Here We Goat Again

My best friend, Rowan, is excellent at finding adventures to take me on during long road trips. I generally dislike driving and being in the car, but with her company, the promise of fun stops along the way, and the lure of the end destination, the driving is manageable. (Side note: It also helps that I never actually drive. I am lucky in that Rowan often does all the driving for us, even the long stretches, thank you Rowan!)

This past weekend was one such instance where we were preparing for the long drive from our home in Washington, DC to the condo in Lake Placid for our legendary annual ski/snowboard trip. When I heard that Rowan had booked us a yurt on a self-sustaining goat farm en route I was cautiously optimistic…. she’s never led me astray so far. She has, however, led me to snorkeling in freezing water in between two active tectonic plates in Iceland and hand-feeding a herd of Icelandic horses. Both experiences I wish I could say were indescribable, but I actually describe them quite in length in this blog post.

The entire yurt-on-a-goat-farm experience was simultaneously liberating and grounding in a wholesome way. It was everything I didn’t know I needed. You, reader, are skeptical of this assertion. Alas, the only solution is to stay there yourself; undoubtedly you will arrive at the same conclusion as I.

Here is the Airbnb listing.

I could not recommend it highly enough.

We were greeted upon arrival by a cast of characters (human and not) that set an immediate sense of compatibility between us and our hosts. An affectionate sheep named Lamb-y who thinks it is a lapdog greeted us at the front gate along with a miniature Shetland horse named Perry, several goats who are huge people-fans, a small gaggle of geese who are decidedly not people-fans, and Rick, co-owner of the farm and the person with whom we had been corresponding about our stay. Rick explained that his life partner and the other co-owner, Ed, usually greeted guests, but he was currently occupied with one of their female goats, who was in labor. Rick and Ed had both left the 9-5 “rat race” ten years ago to follow their dreams of owning a self-sustaining, off-the-grid, goat farm and never looked back. We were definitely in the right place.

The yurt itself was very much off-the-grid, but Rick and Ed had made it into a space that was tasteful, comfortable, and nourishing. What it lacked in wifi and cable it made up for with a wood burning stove and composting outhouse. You heard that right. I genuinely enjoyed the experience of pooping outside in what was essentially a wood shed and a hole. Yes, the pooping experience was frigid. It was not, however, smelly, dirty, or unpleasant. The cedar chips at the bottom aid in decomposition and the result is actually a wood-y, farm-y aura. 10/10.

Being in the yurt was so invigorating that after about an hour we both became overwhelmed with a sense of whimsy that led to an unapologetic, hair flipping, body rolling, crazy, weird dance party. It felt awesome. We read books (you know I’m reading Tom Robbins, of course) and tended the fire and chatted. We perused a home-made, leather-bound notebook that served as the guest book and realized what a place of romance and refuge and reconnection Ed and Rick provided people with this yurt. There have been anniversaries, mother-daughter trips, family trips, singles trips – two separate couples got engaged inside of this yurt! We slept exceptionally well. The steady drizzle throughout the day had seemed drab, but as the night wore on the pattering of water on canvas lulled us to sleep while the warmth from the fire licked our toes.

The next morning, we woke to a real wicker picnic basket sitting outside the front porch with warm breakfast inside. Biscuits with butter and honey, fresh fruit, yogurt, goats milk that we ate in bed. We used the fire to heat a kettle to get warm water to wash our face and brush our teeth (which we did in a washbasin using goats soap produced on the farm).

After relaxing for a minute, we were just about to open the door to start the day when Ed knocked on our door with two baby goats that were born in the past 48 hours. Very. Very. Very. Cute.

After cuddling and playing with the 11 goats in the birthing tent that were less than a week old, we hesitantly packed our things and were putting them in the car when Ed came up to us with another surprise. One of his female goats was in labor at that very moment. He didn’t need to ask us if we wanted to help, our ear-to-ear smiles said enough. The goat, named Daisy, was actually in the very early stages of labor, just after the water has broken. We saw her having contractions, but she wasn’t exhibiting normal behavior for a goat about to give birth. Ed told us that expecting mothers usually find somewhere secluded and build a “nest” where the babies won’t be vulnerable. Daisy was not concerned with nests. She was feeding with the other animals, and actually didn’t stop eating for the first several hours of labor (imagine if a pregnant woman in labor asked for a cheeseburger halfway through?). Ed was worried that the baby’s head was too big for Daisys hips because of a past injury, so he took her to a secluded spot and we watched Daisy birth a baby boy with Eds help. Ed let Rowan and I name the baby and we chose Sitka, after the Alaskan town where Ed lived the majority of his life.

After seeing baby Sitka’s first breath and lots of reassurance from Ed that he was healthy, we left the farm for Lake Placid, soft smiles on pensive faces, contemplating the beauty of life and kindness and connection.