Walking to Goat Camp

My story begins at a ranch, off highway one just north of Santa Barbara, California.  I am starting my day off walking through the hills along the coast.  I have to walk a mile or so to reach the goat camp where my dear friend Diana is spending her time.

The year is 1977, around 9:00 am on a spring morning.  The hills are green, emerald green, like only California can be in early spring from a rainy winter.  The air is so fresh and beautiful.  My heart is light as I walk along.

Diana is my best friend, and I am looking forward to spending the day with her.  We used to be neighbors, literally living right on top of each other.  I lived in the hay loft of a goat barn, and she lived in what essentially was a tack room on the ground floor. Over the last year or so, we bonded together goat herding, goat birthing, and drinking black tea mixed in contraband Tasters Choice coffee for an extra jolt of caffeine. Then, I moved to town, and she moved to a different camp.

I have missed her terribly. She has been my compass here in commune land.  I cannot imagine life without her, and I am more certain than ever before of the bond of souls over many lives, space and time.

This day I do not really know where I am going. However, Diana has assured me that if I walk straight back from where I started, I cannot get lost.  I am a little uneasy.  I am not naturally an outdoor girl.  I like books.

I climb over a fence into a pasture.  I know I am in a horse pasture, but I cannot see a horse in site.  It is a very large horse pasture as it rises over a hill. It is green, a rich electric green, as far as I can see.

As I walk through the large pasture over the hill and down into a small hollow, several young geldings come down to check me out.  They completely encircle me on the hillside and butt me with their noses.  At first, they scare me, but then I realize they are just curious, and so sweet and funny.  They clamor for my attention, jostling each other about and out of the way. I understand that they are very much like other youngsters. I talk with them, rub their noses and sing to them. They stick around to listen for a time, but then get bored as children do, and take off playing.  I continue my walk to the camp.

Once at camp, the day goes by quickly like so many of those lovely, hanging out kind of days, with peaceful joy in each other’s company.  Of course, we talked over every issue and love interest. We ate and drank tea, did a bit of hiking, enjoying the day and the weather.  Now, looking back the feelings of that day take on the largest and deepest part of the memory.  Those I still feel and remember very well indeed.

In the early evening, I leave the goat camp for my return mile walk back to the main street of our community, and my room.  I am happy; it has been a wonderful day.  I allow myself to get far enough away from the camp so that no one will hear me, and start to sing.  No young horses come down to listen, they are all asleep, standing up somewhere in the large pasture.  I see no one.  I am no longer a stranger, and they do not have the need to come and check me out.  So I start to sing.  I sing out-loud with my whole voice.  I sing Gospel and Folk songs, and maybe some nonsense.  I sing with my eyes up in the sky looking at the stars and planets.  I walk along in the dark, never looking down at the ground, without a miss step in any way.  I feel like I am flying inches off the ground.  I do not have to worry or concern myself with anything except singing. I am not concerned about where I am, or even what I am singing.  The songs just pour out of me.  I feel so deeply blessed, flying over the hills of the emerald green pasture at night, singing.  My eyes glisten, my heart is overwhelmed with beauty, and it is pure joy to be alive.