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Archive for May 4th, 2008

Trip to a Goat Farm

May
4

I want some of this.





Miniature goats. Nigerian dwarf dairy goats. They are so adorable! Yesterday, we took a trip to Destiny Groves Farm, an amazingly gorgeous place surprisingly nearby–just a few country roads away–to visit the expecting mamas and learn more about them so we can prepare for our babies. (They like animal crackers. Princess said, “We like the same snacks!” There you go. We must have them.)

They’re all pregnant. Due within a month. Babies ready to go home with me in July. Princess loved them, too. And their great big gorgeous Great Pyrenees dog named Admiral.





I think I have a thing for Admiral myself.





I wanted to steal him, but I couldn’t fit him in my pocket.

Aside from Admiral and the goats, the entire farm was so much fun to tour. It’s truly one of the cutest farms I’ve ever seen. They have a beautiful barn that is part of the Quilt Barn Trail in West Virginia. (Part of a national movement displaying quilt squares on rustic barns.)





And a veritable chicken hotel of a hen house.





Princess couldn’t stop playing with the lever that lifts the little door that lets the hens out from the chicken house into their little yard.





I spent quite some time convincing this spectacular rooster to let me take his picture. And I went home and looked at my chicks and wondered how it was possible that they could ever end up that big.





Then we visited the three billy goats gruff. I told them if they lined up like this for me, I’d bring the girls over. Heh.





The boys have to be kept separated from the girls. Our first thought was to get a breeding pair, a boy and a girl, but after learning we’d have to keep them separated, we’re leaning toward two females so they can be kept together. We’ll arrange for a boyfriend to visit. And next year, we’ll be having our own babies on our farm!

Besides, I just like the girls better. Aren’t they pretty?





I’ll take two.

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Ridge View on a Country Road

May
4

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The Slanted Little House

"It was a cold wintry day when I brought my children to live in rural West Virginia. The farmhouse was one hundred years old, there was already snow on the ground, and the heat was sparse-—as was the insulation. The floors weren’t even, either. My then-twelve-year-old son walked in the door and said, “You’ve brought us to this slanted little house to die." Keep reading our story....



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