We went by their house with milk, this family we've known for some years now, I don't know how many, but mostly peripherally. We have some things in common (interest in healthy food and in growing things), and some things not in common (religion). I always expect friends to be more than this somehow. But when Pat died, suddenly and unexpectedly, it really hit close to home. The milk was all we knew to do for them -- their church & family would do the rest.

But I feel so much for them, for their loss. We stood on the porch talking. She told us how it had happened. She said she was comforted by her faith but she was stomping her foot at God about it anyway. I do not share her belief system and yet somehow I know her God can take her foot stomping. It made us both smile.

And I had the most amazing feeling. Sometimes there is no "other", it is all same-same, there is no separation.

I am not one who believes that we all really deep down believe the same thing. I don't actually have a problem with someone thinking I'm going to hell; I really don't feel the need to convince them otherwise. We believe (whether this is religious/spiritually or the things we believe about people or about how the world works or ought to work) very different things. And these different things lead to different actions which lead to different results. It isn't all the same just like a Twinkie isn't the same as a carrot.

Standing there on that porch, holding her hand, with a gulf of different spiritual beliefs between us, we were still same-same. I still love her, and I feel like she still loved me, without any need to make me smaller or less for our differences. And I am glad she has her beliefs and is comforted by them.

The funeral is Saturday. I don't like funerals, mostly for their religious content. But I wouldn't not stand up for him.

I also think our goat is going to die. That has nothing to do with this and yet everything. Work is less joyful because I feel betrayed by my boss. The road is badly washed out. The roof leaks when it rains hard. Is the new old van going to quit too? It is just one of those times. But I look at Pat and Deb and I know they struggled just to find a piece of land, to put roots to a dream. We could pull back to this farm, to only this farm, and I am happy here with these people and have plenty to do and plenty I am interested in . . . but I don't want to give up horses again. How close was I to dying a few weeks ago when I couldn't breathe. Does anything matter? Does it matter if it doesn't matter?

My family matters. My farm matters. Beyond that, I am lost.

The goat is ancient, like 12 or 13 years old. She is the daughter of our first milk goat. I'd always dreamed that we'd always keep her line going and yet, she's still the only one we have of her. We've sold some, we've eaten some, all boys. Of the girls, the bear ate some, and one died from some neurological something in December. I was a bit surprised that she had conceived again. I think she has a kid lying transverse. If the kid is transverse, and if I can't get in and fix that, she's dead. A vet could section the baby and have some chance to save her but this would cost more than a young, pregnant nanny. It doesn't make sense to do it and so we won't. I may not ever actually know what was wrong with her, but I think she's dying.

This reminds me of when the dogs came and killed all the geese. I felt like an irresponsible goose person, like I'd let them down. I feel that way toward this goat, and her line. I've done all I know to do, and I haven't violated my ethical system, but it sure makes you want to violate it. Like having the car break down yet again makes you want to violate it, even when you know a "new car" is no guarantee of it not breaking down. What I get for my ethical system is to be with my family, to know this earth, to not run from my spirit, so many things really.

But what I feel right at this moment is entirely not good enough.

So I'm going to go trim the horse and donkey and other goat hooves. If I don't get all the dishes and floors done, so be it.


(yes, the goat did die, peacefully, this afternoon -- an era has passed -- but the trim work and the house work all felt good)

(I hope some day one of the girls can write about our journey through the woods to the goat today, and trying to help her, and then knowing we couldn't. I think the best of me was there.)