Grandpa, Goats, and Me

“Wake up, Addie, It's five in the morning.”

I slowly lifted my eyelids and allowed my retinas to adjust to the darkness of the living room where I had made my bed. The air mattress had deflated as a result of my restless sleep that night, and it hugged my body, tempting me to stay in the warm indent. But I had promised my grandpa the day before that I would go with him to learn how to milk and feed the goats, no matter how early I had to get up. So, I rubbed the exhaustion from my eyes, and took a deep breath before throwing the warm, inviting covers off of my legs, and exposing my skin to the biting cold of my grandparent’s cabin.

I shivered as goosebumps broke out on my legs, and walked as fast as I could to the suitcase in the corner of the room, stepping over the sleeping bodies of my brothers. I dug through it, in a desperate search for warm clothes. I found my bootcut jeans, a pair of socks, and one of my old sweaters my mother had packed for me. I ran to the bathroom to change out of my nightgown, and by the time I got out, my grandfather had built a fire in the wood stove. I hurried over to warm my fingers and toes, and let out a sigh of relief as the heat energy transferred from the stove to my skin. My grandpa brought me my boots, and I slipped them on.

“You ready, young lady?” he asked me as he watched me yawn and pull my pant legs over the boots.

I nodded, too tired to speak.

My grandfather smiled. One of the only smiles of his that I can remember, and he flipped the porch light on and led me outside.

The moon had already set, and the colors of the sunrise were just starting to paint themselves across the horizon, outlining the mountains in a beautiful pink hue. The stars still were shining bright in the Washington sky, some of the most beautiful stars I had ever seen. My grandfather hadn’t realized I had stopped, and he continued to walk without me. It wasn’t until his flashlight’s glow had completely vanished from my view that I realized I had to catch up. I retrieved the flashlight I had brought from my pocket and clicked it on, illuminating a little bit of the landscape ahead. Sawdust littered the ground from the tree my grandpa and my father had sawed and split the day prior, and the rope swing our family had built swayed gently in the cold breeze. I ran until I was again in stride with my grandfather, and followed him towards the southern side of their property.

I saw the green light shining on the outside of the barn. It charged up during the day and could sense when the sun had gone and it was time to illuminate everything around it in an eerily green color. The light was unsettling, and I stuck close to my grandpa as he headed straight for the tool bar on the west wall of the barn, and plugged in a long, orange extension cord. A floodlight turned on, overwhelming the eerie green light, and putting my heart at ease.

Star, my uncle’s horse, whinnied at the sight of me. I knew what this meant, and I immediately retrieved the container of grained apple slices from the tool bench and snuck him a couple slices. He nudged me for more, but I told him I’d come back later, and he watched me with his dark eyes while I marched over to my grandfather who was inspecting the milking station.

The milking station looked similar to a pillory, the wooden frame would lift to allow the goats head to fit in and secure around the neck so she wouldn’t try to run off while we milked her. There were a couple straps to hold the hind legs, because some of the goats liked to kick the buckets, so we had to tie them up.

My grandfather and I herded the three female goats into the barn, and closed them in a stall as they waited their turns. He strapped the first one in, and showed me his technique. He oiled his hands and told me to do the same. I watched him intently, and when the bucket was nearly half full, he stood and let me try.

It took me a few attempts to get it right, but eventually I figured it out. I was using more muscles in my hands by milking a goat than I had in my entire life before that morning, and they began to cramp pretty quickly.

“If you want to get good at it, you gotta build up that grip strength, because that’s what gives you strong hands like mine and your daddy’s.” Grandpa said, holding his palm up so I could see how strong they were.

I held my thirteen-year-old hands up next to his, and inspected the differences between them. My palms were smooth, showing little evidence of work, His were calloused and rough from years of farming and masonry. My fingers were thin and dainty, and my fingernails were polished and smooth, his were wrinkly and spotted from his old age, and he was missing a pinky from a chainsaw accident that had occurred before I was even born.

He smiled, “A woman’s hands shouldn’t ever look like mine. A good man will help his wife with the hard things. His hands will look like mine, so yours can stay lookin’ like that.” He gripped my hands tightly and released them, then turned and let the first goat out of the milking station, and began hitching up the second.

“I want my hands to look like yours when I’m older, papa.” I said, “If I’m gonna marry anyone, I want to be able to work just as hard as they do.”

He smiled, and finished hitching up the second goat.

“I’ll tell you what.” He said, as he sat down and began milking her, “You were so excited to come out and milk goats with me. When I asked who wanted to help me, you were nearly jumping out of your seat.”

I frowned, “What about it?” I asked, scratching the goat’s forehead.

“None of your brothers even seemed slightly interested.” He replied, keeping his eyes on his work, “There’s something about you that I see potential in. You love to learn.”

I patted the goat’s head lightly, and looked out at Star who was grazing in the pasture.

“I suppose I do.” I replied, “I just find new things to be fascinating.”

“Keep that ideology, Addie.” Grandpa said, “There are so many new things to learn about in this world, and I hope you keep your interest aflame.”

I smiled, but didn’t answer.

“Tell you what,” Grandpa said, “I’ll finish milking Kip here, then you can milk the next one by yourself, and you can keep the milk you get.”

I grinned, and nodded, “What can I do while you finish milking her?” I asked.

He shrugged, “Whatever you want.” he said and he turned back to his work.

I giggled and ran back to the fence where I had met Star earlier. I whistled as loud as I could and called out for him.

He rounded the corner of the barn at a slow trot and nudged my outstretched hand with his snout. I crawled over the fence with a couple apples in one hand and a brush in the other.

I combed the brush over his short hair and fed him a couple apple slices. He huffed his thanks and stood still.. I scratched behind his ears for him and patted his neck softly as I brushed him. He was a beautiful American Quarter Horse. His coat was chestnut brown with a white star and stripe on the snout, and his tail and mane were black like coal. He was the only horse I had ever had any sort of friendship with, and I enjoyed spending time with him.

“Alright, Addie, I got the next one all set up for you.” My grandpa called over the fence, “come on back.”

I skipped back inside and sat down to milk the last goat.

“I’m gonna go feed Star and the other animals.” My grandpa said, “Are you okay if I leave you here? And when you’re done, you can just go back to the house, Grandma should have some Swedish pancakes all cooked up and ready for us.”

I nodded, “I’ll be just fine.” I replied.

My grandpa smiled and walked out of the barn with two of the buckets of milk.

It was quiet, save the sounds of the milk hitting the bottom of the metal bucket. The birds had begun to chirp, and the wind blew through the trees, dislodging the leaves from their branches. Star stood still in his pasture, and beyond him, the sun had finally made her appearance on the horizon. Her morning rays stretched across the land, casting a golden glow on everything I could see. The grass shimmered as the morning frost reflected the light, and the crisp scent of the farm reached my nose.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as I finished milking the goat. I freed her from the station, picked up my bucket and unplugged the floodlight. I gave Star one last treat before heading back to the house, and watched as the green light flickered off, defeated by the blinding, golden sunlight. I was safe, and at peace on a cold fall morning.

My stomach grumbled, as the scent of honey and pancakes reached my nose, and I hurried inside, setting the bucket down on the front porch and smiling because that morning I had fallen in love with the country. The crisp smell of the pines, the blue mountains in the background, and the sunrise. The beautiful golden sunrise that illuminated my olive skin and warmed me to the very center of my soul.