Friday, July 22nd, 2005
Didn’t you just hate those kids in school who always seemed to have all the right answers?
I’m not sure why we figure at age 30 or 40 or 50 we should NOW know the answers, but honestly — don’t you secretly in your heart believe that you ought to? It’s one of those unfortunate messages that got injected into our brains at an early age and since we actually don’t have all (or even a majority) of the answers, we are most of us just a bunch of conflicted and clueless 30 or 40 or 50 year old people with a lasting grudge against the smart kid. What a mess.
Mr. Newman Goat has never had that problem. And because of Newman, I seldom do, either. Who needs psychotherapy when they can live with Newman? I used to strive all the time to know it all. Geez, what a bore I was, trying to ace tests and outsmart my Dad at board games and, later on, annoying the pants off of my supervisors at work. I’m here to tell you that a few head butts from a horned beast combined with multiple home and car invasions by groups of large ruminants, and your sense of humility will be in better order than when you attended mass every week.
This isn’t to say that WANTING to get a handle on things doesn’t still plague me but by and large I’d have to say that farm life has the effect of softening a former type “A” personality.
For instance: I take a look around the property. Very nice. Pretty trees, even some flowers growing in the No Goat Zones, sheep grazing in the rolling pastures: the picture of pastoral bliss. Wind storm comes, blows over a 50 foot mulberry tree which takes 2 days and 4 guys to dismantle.
For instance: I have the feeding and cleaning routine down pat. Takes exactly 47 minutes in the morning. “How many minutes does it take to do chores in the morning?” “47 minutes, exactly.” “Right!”. But then Otis the cat escapes outside and Derry, the formerly perfect flockguard dog and Tigba the Terrible (Haitian Ueberdog) corner him and begin to have a bit of evil canine fun. I run to his rescue, and am given a signifiant puncture wound for my trouble, and then am permitted to donate $383 to my local vet who declares him to be totally unscathed. Hunh. I’m only 4 hours late to work.
When I was in college my roommates used to make fun of me because my books were always lined up neatly on the shelves and I made my bed every morning. I even did ALL MY HOMEWORK. Now there are 200 pounds of smelly wool in my living room, the lambs keep figuring out how to open the door because they really like hanging out on the sofa, and there’s a rooster on the piano.
Anyone who is feeling particularly uptight may want to consider coming to Star Gazing Farm for a visit. Just bring the keys to your air conditioned condo for me, will you?
Till next time,
Star Gazing Farm, Inc. 501(c)3