Mow in Peace

Last week after I ran interference and all but tackled the gardener in the courtyard to make him turn off his industrial, 90-decibel weed wacker before he scared the baby goats, I decided to dismiss the gardener from courtyard duties and tend to them myself. My first order of business as the new master of the courtyard was to find a hand-powered (translation: quiet) lawn mower. I expected to pay around $350 for a decent mower but was pleasantly surprised to find one for only $70. As I clicked "submit order" on the web page, I felt nothing but doubt. I've been burned by many an unsuccessful gadgety purchase. But since it was only $70 for a lawn mower, I rolled the dice.

My mower arrived today. Assembly was simply snapping the handle into the mower (30 seconds). I took it for its inaugural whirl around the courtyard and, hey, whaddya know? It works perfectly! (Caveat: this might not be the best option if you have a large area to mow.) I love my swift, silent, hand-powered mower. Interestingly, Fenway does not. Gentle, docile Fenway kept attacking it, and I don't think he was playing. I finally had to put him inside the house so I could mow without risk of slicing his button nose.

Grover and Neko

Despite all the excitement that Oscar and Elmo have brought to our little farm, we can't forget that we will have another set of twin babies ready to leave their mama in a month. We named the wether Grover and the doe Neko. Everything I've read says that goat herds are run by a female, so I guess Elmo (who right now is clearly in charge) will lose his position to Neko. Our goat girl kindly sent some pictures of Grover and Neko getting their first bath today.

McGoat

I'm not trying to promote McDonald's, but this goat is pretty funny (and waaay naughtier than my sweet goats).

The Yuppie Farm

Photo of the Alexandria Coop from the Williams-Sonoma Catalog

The new Williams-Sonoma catalog arrived in the mail today, and I was intrigued to see that even Williams-Sonoma has jumped on the sustainability bandwagon with its new Agrarian product line. The 12-category line includes chicken coops, beekeeping supplies, and Do-It-Yourself kits for items like cheese, vinegar, and sprouts. This latest move has not gone unnoticed. Today a lot of commenters on the homesteading blogs I follow are rather dismayed and disgusted that Madison Avenue is trying to cash in on the back-to-the-land movement. To this I say, "So what?" There's room for everyone here. If you don't want to pay $800 for an attractive, ready-made, Martha Stewart-y chicken coop, then don't. But what's it to you if someone else does?

Here's the thing. Not all of us are handy, own a lot of tools, have a shed filled with scrap wood, and want to devote a month's worth of weekends to going to Home Depot and sawing stuff in the backyard. When I was looking for ideas for goat housing I found only instructions for building one myself. I had to jerry-rig my own version of a goat enclosure, but I gladly would have paid a little extra to buy a Williams-Sonoma version if there were one available. I did laugh, however, at the "chicken coop predator kit" for $59.95. I don't see how it's that much different from the "goat pen predator kit" that I invented last week, which consists of a roll of garden wire from Lowe's for $4.95 and (you guessed it) about 50 zip ties ($2.95 for a pack of 50).

The people protesting the Williams-Sonoma line are probably the same people who have a problem with Pottery Barn. Don't get me wrong; I know that buying mass-produced farmhouse furniture is neither posh nor particularly imaginative. But it's an easy, relatively inexpensive option for people like me who don't like used furniture (I have an abnormal bedbug phobia), don't have an eye for antiques, and don't want a house filled with expensive or one-of-a-kind pieces. Instead of passing out cold if the dog has an accident on an heirloom-quality chair or the Wrangler (who really shouldn't be practicing his short game in the house) accidentally hits a golf ball into a decorative piece from Sotheby's, I can just heave a small sigh, clean up the mess, and reorder the same item--which will arrive in three to five business days from good ole PB.

On the other hand, I will always be partial to things that are homemade. It's especially nice when they look better than my goat pen.

Someone's Got Your Goat

I read in Goats magazine that the expression "someone's got your goat" comes from an Old English tradition of keeping a goat in the barn with dairy cows to keep the cows calm and producing lots of milk. A farmer's enemy would steal the goat, causing the cows to become so agitated that their udders would dry up and leave the farmer without milk.

Alternatively, the expression comes from 19th century horse racing lore. Many racehorses had their own pet goat as a stablemate; the companionship kept the horse happy and calm. Gamblers would try to fix an outcome by sneaking into barns on the night before a big race and abscond with the goat of the projected winner. The distraught horse would run poorly the next day and lose the race.

Although I've owned goats for less than a week, I completely understand the expression. If someone got my goats, I would be devastated. I knew that I'd like having goats, but it turns out that I absolutely love having goats! I'm obsessed. I can't believe I waited this long. I should have gotten goats many years ago. "Would you have dated me if I had goats?" I asked the Wrangler. He said yes, but I wonder. Back in the day, I think we both would have thought that having pet goats was weird.

But how obtuse we were back then. Little did we know that having goats is a joy. I've never been a morning person, but I now look forward to waking at the crack of dawn to let them out. Refilling water buckets and loading up the hay feeders twice a day is peaceful and rewarding. It's hard to explain, but the tasks feel like yoga, a soothing physical ritual. My mind thinks of nothing but the routine. Even mucking out their pen and sweeping up the "nanny berries" (and wow--are there ever a lot of nanny berries!) feel satisfying. Twice a day I get to turn the messy pen into a fresh and tidy little home for my dear four-legged friends. They always are curious and watch me with interest as I complete my chores. I stoop down every now and then to softly scratch their sweet faces.

Each day Oscar and Elmo get more comfortable with me. The loud bleating meltdowns stopped a few days ago, and peace and quiet reigns in the the courtyard now. Elmo loves being petted, scratched, and groomed. Oscar also lets me pet him now, although he still is shy.

Every night at 6:30 they march into their doghouse on their own and tuck themselves in for the night. Adorable!

I've got a five-foot wall, a five-foot fence, a metal 6x8 dog kennel, and video baby monitor in place. Hopefully no one will get my goats....neither literally nor figuratively.

Early To Bed, Early To Rise

Noises on the baby monitor woke me last night around 1AM. I got up to check on things, but Oscar and Elmo appeared to be sleeping soundly in their doghouse. By 2:30AM, after getting up four more times to check on them but finding nothing amiss, I concluded that I was just hearing feedback/static on the baby monitor.

"Wake up," I stood over the Wrangler, looking not unlike a ghost with my white robe and crazy hair. "Do you think it's okay if I turn off the baby monitor? It keeps making nosies, but I need to get some sleep."

"Mmmmff."

I took that as a yes. I turned off the monitor and, for the first time since Friday, I slept soundly until I let out the goats at 7AM.

Elmo is coming out of his shell. He stood still and allowed me to groom him this morning, and by this afternoon he sought me out for kisses and scratches. I was happy to oblige. Oscar is warming up to the idea but still runs away when I move in for the scratch.

I prepared their pen for the night (fresh hay, water, and shavings), and they headed into the doghouse on their own around 6:30. Unfortunately, like any other working father with babies at home, the Wrangler did not get to see the kids today. They were still sleeping when he left for work, and they'd tucked themselves in for the night before he arrived home. He was pretty disappointed. "I didn't get to see even one button nose, pointy ear, or little hoof today," he said dejectedly. I hear him playing peppy tunes on his guitar right now, and I wouldn't be surprised if he's trying to rouse the goats. I better go tell him to let those babies sleep!

Strange Noises in the Courtyard

Day 2

Last night after a few rather loud meltdowns the goats settled quietly into the dog house around 7PM. (The dog house is inside the 8x6 pen). I hit the hay around 10PM but probably slept only few hours at most. The baby monitor alerted me to some stirring in the goat pen around 12:45AM, and I saw Oscar and Elmo standing side by side and chewing contently. The same thing happened around 3:45AM. A couple times I heard coyotes yelping and owls screeching and got up to check the courtyard. Although predatory sounds are commonplace around here, let me tell you that hearing them through your baby monitor is disconcerting to say the least.

This morning for the first time in years--if not ever--I got up before sunrise on my own volition. I didn't have an early flight to catch or a conference call to jump on. Nope, I just was eager to end the long night of adrenaline-fueled responses to crackles over the baby monitor. I wanted to let out the goats and start the day.

As I approached the goat pen, two inquisitive faces peeked out of the dog house. I opened the door to the pen but they didn't rush out. Still timid, Oscar and Elmo literally took baby steps toward the goat run.

I swept the pen and added new wood shavings. I filled the tubs with fresh water and hay. I left for the barn to see Moto around 7AM, and the Wrangler took over the goat watch.

Overall, the boys made lots of progress today. They ate heartily--a good sign. They still ran away from us, but if we sat quietly they slowly approached for a quick sniff or nuzzle before turning and fleeing. Oscar only had two meltdowns, which were nowhere near the decibel level of yesterday's bleat-fest.

Goats hate getting wet. It rained today, and Oscar and Elmo favored the sheltered area near their pen instead of the goat run. After repeating the morning's ministrations of sweeping, cleaning, and filling tubs with fresh water and hay, I tucked them in for the night. I'm satisfied that they'll be cozy in their dog house despite the chilly air and the pouring rain. (But I am going to check on them right now.) I push visions of sad, wet, shivering goats out of my head. I keep telling myself that most goats live in sheds out in a field, so Oscar and Elmo are relatively pampered.

I can't believe I finally have goats.

Goodnight

It's 10PM on a Friday and this cowgirl is calling it a night.

Three nights, one day, and one hundred zip-ties later, the Wrangler's fence project is complete. Time will tell whether it can withstand two goats who want to get out and two Jack Russells who want to get in.

My hands are a mess of cuts and calluses after a week of wrestling with chicken wire, steel posts, and nuts and bolts. Hopefully the goats' nighttime pen is cozy and coyote-proof.

The video baby monitor is installed. The camera, with night vision, is wired to the top of the pen, and the monitor is on my bedside table. Fenway has spent the night watching it with interest.

There's fresh hay in the feeders, cold water in the buckets, baking soda in the pan, a mineral lick in the tray, and a giant container of animal crackers at the ready. As of today Oscar and Elmo are weaned from their mama. They'll have no more milk, but they'll follow the diet required for growing Pygmy goat wethers.

The kid's climber play set is assembled and in the newly fenced goat run, along with other toys.

The goat pen is filled with fresh wood shavings, a cute dog house, and a fluffy blanket.

Despite our best efforts, our setup looks a bit makeshift. That's what happens when you don't have a barn and don't plan on staying. I started out thinking, "What would Martha Stewart do?" but at this point I just hope that our goat enclosures are functional.

As for the goats? I'll give you the full rundown tomorrow. For now I'll leave you with this question: what has four legs and screams bloody murder? Answer: a baby goat on his first night away from his mama. My heart breaks. I'm so glad we didn't separate twins. At least they have each other.

Called Out

I took a vacation day and focused on last minute goat prep today. (The Wrangler, who still has not completed the fencing, will take a vacation day tomorrow.) This morning when the hay delivery guy from the Hawthorne's Country Store in Fallbrook called my cell to ask for directions, I wasn't at home. I was at the Hawthorne's Country Store in Escondido picking up some industrial stall mats for the goat pen. If I had a pick-up truck, I wouldn't need delivery service. I could just toss a few bales into the back of the truck. I'm by no means a neat freak, but transporting rolls of dried grass in the back of my little SUV just sounds really messy.

Despite my lack of a proper pick-up truck, I was still feeling cowgirl-esque and dressed for the part: dusty Frye boots, jeans, plaid shirt, cowboy hat and, well, oversized Chanel sunglasses. After ringing up my purchases, the Hawthorne's cashier paged a nice-looking cowboy to help me load the stall mats into the back of the SUV. He met me in the parking lot with a small forklift carrying the mats. I hadn't realized that the mats would be so heavy...or dirty. The cowboy tried to brush off some of the hay, dirt, and debris.

"Ohhh! I just bought a tarp," I exclaimed, pleased as punch. Not only was I a ranch girl, I was a super-prepared ranch girl. The back seats in the SUV were down, and I fished the tarp out of the bag and began arranging it in the cargo space.

"A tarp?" the cowboy asked. I detected disapproval in his voice.

"Yeah, why? Is there something wrong?" I peered at him through the back of the car, puzzled.

"I guess I just thought you were a real cowgirl, and then there you went putting down a tarp in the back of your Mercedes," he drawled.

Ouch.

"I guess I don't need one," I said quickly.

"No, it's fine," he said. He helped adjust the tarp and then loaded the stall mats. I thanked him and went on my way.

I'll admit that my feelings were kind of hurt! I called the Wrangler, who always makes me feel better. "He said that he thought I was a real cowgirl until he saw my car and I put down a tarp," I lamented.

The Wrangler didn't miss a beat. "You should have told him that you're a fancy cowgirl."

The truth is, I'm not a fancy cowgirl or even a non-fancy cowgirl, and that cowboy today called my bluff.

Nonetheless, I was very happy that I used that tarp, which was littered with dirt and who-knows-what-else when I unloaded the stall mats. Thanks to that tarp, the back of my car is spotless. Instead of cleaning my car, I can hang out with my horse or play with my baby goats. But maybe I need that pick-up truck. It would be handy and all, but I sure could use the street cred.

Put It On My Tab

Despite moving to an avocado farm and becoming a horse owner in the past year, I didn't become a real ranch girl until today. What made today so significant? Well, today I called my tack and feed store of choice (the closest Target store is 30 minutes away, but I live within a 10-minute drive of not one, not two, but five tack and feed stores), opened a tab, and scheduled a hay delivery.

On the Fence

We're picking up Oscar and Elmo on Friday instead of today, because we're still working on fencing. The Wrangler is not having an easy go of it, to put it mildly. I'm secretly a little amused when he struggles, but only because he's exceptionally good at just about everything. He's a natural athlete, talented artist, and strong leader, just to name a few of his many admirable attributes. A handyman, however, he is not.

To be fair, it's not easy installing fencing that must meet so many criteria. It has to be goat-proof and sturdy, temporary and economical (since we're supposedly moving soon), and relatively attractive (as it will be in a prominent part of our yard). I found the perfect solution at Lowe's and checked the online user reviews, which are overwhelmingly positive. Fifty-two out of 52 users claim that the panels are sturdy and look great and are super easy to install. Unless you are the Wrangler.

I've never heard him utter a swear or curse, but oh the grunting, muttering, heaving, and sighing that could be heard in the courtyard last night! "I could use some help over here," he called to me, as I toasted my hands by the cozy fire.

"The user reviews online said that it's a one-person job," I reassured him. I was feeling smug, having just finished assembling the goats' pen, all eight-by-six-feet of it, All By Myself. It was a real two-person job if there ever was one, and I only had to take it apart and start over twice.

"Please," he pleaded. I peered across the yard. There seemed to be an awful lot of clanging and hammering and not a lot of progress. I agreed to hold a fence panel while he pounded the accompanying metal stake into the ground, but I eventually moseyed off to check email. I wasn't being a complete jerk; remember, I had put together the pen. I just needed to take a break.

More grunts and muttering and an occasional "darn it!" ensued for the next three hours.

I pulled up the online reviews from the Lowe's website and quoted a few to plead my case for lounging by the fire instead of helping. "This review from an 80-year old with a broken hip says that the best thing about the fence is its ease of installation," I informed the Wrangler encouragingly. "Oh, and this one written by a single mom says that she was able to put it together in no time, by herself, and with her five kids running around." (These are actual reviews. I'm not being facetious.)

I made the Wrangler stop for the night around 10:30. Even out here in the country, it's not polite to hammer past bedtime. He had managed to install nine panels in the dark. Not too bad! Nine panels down, 11 to go.

This morning I strode into the courtyard to observe his work. Would you believe that six of the nine panels were installed backwards?

Three panels down, 17 to go.

Sea Breezes

Today, which seemed pleasingly farm-ish, began with a chicken workshop at the Seabreeze Organic Farm in San Diego. Located just a few miles from the ocean, the farm is an anomaly amid office parks, new strip malls, and suburban housing. The owner, Stephenie Caughlin, bought the land in 1978 when the area was a pastoral mix of chaparral and eucalyptus groves. A former gold broker and futures trader, Stephenie decided in 1988 to embark on a new endeavor and lifestyle and began building a farm business. Currently the Seabreeze farm follows a CSA (community-supported agriculture) model and has 150 shareholders (CSA members) who pay for weekly deliveries of whatever the farm has produced and harvested that week--organically-grown flowers, vegetables, herbs, fruit, and eggs.

Several of the chicken seminar attendees brought young children, which created a chaotic atmosphere that was more petting zoo than informational. As a result, I didn't learn as much as I'd hoped and was somewhat disappointed. The ever-patient Wrangler observed that at least the parents were making an effort to provide their kids with a farm experience instead of, say, a trip to the mall, so I guess I'll give them all a pass.

The trip to Seabreeze was worth the time for, if nothing else, assuring me that a lot can be done with just two acres. A LOT. The farm started out with over 20 acres, but over the past 30 years of urban sprawl the farm has dwindled to just two acres. With the main residence, a number of outbuildings, and even a straw bale guest house occupying about one of the two acres, Stephenie has just one acre to raise chickens, turkeys, goats, and a pony and grow enough fruits, vegetables, and flowers to provide weekly deliveries for the 150 CSA members. Every inch of space has been put to a productive use, although the farm doesn't feel cramped or crowded (and boasts lovely ocean views to boot). This is in sharp contrast to most of the properties that we've seen lately in our house hunting trips. We've toured four-acre plots--twice the size of Stephenie's farm--with no space for gardens or animals because most of the property has been wasted on decorative lawns, stone patios, huge driveways, swimming pools, mini-putting greens, and tennis, basketball, and pickleball courts.

I loved seeing how much can be accomplished with just half the amount of land that we've been looking for. Still, think what could be done with 10 acres! (In order to afford 10 acres we'd probably have to leave California....win/win?)

Fencing and Playsets and Pens, Oh My!

In case you haven't noticed, it's All Systems Go for Goats around here this week. There is so much to do and buy: fencing, pens, playsets, dogloos, feeders, waterers, mineral blocks, hay, bedding, a storage shed for the hay and bedding, a pickup truck....

The house is U-shaped with a lovely courtyard in the center. After much back-and-forth, it has been decided that the goat kids will live in the courtyard. There is a large fenced pen on the property that would be ideal for goats, but there are simply too many coyotes, hawks, and owls casing the joint 24/7. It's a wild, wild world out there beyond our courtyard gates, and the fenced pen is not within sight from the house.

The main entrance to the house is via the courtyard, so it would be nice to keep the area as spiffy as possible. Surely someone has designed a practical-yet-elegant goat enclosure. But I haven't seen one yet. Goat pens tend to be of the ugly chain-link fencing variety.

Goats, who climb and hide, love (human) kids' playsets. I had no idea that these little plastic numbers (apparently, they're called "climbers") can run upward of $300! And I don't think the bright orange and teal plastic will look particularly elegant in the Tuscan-styled courtyard, but the wooden climbers cost about five times as much as their plastic counterparts.

Similarly, I'm having a hard time finding an attractive hay storage system. It appears that most folks without barns simply stack bales on pallets and cover them with a tarp.

We're poised dangerously on the brink of becoming "those" neighbors. You know, the ramshackle sort with makeshift fencing, eyesore storage sheds, and toys inexplicably strewn about the yard with nary a child in sight. Oh, Junky Neighbor, how I have judged thee. I now will think twice before tsk-tsking my disapproval from my car window. Perhaps he, too, once fancied himself a Ralph Lauren-sort of rancher. But then he got goats.

We really do need a proper barn.

Barn Decor

I just bought some posters for the barn office from a teachers supply store. For just $5 each, I got 11x17 laminated external anatomy posters of a goat, chicken, sheep, and horse. Um, now I just need a barn office.

Seen and HERD

Our goat girl made a video of her herd, which currently includes Oscar and Elmo. (The brand new babies I reserved today hadn't been born when she made the video.)

Things To Do on Your Lunch Break

Look how big Oscar is now! And don't miss Elmo (standing in the tub).

Gosh, I remember the days not so long ago when, as a relatively young lawyer in Washington, DC, lunch was a time for snappy conversation with fashionable friends at a bustling hotspot. These days, my lunch activities are vastly different--just as fun but perhaps more furry than fashionable. Moto's barn is not far from the office, so I frequently stop in see him around noon. And today during lunch I added a couple goats to my herd...

It began with a text from the goat girl this morning. She had adorable twin pygmy goats born just hours ago. Only 10 hours old, they already seem to be social and inquisitive. Was I interested? Truthfully, I wasn't sure about adding more pygmy pets just now, especially since our farm search has stalled, but I agreed to stop by over lunch. If nothing else, it would be a chance to see Oscar and Elmo.

When I arrived at noon the goat barn was filled with crazy, joyful, happily chaotic sounds and sights. Oscar and Elmo still look like babies, but they look and feel sturdy. Elmo is a lap goat and loves to be held and petted. Oscar is a little timid but runs, jumps, and wrestles with the other goat kids. As I held the precious brand new baby goats and watched the 20+ other goats hopping around, I realized that we need more than two. Goats are herd animals. Two goats really are not a herd, right?

I left the barn with a full heart...and empty pockets (having paid for the two brand new babies, a yet-unnamed boy and girl who will be ready to leave their mama in May). Although the rest of the afternoon was devoted to legal research, memories of my fun-filled lunch hour lingered--literally. My clothes did smell rather goat-y.

The Un-Social Network

Remember when surfing the internet was a fairly solitary sport? I've been missing those pre-social networking days lately. As I wrote last fall, I'd gotten hooked on Pinterest and was happily pinning away, creating my own virtual moodboards. But the social networking aspect took over, and now it's only good manners to follow your Facebook friends' pins. Netiquette pressures threaten my once reclusive guilty pleasure. I no longer can pin just anything that catches my eye--I have to consider the fact that all my friends and acquaintances are going to see it. Case in point: regardless of your political affiliation, you have to feel sorry for Ann Romney who had pundits speculating about her (most likely innocuous) Anna Karenina pin on her Books Worth Reading board. Not that my pins contain any agenda or hidden messages. I just feel sorry for my followers who have to scroll through my pins of lavender, fall foliage, and cute animals...just like I have to scroll through my friends' pins of wedding dresses, baked goods, and kids' birthday party ideas.

On a separate but related note, I think it's creepy when an ad for a lavender conference pops up on Facebook immediately after I post a lavender pin. (Unfortunately, these invasive cross-marketing tactics work. I did click on the ad and register for the conference.) I can't help but suspect that Facebook not only snoops around my Pinterest boards, it also keeps track of my google searches. A few months ago, a relative had gout, and I looked it up on Wikipedia--exactly once. Now Facebook constantly suggests that I join gout support groups; the Facebook algorithm thinks that I'm a lavender-loving girl with gout.

Social networks, please don't judge a girl by her pins...or her google searches. They don't tell the whole story.

The Writing Is on the Wall

This weekend we toured several potential properties and, lo and behold, found the perfect little farmhouse! It's cute as a button, completely renovated with a good layout, and an easy commute to work. The front of the house overlooks two wonderfully flat south-facing acres that need happy farm animals and a lavender labyrinth. The back of the house has a yard that is calling for Fenway and Dash. The property is almost surrounded by trees and even has a little pond. The icing on the cake? It's priced so far below our target range that it didn't even appear in our realtor's search parameters. (The frugal-minded Wrangler happened to find the listing online.) The property's very reasonable price would allow us build a small barn, put up fencing, and purchase the lavender plugs without having to pinch too many pennies.

Instead of submitting an offer, however, I found myself emailing the listing to one of our friends who also is looking for a small farmhouse in the area. I know, right? The only thing wrong with this property is that it isn't in New England and, as it turns out, I guess that's the deal killer for me.

Busy as a Bee

I attended a beekeeping class today at the Ecology Center. I could write for days about bees. Everything about bees is wondrous: their social structure, their crucial role in pollinating plants, the creation of the honeycomb, the complexity of the honey-making process....The Wrangler and I were enthralled when the apiarist described how bees select their hives. The scouts check out nearby "real estate" and report back to the colony. Each scout performs a dance that discloses the location of a potential site by conveying the angle of the sun's location, the distance, and direction. The bees buzz off to view the properties and then select the new hive via a democratic process.

Without veering off into Debbie Downer territory by lamenting colony collapse disorder, Africanized ("killer") honey bees (which descend from a colony of hybrid bees that were interbred by a biologist in the 1950s and accidentally released), bees feeding on nectar and pollen from genetically-modified or pesticide-laden plants, and the adverse consequences of interstate transportation of bees for commercial agricultural purposes, I will say only that we humans seem to be messing up things for the bees. Did you know that some commercial apiaries feed their honeybees a junk food diet of high fructose corn syrup instead of the nectar from flowers? The honey produced by these poor bees basically is reprocessed high fructose corn syrup.

En route to the beekeeping class, the Wrangler and I had discussed the medicinal aspects of lavender while mulling over my lavender farm plans. During the class, the apiarist briefly touched on the antibacterial and antiseptic properties of honey. I hadn't given much thought to the symbiosis of lavender and honey! From cultivation to purpose, they seem to be a perfect match...the bee's knees, if you will.