Stop children, what’s that smell?
Goats don’t smell all that funny. In fact, they don’t smell like much of anything at all. And they’re soft and furry, a bit like a kitten. That’s what I learned today, on a beautiful Saturday in Sonoma County, where Suzan, myself, her sister Anne Marie and our friend Sophia decided to go bond with some goats. Goats are also in the same animal order as deer. Did you know that? I didn’t.
Redwood Hill Farm is a small family-run operation, of about 400 goats on maybe 10 acres of land. I’m a big fan of their vanilla yogurt and I use their soap pretty frequently to keep my skin all nice and smooth (quit laughing). So when I dropped by their booth at the Ferry Plaza Farmers Market, where I go nearly every Saturday morning, I noticed they were having an Open Farm Day where you could come visit. I had no real plans, had never been to Sebastapol and believe the best reason to try anything is to have a good story to tell afterward. Three hours later, I’m milking a prize-winning doe named Savanah with udders the size of a bowling ball. She didn’t even squirm.
Now I hadn’t planned on getting near agriculture of any kind after reading Fast Food Nation, but I tell ya, there’s a great sense of relief in knowing where your food comes from and that those in charge of making it aren’t a bunch of lunatics spraying hormones everywhere and having the animals tread in their own manure. Redwood Hill is a free range farm which means the goats roam around as they please, nibble grass and hay, and do general goat things until it’s time for milking. As long as a goat gives good milk, they stick around. There’s a 12-year-old animal, still goating around at Redwood Hill.
Sonoma County is giving a series of tours at different farms this summer. I may go check out a few more, maybe other operations that feed me each week. The farm ain’t just for kids. It’s where I can go to see who I’m entrusting my body to and the value they place on that trust.