Falling at 40

No regrets

Goat kids could hit the ground in as little as four or five days. So, of course, Colorado has just experienced a massive snowstorm, and the temperatures show no signs of rising above freezing in the foreseeable future. Of course.

By the way, the barn cat has wholly embraced her new life as a house cat. She's tasted the good life, and she's never going back.

So, today started the goat mama shuffle, where I moved the pregnant does down to the lower pasture, allowing me to quickly put them into their indoor overnight pens to keep warm through freezing nights.

If there is an axiom of goat babies, they will come at the least convenient time possible. Middle of the night in a snowstorm? Yes, please!

There is nothing worse on a little homestead than to walk out in the morning to a frozen goat baby popsicle, so we're firmly into "better safe than sorry" territory when it comes to making everyone sleep inside.

In the middle of a snowstorm, an urban farmer starts to wonder what "normal" people are doing. I remember waking up and seeing a massive flurry and smiling. I'd stay in my PJs on the couch, napping and snacking like a bear, and revel in a snow day. Now I wake up in a storm and think of the cold work ahead. Animals need food, water, and shelter even more in inclement weather than they usually do.

Once we saw that the schools were closed yesterday, I nestled the human kids with snacks in front of the tv and then trudged through the ever-growing snowdrifts to ensure all animals had their basic needs met. In the cold, the goats must get enough calories, and one of the goats' favorite mid-storm treats is a warm bucket of water drizzled with molasses.

I slogged out to get their water bucket, then carried it to the house to fill with steamy water. I diluted the brown syrup in the mix, feeling like I was in a Laura Ingalls Wilder novel. I carried it out, replacing my boots, three layers of hoodies, and a coat, on my way out the door.

I crunch-crunch-crunched my way through the almost knee-high powdery snow, thinking of how oddly silent it had become around me. Like a dampening blanket, the world responded with an eerie stillness - right up until the goats heard me coming. They knew it was treat time, and after a night of blustering wind and freezing temperatures - they were ready.

Baby Cita jumped up, putting her front hooves onto the fence, trying to will me closer to her even faster. She could almost taste the warm, sweet concoction in my bucket. I looked up and laughed at her fuzzy baby goat belly, anticipating the scritches I would give her in just a few seconds. In the next step, I felt the ice underneath the snow while my boot lost purchase.

Like a slow-motion cartoon, I felt the entire bucket of warm, sticky liquid fly into the air as I landed flat on my back. It came raining down all over me as I lay in the powder. Crap.

I have now reached the age where if I sleep incorrectly, I can barely walk for three days - a slip and fall ain't what it used to be. I felt the muscles in my back tighten while I wondered if anyone had seen me and if they'd gotten a video of my humiliation - everything is content.

After a few minutes, where I considered making a snow angel, I rolled over and got up - to a line of shocked-looking goats. Luckily, they can't laugh, or I would have gotten the Chevy Chase National Lampoon treatment.

As I limped back to the house for a second pass at the molasses water, I thought of how much more I have hurt myself in some form or another over the last few years than all those years before them. I always have unidentifiable bruises, cuts, and divots on my hands. A morning stretch has moved from a luxury to a necessity. My knees want to know why the hell we moved here.

The risk of doing more is that more things will go wrong. The risk of not doing more is that you will look back and wish you did when you could have.

I'd rather hurt than regret. My back isn't so sure about that.