I watch the world by me pass...

Today reminded me of why we are here. I was blessed to sit down with my 7 and 9 year old girls this morning and participate in the fine art of mud pie making. Of course, I also introduced them to the age-old Mexican art of making mud tacos that possibly only my siblings and cousins could truly appreciate.

I am struck by the fact that my oldest daughter is 9 and this is the first time I've found the time to make mud tacos with her. She's made mud pies on many occasions in her life, but why did it take me this long to sit down and share this little bit of my history, my childhood with them? When we were praying tonight, my youngest daughter thanked God that I played in the mud with them today. This was supposed to be the reason that we moved here in the first place - to breathe, to stop with the constant rat race and to raise our children well. To live simpler, to grow real food, to have time to dig in the dirt and play in the mud. Too often we struggle with occupying our children so that we can "get something done" rather than engaging with them.

This whirlwind of life moves so incredibly fast sometimes and I am slapped in the face by occasions of simplicity such as this. I am reminded to slow down, to take a breath and to savor these moments in life. We moved here to try to work together with our best friends toward a simpler life. It is so easy to get swept up and carried away in the tide of our society; the values, the desires, the wants, the "needs" of everyone around us. It's easy to let those desires become our own and to forget the reason that we decided to partake of this crazy project in the first place. I am reminded that I need to put society's desires on the back burner and live my life in ways I won't regret. When I am 80, I don't think I will look back and regret that I didn't have that great car when I was 30 but I do fear that I will regret the things I did not do with the people I love. I think I will regret time I didn't spend with my parents, places I did not see, and mud pies I did not make. I think I might regret not savoring the sunrises with my spouse while milking the goat and the sounds of the chickens in the morning. The whirlwind is so easy to get swept up in and once you are in it everything around you becomes a blur. Today was a stark reminder that I don't want my life to be a blur of everything I am missing on the periphery of this beautiful ride.

Cheese-Making!

Join us for Radio's first ever cheese making class! Saturday, April 6, 3-5pm. Limited spots available. Email radioacresfarm@gmail.com to save yours.

"Udder"ly Ridiculous

People Often ask, "What's it like living on a farm?" First, I correct them that we are a small URBAN farm. There is no big red barn or tractor anywhere.  But then I answer, "living on a farm opens you to a myriad of experiences you would otherwise never even knew were possible."

For example, I have learned how to massage a turkeys swollen crop to help digest its food and keep it from fermenting.  This is a tricky process for one person and can result in putrid smelling turkey burps and vomit.

I have learned 10 different ways to kill a chicken, skin a rabbit, dispose of a dead gopher, and bury a goat.  I've kept chickens in large tupperware bins in my basement and had ducklings swim in my bathtub.

But this evenings task tops the list of absolutely weirdest farm tasks:  Shaving our dairy goats udders.   To those of you wondering, Yes, I did use my own razor; and those Mach 3 blades didn't work so well either.

As I sat lathering Beverly's teets up with my Burt's Beeswax shave cream, I furtively glanced around to make sure our neighbors weren't peering through their window curtains at me.  As I jogged back into the house to grab some scissors I contemplated the fact when most people drink milk, they probably never think about how udders are inherently hairy and that hair needs to get shaved off, or strained out before it makes it to your glass.

I was finally prompted to undertake this task because I was tired of fishing out goat hairs from my cereal bowl.  Make no mistake, we do strain our milk through some pretty spiffy filters before it goes in the fridge, but every once and a while one still gets through.

So...Beverly is a "brand new" goat and ready for some hair-free milking, and I am left with a ruined razor and a slightly abashed feeling I can't quite shake.