Mabel has wanted nothing to do with him this past week, running up on top of the roof of her little house whenever he comes too near. But this morning, things changed. In addition to going at it a few times, Mabel and Eli have spent much of the morning nuzzling heads, while Eli "sings" a quiet, high-pitched noise and Mabel flags her tail.
The gestation period for Nigerian Dwarf goats is 145 to 153 days. So in early April, we may have two to eight babies arriving. (We anticipate hoards of people wanting these little ones, so put your name on the list as soon as you can!) (Note: That was actually half marketing gimmick/ half daydream.) Apparently, goats typically come into heat in autumn, as day length decreases and the threat of melancholy sets in. It's perfect, this master design. We don't see it as well in our warm climate - we are actually experiencing a marked increase in garden production and don't feel the lack of creation and productivity yet - but we can feel the darkness creeping up all the same. We'll plant our flower bulbs soon, and then we'll wait for spring. Like the bulbs, and other unnamed dreams, the baby goats will develop in secret and in darkness, hidden away until spring, which teaches us year after year that life wins. That if we wait in joyful hope, we'll see birth and rebirth and reclamation of dreams.
These Advent musings, I think, are premature. Here in Austin in early November, we're still experiencing the giddiness of crisp, 65-degree afternoons. And we have many overt and sometimes noisy signs that life is winning. Several of our (human) loved ones are announcing pregnancies and having babies, and we get to observe the rush of hope (and, as aunt and uncle, avoid the sleepless nights) of new life.
Here are some pictures of a quilt I just finished for one of these important babies, machine-pieced, mostly machine-quilted (but with some hand-quilting) and hand-appliqued.
-Sarah
