The couple who owns the B&B left in the morning and gave us the run of the house, provided that Steve continues to do his (volunteer) farm chores. We all happily joined him in finding eggs from the chicken and ducks (and then eating them), and feeding the livestock. Steve does the milking because none of the rest of us are farm hands.
When we are down in the barn we have to fend off the aggressive rooster who tried to peck us as much as he has abused his hens. I suspect him of having the Genghis Khan Y chromosome. He is that kind of a male. Tessa only gets close to him with a large stick in her hand. I am told he is going to Freezer Camp soon. I am sure all the chicken will sigh with relief. There is no safe house for them – at night they are all in one chicken coop.
The baby goats are adorable, only a few weeks old. Three of them are small females; two are slightly larger boys, black and white speckled coats, like an inverse Dalmatian. Then there are two older kids, both destined as meat goats. All but one of the boys will also go to Freezer Camp as Tessa calls it. The remaining little meat goat is destined to sire many more. He is the lucky one.
It took us hours to get up and ready for the day, way past noon, but finally we made it out of the house for a long walk through mosquito-infested woods and up into the mountains. We had to walk waving our hands around our ears in a permanent motion to keep from having them removed by the swarms of blood sucking creatures. Axel’s lungs are doing relatively well, given that we are surrounded by four dogs and much animal dander all the time – one of the things he is allergic too.
We went into the big town (Manchester) to get supplies for our evening meal. It is beautiful country here. It made me fantasize about finding my next job here. Only the bugs and the very long winters are a bit of a problem.
Back at the farm we watched Steve milk again, this needs to happen twice a day. The expressed milk immediately got recycled into the baby goats who drink the amalgamated mothers’ milk through small rubber teats placed on soda bottles. If we wouldn’t intervene this way into nature usual provisions for feeding offspring at least one of the small goats might not have survived the pushing and shoving for of its more aggressive siblings.
In the evening everyone but me got involved in meal preparation in the enormous industrial size kitchen. The story has it that the owners brought back plates from a vacation abroad; the plates were one eighth of an inch too large for the kitchen cabinets which needed to be replaced; this triggered a wish to finally have the commercial kitchen installed, which required an annex to the house. As needs made way for wants the project grew in complexity. To make a long story short, the original house was sold and one twice the size (8000 ft) was built in its stead. This is where we are now.
Only in such a large kitchen can five people cook without getting into each others’ way. The resulting meal was superb leaving us with no room for the desserts we had bought.
We ended the day playing an old board game that was popular when the girls were young. Although it was called travel in Europe, I, as the only European, came in last of the 6.
The whole day was one of the happiest during this short vacation. Simply being with, laughing with, being silly with, talking with the ones I love more than anything else in the world was the best cure for my Kabul blues.But the countdown is relentless. Today I plan another day of total happiness.
Sylvia's Journal 
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