Goat Farm

Experiencing a bit of “cabin fever” my daughter decided to get me out of the house. Living in a rural area, just five minutes’ drive away is a small goat farm where a family run cottage industry produces a delicious array of cheeses and yoghurt. Driving down a narrow dirt track, a grand display of brightly coloured bougainvillea spilled from each side cascading down to the ground like a waterfall of blossoms. We arrived at a clearing surrounded by trees, and to one side was a shaded fenced enclosure for the goats of varying colours that were busy grazing. There were several young goats endearingly snuggled next to their mothers, and apparently a rather strong smell was emitting from this direction. Thanks to Parkinson’s I couldn't smell a thing, so I continued to watch the goats unhindered by the scent, whilst my daughter hurried off to the little shop which was air conditioned and odour free. We tasted several of the cheeses, and again my nose failing me, I found it hard to tell the difference between the various cheeses. A strange scenario; outside I had benefited, not being able to smell the goats, yet inside the shop tasting the cheeses I was at a clear disadvantage, without my sense of smell, my taste buds were noticeably affected, and I couldn't appreciate the subtle differences between the cheeses we tasted. I guess this just goes to prove that every situation has its pros and cons. I presume you can guess what we’re having for supper tonight!