Well, another week of not wanting to trade my problems for anyone else's. Here's the rundown of calamities I faced.
I finally catch the mouse in the pantry. It turns out to be a three-legged mouse with no tail, and I almost think I should have given it the run of the place for the rest of its life.
Duke the pony has his senior citizen wander-the-farm-for-free pass revoked when he discovers a bucket of rabbit food, knocks it over, and eats an indeterminate amount. Fortunately he only suffers a mild case of indigestion.
The ducks won't go into their pen in the evening. Why? Because they have spent the day feasting on low-hanging organic raspberries. I can't tempt them with my fermented duck slop. They turn up their beaks at it, and test my patience and duck-herding skills to get them in safely for the night.
"We laugh at your attempts, puny human."
I harbor violent thoughts about the teenage crows begging for food outside my window at 5 every morning. Especially after I have stayed up until midnight herding ducks and making cheese.
Oh yes, you won't hear me complaining about having 2 gallons of goat milk to process every day. 2 gallons. Every day. That's 4 half-gallon jars. To wash. And 3 big pots to scrub every time I make cheese. And cheesecloth to boil and sanitize. For someone as unconcerned about cleanliness as I am, home dairy is a spiritual challenge.
Fortunately, Farm Grandma Jenn returned from Montana last night. She'll find a counter full of empty jars to greet her when she comes into the kitchen this morning. Don't try to run a farm without a Grandma on board, I say. Let's drink a goat milk toast to finding humor in and sharing our burdens!