Seriously

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I’m not kidding. This is what I want to do.

Not the journalism part. The goatherding and cheesemaking part.

Seriously, seriously, seriously.

Maybe not Vermont. It’s cold there. Pretty. Cold. So’s New Hampster. But again, pretty. Collegiate. Cosmopolitan in fits and starts. Hmmmmmm.

As I posted last month, Peanut has already put in a request to be a cheesemaker. Our tour at the Pt. Reyes creamery is set for later this month.  After devouring their website and a wheel of Cowgirl Creamery’s  Mt. Tam brie, he is concerned that his brown shoes won’t fit when he’s big, and since he’s already picked them as his cheesemaking shoes, he’s in a quandry. Or was, for, like five minutes. Then he decided that if I would buy him red boots and a pink scooter when he’s big, that all his problems are solved.

Sure. And 75 acres of forested farmland, buddy.

5 thoughts on “Seriously”

  1. “High on a hill lived a lonely goatherd/Yodellay-hee Yodellay-hee Yodellay-hee-hoo…”

    Sorry, channeling my inner Julie Andrews there. Dude, goats stink! As in P freakin’ U?

    However, I am obsessed with cheese, and cannot wait to hear how the tour goes. And can I say that Peanut is the coolest 3 year old in the world for wanting to be a cheesemaker? My 3 year old still wants to be an otter when she grows up.

    And you are right to nix Vermont. It’s ass-cold and there’s a lot of pretension goin’ on, particularly near Middlebury. Bleat!

  3. You know what? Fuckit, I want to be an otter too. They flip around and swim and flirt and eat abalone/sea urchins all day long.

    If you want another Smellycat, I am happy to offer you Harryboy.

  4. Oh I LOVE Brad Kessler’s writing. Have you read Birds in Fall? I haven’t read Goat Song yet–I’m worried it won’t live up to Birds. Stupid, I know. Since one is a novel and one a memoir. I’m neurotic. Are goats neurotic? Maybe that would help me.

  5. At least Peanut is thinking about the future. Evan has decided he will always be a little boy. Some part of me is fine with it. Another part . . . is Not.

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