Dear friends,
It is a blustery spring day, the kind that carries the wind of changing seasons.
This time of year brings so much life back to the land.
The grass turns green, daffodils begin to bloom, and baby goats bounce and play in the pasture.
It is a season of renewal and joy.
But with every changing season, there is both beginning…and ending.
Rose passed away Sunday morning.
She fought so hard to live.
I was there when she took her first breath, and I was there at the end, holding her head with love and care as she took her last.
Even now, it’s hard to write those words without tears.
Rose was loved. She was valued. She was part of this ranch, and now she is gone.
I truly believed she would pull through.
I held onto that hope, and I know so many of you were holding it with me.
Your prayers meant more than I can say.
We let Guinness stay with her for as long as he needed. He laid beside her quietly for a long time.
I have no doubt that animals understand more than we often give them credit for. They grieve in their own way.
Later that afternoon, Guinness joined the rest of the herd.
He’s been playing with Vosges, Rozhay, Yvonne, and Bunny, and I’m grateful he has friends to help carry him through these first days.
The nights are the hardest.
He doesn’t quite know where he belongs yet.
I find myself checking on him through the barn camera, watching as he finds his place to sleep alone.
Every instinct in me wants to bring him inside, to comfort him in the way I understand, in a human mom way.
But he is a goat.
He will grow into a big, strong buck, and he needs to find his place within the herd.
I have to set aside what feels comforting to me and choose what is right for him.
That is part of this work, too - allowing each animal to live fully as what they are.
It has been a couple of days now, and Guinness is beginning to find his footing.
He is learning quickly which does are kind and which to give space.
We are still working through the battle of the bottle, and I am continually looking for ways to get him to drink his milk.
He eats hay and feed, drinks water, and is strong and resilient.
Rose did a good job. He is going to be okay. And we will be okay, too.
Rose lives on here in ways both seen and unseen.
She had the most beautiful chocolate brown mohair, and that color now lives within our oatmeal throws.
Each one is a blend of natural shades from the goats who grew it.
Each small batch run can never be exactly recreated. And future runs won’t have Rose in them.
When those throws are gone, they are gone.
And in that way, each piece carries a moment in time. A season. A life. And that is what makes them so special.
Now, Guinness carries that deep brown forward.
He has a bright future here as a herdsire, and I am grateful for the time Rose had with him - for the care she gave, the steadiness she showed, and the quiet way she taught him how to be.
As we walk through this loss, life continues around us.
Jarusha is due tomorrow. Madora on Saturday. More babies will follow in the coming days.
Plans for pasture restoration are moving forward. Trees will be planted - some that I may never see fully grown, but that will stand for the next generation.
This week has been a reminder of the full circle of life. It is in the soil. In the growing things. In the animals we care for.
It is an honor to be a shepherd. And I carry that responsibility with both pride and humility.
Everything we create, every pair of socks, every throw, begins with lives like Rose’s.
With seasons like this one. With care, loss, growth, and renewal all woven together.
Thank you for being here with us, for journeying through the joy and the heartbreak together, and for valuing what it truly means to make something with care.
When you wrap yourself in Caprine, you are wrapped in a story that matters.
With love,
Angela
P.S. If you'd like to see the throw blanket woven with Rose's mohair, click here.