Mona the Goat

I was a young hippy in 1976, just turned twenty-four, and I was looking for a place to live after getting back from hitchhiking to Canada. At the time, I was studying for a philosophy degree at Humboldt State University, and looking for roommates for the coming school year. My first choice was Arcata within walking distance to school, but I was late house hunting had been feeding my wanderlust that bicentennial summer. What I found was a run-down ranch-style house on B Avenue in McKinleyville. The house was divided into two living spaces. The main house had been recently occupied by a young couple with a new baby just up from San Diego. I rented the second space only days later, a small two-room place attached to the back of the house with a single room for living and sleeping, and a kitchen. I would have to share the bathroom in the main house. My place had only one door which opened onto a fenced backyard with chickens, ducks, and Mona the goat, all abandoned by the previous tenants. In essence, in an instant, I inherited a tiny farm.

The couple in the main house was not interested in caring for the animals. Their lives were completely wrapped around their new baby boy. So, it was up to me to clean the coop and collect the eggs, and since Mona was a lactating goat, I was obliged to quickly learn how to milk not just any goat, but Mona the most wonderful goat.

Mona and I became the very best of friends.

Note: These photos are black and white. There were times back then when I played around with black-and-white film. Also, I'm not sure who took the photos with me in them.