This Feeds Me Hungry Musings of a Gastronomic Gypsy – NC-based freelance writer Victoria Bouloubasis

Goats and I share a complex history. I wrote about it for Indy’s Front Porch last week. Every Greek Easter, I’ve relished in the crispy skin peeled straight from a roasted goat’s flesh. Until, that is, I witnessed the birth of a baby goat on a farming stint in Portugal. My indulgent, borderline barbaric behavior [...]

If you can handle goaty, throw on an apron, click the link below and whip up this hardcore recipe. Don’t be a sissy.

Taking part in a small society, which lives more or less self-sufficiently of sustainable agriculture, was my only alternative draft of a place where you can actually live a life at peace with you and the rest of the world. This isn`t always true, but to a great extent it worked

“The composting toilet and I weren’t always on good terms. Indeed, we gave each other shit regularly. But at the end of the day, my time there was always well spent, and I always emerged a better man than when I had entered.”

Chen also has a comfortable air about her that lets the world know she’s taking it all in.

” I ended up spending the most time with the goats, and I’ve enjoyed just about every minute of it. I took them day in, day out for a week and also got to milk them. Walking with the goats in the valley afforded me a little peace, or something. I thought the time with the goats was very peaceful.”

Constantly smiling with eyes wide open, Rosana has a keen understanding of her surroundings in a way that makes her seem completely at ease wherever her wanderlust takes her.

This is the first in a series I’ve dubbed “Why we WWOOF”, profiling volunteers I met while farming at Casa do Burro. WWOOFers can be a strange breed. I presume I only have a handful of close friends who would summon their inner Kerouac to skip town for a while; even less who would plunge head first into outdoor labor, working in exchange for a mostly vegetarian meal plan and stiff, rural, caravan accommodations. Personally, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

…on my 28th birthday, surrounded by great food, laughter, goats and farmers, the Casa do Burro felt like home.

On a calculated whim this past summer, I set off for a three-month stint to volunteer on organic farms on Portugal’s Algarve coast. My wanderlust needed a fix and my mind needed a stimulant. In covering local NC sustainable agriculture for the past couple of years, I craved the first-hand knowledge to really understand the movement.