Goats and Oranges

SO, we’ve thrown another twist into our travels, quite literally in fact, as to get to access our current location one must travel a very steep, curvy road down the hill (which we, of course, mostly choose to travel on bikes, at night, with our trusty headlamps which, fortunately, are not quite bright enough to remind us that there is no guardrail around these corners) to a little goat farm called Monte Robledos, which, because it’s at the bottom of a valley, of course means ‘mountain of the oaks.”  Don’t worry, no baa-aa-aad news to report, just a bit of cheesiness, as we’re taking a bit of a workation from Finca Buenvino, and spending a few weeks producing ‘quesos artisinales.’

We learned of this small cheese operation– which is about 10km from the Chesterton’s and 5km down from Aracena) from another American WWOOFer who we happened to meet on the street during one of the many Semana Santa processions. He gave us their telephone number in case we ever wanted to pay them a visit. Things at the Chesterton’s were going fine, but we had started to get a bit too comfortable, a bit antsy to learn new things and speak more Spanish, and a bit worried that the Chestertons might soon tire of our constant presence, or at least of bread, which Sam the Sour-Doughboy was (and is) making almost daily. J We will go back to the Chestertons before we leave Spain, but for now we are thoroughly enjoying our stay at Monte Robledos.

As we’re working with a Spanish Spanish family (Maria Jesus, Rafael, Rafael Jr., Manuel, y Miguel) as opposed to a British Spanish family (Sam, Jeannie, Charlie, Grania and Jago), we have not only been able to immerse ourselves in curds and whey, but in the Spanish, or should I say ‘Andalu-th” language. And, when we mentioned how hot it’s supposed to be this coming week (high 80’s F), and that this was pretty much the hottest our summers in New England ever get, they showed us to a small reservoir they had made in which we are also welcome to immerse ourselves. After shooing away a few pigs, Sam gladly took a dip, but although it’s not the grossest pond I’ve ever seen—certainly cleaner than the Bates ‘puddle,’—the heat has not quite yet driven me to brave the muck and murk to wallow in the watering hole.

Although some of our enjoyment of the past couple of weeks here stems from obvious and logical sources, such as the fact that this is a very warm, helpful and enthusiastic family with lots of knowledge to share, other aspects of our contentment here are in some ways rather paradoxical. I can almost see the grimaces on the faces of my busy readers as I write this (although I guess those of you who are TOO busy won’t have time to read this), but I think part of our satisfaction comes from the fact that we work hard, and a lot, almost all day, almost every day. What?! This makes you happy?! Well, I can’t say that the work itself is particularly intriguing; fatiguing is more the adjective I’d use to describe today’s work of flipping over and wiping the shelves of thousands of little round cheeses. Nor do I even like goat milk or cheese that much. Sam says that this just because I’m not used to it, and that I’d feel this way about cow’s milk, too, if I hadn’t grown up with it, but I maintain that we stuck to cow’s milk for a reason, and the reason MY taste buds provide is that cow’s milk doesn’t contain that at-once sweet and savory essence of goat-butt. (This said, I must admit that goat’s milk is not THAT different from cow’s milk, and I have been drinking it willingly. It’s also supposed to be much better for you, and easier to absorb). So, then why are we feeling more relaxed here? First of all, when we work hard and long, we appreciate NOT working much more. Downtime seems like a luxury—we don’t feel guilty sitting around, even if we’re doing nothing!—and we’re not bored, and for me at least, being bored is much worse than being tired. Also, we are living in a casa which is on the farm, whereas the rest of the family lives in town. This means not only do we have cute baby animals to ogle at, but we are cooking for ourselves (and no, the arrangement of this sentence does not imply that we are cooking baby animals), which is more work, but also more autonomy: something we’ve really been missing this year.

Our cooking has been particularly inspired lately, with help from the oranges and lemons, ripe for the picking, just outside our door, and goats, ripe for the milking, running around everywhere. Both milk and citrus fruit, it turns out, are harder to acquire than they look, however. My first attempt at harvesting oranges was met with spiny resistance: not only do the small branches have thorns, but even the larger, “perfect climbing” branches are be-spiked. So, I thought, “I’ll just pick up those which have already fallen to the ground, as long as they don’t look rotten!” Good plan, except the oranges on the ground, even the ones the ants haven’t invaded, are a bit tooooo sweet…. But, every obstacle is a learning opportunity— now I send Sam to get the oranges!

As for the goats, there are more than 300 of them, most of which need milking, so fortunately there is a milking machine. However, I think someone overheard our rather deflated “Ohhhh, I guess we won’t be learning to milk a goat” sighs– as we rolled up to see the lady goats flaunting their pumps– and decided to teach us some lessons.

Lesson #1: When the machine breaks, you must still milk the goats, because if not the milk can curdle in their udders, and kill them.

Lesson #2: To milk a goat, hold one teat in each hand, and squeeze, it’s that easy!

Lesson #3: If nothing is coming out, and you’re squeezing as hard as you can, keep squeezing… and squeezing…. And squeezing up here, and down there… and twist maybe?…

Lesson #4: Goats kick.

Lesson #5: When you finally get one little, tiny stream of milk out, the goat will kick your bucket over so that you cannot prove you’ve mustered a drop.

Lesson #6: Sam is just better at getting the ladies to put out.

Lesson #7: If all of the goats on the row are milked except the one you’re pleading with, move out of the way and let Rafael milk it—he can do it so fast that the milk froths in the bucket!

Lesson #8: HUGE, full udders are impossible to get a handle on, and therefore nearly impossible to milk unless you’re Rafael (see lesson 7).

Lesson #9: Although you may not contribute more than 1.5 liters to the 120 liters total collected (by 4 milkers including yourself), do not feel too bad: at least the goats you milked seemed to enjoy your gentle massaging more than the others’ vicious tugging, and at least if the goat kicked over your bucket, you didn’t lose much milk.

With all of the lessons we’re learning, I think the most valuable is probably that farming, and especially selling your products to make a living, is a LOT of work. Maria Jesus and her family not only manage the farm and garden, make loads of cheese at least twice a week and turn all the drying cheeses once a day, but they have two small stores/bars in Aracena where they sell their own cheese and pork products as well as other groceries (and where we go to access internet), and go to most of the festivals in Andalucia to try to sell their products at kiosks to make ends meet. She’s really an incredible woman, and for me her ability to juggle all of this work it’s at once inspiring and frustrating. It seems so ridiculous to me that food production is so underpaid and underappreciated—providing good quality and healthy food should be held in such high regard, and yet I feel that it’s taken for granted by so many people who have never done it, and requires SO much time and energy from the few people who are willing to undertake it. That’s not to say it isn’t rewarding— as I’ve mentioned, we feel very satisfied after a long day’s work here—but the rewards certainly aren’t (usually) financial. I just think we should pay a bit more thought to, and also a bit more money to those brave souls who produce the energy we need to survive (especially those who do it efficiently without ruining our environment or health in the process—food produced industrially often contains fewer calories of energy than were burned to produce it, not to mention process, package and ship it, and so to pour more money into this broken system/energy drain is not what I’m endorsing). So hats off to Maria, who’s does all this and is also a mother… another underappreciated and UNpaid position….

Alright, I’ll stop before I alienate any of our constituency with my political views and values. We really need your vote of confidence in our blog, as we don’t want our ratings to drop, and we desperately want to hold on to at least our current 3.6 followers/day. J

I believe we have exactly 4 weeks from today before we will debark in Massachusetts, and I cannot way to make my way back to our ‘old world.’ ‘Till then, know that we’re having lots of fun being cheesy! Hasta pronto!

Advertisement