For several days now, I’ve been thinking of and referring to this as “Goat Day” because I’ve been planning to go to Split Creek Farms in nearby Pendleton to see the herd of Nubian goats they milk for their highly regarded cheese. The farm is a handful of small, wooden buildings set between two livestock fields. One of the buildings houses a retail store – just a room the size of a bedroom, really – where I bought a couple of hunks of cheese.
Living cheek-by-jowl with the Split Creek goats are pot-bellied pigs, French lop rabbits, guinea hens, donkeys and big, friendly dogs that roam around protecting the livestock from aggressive visitors. Like bobcats. And people. An elderly goat named Savannah stood stock-still in front of the store today trying not to fall asleep. I know very little about goats, so I was surprised to find out that when they cough, hiccup or bleat, they sound remarkably human. But then, so did the pot-bellied pigs. Maybe the place is enchanted. Oh, and Obama is ahead 174 to 100 as I write this.