A walk in the woods

Jessie holding newborn doe, Blueberry. Her mother Jane is next to them.





Friday is sunny and beautiful. There is a warm breeze that smells like spring. You can feel it in the air.

Little Carrie and I joined Steve in the cheese room to work on yesterday's cheese. We removed the six goudas from their molds and prepared the brine for the young cheese. The brine is just water and salt. All you need to do is add more salt and plop the drums of cheese into the salty solution. They bob like corks in the brine. We then rub salt onto the exposed surface of each cheese and put a lid on them & leave them for a day. We then pull out a bunch young Providence cheeses, their wash-rind cow's milk cheese based on a taleggio recipe. The cheese is 8"x8" square and about four inches thick. Each side gets rubbed down to bring out the b. linens, the bacteria that gives stinky cheese its smell. Looks good. I can't wait to try it.

Lunch time. Ginnie has prepared chicken soup. "The old rooster has a good flavor, but he's a bit tough," she announced. It is a nice chicken soup. She added greens to it, making a nice, healthy lunch. She's right, the meat was a bit tough, but very flavorful. Grandma Norma appeared in time for lunch. She's been feeling a bit under the weather all week. She's depressed because she can't get out and work in the garden, her favorite pastime. She's tired and sore from making 16 pies and huge batches of pita chips for last weekend's Dinner on the Farm. She's a great cook, and I'd love to have her show me some tips in the kitchen.

After lunch, Carrie and I join Jessie, the niece/general intern and take a couple of young bucks for a walk in the woods behind her house. I grabbed the little black buck, and Jessie took Trick, a tiny Alpine and put them on our laps in her Honda Civic. Little Carrie follows behind in her car. When you pick up a kid, they just relax and let you hold them. They snuggle into you and enjoy your company. They can really endear themselves.

We drove about a mile to Jessie and Nate's place, got out and walked behind the house to the woods. The Tates own the place and the 17 acres that surround it. There's a large stand of trees behind the house and a creek runs along the back of the property. We followed a trail with the two little guys in tow. They'd stop, cry, and struggle to figure out how to cross downed trees and twigs. It was fun. We reached the swollen creek and turned down another path. Eventually we made a large circle and wound up back at the house. We all sat on the porch, chatted, and let the kids run around, exploring the garden. Eventually they snoozed while we talked.

Carrie and I went back to the White House later in the afternoon and took a nap. Fed the kids at 6pm and then ourselves. The evening wrapped up quietly. Saturday looks like it will be low-key, too.


Photo: Jessie holding Trick, Little Carrie holding Guy Noir.

Thunderstorms and a sleepless night

Thursday, continued.

Thunderstorms moved through last night. Carrie and I were up eating dinner in the barn when it started to rain. You could hear the sheets of water hitting the metal roof and pouring into the earth all around us. It was dumping. The wind was also making a lot of noise as it blew against the high peaks of the barn. The baby goats were snug and dry under their heat lamps in the kid pens. The rain didn't faze them at all. Lucky kids.

I couldn't sleep. Even though I had a very early start and worked hard all day, I could not drop off. Carrie and I stayed up late chatting, and I guess I got too engaged and couldn't shut off my brain. Fortunately, I got to sleep in until 6:15 today!

Carrie, my roommate, is a young woman from Greensboro. She graduated from Pomona College in southern California last May. She spent time with her archaeology professor looking at Chumash Indian petroglyphs and rock carvings around Santa Barbara and Santa Cruz Island. Having a fondness for wild California and Santa Cruz Island, we had lots to talk about. She returned to Greensboro around December. She's now trying to figure out her next move and thought a stint and Goat Lady Dairy would be a great place to learn more about sustainable living. Her interests are wide and include sustainable agriculture, archaeology, and organized labor. She speaks fluent Spanish. She loves the goats and really wants to spend as much time with them as she can. We get along pretty well, and she is very polite and respectful. It doesn't seem like that long ago when I was fresh out of college and wondering the same things she's wondering. The only difference is that I've had four or five careers since then. She kinda makes me feel young and old at the same time.

So little Carrie is my roommate, and big Carrie is the other cheesemaker around here. When you have more than one person with the same name, Southerners like to clarify things with a good descriptive adjective added to the name. The other Sarah on the farm is an old yellow retriever. So there is Sarah the dog and me. But I digress…Big Carrie has been around for a couple of years, I think. She's married to Bobby, and they have a couple of girls. Each has a child from a previous marriage. They must marry young around here because Carrie and Bobby look like they're in their late 20s. Carrie used to work in "the mill" before she joined Goat Lady Dairy. Bobby's family had a farm, and he is very handy around GLD, doing lots of handyman jobs. Not quite sure how Big Carrie started at Goat Lady Dairy, but I'm sure I'll find out soon.

Ginnie explained to me that up until the 90s, it was common for the locals to say that they work "at the mill." There are a lot of old, decaying textile mills around here, and no one bothers to say WHICH mill they work at, they just work at "the mill." Also, women often say that they have "public work," a.k.a. they work away from the home. The mills have closed for the most part (textiles are now made in Asia & elsewhere) so the small towns are struggling to keep an identity.

Living in the White House

Climax, Days 2 & 3

The Lay of the Land:

Wednesday. My first day on the Tate family farm. Steve and Ginnie are off in Greensboro taking care of personal business and Lee, Steve's wife is taking care of the goats at Sammy's farm, where their herd now lives. I was given the day to sleep in and get settled. My roommate Carrie doesn't arrive until around 4:00, so having some time to myself is nice.

I live in the White House, here at Goat Lady Dairy. The White House is next to the Blue House, downhill from the Barn. Across the street is the steer pasture and tucked behind a knoll is the house where Ginnie and Grandma live.

The White House has two small bedrooms, each with a twin bed, and a living room which has also been converted into a sleeping area for visiting guests. There is a full kitchen with an avocado-green fridge and a mustard-yellow electric stove. Unfortunately, the fridge doesn't seem to work. A pain, but we have run of the commercial kitchen up in the Barn, so life is pretty good. The living area has an old sofa, coffee table, table/desk, bookcase, and a sideboard.

Steve says they spent the winter remodeling the White House. There are new double-pane windows, fresh paint, new carpeting, and vinyl floors. It smells of paint, but I also smell mold. Hmmm. This could make my allergies go nuts. Hard enough with all of the dust and straw that makes me hack. I possess city-girl sinuses that protest when exposed to fine particulate matter around a farm. Fortunately I came prepared. I have a drugstore in my bag and have been popping allergy pills. So far, so good. But the paint and mold smell has got to go. Perhaps I'll go over the bathroom with a bleach solution and kill every spore I can find.

The floor in my room has a distinct tilt to the South. As I walk to the closet, I tend to lean forward and stagger like I'm drunk. The carpeting also has a couple of ripples in it, as it doesn't lie totally flat, thus adding to the staggering drunk effect. I find it funny, but for 90 days, I can deal with it. The twin size bed takes some getting used to. It is cozy.

The view out of my window is to the West. I can see a small pond and a couple of pole barns for sheltering non-existent animals. Beyond the pond is a forest of tall, mixed hardwoods. The trees are mostly bare; dark grey silhouettes standing beneath a clear blue sky. They are strong and silent, waiting for the right moment to wake up and stretch out their leaves in the Spring. There is a small plum tree behind the Blue House that a few tentative blossoms on it, as if it is testing the air to make sure it is OK to bloom some more. The daffodils are up and about to bloom.

There are several garden plots between the White House and the Barn. Some are dormant, others are covered in violets and pansies, brussel sprouts, kale greens, and netting. I see some weeding in my future. "Everyone pulls weeds around here," according to Nate. There is a compost pile. It receives scraps that the chickens don't eat.

There is a chicken coop near the barn. Farm fresh eggs! Nothing finer.

Room and board is included in this internship. The board part means I have full run of the kitchen and the larder. Nothing is off limits and if I want something they don't have, they'll get it. Very accommodating. Ginnie prepares lunch everyday for everyone working on the farm. It usually consists of things grown on the farm, including grass-fed beef, whey-fed pigs, eggs, a variety of green veggies, and fruit when it is in season. Oh yeah, there's also a lot of cheese. The family truly believes in sustainable agriculture and living in balance on the farm.

Their diet is totally tied to their land. Sure, they go to Costco and buy bananas, grapes, spinach, oranges, etc., but the majority of the food consumed comes from the 60 acres under our feet. I must say the eggs I had for breakfast this morning were bright yellow and really, really good. Yesterday's lunch was braised slab of pork with carrots and onions and a salad. Yes, Jim. I ate pork. It didn't taste porky! It was very tender and tasty. Perhaps the whey really gives the pork a mild and milky quality. I dunno. It was good. As I have mentioned in the past, my family doesn't eat much pork, except in the form of bacon or barbecue. But since I am at their mercy, I will eat their pork if they are serving it. Today's lunch: homemade manicotti, stuffed with chevre and covered in a homemade tomato and sausage sauce (more pork.) Spinach salad. Grandma Norma made a chocolate zucchini bread. I gulped it all down.

Not sure if I'll lose any weight while I'm here, but I'm sure my diet will be very healthy.

Today started early. Steve said that I can help pick up the fresh cow's milk over at Wilderness Trail Farm a.k.a. Sammy's place. By early, that means he drives over to Sammy's at 4:45am. Gotta get the milk while it's fresh! He told me that he'll be in the barn by 4:10 making coffee. I gave him a blank stare. Okay, I'll be there, but I'll just grab some tea at 4:30. Ah, farm living! Start early, work all day, break your back, eat a lot. Collapse in a heap on the bed after a 16-hour day, and repeat. This is why I don't want any milk animals.

So I did it. I got up at 4am. I threw on some clothes and staggered up to the Barn in the dark. The moon was still up so there was plenty of light, but there was an eerie hush enveloping the landscape. The creepers were quiet (for once.) The dogs were asleep. There was only the sound of my feet crunching on the gravel as I walked up to the barn. A light fog had risen from the moist earth lending to the surreal effect. Steve was sitting drinking coffee at the large table in the kitchen. We chatted and then grabbed a bunch of 3.5-gallon buckets and drove over to Sammy's farm. We headed southwest on Old Liberty Road, driving through the northern edge of Asheboro. Sammy's farm is a dairy farm (cow), pasture, hay fields and now a goat dairy. The soil is bright red. Lot of clay.

We pull up to the milking parlor in pitch-black night. Sammy comes out to greet us and gives me a warm handshake. He's a character cut from a Tennessee Williams play. Local boy, queer, travels the world, works in a "normal" job for a number of years, throws it all away and decides to become a dairy farmer. He also collects and rebuilds antique mechanical equipment. This is in evidence in his milking parlor. I walk into a scene from a documentary film from the 1950s. There are four milking stalls, four large, glass jars that look like something from an old science fiction film. These jars receive the milk from the semi-modern milking system and fill with beautiful, fresh, ivory liquid. The jars feed into a series of pipes that send the fresh milk into the bulk tank, or in our case, our 3.5-gallon buckets.

Sammy goes and gets his herd of 24 cows. All but two are Jersey. The others are Holstein. The first cows come in and assume their positions in front of feeding troughs. Sammy cleans each udder and clamps on the hoses. The cows for the most part are calm. He tells me each one's name. "This one's Elizabeth, that's Dolly, this one's Maybelle." They finish being milked and move on through the parlor to the other side and back out into the pasture. One cow comes in and stops. She refuses to move to her stanchion. Sammy says, "This one's real ornery. She kicked me real hard yesterday." He yell at her and gives her a push. She doesn't budge. He wacky her on the rump and she finally shuffles up to the end stall. "It's 'cause they're so inbred. These Jerseys are just really temperamental. I'll never get another one. I like them goats." He rubs his hands and I see lots of small cuts and abrasions. He's got farmer's hands.

The entire time he's milking, there is a cigarette dangling from his lips. Behind him, High-energy dance pop is blaring, drowning out the sound of the vacuum pumps and pneumatic feeders. Steve fills up each milk bucket, four at time. The milk pours into the bucket and is warm and frothy. I just want to take a straw and drink it all in one big slurp. Steam rises from the buckets as Steve puts a lid on each one. We finish collecting our fresh milk, straight from the cows, and load the buckets into the back of the van. Sammy's day has just begun, and so has ours.

We hit the road at about 7:15. Dawn has come and gone, and it is now morning. We get back to Goat Lady Dairy and get right to work. It is time to make gouda! Milk goes into the vat, we add culture, and let it set for 30 minutes. Time for breakfast. Go back in and add rennet. Wait again. Then it is time to cut the curds. And stir. And stir and stir. For almost 2 hours. During that time, you drain off some whey, rinse the curd, add more water, and raise the temperature in the vat slowly. When it is done we scoop the curds into square molds and let them sit for 20 minutes. Time to cut into block and move them into round molds and put 'em into a wall press. Break for lunch. Turn the cheese, press some more, repeat. And repeat yet again. We were cleaned up and through by 4pm.

I am pooped. Long day. But fun.

Reaching Climax

Reaching Climax, NC

Feb. 27, 2007

I arrived at Goat Lady Dairy to start my three-month internship. It has been a long day. Up at 5am, flew out at 8am. Changed planes at Washington-Dulles and touched down in Greensboro 45 minutes late.

First impressions:
Very nice folks. The entire family is involved in the farm in some capacity. I've met Nate Tate, Steve Tate, and Ginnie Tate, in that order.

Nate is Steve's son. Shaggy blonde hair, slim build, and stands about 5'10”. At first glance he seems like a surfer dude. Perhaps it is the stylish sunglasses on top of his head, even though it is dark outside. He seems very smart. Committed to teaching the benefits of sustainable agriculture. He is in charge of reservations for "the restaurant" as well as working front of house for the "Dinners on the Farm." Most of the time he is a high school teacher in Greensboro. Blind as a bat at night, his driving made me a bit nervous. But he was kind enough to meet me at the Greensboro/Triad airport, so I have no room to complain. He drives a red Jetta. Looks like he lives in it, or is ready to camp given any excuse. There was a lot of camping gear and stuff in the trunk and back seat. We chatted during the entire drive from the airport to the farm. I like him.

We approached the 60-acre farm in the dark. From what I can see, it is set on rolling hills among the trees. Possibly pecan trees. We drive straight to "the barn" where all the lights are on and dinner is being prepared. I walk out of the car and see a bunch of adorable baby goats lounging under heat lamps. Saanan, Alpine and Nubian from the looks of them. I'll greet them later. Time to meet more humans.

We walk in the door of the big barn and am quickly greeted by Steve Tate. He's about 5'8", slender, with gray hair and shining eyes. He gives me a welcoming handshake and makes me feel right at home. Ginnie comes in and says hello, too. All quite nice.

Steve assembles the dinner that Ginnie has prepared. A sausage, rice, and black bean stir fry with avocado and salsa. For dessert, a lemon chess pie courtesy of Grandma Norma Tate. Ginnie and Grandma (age 87) live together in the house across the road.

I plowed through dinner and eagerly tried the pie. The pie was excellent.

I go back to the intern house, finish unpacking and crash. It has been a long day.

A nice way to roll into North Carolina.

Tomorrow I'll get settled in and check out the farm.

Lugging luggage

Oh my. I'm leaving TOMORROW!!!!

I am a bit discombobulated. I've got the bed covered with clothing, books, shoes, electronics, toiletries, purses, and a cat. The cat is trying to make sure that I leave with a fine layer of white fur coating everything so I can spread Dizzy's love wherever I go. He hates seeing luggage. He becomes very clingy and tries to make sure that I know he's upset. Eventually I'll ban him from the bedroom and shut the door, but right now I won't. He's sad, and so am I.

It has been a rough week. Charlie's death is still painful, and now I must leave my family and friends for three months. Wow. It is a lot for my little monkey brain to process. I know that Goat Lady Diary will keep me busy, and that is a very good thing.

Packing for three months is very hard. I've got to account for late winter, spring, and early summer weather. Possible ice, snow, rain, wind, sun, and heat. But ALL of that is better than the humidity of summer. Ugh. Working in North Carolina in a cheesemaking room in the summer sounds like one of the seven levels of Hell. It is right up there with trying to park in the grocery store parkinglot the day before Thanksgiving. No thanks. That's why I chose to go to NC in the springtime! Should be beautiful, once spring rolls around.

I'll miss seeing my freshly updated garden come into bloom. The wildflowers are starting to emerge from the ground under the apple tree. The California lilac is in full bloom right now. The first of the douglas irises are blooming, too! I told Jim to e-mail photos of my garden every week.

We had a small earthquake on Friday afternoon. Just another reminder of things I'll be missing. North Carolina gets severe thunderstorms. Hope I don't have to experience a tornado outbreak. I hate tornadoes.

Back to piles of stuff on the bed. How do I know what I won't need? I like to be prepared. I won't be close to an all-night drugstore. So many unknown factors. I better just take everything. I'll be fine, so long as I can still pick up my luggage.

Time to go make some cheese.

Let us pause for a moment

Sad day. Yesterday we had to say goodbye to our dog, Charlie. Even in the end he was still eager to please, full of kisses, and happy to see his friends, both human and feline, in spite of his pain and poor health. He brought a lot of joy and happiness to our lives and was quick to share his affection with anyone who wanted some love. For over fifteen years, he shared our lives as well as our leftovers. I feel very lucky that we found that little black border collie/flat coated retriever mix puppy at the Marin Humane Society on that sunny day in the Fall of 1991.

When Jim came along, Charlie's life was complete. He love my mother, my stepfather, and me, but Jim was #1 in his book. Jim would come home and Charlie would run to the top of the stairs and wait to cover him with kisses and plant his nose in Jim's crotch. It was great to see them both so happy. Charlie adored our cats, and even let Dizzy groom him and eat out of his food bowl; (Dizzy would simply nuzzle Charlie out of the way.) Angus would let Charlie play with him, when the kitties were tussling around the living room.

We'll miss that black dog who could do the hula, dig for gophers, chase pigeons, and sing "Home on the Range." There will never be another dog like our Bonnie Prince Charlie. Who will eat my cheese rinds?

The countdown is repeating itself

Here we go again. I leave in less than a week. Wow. I am currently trying to get my life in order so I can leave home for three months and not have Jim calling me with questions or needs. We're just wrapping up our income taxes. Gotta have $$$ in the bank for my share of the mortgage. Gotta leave him a check for other expenses. Hmmm. This internship is getting to be quite expensive!

I've got a mental list of things I want to take. Now I must make that list a reality and start packing. It is hard to pack for three months. Late February and early March can be quite cold and frigid. I could see ice and snow. You know the old saying, "March: In like a lion, out like a lamb." I looking forward to some nice lamb. I feel like I'm getting ready to go to college or summer camp. There will be a bed waiting for me, but I've got to make the place feel like home. Perhaps I should bring a few Fillmore posters for my walls and a few candle holders.

What cheese books do I bring? Steve gave me a reading list. I got the books. Read the ones that I didn't already have. I hate reading the dry stuff referring to the chemical reactions in milk proteins. Lipase, casein, etc. I learn my observing, doing and screwing up. A book can only sink in on one level. I'm all about practical applications.

Think I better start writing a comprehensive list of things to do and pack.

Tick, tick, tick. I leave early Tuesday morning.