THOSE People


I love livin’ on a dirt road. I really do.

Sure, it has its disadvantages. Things get pretty dusty in the summer. You’re the last ones to see a snowplow in the winter. And no matter what time of year, it’s dang near impossible to keep your car clean.

(It’s a good thing both our vehicles are white…)

But, as with most things rural, the pros definitely outweigh the cons.

There’s the fantastic scenery, the peace and quiet — and the fact that, if I wanna take the dog for a walk, all I need to do is open his kennel.

No leashes necessary.

And, y’know, it just so happens that the other day, we were doing just that — the whole family was going for a nice little Sunday evening stroll. Ryu, of course was in the lead, running up and down and all around, with the tireless enthusiasm only a farm dog can muster; Lindsey and I were about a hundred yards behind him, holding hands (with our new little baby snoozing away in Lindsey’s handy-dandy baby-backpack/carrier); and our little monkey was about ten yards behind us, picking up pebbles and sticks and sunflowers (and any other shiny treasure that caught her eye).

I tell ya, it was such a peaceful scene!

A skilled photographer could’ve easily turned it into a cutesy little postcard — if only that was the extent of our caravan…

Y’see, in addition to Ryu, we were also being trailed by two of our shabby-looking farm cats, “Hobo” and “Little Miss T.” And if that wasn’t enough, we’d also brought our frolicking little goat-kids, Edelweiss and Skunk, along with us.

I know it’s kinda weird, walkin’ with our goats and all. But to tell you the truth, I didn’t even consider the weirdness factor — until our neighbor rolled up on his 3-wheeler…

“Did your goats break out of their pen?” He asked with a concerned look on his face.

I looked down the road at them as they both nibbled daintily at a patch of salsify.

“No,” I replied. “We were just… uh… taking ’em for a bit of a walk…”

Now, I have to admit, I was feeling more and more silly with every word I said (and our neighbor’s straight-faced “Hmph…” didn’t help either).

Fortunately, the conversation didn’t last long. As soon as he found out the goats weren’t recent escapees, our neighbor simply fired up his 3-wheeler again, wished us well on our walk, and then rode off toward the dusty horizon (probably shaking his head a little).

It was at that moment that I realized, much to my chagrin, that we have officially become “THOSE people.”

We’re the family that runs a hospital for wounded geese.

We milk goats and castrate the kids in the front yard.

Our 2-year-old pleads for more chopped liver and sauerkraut at dinner.

On July 4th, I’m the guy who spends 5 hours picking peas in the morning, takes a quick break to attend a family BBQ, and then goes home before the fireworks start so I can shell and blanch and freeze ’em.

And to top it all off, we occasionally go for walks with our goats…


Yep, we’re THOSE people.

Unfortunately, I have no excuses. I can’t even argue it. We’re just weird — plain and simple.

But y’know what? This lifestyle we lead sure is fulfilling! And if you’ve spent any time at all on this blog, you’ll know that it sure makes for some pretty exciting adventures!

And really, who could ask for more?!


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