The Business of Placentas

We are elbow deep in the business of birth around here. As of right now 35 goats have kidded 84 babies in eight days.

To say that we are tired would be the understatement of the century. Our barn check schedule has hovered around 7 pm, 10 pm, midnight, 2 am, 5 am, 7 am…and then of course throughout the day. When we’re not monitoring or assisting with birth, we’ve been busting our little butts to wrap up completion of a new packaging area, teaching our class with South Puget Sound Community College on How to Start a Profitable Farm, gearing up to start registering for the farm’s preschool, and, of course, prepping for Cheese & Cuddles Events. An extra layer of intensity this year came from Matthew having a last minute knee surgery right smack dab in the middle of kidding season. Thankfully, our very best friends Annie and Johnny, my mother, and Uncle Leo have been eager, willing, and able to lend a hand where they could. Also thankfully, Matthew is a superhuman and his healing is going incredibly well, so, while it’s slowed him down, it hasn’t benched him completely.

Last week Annie was lamenting that during 2019’s kidding season she didn’t see a single birth because of her work schedule and set a deep intention to remedy the disparity. She’s logged some serious hours in the barn this week, but, not only has she seen birth this year, she pulled her first goat. Phew! Glad we fixed that glitch in the matrix.

Also phew, we’re almost done. We’re 2/3 complete with goat births, a fact that I am equal parts ready and not ready for. Ready because I’m stupid tired, but not ready because every time I witness a birth I feel as though someone is handing me a gift. I always have big huge emotions during kidding seasons (heightened by the fact that I’m functioning on minuscule amounts of sleep) and this year I am feeling it more than ever.

Which is why, when my brother, who I love very much, wrote me from England and asked why I was posting so many placenta photos this year, because, it’s gross, I wrote him back almost instantly saying, “I don’t give the people what they want, I give them what they need.”

I was being sassy, of course, and he responded to me with a Russell Crowe Gladiator Meme about being entertained, but, it got me thinking.

Is it gross?

I’m seven years into farming with animals, four of those as a licensed goat dairy, so I’m not sure I’m a good judge of most social norms anymore. And maybe I never was, which is why I felt a calling to farm in the first place.

Here’s what I do know.

Birth is messy. There’s poop and pee, blood and slime, colostrum (which is really so much stickier than you might imagine), and yes, there are placentas. Add to that the extra layer of the goats eating said placentas and kidding season at the farm looks and sounds very gruesome.

But then there’s also life. Holy shit there is life. There is the transition of a living, breathing creature moving from inside its mother to outside. There is the fervor with which most of the moms start to clean their babies, an act that actually helps them continue to pass more babies or pass their placenta, whichever is due to happen next. And, for most people who kid on a larger scale like us, there is the satisfaction of being able to save an animal in distress…which, after almost 400 goats being born, I can now attest, they need more than you think.

The other night I went down for barn checks and found one of our best milkers in labor. She was pushing in a way that told me her contractions weren’t as productive as they needed to be (something you also get a knack for spotting) so I sat down behind her, my legs straddled on either side of her body, and prepared to go in. That’s not normally how I sit, but, I was tired and making poor decisions. I was able to easily reposition the baby to come out and she was able to deliver within just a few minutes of me being there. Stupid me, though. As I was helping the baby out, I didn’t move and, inevitably, along with the baby came all those warm and gooey fluids.

Oh my goodness it made a big splash and for a second I thought, “Did my water just break?”

I’m not even pregnant.

But for a split second it sure felt like it.

As a woman who has given birth before, it’s impossible not to connect with these goats on a mammalian level. And maybe that’s why I feel so compelled to share photos of the actual reality of birth. Because no, I don’t think it’s gross. I didn’t think it was gross when I did it and I certainly don’t think it’s gross when they do it.

It is a gift.

It’s also where your food comes from.

If you choose to eat any animal products there was a big huge mess involved in its production. And while you can choose not to think about it, once you start distancing yourself from the realities of birth you’ll find it’s just as easy to distance yourself from the reality of that animal’s entire life. It suddenly seems okay that an animal is confined, with no access to open sky or pasture, because you’ve stopped thinking of these creatures as living, breathing entities.

Which is why, once a year, I get pretty bold and sassy and start posting photos of blood and poop and placentas. This is one of those important steps in the life cycle of your food.

We are all born. In some way or another we all got here through the same basic premise. There was blood at your birth. And there may have been poop too.

Who cares.

It’s freaking magic.

Women, for maybe as long as there have been women, have been taught that what happens with our bodies is gross. Shoot, there are entire populations of girls in sub-Saharan Africa who miss almost 24 weeks of their high school careers simply because they are on their periods.

If you don’t see the problem with this fact, please, unfollow me now.

At this point in their short lives, my kids are intimately familiar with the cycle of periods. Why? Because they don’t miss a thing. You know that joke about moms being able to pee in private? It’s a joke because it doesn’t happen. There’s always someone watching you. So they see the blood. When my kids ask, why are you bleeding? I tell them. Because I’m on my period. But I don’t stop there. We talk about what a period is, why it happens, and how, without it, you can’t make a baby. I want them to not only understand the science and biology behind the blood, I want them to feel respect for what is happening to my body, not disgust.

The other day Annie was changing her diva cup and Bodhi, her son (who is the same age as our Sissy), commented on how gross it was. Okay, tiny human, no one is forcing you to stalk your mother while she’s in the bathroom. Johnny heard his son and immediately jumped in. “Actually, it’s not gross,” he said, “And you wouldn’t be here if she didn’t bleed and it happens to every woman. Now get in the shower so Mom can have a bath and relax alone.”

MORE. OF. THIS. PLEASE.

Our bodies are incredible. There are people running ultramarathons through Death Valley. There are people surviving 60 feet below the ocean. There are people spending 328 days in SPACE. And yes, there are people bleeding. Even more so. There are people doing all these incredible things WHILE bleeding.

And so, sorry not sorry, but thank you for indulging me in your love and support, while I keep sharing all the placentas. It will be over soon and we’ll be back to the business of ridiculous goats making fabulous cheese.

Except wait. They’re the same thing.

Repeat after me.

You cannot have cheese without placentas. And while, as a farmer, I am honored to manage this part of the food production, you’ll have to indulge me just a little as I share it with you.

Because I think it matters.

And I hope you do, too.