It’s a gray, dreary morning, and I keep thinking that it’s still the crack of dawn. When really it’s after 9 am, and I should be doing something more productive than drinking coffee and reading blogs. I have a stack of books to review, a story time to observe, pizza dough to make, plus it’s my turn to do the milk run. With a couple other families, we take turns going out to the “country” to pick up raw milk for the week. It’s a nice drive, once you get out of town, and you can say hello to the cows and then load up your coolers and head back to town to distribute the creamy goodness. I like knowing where my milk comes from – plus it’s damn good.
Speaking of dairy animals, I was listening to some NPR podcast the other day (probably from months ago) and they were featuring a woman in Seattle who keeps an urban goat farm (I’m still trying to wrap my mind around that one). In the segment, she was making blackberry ice cream using all ingredients from her farm/neighborhood. At one point you could hear the goat being milked, and it took me right back to visiting Kate, this time last year. I remember her mentioning some radio segment that featured the everyday sounds of life – and she wanted to submit audio of a goat being milked. It’s an awesome sound. And now I can’t find the piece online. Oh well. Kate knows what it sounds like.