolatrous fondness for avocados
-little to no perception of actual distance
-help

Let's get started!

First, I had it presciently revealed to me that the article I had mistaken as the cast-off Halloween prop for a feral lacrosse* player was actually a fruit picker.

Then, I happened upon the avocado tree. Hallelujah!

mmm...Avocados. I knew they were not ready. I was told as much. 'But what's to stop me,' I plotted, 'from picking one and eating it anyway?'

I stalked my prey and found a likely candidate. An avocado, darker than the rest, dangling just above my head. I went for the picker. But I'm no fool. I recognized I wouldn't be able to reach the fruit just from the ground. So I grabbed a chair as well.

Hmm. Not quite.

So I grabbed a step ladder.

Hmm. Just a little further.

So I grabbed a ladder ladder.

shit.

Flash forward five minutes. The picker has malfunctioned. It has not picked anything, only dangled from it. Feebly. I had managed to (heaven knows how) lunge from the "this is not a step" step, javelin the picker over the fruit - and let go. And there it was. And there (short of my leaping off the ladder to grab hold of the picker and careen with it to the ground) it seemed likely to remain.

Until Charlie came and got it down for me - and the avocado as well.

Bless that Charlie.

*for which word I wikipediaed "sport" and perused a list of leagues. The google search for "sport with hand-net to catch ball" had yielded no fruit.

man cheese

2008-09-17T20:02:00.000-07:00

Parental Advisory:
Explicit Content

soooooo. We have a cheese. It is a havarti cheese. It is a new cheese, developed by a guest Virigian cheese-maker. She, like myself, is new to the island and its nuances. Not to mention language. But wishing to add a local flavor to the cheese she called it "Omo Omo Kea Cheese."

Now, "omo omo kea," directly translated, means "white loaf"--or something to that effect. Appropriate enough for a big, white, rectilinear cheese. But there's this funny thing about languages. That is, sometimes they don't say what they mean. A concept which is known, in some circles, as an idiom. An idiom occurs when a commonly used group of words has an established signification not deducible from the sum of its parts; i.e. "see the light."

With the aid of an English-Hawaiian dictionary the signification of "omo omo kea" appears relatively straightforward. And yet, with the aid of the native Hawaiian woman at the veterinary office, the signification of "omo omo kea" is actually "man ejaculating openly."

Or something to that effect.

Gather round everyone please! Let us have some man cheese.

bunnies

2008-09-16T10:53:00.000-07:00

I could feed them. All of them.

This is what happens on a slow day at the market. When everyone has a stronger force of will than me. "Take this." They say. Me: "Oh! Gee, thank you! but I already got..." as they shove bushels of radishes into my arms. And stash lettuce beside the cheese cooler. And hide papayas behind the van. I even got (and by "got" I mean "was forced to accept") spam musubi! SPAM! Spaaaaaaammmmmm. Spam-sushi. Like this:

...should I eat it?

Why I am a ninny.

2008-09-14T23:44:00.000-07:00

Today I was in the cheese room, wearing a smock and a hair net (I like the smock. It is just long enough that if I wear it over my shorts, it looks like I'm not wearing any pants) and scooping curd into cheese cloth to drain for the next batch of chevre. Simple work. Solitary. One's mind tends to meander. This is where mine ended up:

While cleaning vat. Gee. I could fit inside this thing. Comfortably. I could make a nest. Then--and these are my actual thoughts, guys, with some dead space in between--If zombies came, I would hide here. Hmm. Fair enough. Next I wondered how effective a hidey-hole the cheese vat would prove if tested by those not undead, and I scrolled feebly through the catalogue of villains from which one hides. Like if the gazpacho came, I said to myself.

Keep in mind that this was all going on in my head. There was no one in the room. I wasn't talking. No pressure to impress.

Not 'gestapo', I said to myself but, 'gazpacho'.

Watch out for that chilled tomato-based soup, kids. If you need a place to hide...

How to not take a photo of a gecko

2008-09-12T14:57:00.001-07:00

Like this:

Tara, HDYEUH girl

2008-09-12T14:10:00.000-07:00

I kind of like being the "How Did You End Up Here?" (emphasis usually on the 'here' and occasionally the 'you') girl. Though my replies are not terribly inspired: "Umm. I dunno. The internet?" Or: "Umm. I like goats," the questioner never listens to them anyway. They either look hard at the breasts tattooed on my arm* and buy some cheese, or they look hard at the breasts tattooed on my arm** and do not buy some cheese.

A boy tried to hit on me the other day. He said he was "quite taken with me." OOOooooOOOooh. I told him I work on a goat farm. He replied: "I love goats!"

I was not impressed.

Reminiscence: When I Was Impressed, by tara louise.
When the gecko that lives in my trailer walked across the key pad of my laptop, and managed to spell: "pih." Apparently he was not impressed.

*for those of you who do not know me very well, the 'breasts' are not out of context. The tattoo is not just breasts on my arm. They are part of a larger tattoo. Yes, it is of a woman. Yes, she is naked. No, she is not me.

**these are the same breasts.

When to not ride 78.4 miles

2008-09-10T17:45:00.000-07:00

When you think you're only going to ride 40. I tell you, the difference between 40 miles and 78.4 is truly astonishing. When you're on your bike. With your bikini on under your bike shorts. You have five bananas. And all of the beaches are closed due to swarms of tiger sharks.

Such circumstances as these--particularly when paired with a certain amount of heedless spontaneity--render a 40 mile ride a long one indeed.

Postscript Regarding Heedless Spontaneity in Hawaii:
Always. Always always always look at a map. LOOK, don't glance. Don't think "Oh, there's that road down there that eventually links up with this road that goes back my way, sort of." NEVER think that. Unless you have more than five bananas.

note: If ever you need know, the lady at the Subway in the middle of nowhere is really nice. She'll even encourage you to put ice in your water bottles when she lets you fill them up at the fountain drink station. Kudos, you, Subway lady!

mealking

2008-09-08T23:32:00.000-07:00

Milking the goats is such a pleasure.
Let me walk you through it.

What I see:
goat butts.
(many many many of them)

Let's try that again, a little closer:

What they see:

Hey girls!
They eat and enjoy the view while I milk them and try desper- ately to catch their many poohs in a bucket so they don't scatter across the floor and get trampled into the concrete which I then have to scrub.

Eat up girls.
Make more milk.

cute, eh?
The one in the center, peering around the post is Truffles. She's not the brightest light in the barn, but she makes up for it with sheer mulishness. Hi Truffles!

Rodgers and Hammerstein

2008-09-07T00:30:00.000-07:00

Song

In my own little corner

in my own little chair

I can be whatever I want to be

on the wings of my fancy

I can fly anywhere

and the world will open its arms to me

I'm a young Norwegian princess

...or a goatmaid

What girl needs anything else?

the end.

and a banana

2008-09-05T23:47:00.000-07:00

Food Abhorrence Warning: This post contains extensive reference to bananas. May contain nuts.

I can already envision the day, sometime in the future, when I will look back fondly upon my Hawaii experience and be reminded of...bananas.

I am immersed in bananas. Bananas punctuate my existence. It's true. To illustrate, I have written a short interactive essay entitled "My Existence"--for which your only task is to insert a banana wherever you see punctuation. Any punctuation. (Apostrophes voluntary). When you reach the end, please put down your pencils and have a banana.

"My Existence"

Well it's another lovely day on the Hawaii Island Goat Dairy. The ladies have been milked; the babies fed. Although it has been a long morning, it is not yet time for that second cup of tea. First I must unload the hay from the truck, then I shall have my cuppa. And maybe a biscuit. After tea my chores for the day include: mucking the small pens, remulching the garden, planting some tomatoes, and messing with Otis. But what I'm really looking forward to is trying my first batch of goat yoghurt at noontime! (Maybe I'll make a smoothie). Either way, at 4:00 I get to "dip cheese" and thereafter the evening is mine! Maybe I'll pack dinner into my tainted Camelbak and go for a stroll... ..

cake or death?

2008-09-04T21:58:00.000-07:00

Though the sun is shining a chill runs down the spine of Nancy. The birds have ceased their song and the air is still. Suddenly an horrible monstrosity blots out the sun. The sky darkens and a shadow creeps across the field.

They try to run.

They try to hide.

But they can't escape.

They're fenced in. And the fence is electric.

* * *

It is terrible to signify 'CAKE' to 130 animals. I can't go anywhere without getting chewed on. They chew on my shirt. My shorts. My hair. My skin. And yet they are afraid of my cowboy hat. "Chupacabra!" they scream and scatter, eyes rolling in panic, whenever the hat approaches.

Not so much about farming

2008-09-03T14:17:00.000-07:00

So. I went for a longish bike ride the other day--as is my wont. I rode to the town Waimea, approximately 17 miles from the farm. Getting there is quite a climb, about 2,000 feet of vertical gain over a couple of miles. I was breathing hard. The sun was shining hard. I was drinking a lot of water. ...And I'd started the day off right. Coffee. Tea. Other water. So. I had to pee. Badly. But! luckily I knew where the public bathrooms are for the farmer's market. So I dashed over there (thinking about those triathletes who just wet themselves as they go--which wasn't making it any easier for me, let me tell you). I arrived, wheeled my bicycle right in, ran to a stall, and proceeded to relieve myself.

Ahem.

You know those "Camelbaks"? You know those long hoses they have? Those too long hoses they have? With the little nozzle at the end upon which you place your mouth to drink? You know those things?

I peed on that.

agggghhhhhhgggghhhhhhhhhhhh!

I know. I know. I mean, what do you DO after that?

I had no other vessel (having generously left my sister's water bottles in SLC.) It was Sunday. It was hot.

And it was seventeen miles back home.

...should i not have told this story?

babiesBabiesBABIES

2008-08-31T22:49:00.000-07:00

All right folks. Here it is. The CUTENESS.
Get ready to curl your toes and keen.
It's KIDS. Unleashed.

Awwww....

and another. Awwww...

and anoth--uh-oh.
she saw me.

Oh! Hello.

...It's like they want something.

...really want something.

Yes? Can I help you?

Hmm... he looks a little piqued.

Yeep!

Poor dears. They think I'm going to feed them.

But I'm not.

Instead I'm just going to keep moving about in front of them with a bottle
pretending I'm going to feed them, so they'll make cute faces for the camera.

Say "Cheese!"

...or leave. Er. sorry.

Every time I walk by they start wildly sucking on one another.
They get all soggy.

Love you all, you all. Take care of yourselves and send me your news, 'kay?!

Crap. Can't help it. One more.

awww...

But wait! It gets better!

Awwww....