Spring, Then and Now

Helena and Peepers

Spring, Then and Now

The creek is high from the spring runoff, with water the color of chocolate. Little snow remains on the ground. Pushing the lounge chair into an upright position, I scan the back pasture for the familiar figure of either Diego or Carlos. Where one is, the other will also be.

Two male red-winged blackbirds are calling out; they sound like they’re squabbling. Louisa, the pig, grunts softly as she burrows into a sunny, dry spot between the house and a retaining wall.

Finn is stretched out his full twenty inches on a rug on the back deck. His tiny bottom teeth are visible as he snores more like a freight train than a thirteen-pound dog. Two goats are nearby: Hans is munching hay by the Snake Shed, and Vincent is lying on the picnic table, front legs folded under him.

Peepers’ absence is felt deeply.

I spot Diego, a lump of light brown lying in the sun on a patch of dirt. Carlos is next to him. Behind them, a deer is grazing near the edge of the woods. I scan the hillside for other deer, but only see the one.

I take off my sweatshirt, bunch it under my head, and lean back on the chair. Eyes closed, I notice how my place seems quiet despite all the sounds and sights of spring.

Yesterday, Peepers, our sweet old girl goat, died. Her body lies shrouded in an old, woven blanket in the Snake Shed; I used the blanket the day before to help keep her warm. After this thaw, when the ground will yield to a shovel, we’ll bury her.

Peepers and her sister Luna, pygmy Nigerian goats, came here from Carl Haugrud’s farm in early spring thirteen years ago. We’d prepared for their arrival by having our friend Rodd build what we christened the Goat Palace, and we’d stuffed it with fresh straw to welcome them.

Mama Goat wasn’t nursing them as Carl had hoped, so we picked them up when they were just days old, on an evening when the spring peepers had woken from their winter hibernation and the moon was full. Before we were even out of the car, the all-white goat became Luna and the black-and-white one Peepers.

Dane and I would sit together in the Palace, resting against the new wood, surrounded by sweet fresh straw, each with a kid between our legs, while they sucked the bottles down in seconds. Often, we’d stay there long after the babies had nursed and fallen asleep.

Moses, my three-legged wonder dog, would lie near the fence with his nose poking through the woven wire. He was smitten with the goats, as he was with the goslings, Tickles, and The Professor.

Looking back, it’s hard not to think of that time as perfect. My dream of living in the country, having my own home with outbuildings, animals, and someone to love was coming true.

I used to tease that it was a good thing I didn’t bottle-feed my daughter during her first months. I’d scorch the formula and, according to Dane, I bottle-fed the little goats too long. After a few months, he urged me to just give them water, and they’d be fine. I’d try to provide a bowl of water, but five minutes later I’d run up to the house and start preparing bottles, claiming they’d starve otherwise.

We were warned that goats would always get out, climb everywhere—including onto the car—and eat anything and everything in their way. But that didn’t happen. Well, once, when a friend was giving me his hand-written bill for work he’d done in the goats’ pen, Peepers snatched it, chewed it, and swallowed it before we could react.

But Peepers and Luna behaved more like dogs, happy to follow us around, lie on the picnic table, take sun baths, or play on their tree-stump stepping stones. They never attempted to escape their Goat Palace area, except for the one time we found Luna taking a solo walk down our road. And they only developed a taste for people’s food after Louisa arrived. We joked that it took living with a pig for them to learn how to be goats.

An era has ended here. Rodd died of cancer, Moses of old age, The Professor and Tickles from a horrible raccoon attack, and now dear Peepers has gone to meet up with Luna, who died three winters ago.

The outbuildings are showing their age, and the fence needs repair. Louisa is still here, along with Hans and Vincent, Diego and Carlos, and a large flock of ducks and geese. And I have found with Dane the steady love I always imagined.

Unfortunately, death is inevitable, but luckily, there is always life to appreciate.