This is not the post I was planning to write. These thoughts have not been processed or made into perfect sense. I like my writing to be witty and wrapped up tight with a clever little bow. This is not that.
Yesterday I stroked little Lola’s face minutes before her death and minutes after last seizure. I told her how sorry I was for her discomfort and how much we all loved her. She looked back at me until I faltered and dropped my gaze. Lola was a goat and also part of The Wolfestead family.
I was going to type “poor Lola” just now, but Lola was not poor. Her meat will be put to good use, her pelt will live longer that I will, and she was deeply loved.
No, it is we who are poor today. Poor because we miss her and because we knew her potential. Lola’s purpose here wasn’t fulfilled. She was going to be bred this month. She was going to give us lots of babies. She was going to live out her life on the farm.
Last Thanksgiving when I butchered my first chicken, it felt different. The chicken had been picked for that specific reason. It had lived a good life and fulfilled its purpose. Its death was planned, not unexpected. We didn’t nurse it for days and invest in its recovery.
A friend recently wrote to us about the possibility of coming to The Wolfestead to heal from a deep loss. Some might wonder why anyone would want to come to a place where things die to get over loss, but that’s exactly the point. This is the perfect place. The farm is where we learn about life and death, loss and healing.
As feral farmer Nate Wolfe wrote yesterday, “I am unsure one can be intimate with life if they don’t also make love with death.”
It’s a quiet day on The Wolfestead today. We are hurting, but we are also healing. Goodbye, sweet Lola.
Lay me out
and take my skin
bleach my bones for jewelry
take my flesh and use it again
in ways that have purpose
think of me every day
you wear my pelt against your heart
depending on your desire
as you work me into leather
that will far outlast even your life
then let me fall
to your sons and daughters
and then to theirs
as an item loved and cherished long
after we are both gone
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