Oh. crap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

I love these damn things.

woe to me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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.