My twenty-second farm was Mountain Goat Lodge in Salida, Colorado.
The Farm
Mountain Goat Lodge sits at 7,500 feet in a wide valley of juniper, sage, and pinyon pine. Fourteen-thousand-foot mountains ring the valley, each taking on color at different parts of the day. At 7,500 feet, it is considered the foothills of Colorado. The farmers are Gina, D’Arcy, and their son Dereck.
“You’re perfect. You turned out just as I wanted.” Gina’s mother talking to Gina just before she died.
These comforting words gave Gina the confidence to do what she wanted in her life. Originally from Western Washington State, she settled in Maple Valley near Seattle and started a dog rescue program. One day a person called who had found some baby goats without a mother. Gina figured goats couldn’t be any harder to care for than dogs so she offered to take them. Not knowing the first thing about goats, she called Puget Sound Goat Rescue. The owner, Barbara, was happy to share information. The baby goats won over Gina’s heart and she became a goat rescuer. Barbara became Gina’s goat mentor and best friend.
Gina was tired of Seattle’s great gloom, and the constant wetness wasn’t good for the health of the goats. She wanted to move somewhere sunny and start a bed and breakfast. An internet search found a bed and breakfast for sale that had been run by a Christian group. The walls and carpeting were white, no pets or children had been allowed to stay. The expansive views of the 14ers were inspiring. The building’s blandness was a blank slate waiting to be brought to life. Gina’s tasteful eye transformed it into a quiet celebration of goats. They are featured in the artwork and on view out the windows.
My Farm Experience
I came for the goats, but my job was to build a hiking trail. Gina wanted a meandering trail for guests to stretch their legs and experience the environment of the farm. The trail would take them to a hill where they could sit and watch the colors play across the mountains as the sun moved across the horizon. I was partially chosen for this job because I have experience building trails. I’m a long-time volunteer with Washington Trails Association based in Seattle. I was also the only volunteer at the time.
This was not going to be a difficult trail to build; the soil was sandy and loose. On the flat sections of trail I just needed to pull out the plants that were in the pathway. On the hillsides, a flat footbed needed to be carved out. Gina had marked the route with pink flagging and some of the trail was finished. I was connecting the dots. My one tool was a delightfully light weight pick axe. It was perfect for the job: it easily broke up the soil and I could use it all day and not get tired.
I stayed in one of the lodge’s Retro Travel Trailers, a small camper that has a 1950s look. At eight in the morning while the sun was low and the air cool, I walked down the slight hill from the trailers to the trail. I worked along the trail moving soil and pulling up plants. The plants have adapted to the dry, loose soil and frequent high winds and thunderstorms by sending down long straight roots so they can hang on tightly and not be blown or washed away. That made it harder to pull them up. I toiled away until nine when I joined the bed and breakfast guests for Gina’s homecooked breakfast. Proceeding the breakfast was a professionally made espresso drink. Gina had worked as a barista for Starbucks and Tully’s so knew how to get the best out of her espresso machine. After a hearty breakfast I returned to the trail building and the now hot sun.
The combination of the high altitude and hot sun made me lethargic during the hot times of the day. I spent more time being a farmer statue than working. To get in a productive five hours of required work a day, I decided it would be better to start work earlier in the mornings, take off the hot part of the day, and then work for a few hours in the cool of the evenings. This also gave me a big chunk of the day to go exploring.
Colorado is a state of high altitudes (Its lowest point is 3.315 feet, higher than the highest point in many states.), and I wanted to see how high I could get, though mostly by driving. Just walking up the slight incline to my trailer made me huff and puff. Gina loaned me photographer John Fielder’s Best of Colorado guidebook. I chose the locations of the most stunning photos as my destinations. Independence Pass at 12,095 feet had the grandest photo. Driving to this high of an elevation was even more of an adventure because my car’s temperature gauge would go up to the three-quarter mark. It was a hot summer in 2016 with temperatures routinely in the 80s and 90s. Was something wrong with my trusty Subaru Outback, or was this normal? (I did take it to a mechanic and thought it got fixed, but it hadn’t.) This pass had a gentler grade and my car was fine. At the top were meadows filled with tiny flowers. Plants don’t grow very large at altitude. A trail led to views of mountains in every direction. It really was stunning.
Back at the farm at only 7,500 feet, I huffed and puffed up to my trailer to change into my trail building clothes. Working in the cool of the evening was pleasant. The pastures across the way turned orangey then golden in the fading light. After a while I realized I couldn’t see well enough to tell if the footbed was flat. Dusky light takes away your depth perception. As much as I was enjoying the work, I had to stop for the night. I huffed and puffed back to my trailer.
Early on, a box arrived in the mail. Inside were two beige ducklings, two brown ducklings, and two goslings. A male and female in each pair. They didn’t have feathers yet and were furry, looking more like penguins with their stubby wings. Gina wanted them socialized to humans and I was glad to help. One morning I found them swimming in their water dish. Only two could fit at a time. It was a relief to not have to worry about them drowning. Too bad chicks can’t swim. Gina was hoping Elsie the goose would take them under her wing, literally, but she seemed only interested in the goslings. Interestingly, while the babies seemed to all get along, they paired off and spent most of their time with their other half. How did the brown duckling know it was like the other brown duckling? They must have self-awareness in some way.
The big 4th of July weekend was coming up. Unfortunately, it was not going to be a pleasant one. Three of the goats had gotten into a grain bag and overate. This can have serious, and even fatal consequences. The part of their digestive tract called the rumen is not able to digest an excessive amount of grain. It ferments and creates acid, causing bloat. It’s a medical emergency. One of the goats, named Ester, was a milking goat and used to getting a little grain while being milked. She might be okay. The other two were males and not used to eating grain. The situation was more dire for them.
“If they start chewing their cud, they’re out of the woods” Gina.
In her goat class Gina mentioned that the number one reason goats die is mismanagement of feed. In our case the grain bag hadn’t been put back in the milk room and the door to the barn was opened either by a guest or by a goat with horns who knew the grain was out. I thought Sugar, a skinny eleven-year-old white Saanen, was doing okay. Food seemed to be moving up his throat and into his mouth, so he was chewing his cud. Gina and Dereck said he looked the worse off. They were right. When it started to rain, Sugar didn’t go into the barn. Goats hate to get wet so this was a bad sign. Gina pulled and I pushed, and we finally got Sugar back in the barn. When I saw the pink eyelids as he stood next to the side of the barn, I felt that he was dying.
While Gina took Squirt, a slightly tubby reddish-brown Nubian, and Ester to the vet, Sugar died. The following day, July 3rd, Squirt and Ester came back home. Ester had improved, Squirt had not. That evening, I watched Squirt struggle uncomfortably during his last minutes of life. His tongue was out, his feet thrashed, and he emitted a tremendous fog horn sound each time he exhaled. The eyes show when life is leaving. There’s an emptiness. The body may thrash and seem strong, but the soul is leaving. After saying goodbye to Squirt, the sky cleared and one of the most star-filled skies I’ve seen sparkled in every direction. The Milky Way was clearly visible streaming through the stars. I warmed myself up in the hot tub before curling up in bed.
Sugar and Squirt were two of Gina’s original rescue goats from Washington. They’d been with her a long time and had lived good lives. Gina didn’t talk about their deaths, but I noticed photos of them went up on the refrigerator. A small remembrance.
The 4th of July weekend also brought a strong thunder and lightening storm. Rain pounded the dry ground and continued for a few hours.
“Part of the trail you were working on is gone!” Dereck.
The troubles of the 4th of July weekend weren’t over. A creek had run through the property until the neighbors dammed it with tires. Water is a precious resource and they wanted the creek water for themselves. A strong thunder and lightning storm moved through the area, pounding the dry earth with a few inches of water. I listened to it from my trailer. When I ventured out once it was over, I discovered tires in the driveway. Then I saw tires in the front pasture, and along the highway. A flood of water had sent the dam of tires down the creek bed where, at the road’s edge, they exploded onto the highway, and across the farm’s driveway and into the front pasture. It was amazing there were no accidents on the heavily traveled main highway. I started down the trail and right around the corner found a floodplain where my new trail had been. Trees had either been washed away or were now standing in water. I’d need to reroute the trail through the debris. The neighbors must have noticed their tires were missing. We saw their car parked by where the tires came onto the highway. A police car showed up too. Hopefully, they will pick up the tires, repair Gina’s broken fence, and keep the creek flowing freely from now on. Greed generally doesn’t pay.
After all of this was over, I celebrated the 4th of July by having a beer at Elevation Brewing in Poncha Springs, just down the road, and then spending a couple of days at Great Sand Dunes National Park which has the highest dunes in the US. I climbed to the top of High Dune at 699 feet. It was a leg burner up the soft sand.
“You did more than I expected!” Gina on the trail I was building.
While I was away, Gina checked on the trail. I hoped that she was pleasantly surprised at the quality of my work. I worried that she didn’t like that I widen the trail more than she wanted. My concern was to build a trail that was safe and would last a long time. Life returned to normal after the terrible weekend. I continued adding more trail each day, but I was unable to finish it before it was time to leave. I hope the others who work on it after me have as much fun, and I hope their hard work doesn’t get washed away.