About 4 acres of our 9 was made up of a forest of youngish trees. The goat yard ran down a small hill to a wet. soggy, swampy area, then the woods rose to higher ground behind. We yearned to take a walk back there. No doubt the children would enjoy exploring, and who knew what we would find! We thought the goats would enjoy it too.
On a Sunday afternoon, we decided we could take a few hours off, and gathered everyone for the expedition.
The day was gray and overcast, that early December of 1976. We piled on the coats, hats, and mittens, then stepped off the porch onto the winter-dead lawn. I opened the gate to the goat yard and called to the girls. Monique came, the rest hung back. Such a thing had never been done before!
The people part of our family went on ahead anyway, and Monique followed us. Then, eventually, the rest followed her. Dusty ran off out of sight over the crest of the hill, while Kiki wound through our legs then bolted off to capture a falling leaf.
We had to walk maybe a quarter mile across some fields and alongside the woods before entering them to avoid the swampy patch. The goats stuck close to us, moving herd-fashion, at the beginning. But they began to spread out as the brown oak leaves fell and enticed them away. They grabbed in their teeth a bit of whatever was in front of them and alternated stopping to munch and bounding ahead. Finally we all got to a dry place, and entered the woods.
The ground was covered with dead leaves, the gray light dimmer. Shrubs, vines, trees, at first it all looked fairly uniform. And there wasn't far to go, just a few acres. Even so, we set out to see what we could.
The goat-ladies loved it! They had bark to eat, and poison ivy, one of their favorites, in the form of heavy vines with no leaves because of the time of year. We walked and walked and enjoyed discovering old grape vines, now huge ropes going up the trees. The ground was uneven, more in the form of evenly spaced furrows through which the trees grew.
The goats frequently wandered off for a brief moment, singly, but then came bounding back to the 'herd'. Monique's udder, never well attached, swayed pendulously too and fro as she ran. Dusty took off after something that smelled good then circled back around. It was peaceful and calm, still overcast and early-winter moody, and solitary in being just our family together there.
We saw stonewalls stacked in some distant era that were for the most part still standing, though some rocks had tumbled down and lay scattered in the brown leaves that had fallen this year and maybe last. Whether they marked the boundaries of today's properties, we didn't know.
We stood together pondering the furrows. John estimated the age of the trees to be something like 30 or 35 years. Calculating backwards from 1976, they had sprouted and sprung up in the early 1940s.
Then we understood. Pearl Harbor was in December 1941. The draft began the next spring. Young farm workers had been called up and had left their land plowed but unplanted. We were seeing those same humps of earth formed by the plow, turf now, covered with grass like graves, and the trees that had emerged through them from seeds scattered by the winds. The farmers were gone and hadn't been able to stop the seedlings from taking over the farmland, first carved out of New England forests 300 years before.
We had peeked into the past. What had become of those farm lads? Was there anyone who noticed or cared any longer about the encroachment of the forest? Grapes from long-gone arbors now climbed young trunks instead, but who would harvest the fruit? Only the raccoons or squirrels or birds. The goats were more interested in those ancient heavy gnarled vines, which they tugged at with their teeth.
The milk they gave us that night would be rich with history.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Life in the barn: winter
The barn is cozy. The goats keep warm from their inner fires created by the digestion of hay and grain in their four stomachs. They don't have fur, just some hair that has grown shaggy, and their breath shows in the winter air, but they are toasty warm.
So is the barn, even with the big door open. Maybe there is a moon. The cats like it here.
Before milking, the goats are on their feet looking impatient. They want their dinner and are used to being milked at this time of day. After milking and filling their bellies with sticky molasses-sweetened corn and other grains, it is time to reflect upon the meal while chewing and rechewing. The best way to do this is while sitting on the belly, back legs out to the side, front legs extended, head up. The barn takes on a quietness when the milking is done.
When the rearrangement of food in the various stomachs is complete, and saliva is mixed with all, the goat need only let her head flop to the side and she is in the position for a long night's sleep.
It is entirely reasonable and pleasant to sit out in the barn with the goats on such an evening. They enjoy our being part of the herd. Even the sweetfeed tastes pretty good.
So is the barn, even with the big door open. Maybe there is a moon. The cats like it here.
Before milking, the goats are on their feet looking impatient. They want their dinner and are used to being milked at this time of day. After milking and filling their bellies with sticky molasses-sweetened corn and other grains, it is time to reflect upon the meal while chewing and rechewing. The best way to do this is while sitting on the belly, back legs out to the side, front legs extended, head up. The barn takes on a quietness when the milking is done.
When the rearrangement of food in the various stomachs is complete, and saliva is mixed with all, the goat need only let her head flop to the side and she is in the position for a long night's sleep.
It is entirely reasonable and pleasant to sit out in the barn with the goats on such an evening. They enjoy our being part of the herd. Even the sweetfeed tastes pretty good.
The barn: Part 3, using it...
As soon as the barn was installed with goats, we developed our little milking routine.
Milking for most goats must be done twice a day, ideally 12 hours apart. As the days shortened, that meant milking in the dark at least once a day.
A reasonable time for both people and goats was 7 am, but that left the evening milking on the late side.
Soon we got into a routine of 7 am and 5 pm. We found the hour didn't matter critically, as long as we were consistent.
So here's what the routine entailed for the evening milking:
1. Fill the small pail with warm water, a squirt of Basic H, and a rag.
2. Get out the old pot that had lost its two handles and rinse it in hot water.
3. Grab the milk pail.
4. Stack the pot in the pail and the small pail in the pot, and hold them tight.
5. Grab a flashlight, and head to the barn.
(We have direct evidence that this can be done by a 6-yr old. Wish we had photos.)
6. Upon reaching the barn, open the people door, slip through while closing it, open the milkroom gate, and put the pile of pails on the ledge above the milkstand. Turn on the light.
7. Pour some grain from the grain bucket (a nice clean new trash can) into the feed dish on the milk stand, and admit one goat.
8. When she puts her head through the bars of the stand to eat, use the hook to lock her in.
9. Grab the warm, wet rag and wash her udder and teats. Grab a piece of paper towel from the roll on the ledge and dry same.
10. Take off mittens!
11. Take the old pot and put it under the goat. Aim the teats at it, and ready set squeeze (after squirting once on each side into the wash water).
12. Continue squeezing rhythmically while leaning your head against the goat's warm flank and humming.
13. When finished, pour the milk into the big milk pail, strip the teats, quick-wash them with the damp paper towel, and unlock the goat. She will leap off the stand. You will open the door and let her out and the next one will come in automatically.
14. Repeat with number two. Keep adding the milk to the big milk pail when you finish each goat.
15. Continue till all the goats have been milked.
16. Make sure all the goats are back in their part of the barn. Feed them their hay (if another child hasn't done it already) and a little grain. This can be done by leaning over the milkroom wall and putting it straight into the row of feeders there.
17. Toss the water from the wash pail out in the yard. Then put it in the pot. Turn off the light. Put the pail and pot in one hand, and carry the milk pail full of milk in the other hand, all while letting yourself out of the milkroom, closing and locking the gate, letting yourself out of the barn, locking the door, and carrying the milk without spilling a drop all the 100 feet to the house. Maybe in the snow.
18. Pour the milk into the filter that is awaiting its arrival in the sink. A parent will have ice waiting in the sink and will fill the basin with cold water, to chill the milk rapidly. He/She will also wash the pot and pails, and the big funnel filter, and bottle the milk.
19. Someone will do the water. More on the water, along with a discussion of feed, shortly.
Milking for most goats must be done twice a day, ideally 12 hours apart. As the days shortened, that meant milking in the dark at least once a day.
A reasonable time for both people and goats was 7 am, but that left the evening milking on the late side.
Soon we got into a routine of 7 am and 5 pm. We found the hour didn't matter critically, as long as we were consistent.
So here's what the routine entailed for the evening milking:
1. Fill the small pail with warm water, a squirt of Basic H, and a rag.
2. Get out the old pot that had lost its two handles and rinse it in hot water.
3. Grab the milk pail.
4. Stack the pot in the pail and the small pail in the pot, and hold them tight.
5. Grab a flashlight, and head to the barn.
(We have direct evidence that this can be done by a 6-yr old. Wish we had photos.)
6. Upon reaching the barn, open the people door, slip through while closing it, open the milkroom gate, and put the pile of pails on the ledge above the milkstand. Turn on the light.
7. Pour some grain from the grain bucket (a nice clean new trash can) into the feed dish on the milk stand, and admit one goat.
8. When she puts her head through the bars of the stand to eat, use the hook to lock her in.
9. Grab the warm, wet rag and wash her udder and teats. Grab a piece of paper towel from the roll on the ledge and dry same.
10. Take off mittens!
11. Take the old pot and put it under the goat. Aim the teats at it, and ready set squeeze (after squirting once on each side into the wash water).
12. Continue squeezing rhythmically while leaning your head against the goat's warm flank and humming.
13. When finished, pour the milk into the big milk pail, strip the teats, quick-wash them with the damp paper towel, and unlock the goat. She will leap off the stand. You will open the door and let her out and the next one will come in automatically.
14. Repeat with number two. Keep adding the milk to the big milk pail when you finish each goat.
15. Continue till all the goats have been milked.
16. Make sure all the goats are back in their part of the barn. Feed them their hay (if another child hasn't done it already) and a little grain. This can be done by leaning over the milkroom wall and putting it straight into the row of feeders there.
17. Toss the water from the wash pail out in the yard. Then put it in the pot. Turn off the light. Put the pail and pot in one hand, and carry the milk pail full of milk in the other hand, all while letting yourself out of the milkroom, closing and locking the gate, letting yourself out of the barn, locking the door, and carrying the milk without spilling a drop all the 100 feet to the house. Maybe in the snow.
18. Pour the milk into the filter that is awaiting its arrival in the sink. A parent will have ice waiting in the sink and will fill the basin with cold water, to chill the milk rapidly. He/She will also wash the pot and pails, and the big funnel filter, and bottle the milk.
19. Someone will do the water. More on the water, along with a discussion of feed, shortly.
The bar: Part 2, building...and a bad moment
John designed the barn meticulously, and I could tell he was excited, even though building it was also a huge chore with a tight timetable. He measured and cut everything perfectly, and we all looked forward to the today when he poured the footers and we could declare it well begun.
After all, well begun is half done, as they say!
Next came the sills. And by the time he got the studs up, it was beginning to look like a barn.
So much so that I let the goats out of the fenced area and dragged them into the 'barn'. I was terribly eager to catch a glimpse of our life to come!
But the goats just walked out again between the studs. They didn't have a glimpse of anything but freedom.
After almost two months he was still building the barn, what with a full-time job and other farm chores and grading papers and so on. And I think he was writing a book at this time too.
It was critical to get the roof on before winter storms hit. By November, winter was descending on us rapidly. The long Thanksgiving weekend was welcome, but Thanksgiving day dawned cold, gray, and seriously windy. Kay Ferguson had invited us for dinner, but John was reluctant to go because it meant building time lost. In the end he came with us, then hastened back to continue putting the roofing sheets up.
I got home with the children an hour or so after he was back at work. When we arrived, I saw him standing on the roof in the wind silhouetted against the gray sky, trying to wrestle a sheet of plywood into place. Repeatedly he had had to climb down the ladder, pick up a 4x8 sheet, and climb the ladder with it by leaning against the rungs and inching his feet upward. He then had to stand on the rafters above the open interior of the barn and position the plywood before hammering it in place. I was aghast at what I saw!
We could barely tolerate the bitter wind as we ran to the house, but he had been out in it for hours, determined to finish while he had daylight, gray though it was, to work in. When he came in, the job finished, and I handed him hot cocoa, he told me a story that has remained with me all these years:
As he reached the top of the ladder on one of his trips and balanced himself on a rafter with the sheet of roofing overhead, a fierce gust of wind whipped it and caused him to lose balance. He did the first thing that came to mind, which was to whirl around in the direction the plywood had been blown and slam it and himself down on the rafters, where he and the plywood were relatively out of the force of the wind. That saved his life.
My heart still beats fast when I think of it.
The barn was finished by the end of the weekend, including rolled roofing and shingles. We trimmed it with 1x2s, painted it barn-red, and moved the goats in. The dirt floor was not cold for them, and they sat there chewing their cuds in the most contented fashion. We moved the milkstand to the milk room, and before long undertook the routine of a goat dairy.
After all, well begun is half done, as they say!
Next came the sills. And by the time he got the studs up, it was beginning to look like a barn.
So much so that I let the goats out of the fenced area and dragged them into the 'barn'. I was terribly eager to catch a glimpse of our life to come!
But the goats just walked out again between the studs. They didn't have a glimpse of anything but freedom.
After almost two months he was still building the barn, what with a full-time job and other farm chores and grading papers and so on. And I think he was writing a book at this time too.
It was critical to get the roof on before winter storms hit. By November, winter was descending on us rapidly. The long Thanksgiving weekend was welcome, but Thanksgiving day dawned cold, gray, and seriously windy. Kay Ferguson had invited us for dinner, but John was reluctant to go because it meant building time lost. In the end he came with us, then hastened back to continue putting the roofing sheets up.
I got home with the children an hour or so after he was back at work. When we arrived, I saw him standing on the roof in the wind silhouetted against the gray sky, trying to wrestle a sheet of plywood into place. Repeatedly he had had to climb down the ladder, pick up a 4x8 sheet, and climb the ladder with it by leaning against the rungs and inching his feet upward. He then had to stand on the rafters above the open interior of the barn and position the plywood before hammering it in place. I was aghast at what I saw!
We could barely tolerate the bitter wind as we ran to the house, but he had been out in it for hours, determined to finish while he had daylight, gray though it was, to work in. When he came in, the job finished, and I handed him hot cocoa, he told me a story that has remained with me all these years:
As he reached the top of the ladder on one of his trips and balanced himself on a rafter with the sheet of roofing overhead, a fierce gust of wind whipped it and caused him to lose balance. He did the first thing that came to mind, which was to whirl around in the direction the plywood had been blown and slam it and himself down on the rafters, where he and the plywood were relatively out of the force of the wind. That saved his life.
My heart still beats fast when I think of it.
The barn was finished by the end of the weekend, including rolled roofing and shingles. We trimmed it with 1x2s, painted it barn-red, and moved the goats in. The dirt floor was not cold for them, and they sat there chewing their cuds in the most contented fashion. We moved the milkstand to the milk room, and before long undertook the routine of a goat dairy.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
The barn: Part 1, planning...
It was no surprise to us that we would need a barn. We would build it ourselves.
(When I say 'we', I mean dear husband John S Lewis Jr, author and professor does it. When I say 'I', I mean I do it. Usually I say 'we' when it's a doing thing.)
We designed it to give us the greatest capacity indoors with the least materials. This is a simple calculus problem that should cause no pain or strain to anyone. The idea was to save money. Always to save money!
The calculation we did was to find the greatest floor area using the least amount of building materials, given the number of goats we wanted to house. We needed to include the milkers and the kids. We didn't think we wanted to have our own buck - there were plenty around - and in any case he would have had to be housed separately.
We already had 3 does, which could have meant as many, reasonably speaking, as 7 babies. Figure 15 sf per doe and half that per baby, and it would come out to 70 or 80 sf. The milk room would need to be added to that. But that was a pretty skimpy barn, only 130 sf or so, or 10x13. We also had to have enough loft space for hay. So we rounded up to what seemed like a reasonable size for whatever eventuality, 12x24.
The barn needed:
1. A people door.
2. A goat door for kids.
3. A milk room (a place to do the milking, not handle the milk), with a light.
4. Feed troughs.
5. A door for the does, big enough to scoop out the poop through.
6. A loft for storing hay.
The 288 sf barn, taking out 54 sf for the milkroom, left us with 234 sf for goats. We would be all set for 15 mature does, or 8 does and 14 babies, or some such combination. Plenty!
The one big door would need to face west, for afternoon sunshine in the winter and for removing soiled bedding. It could be just a doorway - we didn't anticipate closing it even in bad weather because the goats needed it for ventilation.
The one door close to the milk room was to let people in to feed and do the milking.
The kid door would let the babies out into their special fenced area, which would have climbing toys and plenty of space to run and jump.
And we added to our plans another door to the south in case we wanted to use two pastures for the adults, sometime in the future. .
The milk room would be about 9x6, situated at the near end of the barn. The people door would open into the barn, then a gate a open into the milk room. Along the outside of the milkroom were the feeding troughs, which would hold flakes of hay for continuous eating during the day. Another gate would separate the goats from the little corridor that allowed people to come and go without the bumping and nudging of the goat ladies.
The roof would be sloped because of the inevitable snow load, and the ceiling would be a comfortable height for people and to take advantage of the size of lumber.
The ceiling formed a loft, and had to be low and strong enough for storing a ton of hay above it. And it needed a hole for climbing up into the loft.
The dimensions were calculated based on 4x8 sheets of plywood and 8 foot lengths of 2x4. Thus the sides were 8 feet tall; the narrow ends were 3 sheets of plywood wide, while the sides were 6 sheets wide, minus sheets not needed for the door openings. The doors saved almost 5 sheets of plywood, the remainder needed for trimming.
The doors would be made of scrap lumber and 2x4s.
The sills would be supported with concrete footers spaced every 4 feet, with breathing space of about 6 inches below the sills for ventilation, the depth depending on the terrain.
The electric conduit that was plugged in at the house would end in the milkroom. An outlet would be attached for the plugs from the fence charger and the lamp we would milk by on dark winter nights.
This simple barn would take care of all our needs. We would store the grain in the garage where we could unload it from our station wagon. Water would be delivered to drinking buckets by a hose when temperatures were above freezing, or carried in pails from the house. It wasn't fancy, but it was relatively low cost, completely sturdy, and attractive. And we knew the goats would love it.
(When I say 'we', I mean dear husband John S Lewis Jr, author and professor does it. When I say 'I', I mean I do it. Usually I say 'we' when it's a doing thing.)
We designed it to give us the greatest capacity indoors with the least materials. This is a simple calculus problem that should cause no pain or strain to anyone. The idea was to save money. Always to save money!
The calculation we did was to find the greatest floor area using the least amount of building materials, given the number of goats we wanted to house. We needed to include the milkers and the kids. We didn't think we wanted to have our own buck - there were plenty around - and in any case he would have had to be housed separately.
We already had 3 does, which could have meant as many, reasonably speaking, as 7 babies. Figure 15 sf per doe and half that per baby, and it would come out to 70 or 80 sf. The milk room would need to be added to that. But that was a pretty skimpy barn, only 130 sf or so, or 10x13. We also had to have enough loft space for hay. So we rounded up to what seemed like a reasonable size for whatever eventuality, 12x24.
The barn needed:
1. A people door.
2. A goat door for kids.
3. A milk room (a place to do the milking, not handle the milk), with a light.
4. Feed troughs.
5. A door for the does, big enough to scoop out the poop through.
6. A loft for storing hay.
The 288 sf barn, taking out 54 sf for the milkroom, left us with 234 sf for goats. We would be all set for 15 mature does, or 8 does and 14 babies, or some such combination. Plenty!
The one big door would need to face west, for afternoon sunshine in the winter and for removing soiled bedding. It could be just a doorway - we didn't anticipate closing it even in bad weather because the goats needed it for ventilation.
The one door close to the milk room was to let people in to feed and do the milking.
The kid door would let the babies out into their special fenced area, which would have climbing toys and plenty of space to run and jump.
And we added to our plans another door to the south in case we wanted to use two pastures for the adults, sometime in the future. .
The milk room would be about 9x6, situated at the near end of the barn. The people door would open into the barn, then a gate a open into the milk room. Along the outside of the milkroom were the feeding troughs, which would hold flakes of hay for continuous eating during the day. Another gate would separate the goats from the little corridor that allowed people to come and go without the bumping and nudging of the goat ladies.
The roof would be sloped because of the inevitable snow load, and the ceiling would be a comfortable height for people and to take advantage of the size of lumber.
The ceiling formed a loft, and had to be low and strong enough for storing a ton of hay above it. And it needed a hole for climbing up into the loft.
The dimensions were calculated based on 4x8 sheets of plywood and 8 foot lengths of 2x4. Thus the sides were 8 feet tall; the narrow ends were 3 sheets of plywood wide, while the sides were 6 sheets wide, minus sheets not needed for the door openings. The doors saved almost 5 sheets of plywood, the remainder needed for trimming.
The doors would be made of scrap lumber and 2x4s.
The sills would be supported with concrete footers spaced every 4 feet, with breathing space of about 6 inches below the sills for ventilation, the depth depending on the terrain.
The electric conduit that was plugged in at the house would end in the milkroom. An outlet would be attached for the plugs from the fence charger and the lamp we would milk by on dark winter nights.
This simple barn would take care of all our needs. We would store the grain in the garage where we could unload it from our station wagon. Water would be delivered to drinking buckets by a hose when temperatures were above freezing, or carried in pails from the house. It wasn't fancy, but it was relatively low cost, completely sturdy, and attractive. And we knew the goats would love it.
Fences!
The goats needed a fence. We tried chicken wire and metal posts at first but they didn't notice. We built various barricades while we planned a good-enough fence, then passed out when we saw the price of what we'd planned.
The idea was to give them enough space - we had plenty of it - to keep them from destroying the grass they were housed with, and to keep manure from piling up. (Yes, we will talk about Manure. Soon. And we will talk about Flies.)
We started out with electric fence, the cheapest alternative we could find. After much reading we thought that three strands would do, one for each level of a goat.
One important aspect of goats is their ability to be where they want to be, and they definitely adhere to the philosophy that the grass is always greener in the other fellow's yard. So the first strand had to be above goat level by a couple of feet.
Then because it is not too hard for a goat to flatten herself against the ground, one had to be quite low.
And then we put one in the middle to keep her from stepping on through without noticing a fence at all.
Electric fences consist of the wire, fairly heavy guage, insulators to attach the wires to, and an electrical box. This is plugged into house current and keeps the fence in a low level of sizzle that the goats don't like. They seem to be able to feel it about 8-12" away, so they don't actually get a chance to lean against the fence.
The only problem for us with this simple apparatus is that we had no house current near where we wanted the goat fence. Another way of putting it is that we didn't want the goat fence up against the house.
The electric fence also needed to be penetrable by humans. For us that meant a gate that we could walk through that was not electrified.
The solution to the electricity problem was fairly simple. We gouged the earth, which fortunately was still unfrozen, down several inches, and buried an extension cord. As low-tech and possibly illegal as it was, this simple electrical conduit served us the whole time we lived there.
The cord needed to travel the 100-plus feet to the area where we were building the fence and to where we were going to build the barn. And it needed to terminate at the box that would charge up the fence. We buried the cord, but didn't yet have a place for the box.
And to this day we can't remember what we did to protect the box before the barn was built!
The real lesson here is to get the fence before the goats!
The idea was to give them enough space - we had plenty of it - to keep them from destroying the grass they were housed with, and to keep manure from piling up. (Yes, we will talk about Manure. Soon. And we will talk about Flies.)
We started out with electric fence, the cheapest alternative we could find. After much reading we thought that three strands would do, one for each level of a goat.
One important aspect of goats is their ability to be where they want to be, and they definitely adhere to the philosophy that the grass is always greener in the other fellow's yard. So the first strand had to be above goat level by a couple of feet.
Then because it is not too hard for a goat to flatten herself against the ground, one had to be quite low.
And then we put one in the middle to keep her from stepping on through without noticing a fence at all.
Electric fences consist of the wire, fairly heavy guage, insulators to attach the wires to, and an electrical box. This is plugged into house current and keeps the fence in a low level of sizzle that the goats don't like. They seem to be able to feel it about 8-12" away, so they don't actually get a chance to lean against the fence.
The only problem for us with this simple apparatus is that we had no house current near where we wanted the goat fence. Another way of putting it is that we didn't want the goat fence up against the house.
The electric fence also needed to be penetrable by humans. For us that meant a gate that we could walk through that was not electrified.
The solution to the electricity problem was fairly simple. We gouged the earth, which fortunately was still unfrozen, down several inches, and buried an extension cord. As low-tech and possibly illegal as it was, this simple electrical conduit served us the whole time we lived there.
The cord needed to travel the 100-plus feet to the area where we were building the fence and to where we were going to build the barn. And it needed to terminate at the box that would charge up the fence. We buried the cord, but didn't yet have a place for the box.
And to this day we can't remember what we did to protect the box before the barn was built!
The real lesson here is to get the fence before the goats!
Goat milk?
If you say goat milk, people say 'ew'. Even people who have never tasted it.
Goat cheese is popular and a lot of people can't get enough of it. But goat milk?
OF COURSE we tasted goat milk before we bought Monique! And it was good. We also read a lot about it, and the prevailing wisdom was that if goat's milk is handled right, it tastes like...milk.
When we first started milking, Monique's milk didn't taste as good as it had at Judy's.
That meant figuring out what about our handling of it was making it less than delicious.
The list of possibilities from goat books and magazines included:
Dirty containers
Not filtering the milk fast enough
Not chilling it fast enough
Hereditary off-flavor (in a rare goat)
Exposure to sunlight
Exposure to aluminum.
Exposure to aluminum? I had bought a cute little milk pail made of aluminum and that's what I was pouring the milk into. Instant blech.
We converted the milk pail into a flower pot.
The process from goat to bottle is another topic, as you will soon see, but I did learn from this list that even sunlight had a bad effect on the taste. No wonder goat's milk had a bad reputation. You had to handle it just right.
It took us about two months to get our technique down so that the milk tasted like nothing but wholesome fresh whole milk. And then it became a cornerstone of our diet.
Goat cheese is popular and a lot of people can't get enough of it. But goat milk?
OF COURSE we tasted goat milk before we bought Monique! And it was good. We also read a lot about it, and the prevailing wisdom was that if goat's milk is handled right, it tastes like...milk.
When we first started milking, Monique's milk didn't taste as good as it had at Judy's.
That meant figuring out what about our handling of it was making it less than delicious.
The list of possibilities from goat books and magazines included:
Dirty containers
Not filtering the milk fast enough
Not chilling it fast enough
Hereditary off-flavor (in a rare goat)
Exposure to sunlight
Exposure to aluminum.
Exposure to aluminum? I had bought a cute little milk pail made of aluminum and that's what I was pouring the milk into. Instant blech.
We converted the milk pail into a flower pot.
The process from goat to bottle is another topic, as you will soon see, but I did learn from this list that even sunlight had a bad effect on the taste. No wonder goat's milk had a bad reputation. You had to handle it just right.
It took us about two months to get our technique down so that the milk tasted like nothing but wholesome fresh whole milk. And then it became a cornerstone of our diet.
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