My grandmother never kept goats. She cooked. She reluctantly kept a small garden. She was never exactly a farmer. My uncle explained to me that she and grandpa had an agreement: she kept the house and he didn’t wash dishes and in return, he ran the farm and she didn’t milk cows.
Well. Things change. Here is my grandma the Sunday before Memorial Day holding a goat.
I’m sure grandma fed a goat last spring but I could only find a picture of my great-aunt Marion feeding Pixie.
I think that’s nice.
See that hat on my son? It was in my car when my car was stolen last summer. I loved that hat. Sigh…