After several winding turns east bound on Indiana State Road 46 outside of Bloomington this past Saturday morning, I found myself at a quaint goat farm in Brown County.
The Goat Conspiracy is a local farm and creamery that produces “all things goat related.” The farm prides itself on its mission of sustainability, community, education, animal welfare and a slower pace of life. Of the many events and programs The Goat Conspiracy offers, goat yoga classes are one of the more eye-catching.
Goat yoga, or more formally known as “caprine vinyasa,” has been in the spotlight of holistic practices for the last few years. The practice is relatively new. It started in Albany, Oregon when goat-owner Lainey Morse was both going through divorce and the diagnosis of an auto-immune disease in 2016. Morse realized spending time with her goats helped her feel at ease during a difficult phase of life. After beginning to practice yoga with friends, family and the goats of course, it became a phenomenon.
I was familiar with the physical and spiritual exercise prior to my trip, as it had its fair share of celebrity endorsements and social media acclaim. Plus, as someone interested in yoga and spiritual health, I’ve always been intrigued by the prospect of goat yoga. I was enthusiastic to give it a try when I found somewhere local offering classes.
It was a chilly Saturday morning when I left for yoga. While The Goat Conspiracy offers indoor classes, the sky was clear and the weather was pleasant, so I bundled up for the outdoor class.
The farm is only a twenty-minute drive east of College Mall, but the short trip is an escape from the bustling college town and a welcome journey into the hills and turns of southern Indiana. I grew up in rural north-east Indiana in a town of less than 10,000 people. Even being in Bloomington (a city some would consider to be in the “middle-of-nowhere"), my goat yoga adventure was a nice change of pace for my weekend that reminded me of home.
When I arrived, I was kindly greeted by Lee Atwell, the 30-year tenured yoga instructor. She provided guests with yoga mats and directed us over to the farm’s pavilion. After my classmates and I arranged our mats, she gave us each a handful of hay so we could greet the goats with treats when she let them out of their pen.
The pavilion was right next to the enclosure where over a dozen mother goats and their kids are kept. Atwell opened the gate and led them over to the pavilion with some hay so they could make friends with us, the yogis. The goats were very well behaved and friendly. They willfully approached anyone who’d give them a few nibbles of hay and the babies were even docile enough to be picked up and held. I watched one baby goat fall asleep in the arms of a fellow guest.
At the beginning of the practice, Atwell said the goats naturally like to perch on raised services and would likely approach and try to climb on you during some poses. A few goats walked over me during yoga, and one befriended the guest next to me by butting her head against the yogi’s arms.
There is something innately appealing about the goats, Atwell said.
“Their playfulness is what I really love,” Atwell said. “They can bring that happiness and joy to the people that practice yoga with the goats as well.”
Spending time with nature outside of my daily walks to and from class is not something I do enough. Being away at college, I especially miss spending time with my pets. And despite having to wake up early on a Saturday morning, it was peaceful to practice slow living for a morning.
The practice ended like a typical yoga class in Shavasana, or “corpse pose” laying in the grass under the sun for a few minutes of meditation. It was literally a down-to-earth experience.
