As soon as I landed on Boston, and probably about 2 weeks before, I had been scheming about finding precious goat milk. The fantasy in my head flashed images of a worn, patched up wooden shed with hay and two Nigerian Dwarf goats huddled inside with their babies as the snow danced in flurries around their urban dwelling. They would live in my backyard! But then I thought, as the apartment hunt picked up pace, that a good stable backyard was hard to come by for under $600/month, that instead of having to find a goat to feed, the goats could perhaps find/feed me.
The milk quest continues as I go to meet a woman in Lexington with a herding operation. Her presence came to me more in the story of a folk tale than as an organized ad column. Tommy, my baker, food, and music friend, was already tapped into the underground network and had dropped hints at possibilities for collaboration.
The woman and her goats at the moment are still a legend and a myth until further notice. She makes the gems and jewels of home made cheeses and she is taking the leap to integrate farm animals back into the community.