danielbaylis.ca

Dear Family and Friends,

I’ve been on this goat farm for ten days now. Despite some cultural/communication differences and the occasional intense craving for French fries and/or chocolate cake, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed meeting various Israelis who pass by the farm, soaking up the hot Middle Eastern sun and eating bucket loads of goat cheese. The work is not half bad, either. Goats are stubborn, but loveable.

Fortunately, I’ve been challenged with a variety of tasks throughout my travels this year, ranging from tiling kitchen floors to preparing English lesson plans to baking zucchini quiches to administrative work in a festival press office. But my favorite task of this entire journey has been discovered in the hills of Galilee – walking with baby goats.

And it’s divine.

Each day, here on the farm, the adult milking goats are released into the hills to forage for food. This wild fodder composes approximately 75% of their food intake. It enables an organic diet while reducing feed costs on the farm. The goats wander into the hills, and come back on their own at approximately 1 PM. Don’t ask me how this animal punctuality works. It’s one of nature’s little enchanted secrets. Or one of them lady goats has got a lady goat Timex.

The baby goats, after being weaned from their mothers, are kept in a separate pen from the milking goats. This enables them to develop a sense of liberation. (ed. note: I often imagine them humming/bleating Independent Women by Destiny’s Child.) But, in preparation to join the milking goats on their daily jaunt, the baby goats must grow accustomed to walking the hills, and are guided on a mini walk. This involves a two or three hour stroll, and my main task, as the baby-goat-herder, is simply to keep the kids together.

The baby goats know the route quite well. Once the pen is open, they go charging up the hill and down the dirt road. I simply try to maintain pace. Once they’ve gone past the first gate, approximately 200 meters down the dirt road, they usually make V-line for the carob tree, hoping that the wind might have knocked some carob pods off the tall branches that they just can’t reach with their little baby goat legs. This is not exactly en route to the destination, but it’s important to let them wander a bit. As previously mentioned, these munchkins need to establish a bit of independence.

From here it is my task to ensure they remain together. If a baby goat gets left behind, she’ll certainly let you know where she is with a blood-churning little goat cry far more frantic than a human child lost in the mall. In both cases, incidentally, kids aren’t afraid to cry if they’re unhappy and/or lost. It’s nature’s noisy survival mechanism.

After the carob tree, I round’em up and continue up the road and into a gated field, where they are free to roam around and continue to scrounge whatever foliage they can find. There are green bushes to munch, dried grasses to sample and thorny plants that their little goaty mouths can seem to process. Goats will try to munch on basically everything, including anything hanging from my body. My shirt has little goat munching marks on it.

Once we’re in this field, my job becomes terribly tranquil. If I’m feeling energetic, I might try to guide the kids to various places to eat around the field. But I also encourage them to sort it out for themselves. I’m all for baby goat empowerment. Besides, soon they’ll be with the full-grown goats and they won’t have a doting Canadian mentor to guide them to the greenery.

So I sit under a tree and read my book, or simply look out over the valley and listen to the wind. The tinkle of little bells attached to baby goat collars enables me to know where exactly the herd is wondering, and as long as I can hear them I am happy and relaxed.

Occasionally I’ll perch on a rock, reading a book in the shade of another carob tree, and the baby goats will come and investigate. They tug on my shirt, nibble on my backpack, attempt to rip a page out of my book or scratch their heads on my hiking shoes. The image is rather adorable – a scruffy world-weary traveler on a hill in Galilee, surrounded by forty little curious four-legged creatures. Essentially it’s a baby goat cuddle puddle. If your heart is swelling a little bit, you’re not alone.

After they become bored with my lack of edibility, the goats will continue to explore more digestible options. But often Juliette will hang back. Juliette is a special goat. She was rejected by her mother at birth, and was milk-fed by human hand. Whereas the other goats might nudge or nibble me, Juliette will actually curl up at my feet and rest her little goatee on my outstretched legs. She is uniquely affectionate towards people, and I have been eager to be the victim of her affections.

All this goat time has sparked a new future potential – goat farming. Could I possibly become a goat farmer? It’s certainly within the realm of crazy shit that “Daniel Baylis” would do. Yet how does one transition from D-list Internet celebrity travel blogger to rural goat herder? I suppose one begins by obtaining a goat.

And that sounds tricky!

Thankfully I have a bit of time. Because first I have to finish this grand voyage. But if I do happen to successfully make it back to Canada, and somehow manage to professionally transition to ‘goat herder,’ you’re all certainly invited to come visit my group of goats.

And I’ll happily let you cuddle with the kids.

xoxo

Daniel

Juliette can get very friendly. I’m very good, however, at maintaining professional boundaries.

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