Thomas Humphrey

 

 

 
Beige and brown and tan and black, with horns spiraled or semicircular or in undulating waves, a legion of goats marched up the hill toward us, bleating in anticipation of fresh grass and leaves.
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I was headed down Quenames Road in Chilmark, where neon pastures peak through a forest of scraggly oak and pine for a visit to Milkweed Farm, the little sandy fiefdom where Mallory Watts has recently begun to reap a yearly harvest. 
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