11:30 on Tuesday evening, I could see on the barn camera that Willow was restless. She was huge, uncomfortable, and couldn’t settle.

I took a mug of tea, grabbed an overturned bucket and went into the kidding stall with her. A friend arrived and quietly kept me company while we waited.

At 1:45 a.m., Willow’s contractions began. 

At 2:20 there was an amniotic bubble and I could see two white hooves. 

They were huge. 

I knew this kidding was going to be difficult and I was scared. Not because I didn’t know anything about goats or kidding, but because I recognized my skills weren’t going to be enough this time.

I’d asked a friend, “If I need help, will you come if needs be?” She said yes.

Well, needs be.

In less than ten minutes she was in the barn beside me. She pulled on OB gloves and said, “yes, that’s a big kid.” 

The first buckling was feet forward, head back and weighed 10 lb 8 oz. 

The second was breech. He weighed 11 lb 2 oz. 

Within ten minutes these two bucklings were born. Both boys survived.

Watching someone with years of experience calmly manage those deliveries was one of the greatest gifts I’ve received. 

My friend who had quietly waited, collected the first kid, weighed him and when the second kid was born, she did the same thing. She stayed until five in the morning helping clean up. Her quiet, solid presence was a blessing to me during this experience.

That night changed something in me. 

I was filled with gratitude for the kind generosity of spirit of my friend arriving and delivering two goat kids early on a Wednesday morning, and relief and a sense of feeling deeply blessed to be supported and mentored by two amazing women.

I always thought sustainability meant becoming more knowledgeable, more capable, more independent. Now, I believe true sustainability isn’t doing everything ourselves. It also means knowing when to ask for help.

Perhaps it’s building relationships strong enough that, when the moment comes, we aren’t alone.

Community.

Sometimes the strongest decision we make isn’t pulling a kid.

It’s making the phone call before we need to.

The person sustaining the farm matters. 

That person doesn’t always have to stand alone.

Warmly,

Brin

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Brin writes about the quieter lessons of small farm life – ducks in the morning, goats in the barn, and the slow work of tending a small piece of land. Between animal chores, soap making, and reflexology work, she reflects on what it means to live well, live simply, and discover what “enough” really looks like.