S T O R Y
|
P H O T O S
:
B O W E R S
Shawn was a very tan, very eccentric, very energetic, very
desert, very goat loving man. He promptly grabbed us and
gave us the grand tour of the grounds. Walking through
bountiful amounts of goat poop and hay, we followed him
and acted as though we were checking into a 5 star resort
in the middle of the desert as he laid out the land for us
and showed us our camper. We were renting a small blue
and white, historic, hadn’t been cleaned since the 70s,
54
cozy, wooly blanket, partially (i think) functioning camper
directly across from the goat pen and the chicken coup. We
just stared at each other. What are we doing. Desert goat
farm. 35 dollars. This was just something else.
We hung out for a bit longer, met some alpacas (causal),
then opted for a hike in the National Park before the
sunset. After a visit to the Park Rangers office and
remembering that National Parks cost a hefty amount of