Animal Farm

No, we're not reading Orwell . . . yet.

No metaphor.

Real farm.

Real animals.

We experienced both this past Saturday.  Reagan was invited to a friend's birthday party at Papa Simpson's Farm in Arcadia.  My parents & I were hoping she'd sleep some on the drive over, but of course, she didn't, so we hit the farm sans any nap.

This goat greeted us upon arrival.

Once all the party-goers arrived, everyone was herded onto this trailer.  This hay-filled trailer . . . in anticipation, I'd already taken a Benadryl.  

Putting on our coat:

Reagan loved riding in the trailer, likely because it mimicked the rocking motion she so loves, & she wasn't required to be strapped into anything to ride. 

First stop: baby chicken.  Anyone who wanted to got to pet a baby chicken, & then get doused with hand sanitizer.

Baby goats . . . they were really cute.  Even though all the children were gentle, Mama goat was not happy, & I totally sympathized with her.  I have come perilously close to raising my voice to complete strangers in the grocery store who, though they are complete strangers, touch my child.  These are likely the same people who thought it was appropriate to touch my belly when I was pregnant.

That's me (above) in the background photographing it from this angle:

Next up: Maze-o-Hay:

Bored with the maze, Reagan set out down the path.  If you weren't already, now you can hum John Denver's "Country Roads," which is what I was singing as I followed Reagan.

She quickly separated herself from the group, clearly feeling no pressure to rush, or even stay in the general area of everyone else.

Country rooooads, take me hooome . . . 

Papa trying to persuade her to join her friends . . . 

To the plaaaace I beeeloooong . . . 

Taking her time . . . 

Next stop: feeding the sheep . . . again, no metaphor.

Reagan & Elizabeth, two of the younger members on the farm tour, contemplating eating the corn intended for the sheep:

After feeing the sheep, several members of our group were released into the hills to 'catch a goat.'  Reagan continued to wander on her own elsewhere, while I switched from "Country Roads" to "The Lonely Goatherd" from The Sound of Music.

Next up: chickens.  I know, gag.  I could jump in the shower just looking at these pictures. 

A study in contrast: My mom's Kate Spade purse resting on the fence post.

Reagan longing to return to the comforts of home:

Next up: Shetland Pony

Despite an escort, she was skeptical:

Last stop: Cake, finally!

Reagan was fascinated with this ice chest:

Ready to board the trailer again:

Swinging while everyone finishes their cake:

Our escort for the tour:

Last shot of the day:

It was a long afternoon, & Mama's Benadryl kicked in . . . 

It was a unique experience, & one the kids all seemed to love.  I am glad I went, if only to watch several members of my church chasing goats, but I believe I prefer metaphorical farms & animals.  They're much cleaner.  After a nap on the drive back, Reagan & I both enjoyed a pleasant Saturday evening at home surrounded by all the sanitary, electronic gadgets we love.  

AZ