Farming, Philosophy, and the Miracle of Baby Goats

Apologies for the light posting, but we've been particularly busy these past few weeks, especially with things related to farming and the impending big move. Next week our house finally goes on the market, and a great deal of effort is going into sprucing things up. This past Monday also marked the first class session of the N.C. State Extension's "Farm School" program. And while our kidding season this year most certainly won't hold a candle to kidding seasons in future years, this past week we also welcomed five little babies to Kleinshire Farms. One of the Nigerian does should also be kidding within the week.

Brownie, one of our Boer nannies, with one of her hungry triplets.

Both kiddings that have already occurred went well, with minimal assistance from me and Rosemary. One of the Boer nannies gave birth to triplets--two doelings and one buckling--and the other to twins--a doeling and a buckling. There is a lot to be thankful for in those numbers, as they put us above average both in the number of goats born and the number of doelings. Of course, since we will grow our herd to 40 or more nannies in Wisconsin, we were especially glad to see those three beautiful doelings. The bucklings and doelings alike all look promising, though, all with excellent conformation, which is not entirely surprising given the pedigree of their sire.

One of the beautiful things about farming, I think, is the opportunity to reflect so frequently on the miracle of life. Maybe when we're kidding 50 or 60 babies next spring instead of a half dozen, it'll be a different story, but for now I'm still in awe. Immediately after making its entry into the world, each newborn baby goat's airway needs to be cleared quickly. The baby takes its first gulps of air and then fills the air with its little cries. Even before its siblings are born, it is already shakily on its feet, seeking out the warm, comforting nourishment of its mother's milk.

The mother, for her part, is frantically looking around for something to lick clean even before the first baby comes out. Although she is not really thinking through the process of clearing the airway and drying off her baby, that's precisely what nature impels her to do. The baby's first few pitiful cries help to direct the mother's attention. So much could be written about the way that the mother immediately bonds with her own babies by their smell, and about the determined insistence of the baby in seeking out those first draught of its mother's milk. It is God's gift to the farmer--what keeps him from going crazy, I suppose, in the midst of all the hard work and all the things that don't go right--to witness this sort of primal miracle.

I'm thinking about all of this in light of a book that I'm reading right now together with a few juniors in the honors section of my philosophy course: biophysicist Cornelius Hunter's Darwin's God: Evolution and the Problem of Evil. Writ large, Hunter is making the case that Darwin's theory of evolution is predicated on theological premises, most relevantly that if God were really guiding the process of evolution, then He would surely have chosen more efficient, less redundant biological processes and structures. Hunter makes the excellent point that biologists are not competent in making theological presumptions of this sort, and that, in fact, it violates the scientific method to make metaphysical presumptions of any kind. What business do biologists have--indeed, what business does any one of us have--presuming God's methodology in guiding evolution?

Hunter's book is a good read so far, and I found it relevant last week as I watched the mother's inefficient efforts to clean her babies, and as I attempted again and again, without much success, to get a particularly spunky little doeling latched onto her mother's teat for the first time. The marvel, the miracle, is that life works at all.

It's funny that we presume God's efficiency when all the evidence is that He is immensely wasteful with the largesse of life. Although He may be perfect, and perfectly ordered, within Himself, the material universe is by definition lacking, imperfect, individuated. The real miracle is God's patience with material imperfection, and His ability to write straight with crooked lines. That's certainly the case with the biological processes and structures that Hunter describes in his book, such as the appendix, a vestigial organ that Darwin believed serves no purpose, but that modern science has discovered plays an important role in helping the body maintain proper levels of healthy gut bacteria. Not an efficient solution, but it works, and it is a marvel, I would argue, that it does.

It is also the case with the creatures God created in His own image and likeness, who so often make their own path toward heaven more complicated through their freely willed choices. Thank God for the patience He lavishes upon us and our imperfections, with a wastefulness akin to Mary Magdalene's in pouring out pure nard on the feet of her Savior.

Thank God, the inefficient shepherd, therefore, who seeks out every last sheep, with nary a thought to the agricultural money-speak of acceptable mortality rates (15% or more from birth to weaning in commercial small ruminant operations, by the way). Mortality rates or not, new life is a miracle, in all its inefficient glory. Sometimes the birth of baby goats can lift the veil for a moment and soften even the seasoned farmer's hardened heart.

Update: You can actually watch one of the kiddings on our Facebook farm page!