Every morning, I am up before the sun to milk the goat. Every morning. Saturdays and Sundays too. Even after celebrating a friend’s wedding until late in the night. Luckily it’s dark out and no one else is awake yet, because I am typically still in my pajamas for this chore.
But milking time has become my favorite moment in the day. The world is still and dark and quiet and the only sounds are of Cordelia slowly munching on her grain and the wild turkey gobbles that must be camping out near our yard….(don’t tell Kyle).
I am my best, most peaceful, patient self in these moments.
To me, learning how to make cheese has been a total labor of love. Waiting my whole life for this farm, then the 5 months for the goat to give birth, then every 4 days or so when I have enough milk to start another batch…
Who doesn’t love cheese? Who doesn’t feel a little more mature, a little fancier, a little Parisian when they bring a nice brie or gruyere to a party?
Making cheese itself is peaceful. It’s slow. There are no short cuts. And the reward is cheese. Delicious, amazing cheese.
Maybe this seems weird. Maybe this is getting a little too emotional for you. Maybe you hate cheese. Maybe you’re lactose intolerant.
But this is so amazing to me. I’m doing it. I decided when I was 9 and I milked my first goat that goats were the best thing ever and that I was going to be a milk maid, dairy queen, cheese making artisan barefoot homesteading farmer wonder woman. And here I am.