Caldwell’s Homestead

Chapter One

“Hold her leg,” Malcolm says in a calm, steely voice.

I adjust my grip to keep her from pulling away. She fights back. Her left leg almost slips out of my hand as she gives a powerful kick. She lets out a shriek as if we’re killing her.

“Enough of that, now,” Malcolm smoothly tells her. “You’re going to be just fine. It’s not like this is your first time.”

She doesn’t believe him and, as if to make a point, folds up her legs and completely collapses. I lift her back up so Malcolm can finish the task at hand.

Man, am I glad my wife will be home tomorrow; she’s getting a talking to about this crazy goat. Milking usually falls to Mollie.

At least she trained our son how to take care of it before she went on her work trip—all I have to do is help. With my big clumsy hands, Nigerian Dwarf goats are way too small for me to milk. At ten years old, Malcolm still has small hands, making it fairly easy for him.

With my job as a school custodian, I always have the summer off but usually pick up a summer-only, temporary job with the school district. This year, thanks to budget cuts, the temp jobs are gone.

So Malcolm and I are holding down the fort—well, the farm anyway. In addition to goats, we have a good-sized garden, which seems to get larger every year, as well as assorted small livestock, trees, and vines. The thirty-acre parcel was bare ground when we bought it, just a few years ago, lacking everything except sagebrush, cactus, wild rabbits, and the occasional rattlesnake.

It has definitely been a labor of love bringing it to the place it is today, with a whole lot more love needed to get it where we want it.

Unfortunately, my love for our land has been waning. Not the land, necessarily, but all the work that goes along with having a farm. Lately, I find myself wanting to throw in the towel on the whole mess, sell all the animals, let the weeds take over the garden, and allow the vines and trees to wither and die. Working full time, farming, and trying to keep my marriage together has been a challenge.

Since I’m not working a paid job this summer, we agreed I’d spend my time focusing on the half-done projects looming on the farm, repairing things needing repairs, and playing full-time farmer. Essentially, the traditional honey-do list. Yeah, I participated in putting this list together, but most of the items on it were at Mollie’s suggestion.

While the day-to-day essential items to keep our farmstead going take some time—feeding the goats, chickens, ducks, sheep, and pigs plus watering the gardens and orchards—they are easy to do. It’s the other things that fall by the wayside.

It wasn’t always like this. But then, with a phone call, everything changed.

“Dad, I’m done with her. You can let go.” Malcolm’s voice, carrying a hint of annoyance, brings me back to the present.

I let go of the crazy goat’s leg, and, as if by magic, the goat’s disposition immediately changes. She looks around, and I swear she winks at me as if to say, Take that.

Mollie has names for all the goats. I can’t remember most of them, but I’m thinking of several names for this one right now, none of which would impress Mollie. Did I mention how much I’m looking forward to my wife returning home?

I take a deep breath. Even though the job of a farmer may not be for me, I do love living here. The views are breathtaking. The neighbors are fantastic. And it’s peaceful. Tucked away on the edge of the wilderness, it’s the kind of place a person can really get away. The lazy river, in view from our milking shed—well, not the water but the trees lining the river—provides a great place to spend an afternoon, with a fishing pole in hand.

Bakerville, Wyoming. Peaceful. Quiet. Safe.

Continue reading Caldwell’s Homestead: Havoc in Wyoming, Part 1