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The first night, I slept on the floor with Linus. He was in a cocoon of blankets and towels, and I was terrified that if I was too far away from him, I wouldn’t hear him if he needed me. So I stayed by, giving him the bottle whenever he needed it.
I didn’t mind. Honestly, it was enough to keep my mind off the other stuff that was bothering me. Stuff about my parents demanding to know what I was going to do with my life now that I’d graduated, and how I felt hopeless and alone. Stuff about not having a direction. Because suddenly, I did have a direction.
I had Linus, and he’d given me an idea.
Becoming a farmer doesn’t happen overnight. Even goat farms. Even reindeer goat farms. But in retrospect, it felt like that.
The next day, I started looking for a new place to live. I knew my parents wouldn’t be okay with a goat, but keeping him was non-negotiable. Besides, it wasn’t as if I’d intended to stay with my parents for long, just the summer while I figured my post-college life out. But now I had motivation. Because I had to find a place where Linus and I could live happily ever after together.
That’s when I found Ariel.
My best friends, Maggie and Lexi, don’t always believe me when I go on about fate and whatnot, but it was fate that day. I’m certain the labradorite I hung around my neck in a last-ditch attempt to find my path didn’t hurt either. Anyway, I’d gone to the feed store over in Saginaw to buy straw for Linus when I spotted the Airstream in the parking lot. An Airstream with the world’s tiniest “For Sale” sign hanging on the back.
Now, Ariel needed a lot of work. That’s what I named the Airstream after I won her in a poker game from the owner. It took a bit of alcohol to convince the guy to bet her, and even after I won, fixing her up cost me most of the money I’d gotten at graduation from grandparents and assorted aunts. But I didn’t care. I had found my path and a place to live. Once I traded in the Civic for a truck that could tow Ariel, I was in business.
Well, close enough. I still needed a place to park Ariel. And Linus needed room to roam.
That was when I remembered I already knew of the perfect place, an abandoned barn with plenty of land on the outskirts of town. It was the kind of place high-school kids went to fool around in privacy, which was exactly how I knew about it. The place had been vacant for years back when I was in high school and a quick drive past told me it was still available.
From there, the Reindeer Falls Goat Farm was born. Linus blossomed into a perfect little goat, and then I rescued a few more. Soon enough I was creating—and selling—a variety of goats’ milk products. It started with a few local sales to my friends, then on Etsy, and now my products are available in a few shops in town plus the farmers’ market. A few more rescue goats here and there, and now I’m overrun with them. Of course, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Like right now. The barn smells delicious, thanks to a batch of peppermint goats’ milk soap I’m making for my signature holiday blend. It wafts through the air, and yes, even I have to admit that I get caught up in the festiveness of the season.
Even Maggie would be pleased at how much I’m appreciating Christmas right now.
I’ve just plucked the red and silver bows from the floor when the slight smell of burning hits my nostrils. Bows in hand, I dash back to the crockpot and stir it quickly. I’m usually good about not burning any batches, especially since I’ve gotten it down to a science. See, most soap-makers use water, but I use frozen goats’ milk. The frozen part is key because if the lye heats up too much it can scorch. My secret oil combination also helps, but soap-making is a delicate process, and most soap makers don’t have the added challenge of herding goats.
“You win this round,” I tell Linus, wagging the bows at him with my free hand. “But you will be festive. We’re technically not in Maggie’s jurisdiction, but you never can be sure she won’t drop by and fine us for ‘not spreading the spirit’ or whatever she calls it.”
I’m still stirring when my phone rings, Lexi’s name flashing on the screen. I abandon the bows on my countertop and pop in my AirPods, leaving me hands-free to continue attending to the soap.
“Hey, Lex,” I say. “What’s up?”
“We need to talk about Maggie,” Lexi says, sounding more harried than usual. “I don’t know what’s going on with her, but I think she might be losing it a little with the Christmas cop stuff.”
