Two weeks since my last post and so much has happened. Should I tell you about running out of tortillas, cinnamon, ketchup, sugar? Or about Charlie's quest for locally grown chilies on his trip to L.A.? Or about finding a local dairy when visiting my in-laws in Bend, Oregon? Or my newest recipe for fruit crumble (better than crisp and WAY better than cobbler) easily made from all local ingredients? Or should I describe my attempt to get goat milk out here in rural America? Yes, that's it. I'll tell you about the goat milk. Here goes:
We were out of milk which really isn't such a big deal for us because we don't drink much milk. But I'd heard of a couple of people around here that have goats for milking and we've been on the goat milk circuit before and really liked it. I made cheese from the milk and Charlie has an affinity for goat milk lattes. He has this belief, based on nothing in particular, that they will soon catch on and thier popularity will sweep the nation. In Charlie's world you will be able to walk into any Starbuck's in the country and order a venti goaty mocha, hold the whip. But I digress...
We were out of milk and I had asked about goat milk sellers at the local food co-op and found two names. I called the first and she said she didn't have any to spare. Too many buyers for her little herd to supply any more. Who knew goat milk was so popular? Maybe Charlie is on to something. So I called the second number and an elderly woman answered the phone. Her name is Kay. She tells me that she does in fact have some milk to spare ("Honey, I milk twice a day. Of course I have some to spare,"). Great. So where does she live? How can I get out to where the milk lives? "We're up Sutton Creek." OK, and where is that? "Hon, we're near the dump." OK, and where is that? "Well, you know where the land fill is? Instead of going right, you go left. There are some pine trees, but you can't see the house from the road. The dogs will let me know when you're here and I'll just walk out to meet you." I asked a few more question that ellicited the same basic information so I just stopped asking. I figured Charlie knew where the land fill was. He's been there before. So I just left it at that.
Charlie was able to tell me where Sutton Creek Road is, and how to get to the land fill. I was sure that I could make it from there. (I was wrong.) I drove out of town dangerously close to Luke's nap time with just a little bit of gas but how far could she be, really? Thirty minutes later I'd located the dump, driven up and down Sutton Creek Road twice, coaxed Luke back from dream land by handing him an entire apple and burned through more gas than I was comfortable with. So I turned around and headed home. I still don't have any goat milk to show for the adventure. We're coasting on the last of a gallon of milk from a Central Oregon dairy that we found the next weekend. I'm too embarrased to call Kay back. She had such faith in my ability to find her house. She'd be so disappointed if I told her how miserably I'd failed.