Spilt Milk Day đ„
I declare today: Spilt Milk Day.
.
I spilled milk this morning with the help of Anaise, who felt she was not receiving enough sunflower seeds for the exchange.
And a few days ago, I dropped an entire gallon of fresh milk and shattered it completely.
So yes. Today is Spilt Milk Day.
They say, âDonât cry over spilled milk.â
Iâve repeated this to myself many times, because spilling milk is, it turns out, a surprisingly easy thing to do. But today, in musing, something else came into focus.
The degree to which we cry, fret, condemn, or blame after milk is spilled
is a remarkably accurate indicator of attachment to outcome.
In living systems, some days there is no milk. Other days, there is so much it spills,
raw, warm, generous, like manna. Milk is our first food, our first relationship.
A gift, the golden thread from colostrum to the moonlight glow of raw, creamy milk from doe to kid, a nurturance so strong it insures a lifetime of vitality and immunity.
When we punish ourselves (or one another) for the spill, weâre not responding to loss.
Weâre responding to the collapse of expectation. And that response echoes far beyond the kitchen floor. It shows up in how we lead, in how we fund and plan. In how we relate, grieve, hope, and try to control what was never ours to command.
Today, the milk watered the floor instead of the body. That doesnât make it wasted.
It makes visible my goat-filled life and all the outcomes as offerings, rather than promises. And offerings, like milk, like trust, like love, sometimes break and always reveal.
On Spilt Milk Day, recognition is enough. Gratitude is enough.
The lessons arrive regardless.
Today, abundance revealed itself, a puddle on the floor, into the soil.
đ The Goat Chronicles arrive every Wednesday âŠ
âŠfield notes from goats, soil, healing, and living systems.
Episode One is still freely offered, if youâd like to begin at the beginning.