Page 79 of Salty Pickle

I hope he means that in a good way, not a weird one. I’m very aware that how I lived was unusual. I just got… stuck.

Court twists around to look behind him as he prepares to back out of the spot. I wrap an arm around Matilda’s neck to keep her steady. She lets out a happy meh eh eh.

“Me too, Matilda. Me, too.”

The gravel crunches beneath the tires as we approach the entry. We don’t even need to flash our passes. I guess the golf cart tells the story. We’re waved through a gate and wow! Huge white tents have been erected on the back side, like it’s a circus. Shiny green tractors line up like giants.

We drive along the big rig row, admiring a long red rotary tiller tearing up a patch of dirt while several men in ball caps watch.

We turn down a row of temporary pens, the silver bars winking in the sun. There are entire herds here. Cows. Sheep. And goats!

“Look, Matilda! There are more Nubians like you!”

Matilda pays me no mind, snorting at the air.

I glance around to see what she’s picking up on.

A big hay baler is sitting ahead, and a man is turning the flywheel to show how the claws drag in loose hay to push through the machine and bundle it into perfect rectangles wrapped with twine.

Matilda smells the hay.

Court leans over. “You think he’ll sell us some?”

“I think it’s a manufacturer, not a farmer, but maybe!”

Court pulls up next to the baler. Several of the men look at Matilda with amusement as I untie the leash and let her walk on the ground. She immediately scarfs up bits of hay that blow near her hooves.

“We got a cleaner upper,” one man calls. “We could use a goat to hoover up our mess!”

“She’s doing it!” I holler back.

One of the men steps forward to shake Court’s hand. I can’t hear their conversation over the chunk, chunk sounds of the baler. Matilda makes a happy leap in the air, then returns to eating hay as fast as she can.

Court comes over. “He says we can come by later and grab a couple of bales. They’re going to have more than they want to haul home.”

“How nice of them!” I wave at the cluster of men.

“Are we going to be able to get her back on the cart with all this food around?” Court asks.

“I’ll get her going. Goats aren’t really grazers. They like to eat brush at head level if they can. If you hold some hay out, she’ll prefer that.” I bend down to gather up some hay, but Court stops me.

“Let me do that.” He collects a good cluster and holds it out to Matilda. When she starts chewing, he walks backward toward the cart, bringing her with him.

When we’re back in the cart, Matilda still happily chewing, I tell him, “See, you’re going to be a goat expert before this is over.”

“Do you want to look at the other goats?” he asks.

“No, that might agitate Matilda if they are uncut males. Can we head to the tents?”

“Anything the lady wants.”

I try to hold back my squeal as we approach the long tent, open on one side. There’s an unending line of crafters with everything from quilts to jams to pies to pickles to embroidery to jewelry.

I can’t stop myself. “Squeeeee!”

Court laughs. “Get one of everything.”

“I won’t have space in my yurt!”

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