Insomnia is a funny thing in late pregnancy. At a time when I should be sleeping more, I end up sleeping less. I am not the only one awake. I've been hearing an owl at this time in the early morning (around 4:30 am). Today, there are two. The closer one hoots in a deeper register, this is not the first time I've heard it. But today, someone answers, further away, with a higher pitched hoot. The sound they make is somewhat mystical, from their anonymous perch in the night.
The quiet of the early morning is a great time to think, and once again my mind drifts to goats. I dream of goats at night, I read about them during the day. I sit in what might become the goat pasture, and contemplate what needs to be done. Build a shelter, put up a fence, buy hay. When walking in the fields and bushes, I see different plants and twigs and think "The goats would like that." It's a strange obsession for an 8 year vegan veteran, and a bizarre thing for a woman expecting a baby to be thinking about.
But my body is asking for dairy. Not just any dairy. Unpasteurized, non-homogenized, grass fed, organic dairy. Such a thing hardly exists in Alberta. What my body is asking for is illegal, and no farmer within two hours of my location is willing to provide me with such a substance for fear that their farm be shut down. Without getting into the politics of the industry, or the potential health risks of drinking commercialized dairy, I'll just say that the only way I've found for me to have such a food is to provide it for myself. And so, my mind drifts to goats.
I am considering the purchase of two goats from a local family on a small farm. Capella is a four year old doe who is currently being bred. She will kid (have goat babies) in five months and start giving milk. Her companion is Star, a four year old weather (a neutered male). He has some experience pulling a cart, and I'm thinking of getting him to help me with some of the gardening next year. They are both Toggenburgs, a Swiss dairy breed. They'll be ready in two weeks if I want them.
Most of the people around me have implied that this idea is crazy. My mom expressed concern that I will have too much on my plate. Between settling into my new place, getting my kids started in a new school, and having a baby, she feels I will be maxed out.
Rather than seeing farming as extra unnecessary work, I see it as a primal survival technique. Living off the land, as humans did for centuries, puts us in touch with nature and with history. I'm sure I wouldn't be the first woman with three kids to milk a goat every day to feed herself or her family.
But maybe I'm romanticizing the idea too much in my head. I do tend to drift more towards idealism than realism. In my defense, I am used to working 12 hour days on top of getting kids to school, helping with homework, doing laundry, and putting dinner on the table. Now all I have to do is take care of my family and build a life for myself in the country. I'm just trying to figure out what that life should entail. Is this a step in the right direction? Am I ready to take it?
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
The Big Move
I think last night my baby moved down a bit. Not all the way down, as in when the baby's head engages in the pelvis before labor, but down enough for me to wake up feeling different. Suddenly when I sit down, I feel my big belly on my legs. It's a good thing, really, because this kid has been kicking me in the ribs a lot lately. There was a lot of movement and mild uterine contractions yesterday evening, so now I know why. Besides that, it was just one of those little reminders that one of these days will be the big one, the one where baby moves down and out. Six weeks to go, more or less, and time is flying by.
But oddly enough, I don't think about labor a whole lot. My life and my thoughts have been very occupied with other things. The sun is just coming up, and as it gets lighter outside, the rooster next door starts his morning routine. Next I'll be hearing the baby horse on the other side, trying to wake up her mom and everybody else with her stomping. And I sit in between, in the one room loft apartment of a barn, with my husband in our big bed to my left, and my kids in the bunk bed to my right. Downstairs I have the basic amenities, a small kitchen, a bathroom, a place for my armchair, which my family recently admitted is comfy despite its ugliness. The scenery is a contrast to my big house in the suburbs, where I was until two months ago, when I started this move, and now when I go into the city, it feels so cramped, so many strangers everywhere, so busy.
Yesterday the kids turned around to find a deer in the driveway, standing right behind them. Earlier this week my daughter spent all afternoon picking wild raspberries, only to come back with none, because I guess she ate them all on her walk home. Who can blame her? Across the road a ways, two rivers meet. One is fast and cold, the other slow, warmer and deeper. We often go swimming there in the heat of the afternoon, and I find that in the river, all the tension in my body is washed downstream, and I emerge feeling like a new person, relaxed and energized.
But the mornings are getting colder, and in the foothills, frost is already appearing. Soon summer will be over, and river swims will have to wait until next year. As I set up my little farm and settle into life here, my thoughts drift to the near future. My fall preparations, bring my tomatoes inside to ripen, set up garden beds for next year, plant garlic. Then soon after, set up my birthing pool near the fireplace downstairs, have a baby, breast feed. Everything revolves around the passing of time. A season is changing in my life, which brings me to a new place, and whatever else I will learn while I am here, time will tell.
But oddly enough, I don't think about labor a whole lot. My life and my thoughts have been very occupied with other things. The sun is just coming up, and as it gets lighter outside, the rooster next door starts his morning routine. Next I'll be hearing the baby horse on the other side, trying to wake up her mom and everybody else with her stomping. And I sit in between, in the one room loft apartment of a barn, with my husband in our big bed to my left, and my kids in the bunk bed to my right. Downstairs I have the basic amenities, a small kitchen, a bathroom, a place for my armchair, which my family recently admitted is comfy despite its ugliness. The scenery is a contrast to my big house in the suburbs, where I was until two months ago, when I started this move, and now when I go into the city, it feels so cramped, so many strangers everywhere, so busy.
Yesterday the kids turned around to find a deer in the driveway, standing right behind them. Earlier this week my daughter spent all afternoon picking wild raspberries, only to come back with none, because I guess she ate them all on her walk home. Who can blame her? Across the road a ways, two rivers meet. One is fast and cold, the other slow, warmer and deeper. We often go swimming there in the heat of the afternoon, and I find that in the river, all the tension in my body is washed downstream, and I emerge feeling like a new person, relaxed and energized.
But the mornings are getting colder, and in the foothills, frost is already appearing. Soon summer will be over, and river swims will have to wait until next year. As I set up my little farm and settle into life here, my thoughts drift to the near future. My fall preparations, bring my tomatoes inside to ripen, set up garden beds for next year, plant garlic. Then soon after, set up my birthing pool near the fireplace downstairs, have a baby, breast feed. Everything revolves around the passing of time. A season is changing in my life, which brings me to a new place, and whatever else I will learn while I am here, time will tell.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)