Tara and I were tossing around ideas for things to do today. Kayaking was one possibility. We discussed going to the movies to catch Oppenheimer. In the end, we settled on just hanging out at home because we needed a day to recharge.
Not our bodies or minds. Our electronic devices.
Seriously, when I got up this morning, my phone was at 32%, my Fitbit 21%, and my Kindle, 46%. Those are all perilously low numbers. Tara’s were similar. At least my laptop is fully charged, though after catching up on blogging, I’m sure I’ll be plugging this sucker in later, too.
First world problems, huh? I shudder to think what our forefathers would make of us. They were busy dying of dysentery on the Oregon Trail while we freak out when we have to wait an hour to catch up on Wordle. But I refuse to apologize for being alive at this particular moment in time. It’s not my fault I have all this electronic convenience at my fingertips! I’m sure in another hundred years, when folks are teleporting themselves from Milwaukee to Madrid in five seconds, they’ll think we had it unbelievably hard.
At least I hope so. I’d hate for historians to view me as too pampered.
To be fair, we could use a respite today anyway. Goat Fest took all the wind out of our sails yesterday. What’s Goat Fest, you ask? Exactly what it sounds like: a festival devoted to goats in Jefferson, Wisconsin. The next town over from ours.
There are these goats, you see. And this island in the Rock River named, appropriately enough, Goat Island. Every summer, they ferry the goats over to the island, where they are free to roam. You can only reach the island by boat or kayak, but you’re free to hang out with the goats if you paddle over. They bring them back to the mainland in the fall, before the weather gets too cold. These goats have quite the local following, as evidenced by this whole festival celebrating their existence.
Judging by the goat-themed t-shirts, coozies, and stickers we bought, I guess you can count Team MarTar as fans, too. For years, we’ve talked about having a goat or two. The only reason we don’t is because they would compete with the John Deere, and well, we can’t have that now, can we?
Goat Fest was exactly as you might imagine a small-town festival celebrating goats would be. Arts and crafts booths, food trucks, beer garden, live music, and goat races. After grabbing a beer, wandering along the river, and buying a giant flower made out of spoons for the garden, as one does…
…we walked across the river (on a bridge, not Jesus-like), and stopped at The Heron’s Landing for cocktails and apps on the patio. It was an absolute delight of an afternoon.
After clocking out at noon on Friday, I spent four hours doing yard work. I hadn’t mowed in a couple of weeks, and the recent rain (which has sadly become less recent in recent days) really got the grass growing again. After mowing, I broke out the weed whacker and set about whacking. All of a sudden, without warning, I felt a pain in my leg so sharp, I literally screamed out loud and dropped the weed whacker. Sure enough, there was a large welt and a bright red pinprick on my shin, accompanied by a fiery pain the likes of which I have never experienced before. I never saw what stung me, so I have no idea whether it was a bee or a wasp or a murder hornet, but I sure as hell felt it.
I’d never been stung before, so my mind went to some dark places over the next hour. What if I were allergic? You hear horror stories. Hell, I saw Macaulay Culkin die from bees in My Girl. It’s not like I have epinephrine lying around the house. I figured the deed was done and I might as well be productive while waiting around to see if I croaked, so I busied myself picking blueberries and cleaning out the ponds. When 4:00 rolled around and I hadn’t keeled over, I figured I wasn’t allergic to bees or wasps, and was able to breathe a little easier.
We spent the evening on the deck enjoying beers, burgers, and perfect weather. And ended up getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, which hadn’t really been an issue before.
I swear, between the poison ivy and insects hellbent on causing discomfort, it feels like our backyard has it in for me. But it also produced pounds of delicious berries, three dozen of the juiciest and tastiest peaches ever, and there are currently more Concord grapes ripening on the vine than we will ever know what to do with.
The yard giveth and the yard taketh away. That seems fair to me.
Mark My Words 
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