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Autumn has to be, hands down, my favorite time of year. Summer heat on the West Coast is evil unless you add water. Barely anything grows without constant irrigation. So when the autumn rains come, everything gets one last shot of greengrowinglife before it shuts down for the winter. Life and death intertwine so amazingly, so completely right now. The balance feels right and boy, do I like it.

Its not just the plant world getting that dose of balance, its the animal kingdom, as well. We’ve culled the goats down to 3- the matriarch Honey and her daughters of different years, Toot and Dribble. (Hey, don’t look at me like that. I wanted to name them Shubby and Bappho and Yog and Lulu. Clearly superior, yes?) All good mothers, all relatively calm and stable. Honey and Toot? Enormous milkers, which makes me think Dribble will be big too on her second set of babies (more cheesemaking adventures!). We had one other adult doe that got sent off to the auction because she was a terrible mother, and nine babies between the 4 does. All the babies followed the other doe off to auction. It is quite likely that they are all eaten by now, given the ethnic populations around here. I only really regret one of them, a sweet little baby we almost hand-raised because her mother sucked. She would follow you anywhere and was not afraid in the least of people.

But even with the implied doom and gloom, there is a silver lining, of sorts. For today, the goat babies of next year have been started. We dragged in a buck named Red from up the street and within a half hour he started his job as a walking sperm bank. He’s sweet, for a goat that hasn’t been handled that much. Gorgeous lines; fucker’s built like a brick shithouse and if he wasn’t as even-tempered we’d have a hell of a time handling him. I like him, even if all he’s doing right now is peeing, flapping his tongue, and sniffing booty. (He may be a symbol of Fertility and Horned Gods and Buff Macho Dick, but his foreplay is downright goofy.)

The garden is mostly done, though the onions and potatoes will overwinter well. We’re picking pumpkins as they ripen; more life in a time of death. The more we have, the more we can feed the goats and mules during winter for vital nutrients and something juicy. We still have green things growing, like the basil and the lettuce, but most of the big stuff is done. And, once it turns cold for good, the basil and lettuce will curl up and blow away anyway. The Resurrection Strawberries are still producing sweet fruits, though. They’ll need to be moved inside my covered porch, but not for a few months yet. Everything else potted (mostly miniature rosebushes and rue) will be just fine. The rue’s bushed out nicely after its trim-n-repot. The roses decided to bloom a bit more before winter, which I appreciate a lot. The big ones smell divine and the little ones are adorable.

Life (and Death, I suppose) are puttering along pretty well for me right now. Chemo is working well with a workable minimum of side effects (big ❤ to all my magic witchy people and the wonderful stuff they are doing to help that. Love for chu all!). I’m in a lull, but not a boring one. More like a rest between pushes; a chance to relax a bit before the next big thing swoops down.

We’ve had a few bad things happen, but nothing insurmountable. Which, really, is what I prefer. You can’t keep everything bad from happening to you. No matter how much you cleanse or ward or charm or enchant, somewhere, at some point, something bad will happen to someone you care about (or you, of course). I’d rather bleed off the big shit into smaller pieces that I can handle than have everything give at once and drown in it. (I’m not counting my boyfriend’s recent string of computer related bad stuff, which I am reasonably certain is the Baron’s doing. Again, nothing insurmountable, just a lot of pain-in-the-ass stuff. I’m thinking it’s part getting used to each other, part two dick-bearing entities in the same house growling over same female [since Manannan doesn’t seem to have any problems with it at the moment, and since I’ve never gotten a sex-vibe from him], and part unthinking altar and sacred object desecration by boyfriend. Baron is more finicky about his stuff and his… pride? reputation? than Manannan or the Lady.)

I’m even doing ok with the Kiln God. One near-miraculous fire (went fast enough to finish just before I needed to get to a doctor’s appointment) and one longer but still smooth fire (problems were doubly my fault. I should have asked for help sooner and I forgot to buy the Dr. Pepper to anoint the statues with. Both of which are or shall be fixed.). At some point when I can afford it I want to get something made out of carborundum to honor him/it. (Carborundum is the material that high-fire kiln shelves are made from- silica carbide by any other name.) It does seem to be more of a situational honoring than a devotional relationship. I feel the Kiln God near the kilns, when I am doing his work in tending, loading, and caring for them and the associated paraphernalia. If I didn’t work with kilns, I doubt I ever would have come up on his radar since he is so very specialized.

Thus ends this post about my life, musings on the Universe, and gratuitous goat sex. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go get my head shaved again, for the stubble itches like a bitch. Enjoy the season 😉

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