My America

The idea of America inspires the soul of humanity. To proclaim that every person has as much value as any another and has the right to express his or her thoughts freely, to worship as he or she chooses, and the right to pursue “life, liberty, and happiness”[i]—those are radical thoughts! Inspiring indeed, and so far-reaching that even the people who first wrote them didn’t truly believe them. Well, SOME of us do. I’d like to think many of us do.

The past few years have been dark days again for our country. We’ve emerged from a terrible economic crisis only to find ourselves on yet another battlefield—one which many of us hoped we we’d put behind us. We had thought or at least hoped we’d moved beyond the worst expressions of hate and bigotry only to find those monstrous specters rearing their ugly heads yet again and with a power forged in desperation. We had fooled ourselves into believing that the values America was founded upon were finally coming to full fruition, and that true equality for all people, regardless of race, sex, or creed was finally within reach. That dream, it would seem, has gone down to the echoes of “Trump! Trump! Trump!” No, America is not the “Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave”[ii], as remembered from the familiar anthem. It is instead the land of the disenfranchised, the morally weak, the fearful, and the hateful. We have forgotten who we should be—who we never have been during our entire history as a nation.

I awoke this morning from a dream which included two young boys. Both of them were featured on NBC Nightly News yesterday, and I confess I was once again moved to tears, as I often have been in watching the struggles of the Syrian refugees or those of the African-American community. What has happened to us that we would even allow such things to happen without showing compassion and doing all we could? What has happened to our moral compass that we would say we won’t even take ten thousand of the millions of refugees from the Syrian war? That we would compare them to “a bowl of poisoned Skittles[iii]?” What has happened that our response to the daily murder of black people—many of whom are just folks like ourselves, just trying to make it—is a “law and order” candidate? One who, I might add, frequently doesn’t know what he’s talking about and prides himself on his ignorance? I know what you’ll say. “What about Somalia? Or Afghanistan? We tried to help and look at what it got us." Well, for one thing, all our meddling got us a huge share of responsibility for what has happened to all the Middle Easter refugees.

I think we all need to do a serious “check up from the neck up!”[iv] If we can’t regard our neighbors as rightful Americans who happen to look a little different, talk a little different, or believe a little different than we do, then we don’t deserve to live in this country—and it doesn’t matter if they are here legally or not. If they are within the borders of our country, they are entitled to all the protections in the Constitution of the United States. That’s the law. We need to be more like six-year-old Alex who, when seeing the photo of a fearfully injured and homeless Syrian boy of his own age, was moved to compassion and sat down and wrote a letter to President Obama:  “Can you please go get him and bring him to our home?” the letter read. “We will give him a family and he will be our brother.”[v]

We don’t deserve the freedoms so many of us DO enjoy, and we have certainly forgotten the vision of Lady Liberty, the New Colossus. We should pause and remember the poem written for her by Emma Lazarus which is engraved on a plaque at the monument. Here is an excerpt:

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she    

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,    

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"[vi]

The motto of one American Presidential candidate is “Make America Great Again,”[vii] and I confess my first reaction was to protest that America is great, has always been great, and never stopped being great. Upon more reflection, however, he’s right. America isn’t the great nation I believed in anymore, and I love our flag and The Star-Spangled Banner as much as anyone. Until each and every one of us steps up to stand for the principles America was founded upon and reaches out a helping hand to those in need and pain, we are nothing but a fraud. Only when we can become like young Alex can we aspire to be what we should be. I know many will think me naive, but only then will America truly be great again.

---

[i] From the Declaration of Independence of the United States of America. It is sad to reflect that Thomas Jefferson, who penned those inspiring words never did give up his slaves, nor did George Washington, our first President, whose slaves were not freed until after his death as provided for in his will.

[ii] The last line of The Star-Spangled Banner by Francis Scott Key, our national anthem.

[iii] http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/onpolitics/2016/09/20/donald-trump-jr-compares-syrian-refugees-poisoned-skittles/90722818/

[iv] “We all need a daily check up from the neck up to avoid stinkin ‘thinkin’ which ultimately leads to hardening of the attitudes.” ~ Zig Ziglar

[v]http://www.newsmax.com/TheWire/alex-syrian-refugee-brother/2016/09/22/id/749678/  

[vi]https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_New_Colossus 

[vii] Donald Trump’s 2016 campaign slogan

Books vs. TV or the Movies

I don’t know about other people, but I get really annoyed when I’m watching a TV show or movie made from a best-selling novel and the scriptwriters completely change the story. The one sticking in my craw right now is HBO’s Game of Thrones TV series. Up to now it’s been a fine production. Yes, there have been some “revisions” to the story line along the way, but I’ve written them off as necessary due to the limitations of putting the books on the screen. Now however, the writers have gone way off course, and it’s Game of Thrones in a parallel universe! Then there’s that nagging little problem where George R. R. Martin hasn‘t finished the book version yet, and all of us are hanging on by our nails waiting for The Winds of Winter to come out. Where, oh where do we go from here? What happened to Griff and Little Griff?

In this day where less people read and most watch TV, watching a story on screen does not mean you know what happened in the book. That’s been true for a long time. But the book was great for a reason, and what entitles scriptwriters to screw around with that? If I sold rights to a story, I would insist that the scriptwriters had to remain faithful to my creative vision. Okay, so you can’t tell the story in an hour or even two-and-a-half hours. Admit defeat and don’t try. Do a series or a mini-series—or, as in the case of Lord of the Rings, or The Hobbit, do several movies. Or, don’t even try to put it on film! Let people actually read the story if it’s so important. The first few attempts to put Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit on film were complete fiascos, and most folks believed film versions were impossible.

My husband Sam doesn’t even want to watch Game of Thrones anymore, and I’m obviously disgusted. I suppose Daenerys will be disappearing down a rabbit hole next. I’m equally certain that HBO doesn’t give a fig what I think. Stay tuned—I’m still wondering how they plan to pull it all off!

 

"Je Suis Charlie!"

I am certain I am not alone in my outrage at the recent murders of the Charlie Hebdo staff in Paris, France. I will not hesitate to stand with them or any other people wishing to express their ideas—no matter how outrageous they may be. I suppose the Muslims guilty of this horror felt words alone were insufficient to redress the crime of insulting the Prophet? I can only echo the immortal words of Voltaire, who’s been quoted many times over the past few days: “I may disagree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.”

You know, God does not need us measly mortals to defend him. Nor does Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, Krishna, or Confucius! Their words and teachings must stand on their own and convince us one way or the other to follow them or not. Jesus’ good name is dragged in the mud every day, and yes, as a Christian it makes me angry, but I pray for those benighted individuals, as Jesus instructed us to do. If Allah is such a good and just god, I would think he would want the same. What kind of religion teaches that you’ll go to Heaven for murdering people? Lots of Muslims insist Islam doesn’t either, so where do all the murders and suicide bombings come from? How did these people get it wrong? Furthermore, what do Muslims plan to do about it?

Shariyah Law has no place in France where a mere 6% of the population is Muslim (according to the PBS News Hour yesterday). If you want to live under its restrictions, then I suggest you move to where the population has voted it to be the law of the land. Until then, WE live according to the freedoms granted to us under our respective Constitutions, among which is Freedom of Speech!—And, we have NO intention of giving it up.

From what I’ve seen on TV, I probably would think much of what Charlie Hebdo published was outrageous and offensive, but you know what? I just wouldn’t read it anymore. If what they publish is really so bad, then other people will also refuse to read it, it will go under and cease to publish altogether. That’s how things work here. You don’t silence people by killing them!

Vive la France!

Love and Loss at Christmas

The Christmas holidays can seem awfully lonely sometimes. When Sam and I used to work in the ER, we saw more than our share of the lonely and bereft every year, and it was not only sad, it could be downright exasperating and dangerous trying to deal with those folks. Don’t get me wrong—I fully understand how it can be. Lots of people have dysfunctional families and can count the number of Loved Ones on the fingers of one hand and have fingers left over. Sometimes too, bad things happen.

I’m sad this year, because my little Arab mare Hadarah passed away a few days ago. Yes, I knew it was coming, and had for some time. Yes, I did what I could to spend time with her and see that she was as happy and healthy as possible for the remainder of her days. She had a good life and her last year was a very happy one, possibly the best she ever had. I took pains to change her diet to one where she could keep her weight up and not feel hungry. We no longer had to board her at a stable, and I took care of her myself, plus she had the companionship of my wonderful gelding Laddie. Her last day was spent up on the hill above the house, grazing in the sun with Laddie. It was such a nice day, in fact, that we were able to take her turn-out rug off. My last real memory of her was seeing her standing in the sun, looking down and whinnying to me, because she wanted her afternoon snack. She didn’t have any bad moments that day until the very end, when she seemed confused, and even then, she didn’t appear to suffer. She spent the night in her stall with her head out the window in her door, with Laddie standing next to her as he always did. When we came out in the morning, she had finally lost her balance and was lying peacefully on the floor. I know she went quietly, because there was no evidence that she had thrashed around. The lights went out. Now Laddie and I are sad, lost, and wondering what to do with ourselves. Our world is smaller, diminished, because her sweet spirit is no longer in it. No matter how prepared you are for the end, you never really are.

As sad as I am for myself, however, it’s Laddie that I feel sorry for. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to have our other mare, Schelline, to keep him company when Hadarah left—but we had to sell Schelline last summer, in order to have the money to buy hay for everyone. In a way, though, that’s helped me, because Laddie has looked to me for comfort and support. When we’ve had to put down horses in years past, the rest of them just sort of came over, said good-bye, and then went about their business. Not this time. He’s still looking for her or gazing at and whinnying to the neighbor’s horses across the road. He follows me around like a lost puppy whenever I’m outside and gladly seems to tolerate the crying and excess of hugs. We will need to get another horse, but we can’t right now, since we don’t have the money. Sometimes life just sucks.

I have friends who swear they will never own another animal, because it hurts too much when they’re gone. I understand how they feel, but I don’t agree with them. What is life worth if you never love anyone or anything, because you don’t want to get hurt? I can’t live that way! Yes, losing an animal such as Hadarah hits especially hard, because she was more like my child than a pet. We bring them into our hearts and families, and sometimes imbue them with more human traits than they actually possess—but they are special, and they know it. Hadarah gave me more love than I’ve gotten from most people I’ve known in my lifetime, and I imagine many people out there would agree with me, regarding their pets. So, we mourn them and remember them. Hadarah will have a memorial plaque on our round pen when it's finished, and I’m going to have some of her tail hairs made up into a bracelet. In the meantime, all I can do is cry and hope that Heaven is real, because regardless of whether it is or not, it gives me something more to hold onto. Right now I need that, and if thoughts of Heaven serve no other purpose, then I guess they have done their job.

R.I.P. Hadarah: March 9, 1985-December 6, 2014



Hadarah at 30 years

I lost my best friend this morning. How do you even begin to say good-bye to someone who’s always been there for you? Someone who’s been with you for nearly half of your life? I’m trying to find out. As Sam says, you outlive them all but the last one. It’s so hard when you can see the light slowly fading away, even when you know there is no suffering. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew the day was not far off when I had to say good bye, and today was the day. I hoped to make that as gentle as possible for her, and she was ready. She apparently had a massive stroke just before suppertime last night, and I gave her my last hugs. She went in her sleep, resting in her stall. We should all hope to meet as kind an end. I will remember her often, and the memories are all good. I can honestly say I don’t have any bad memories of her. Her name meant "beautiful jewel" or "ornament," and that's just what she was.  

Hadarah at six months

I first met Hadarah when she was a two-day-old foal, in the stall with her mother Shaamin, peeking out between the boards at the strange creatures who had gathered just outside. She was so small then, a little black filly with a star on her forehead and a few grey hairs dotting her muzzle. We all knew she would be grey anyway, because both of her parents were, but I didn’t care about that. We looked at each other that day in the barn and bonded. I knew somehow, some way, I had to have this horse.

There was no way I could buy her then. We lived in an apartment 25 miles away in North Seattle, and besides, I didn’t have money to buy a horse. The only reason I was even there was because we had been invited to visit friends from a new church and see their horses. They were Arabians, too, the breed of horse I had wanted to own since I was a kid. Life has a way of working things out, though. I don’t understand why sometimes things work out and other times they don’t, but this time they did. I kept in touch with our new friends, and we accompanied them to a couple of Arabian shows at the Tacoma Unit #2 in Spanaway, Washington. The horses were amazing, and I was hooked. Believe me, horses are not difficult to fall in love with, and Arabians are no exception.

I didn't especially care for Arabian shows, however, especially all the politics that goes with winning. If you have to have the “right” trainer, or saddle, or whatever is in fashion this year in order to win, you can leave me out. I have never been interested in playing those games. I’d rather spend my money and time on my horse and becoming a better rider, thank you. As a result, I never attended another Arabian show, even though we’ve owned them for going on 30 years.  

About six months later, I got a phone call from my friend with the filly, asking if I would be interested in buying her. Would I? Are there craters on the moon? We had since moved to a small acreage not far away with a small horse barn, so I at least had a place to keep a horse, but still, money was pretty tight. I told my friend that I didn’t know what I could do about the filly, but she said not to worry. She "knew" I was supposed to have this horse, and it was not working out for the friend to whom she had previously sold her. She had to take the filly back, so if I wanted her, she would bring her over if I could help.

Nedjme

To make a very long story short, Hadarah became my horse. I had no idea how special she was, but a little pedigree research gave me a clue. Her tail female line goes back to Nedjme, the first horse listed in the American Arabian Horse Registry Association. Nedjme was one of the horses brought by the Hamidie Society of Syria to perform at the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893, and arguably the best of the lot. Hadarah looks exactly like her now. She also
goes back to Raffles on her dam Shaamin’s side, one of the best Arabians brought to this country from Lady Wentworth’s Crabbet stud in England. On her sire’s side, she is descended from the very best Polish breeding through her grand sire +Pentagon, as well as from the very

+Pentagon

athletic horses the Hearsts imported from Syria. One little known fact of note is that she descends from Rudolf Valentino’s stallion Jadaan, who can be seen in his movies The Sheik and Son of the Sheik. Because so many of the Kellogg horses were used in the movies, she is related to many of them.

Rudolf Valentino on Jadaan

Hadarah and Dianne

But to me, Hadarah has mostly and primarily been my best friend. I've spent many happy hours riding and just being in her company through the past almost 30 years. We had lots of riding lessons and riding on the trails around Kent, Washington, where we lived then. She’s always been her sweet, generous, kind, and very intelligent self, and in the end, she taught me most of what I know about horses. My nickname for her was "Cissie," because when our other mares foaled with her half-sisters, she always wanted to steal them away and keep them for herself. One of the few regrets I do have is that I never allowed her to be a mother. She would have been wonderful at it. She always had a happy whinny for me as soon as she heard my voice, and the only time I ever fell off her, it was my own fault. We had so much fun riding the trails—she was an incurable snoop and couldn’t wait to see what was around the next corner. And there’s been the kind of trust and respect between us that one rarely hopes to find in any relationship, whether it be with another human or an animal. I have always been able to depend on her, and I hope she can say the same of me.

Once, when we were riding the Lake Young's trail along 224th St. in Kent, she was being kind of fractious going up the hill, and I wondered, "What the heck's going on?" That had rarely ever happened, and to her credit, she climbed the hill when I insisted, even though she obviously was anxious about it. When we got to the top, I could see someone had pitched a black plastic bag full of garbage underneath the bushes where the trail turned to head away from the road into the woods--and then the bag moved and a possum crawled out! I was so surprised I just started laughing--it was the first time I had seen a live possum, and Hadarah relaxed immediately. We continued on around the corner on the trail and kept on going, with no further problem that day. She always trusted my judgment.

My aim for the past couple of years has mostly been to keep her healthy and happy with her life. She’s required a special diet, due to the loss of dentition, and that’s at times strained the pocketbook, but it’s my responsibility to keep her fed with food she can eat and enjoy as long as she’s able. I think the veterinarians would be happy with what I’ve done. Aside from that, she was not demanding, and I was able to bring her with me to Northeastern Oregon when we retired this year. She was fed in her own stall, so she wasn’t disturbed and I always put her in it at night. She wore a blanket if the weather warranted it. The rest of the time, she mostly roamed our acreage as she wished, usually in the company of Laddie, my new riding horse, who is a Friesian-cross gelding. Hadarah thought he was the bomb! She even got a little flirting in this past summer.

Here is a poem I wrote about her a few years ago:

 

                                                                 HADARAH

I see through your eyes grey pony,
Little Arab mare, twenty-one winters gone.
You feel the year turning,
The Wheel of Life moving onward.
Deep inside, you know
Winter's coming.

Never any blame
For things I've left undone, and
Always a glad whinny when I come,
Asking for a treat
   (No thought of my owing
    Or your deserving).
You never wonder
What tomorrow may bring.

You are the soul of patience,
Acceptance, understanding, and trust,
And I'm blessed.
You've taught me so much more
Than ever I taught you.
I gave lessons in collection,
But you taught me balance.

In the meantime, I tried to give her the best day she could have every day, and her last day was a happy one, just being a horse, up on the hill with Laddie. I can still hear the last whinny she gave me when I came out the back door yesterday afternoon, telling me she thought it was time for her snack. I regret the days when I could have spent more time with her and I didn’t, but those are the only real regrets I have. I will miss her more than I can imagine now that she’s not there to greet me every morning. Those people who say that animals have no souls or that their souls die when they do, don’t know a thing. If they do, so do we! Now you're free to gallop across the fields of Glory with Shaamin and Waaj, Shaheeda and California, and I’ll be listening for your whinny when I get to Heaven, Doll Babe! I’ll be looking for you! I will never, ever forget you.
 

Hadarah and Dianne

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

On Horsemanship

I read a blog post by John Strassburger this week which got me thinking about my own horse journey, which has been over the course of 50+ years (you can read his post at http://horse-journal.com/blogs/the-equine-things-that-matter-most). I also thought about what my sister Laurie had to say about her relationship with her own horses the last time we spoke on the phone.

Mr. Strassburger makes several points worth considering: 1) many folks can’t pursue riding at all if they must care for the horses themselves—they don’t have the time; 2) many people’s education regarding horsemanship is sadly lacking, because riding is the only piece of horsemanship they ever learned; 3) the horses are often better and more efficiently cared for if the pros do it; and 4) if you provide “full care,” then you need to charge enough to actually pay people to perform those services. Amen! I have to agree with him on all these items, but at the same time I must say that no stable has ever cared for my horses as well as I do myself, and it’s been the source of considerable annoyance through the years. Now that I’m the stable manager, I can only blame myself if things don’t get done—but that‘s rare. I’ve never had a stable that blanketed my horses for me or cared for my tack, nor have I had one to groom and tack up my horse so all I had to do was ride. Are you kidding??? Who does that? It must truly cost a fortune if you can find it anywhere. Very few indeed can afford THAT, I would imagine, and I personally would not care to do horses under those circumstances. I love doing all of it, not just the riding, which to me is a very minor part of having a horse.

I am fortunate really, because I was only allowed to have a horse when I was a kid (I was 12 years old when I got my first horse) if I promised to faithfully take care of it myself. That meant feeding, watering, grooming, and mucking out every single day, no matter what, or the horses would be taken away. It was my job to care for my filly and her mother (my Mom’s horse), plus I was expected to hold the horses for hoof care and shoeing, since my stepfather did that part.

My stepdad taught me a few things about horse care, but the vast majority of it I learned on my own by reading, and I know I read every single book our local library had regarding horses, horse care, and riding. Many people do take the trouble to inform themselves as I did with books, DVDs, lessons, and clinics; but at the same time, it blows me away how many people don’t. I was not allowed to participate in 4-H (too costly and inconvenient for my parents), so as all I had was the library. Oh, and we did subscribe to Western Horseman magazine. Believe me, you can’t learn to ride by reading books, but you can learn a hell of a lot else, and I absorbed everything like a dried-out sponge! Even today, I would bet my equestrian library of books and DVDs would put most public libraries to shame. I still add to it from time to time. I also buy books to read on Kindle, so I have my equestrian library to take with me.

I learned feeding and nutrition by reading Diana Tuke’s book Feeding Your Horse or Pony (1987), grooming by reading Grooming to Win: How to Groom, Trim, Braid, and Prepare Your Horse for Show, and of course my Bible, The Event Groom’s Handbook. Then there were the many riding instruction books (Wilhelm Museler’s Riding Logic and Sally Swift’s Centered Riding were among my favorites), and I devoured everything I could find. More than anything, I wanted to learn to ride English, because to me that was real riding. It wasn’t my fault I lived where people only rode Western. I wanted an Arabian too, not a Quarter Horse or Appaloosa, because Arabians were the foundation breed and supposedly prettier and more intelligent—at least that’s what the books said. No doubt teenage rebellion had something to do with it, but I DID eventually get my Arabians, AND I learned to ride English—and not only English, but dressage through Second Level. I tried my hand at jumping too, because I love the sport of three-day eventing, but I kept falling off so gave up on doing it myself, especially after getting my total knee replacement. In a way, it’s too bad, because my Friesian-cross gelding Laddie is a really talented jumper.

Lucky for me, I found a fabulous riding instructor, Karin Bishop, who was also a licensed dressage and eventing judge, so I never felt I had to show in order to know how I was really doing. And, Karin taught me everything I needed to know. I can never thank her enough for all she did for me in the years I knew her and took lessons, but I can certainly be grateful that she was patient and willing to invest the time in teaching me. For one thing, she never yelled at me, even when I wasn’t getting it—she just tried another tack. A big part of it was teaching me how to correctly do the things I thought I already knew how to do—from reading books. Books are great, but they can’t give you all the pieces you need to know, and you need to actually do things yourself, not just watch someone else do them.

I do have some gaps in my horsemanship education. For one thing, I never learned to bandage horses, partly because I never needed to—I never had any lame horses! Also, since Karin came from an eventing background, her philosophy was that horses needed to learn not to strike or step on themselves. The way they did that was by stepping on or striking themselves and discovering out how to avoid doing it again. They learned to be careful on their own. I do use brushing boots when lunging and riding and shipping boots when trailering, but mostly, they do figure it out.

I also never had a horse that colicked, thank God, though I have known lots of folks who have. I always tried to make certain my horses were fed properly and that they were outdoors as much as possible, with other horses, rather than on a high grain/alfalfa diet and locked up alone in their stalls all day. I do blanket them when the weather is foul, but I let them be horses and roll in the mud if they want. It’s what they do! I have to clean up the mess later, but they are much happier for it. I can also say that I’ve never had to deal with a horse that cribbed. I doubt I would ever buy one that did.

Since I’ve retired, I’ve been able to manage my horses as I wanted to do most of my life, and I care for them completely now, since we own our own place. It’s wonderful! I know I wouldn’t have time to do things this way if I still had to work, for one thing my 30-year-old Arab pensioner gets fed five times a day, so I recognize that boarding stables are a must for most folks. Just figure that the pros give your horse the bare minimum care required, and it’s your job to fill in the rest, including routine visits from the vet and farrier. And don’t feel guilty if you can’t ride every day. My sister feels guilty because with her schedule she rarely has time to ride her horse, but she does groom and spend time with it every day. As Laura Graves recently said in an interview on the Universal Sports Network, “Some people are horse people, just like some people are dog or cat people,” and I'm sure I fall into that category! If your horse makes you happy, it’s getting what it needs to be healthy (horses do not NEED to be ridden), and you can afford to pay its bills, then you should enjoy having the pleasure of its company. True, you won't be getting what most people call your “money's worth," but don't fret if you don’t have time to ride. Do what you need to do to change things so you CAN, and just don’t feel guilty, period.

 

Say Cheese!

Well folks, today I had a sort of graduation day from cheesemaking school: I waxed my first hard cheese and put it on the shelf to age for at least a month. It is a simple Monterey Jack, but it represents lots of measuring and cooking milk, cutting curd, and putting cheeses into the press. So far I’ve managed to make an average of one two-pound cheese a day, and I’ve been doing it for about a week now.

Before moving on to hard cheeses, I made loads of fresh Chevre, seasoned with just sea salt, or salt and herbs, but my favorite has sun-dried tomatoes and chives in it. Yum! You know, the kind you pay $5 and up for 4 oz. at the store? My refrigerator was getting pretty well loaded with that, though, so I decided I had to move on. After all, you can only eat so much fresh cheese. Besides we use mostly aged cheese, especially cheddar and pepper jack. I want to try making Parmesan too, but I haven’t used my cream separator yet (Parmesan is made with skim milk). Sam has to mount the separator on a board for me. I would probably do it myself, but I’ve got carpal tunnel syndrome in both hands right now and can barely function, though it hasn’t stopped me from milking the goats (a no-no I was told).  Look out once the separator is working, however, because I will be able to make butter and ice cream too!

The only thing that hasn’t turned out well is yogurt, and I’ve tried just about everything. Goat milk typically makes thinner yogurt anyway, but mine has been more like buttermilk than yogurt. I haven’t tried pasteurizing, cooling, and then re-heating it yet, though I have tried holding the milk at 180⁰ F. for 20 minutes, and even adding dry milk powder to increase the solids. That has been a challenge, because we really like yogurt, and I had become accustomed to making my own Greek yogurt with store-bought pasteurized cow milk.

As with most everything else, I suppose you just have to keep at it. Persistence always wins in the end.