Dec 6
A landscape of silver, copper and diamonds this morning, like the fairytale of the Dancing Princesses…The beeches in the hedge have hung onto their leaves, rust and ochre-colored, and a thick layer of frost has bleached and rimed all the twigs and glass and low-slung hills, like a coating of glass reflecting back a pale, bright blue sky…
It all looks very lovely but the reality of a hard frost on the farm means that the outside spring tap has frozen solid and water has to be carried from the house, one bucket at a time, out to the animals. Each pen of pigs, goats and sheep needs the dirty water bucket to be thawed and emptied, to be replaced with clean warm water. And since we’re now up to ten goats, that means quite a few trips…
We have a lovely new boy goat, a billy called Wilburforce. He’s dark chocolate brown with a black stripe down his shoulders and back- very handsome and dignified. He has settled straight into his new pen, munching his hay happily and looking around with glazed pleasure at all the nanny goats which he confidently expects to be romancing before too long. We haven’t broken it to him yet, but since they’re all already in kid, he won’t be getting any action until next year around this time. Still, from the look in his eye, you can tell that he’s dreaming winter dreams…
Rich bought him home the day before I left on my business trip – he travelled five hours each way up into the wilds of Cambridge, and bought him from a National Trust farm, where a lovely lady (an American!) called Sharon has been looking after him for years. She was sad to see him go, and I can see why – he’s so sweet and well behaved. But don’t worry, Sharon, he’s well and happy, and you can come and see him anytime you like!
The inside of the barn is now absolutely packed and swelling with expectant life – we’re hoping that all seven of the nannies are in kid. We could have as many as 21 goat kids come the spring! Marmite is due to pop first, in February. She’s getting big and slow, and I find her lying down in the morning when I come into feed – very unlike her usual pushy self. It’s easier to understand what the poets always say about the growth of spring hiding inside the death of winter, when I think of the barn filled with pregnant goats, warm with living creatures and fresh straw, and shuttered against the cold frost outside…
I came home from my business trip to Copenhagen on Friday (four airports, three airplanes, two hours in the car) just as our good friends Chris and Justine arrived at the farm with their three children. Our oldest girl, Ceris, had agreed to babysit the kids while we adults all went out to the Christmas harps work party. The noise and preparations as we all got dressed were nearly as much fun as the party. And I must say that we all became fabulously glamorous in no time flat! Then Ceris’ boyfriend George acted as our taxi, and ferried us all to the party. And came and got us later, when we were all slightly the worse for wear. Bless him! We woke up with some difficulty the next morning and Joli, Ceris, Justine and I formed a little cottage industry production line at the kitchen table, wrapping and packaging 44 bars of my homemade goat’s milk soap as we laughed and talked over the evening before. Each bar gets tied with raffia, affixed with a label explaining that it’s all natural, and has a star anise hot-glued to the bow. Looks lovely, but it’s a bit fiddly, so it was wonderful to have all the extra hands. The smells of mint, lemongrass and lavender wafting through the room, and the Alpha purred and grumbled, making the kitchen blissfully warm…
Then it was off to the Christmas fair at Pontgarreg, where we set the soap up on a table and waited with baited breath to see if anyone would buy it. Two stores in the area are stocking my soap, but this was the first time I really had a chance to see people handling and smelling and deciding whether to buy, and I was eager to see the results. Joli and Ceris came with me, to take turns minding the stall.
For the first 45 minutes we sat miserably quiet, and didn’t sell a single bar, while people all around us were selling things like crazy. It was horrible – like being a wallflower at a dance, when everyone else is being asked. I was about to give up and go home, to spare myself further humiliation.
But then someone bought one bar, and then another, and by the end of the day we had sold 31 bars – nearly three-quarters of our stock! It was flying off the table. People seemed to love the soap, and put in requests for new flavors, and asked where they could buy more. I was terribly pleased and relieved, and full of plans to move ahead…