‘Goats on the Go’
Photos & text by Jane Bachrach
Carbondale
If you haven’t seen the 275 environmentally-friendly weed eaters stationed along County Road 100 (Catherine Store Road) outside of Carbondale, they’ll be here for about three more weeks, that is unless it snows.
Snow is baaaad for goats so they may have to leave early. Chances are it won’t, and if that’s the case, according to Brett Meredith at RFTA, they might head further down valley before they leave.
The name of the company that coordinates getting the chompers here is “Goats On The Go.” The herd here, owned by Brandon Olsen based out of Brighton, is made up of several different breeds, including Nubians, LaManchas, Alpine and Boers.
Between Foreign Mountains and New Roots
By Zulma Guarin
Sol del Valle
This poem was shared by Sol del Valle and has been translated for English readers.
Arriving in a new country feels like hiking up a mountain you’ve never climbed before — breathtaking, challenging, sometimes silent, sometimes unforgiving. And yet, here we are. In this valley of towering peaks and wide-open skies that seem to want to hold you close, we try to build a life that doesn’t always hold us back.
Migration is not running away.
It’s choosing to fight for life.
We don’t leave our homelands on a whim.
We leave because we love life so deeply that we’re willing to chase it across borders — with our hearts in our suitcases, language tucked between our teeth and hope held tightly in our chests. We can’t bring everything with us, but we carry what matters most: the will to begin again.
In Carbondale, we find mountains that don’t speak — but somehow, they understand.
The quiet of this place, so different from the noise of our hometowns, teaches us to listen to ourselves. And little by little, beneath the ache of nostalgia, a sense of belonging begins to bloom.
Because this valley, even if it didn’t see us born, can still witness us grow.
The headlines often miss this part, but every immigrant has a story.
We’re not numbers — we’re roots in the making.
We come from lands shaped by decisions we didn’t make, yet, here we choose to rebuild with our own hands.
And that choice — that quiet courage — is revolutionary.
Loving a land that doesn’t yet know how much it needs you …
That is the bravest thing of all.
To those who still see this journey with suspicion, I ask this:
Look past the accent.
Look past the color.
Look past the fear.
Because behind every immigrant is someone who wants the same thing you do:
To live. To work. To love. To contribute.
And to those walking this path alongside me:
Don’t forget how brave you are.
You’re not outsiders. You are seeds.