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Hi Everyone,
It was a long busy week and as I sit here at the computer typing I can honestly say I would rather be taking a nap—and after you finish reading this journal you may understand and want one too.
Did you know that cows have to be milked every day of the year? Some farmer’s milk twice a day, and others only milk once a day. For the first 14 years that we had milk cows we milked twice a day. On Sunday’s that meant getting up at 5:00 to milk before we went to church. Then when we came home in the afternoon we would have to milk the cows before we went back to church in the evening. If we went over to someone’s house for the afternoon we would have to milk the cows when we got home that night—and sometimes that was at 10:00 at night. Then one year Mom had the flu over and over again from January to May and my sisters got tired of spending the majority of their days milking cows. So Mom decided that it was time to go to once a day milking—boy how things changed! We could go off for the evening and not have to worry about being home to milk the cows, we could get so much more done in a day—because we were not spending 6 hours a day milking cows. We didn’t know why we hadn’t thought of it earlier. So for the last 27 years we have pretty much started every day of our lives milking cows—and we have all had our turns being the milkers. I was 19 when we got our first Jersey cow. Her name was Pet, and two people would milk her at a time (one on each side of her). Later we had a bunch of Dexter cows and then when I was 30 we sold all of the Dexter’s and started a Jersey herd. We still have one of those Jersey cows that we bought 17 years ago. Her name is Amy and she was only 3 months old when we bought her. Amy is now 17 years old and is due to calve in two weeks. While we milk every day of the year—no two milking’s ever go the same. One day no cows will poo, and then other days they all seem to have to use the bathroom and they haven’t learned that it is bad manners to use the toilet in the “Parlor.” Some days it is hot and humid and other days it is windy and frigidly cold, and some days we milk 20 cows and other days we only milk eight. One thing is certain though—we milk every morning! Life can be stressfully busy—but the minute we step into the milking parlor it is like you step into another world. It no longer matters: what is going on in politics, how many things need to be planted in the garden, whether or not the dishes are done or laundry is behind. Milking cannot be rushed! The cows come in and while we milk them they eat. Some of the cows are true Americans—they shovel their food into their mouths as fast as they can and if you are still milking them they get antsy and want seconds. Then some of the cows must be from France where meals are taken seriously and every morsel is enjoyed and you eat slowly and savor every mouthful. I may run around frantically trying to gets things done in the morning—but the minute I step into the milking parlor life slows down and calmness takes over as I realize that at the moment I have nothing to do but milk my cows! Lately we have been training a few new heifers to come into the milking parlor to eat so that when they calve they are ready to come in to be milked. Bonnie was the first cow that Clayton got to help train to come in—and she is doing wonderful. Papa and Mom worked with her a few days, and then Clayton took over since Papa was usually out in the fields moving animals around when it was time to bring Bonnie in. Bonnie calved last week and she is doing very well being milked—I can even lead her into the milking parlor now (even though I still have to tug her a little). Last week we started with Rosie—by just getting her used to coming up and eating some alfalfa pellets out of a bucket. It was a challenge to get all four hooves on the concrete. Then on Tuesday Clayton decided that it was time to start bringing her in—for I had mentioned that she was due in a week. Once all the cows were out of the parlor and the milk was in the milk house I went and got Papa to come and help Clayton bring Rosie in. There was a lot of muscle power involved (cow’s and man’s). At one point Rosie even threw herself down on the concrete—stubborn cow! In the end Rosie was wearing a nice halter and she was eating out of the trough in the milking stall. Rosie really does have a sweet temperament and we can pet her all over. The next day Clayton almost had her all the way in the stall by himself when Papa arrived and gave her the last “push” into the stall. By Thursday she was doing much better. I told Clayton that one of the rules of training anything is: “If you pick a fight, you best make sure you win it!” Meaning: if you grab ahold of Rosie’s rope you had best make sure that you drag her and she doesn’t drag you. I remember the time that our Great Pyrenees guard dog, Archo, had found a dead chicken—and wanted to eat it. I didn’t want him to get a taste for chicken so I told him to give it to me. HA! HA! Archo glared at me and growled. Oops! What had I just done? How was little ole timid me going to get a chicken away from a strong willed dog? I wished that I had never asked for the chicken, but since I had “picked the fight” I must win. I managed to stand my ground and just kept asking the dog for the chicken and after a little bit I finally got the courage to take the chicken away (I think that Archo backed off too). Anyway, Clayton had no problem winning his “battle” with Rosie, but Friday morning Clayton headed home for the weekend to visit his Mom for her birthday so Papa brought Rosie into the milking parlor stall. Then Saturday morning Papa wasn’t around so Mama decided to bring in Rosie. I was very skeptical!!!! I knew how hard Clayton and Papa had to pull, and I knew that “once you pick a fight, you must win” and so far Rosie had never escaped. I tried to encourage Mom to wait—but she would not. Mom grabbed Rosie’s rope that is attached to her halter and began to lead her in. It was a struggle, but Mom was managing to make ground—until they got to the concrete. Then Rosie bolted and Mom lost her—but she didn’t give up! Mom went back out to Rosie, grabbed her rope back up, and spoke very firmly to her. They began once again to walk toward the milking parlor and when Rosie would lift her head to attempt another escape Mom would quickly jerk it back down and tell her “No.” It took a few minutes, but in the end Mom successfully led Rosie into the milking parlor. Progress is sweet!
Most days when we are done with milking we head to the garden. Monday morning Clayton asked me if we had anything to plant in the garden that day. I was very grateful for the question because I had collards, cabbage, broccoli, komatsuna, Swiss chard, lettuce (five to be exact for that is all that sprouted out of 50), and mustard in seed trays in the greenhouse that needed to be transplanted to the garden—but I kept forgetting. So while Mom and Steve worked on weeding “Martha’s Vineyard”, Clayton and I transplanted little green plants all day. The next day found us back in the garden looking for mullein seed heads and digging up some ginger root for a customer. While walking around the Potager garden (French for “kitchen garden”—a seasonal garden where fruits, herbs, greens and vegetables are grown in a beautiful way) I found it very hard to navigate some of the pathways because of the Spanish needle weed that insists on taking over every time I turn my back. So just as soon as we had accomplished our treasure hunt we commenced to eradicate as many weeds as possible in the short amount of time that we had before we needed to eat lunch and package eggs. We did manage to accomplish a few walkways but the biggest accomplishment was to uncover two Louis Phillipe roses that had been smothered by Spanish needle, goldenrod and coastal grass. After the eggs were done we returned to the garden and uncovered a few more walkways and one of my Camilla’s. We also managed to mulch the Camilla which has about a hundred daffodils planted around it that will bloom in the spring. On Wednesday morning Mom and I only returned to the garden to pick some bok choy for the Jacksonville deliveries, and later that evening we picked some more bok choy to go into a frittata that I was making for dinner to go along with French toast (our Wednesday night special).
With Clayton living here on the farm Mom has been taking the opportunity to let him milk the cows most mornings so that she can get other things done. Thursday morning was no exception and on her agenda was to do the dishes (breakfast and Wednesday nights because at 8:30 at night who wants to do dishes—the men don’t get back from Jacksonville deliveries until after 7:30). Once she was done with the dishes she wanted to tie some cornstalks to the posts at the porch steps and to the bell pole where we have an old school bell hanging. The dishes took forever, and when she went to hang the cornstalks on the bell pole she found that it swayed. I noticed it swaying last week during the 30 mph hurricane winds. Steve and Mom decided that it was not safe to leave a rotten post in the ground with a heavy metal bell on top—for who knew when it would decide to come crashing down and someone could get hurt. That meant removing the bell from the post, then removing the post in order to cut off the rotten part, and then reburying the post, and reattaching the bell. The bell pole lost about two feet of height, but it doesn’t sway in the wind anymore—or when you ring the bell. They then ended up weeding the roses that are in a bed beside the bell pole. Once the roses were weeded then they re-laid the rocks around the bed—they had sunk into the dirt and were not very visible. Then they mulched the rose bed. In the meantime, once Clayton and I were finished milking the cows we then headed up to the orchard to harvest some chestnuts. Clayton had a goal to take as much Farm Fresh products home to his family as he could—chestnuts and bok choy being top on the list (and he could even say that he had helped plant the bok choy).
Everyone has a bucket lists of things they want to do, places they want to go, or things they want to learn. I grew up with my Papa going out into the forest or onto my Grandparents land to cut down trees and chop them up for firewood—and Mom usually got a good case of poison ivy from the outing. When we adopted my siblings we had even more people to chop wood and we girls enjoyed getting in on the fun. Little did I ever imagine that some people never get to experience chopping wood—it was one of those experiences I took for granted. When Clayton came to work on the farm he mentioned his desire to learn how to use an ax. We were shocked—for he hadn’t even held one before. I was determined to make his dream come true. We had a tree fall down in one of the back fields—but we never could find the time to go cut it up. Then we had a load of woodchips delivered for the garden, and mixed in with the woodchips was a pile of logs that were just one step away from being firewood—that step was “being split.” Clayton eyed those logs with anticipation, he was anxious to be given the chance to split some firewood. A few weeks went by, but as last Thursday dawned I didn’t have a lot on my agenda and I hoped to be able to get Papa or Mom to give Clayton some ax wielding instructions, pointers and practice—but Papa had errands to run and Mom was having troubles in the courtyard at the house. So after lunch Clayton suggested that we go weed the sunflowers in the garden—the ones he had planted a month ago along with some zinnias. When we got to the sunflower patch our hearts sunk—they were gone! Something had eaten the tops off of all the sunflowers. UGH!! Troubles and trials were becoming the norm in the garden—and it was devastating. I proceeded to weed the bed anyway, and Clayton went to weed the zinnias that were safe from rabbits and deer as they were planted in the garden tunnels. Once the zinnias were weeded Clayton came back and helped me weed the sections where I plan on planting onions next month, and I was determined more than ever now to make sure that Clayton got a chance to use the ax before the day was over. We got called up to take care of a customer and then Papa got home and Clayton had to help him get the fixed part back into the hay baler. Once the part was secured in place I asked Papa if he could please spend some time with Clayton and the ax. Papa agreed and he not only grabbed the ax but the big maul too. While they chopped wood I finished weeding, but before Clayton got his fill of chopping we were all called back up to take care of another customer. When Clayton headed out to do the evening chores he took the ax with him—I think he was hooked and you could read satisfaction in his face. You didn’t have to ask him what his favorite part of the whole day was—his face said it all. I told him that he now had his own “gym”. “The glory of young men is their strength: and the beauty of old men is the gray head.” Proverbs 20:29
Friday morning Mom was back to milking—but she usually finishes the breakfast dishes before she comes out to milk. That is fine since there is about six cows that just come in to eat and I can get them fed before she arrives. Well, I usually can! The cows had evidently gotten used to Clayton’s voice and they wouldn’t come when I called them. They just stood there staring at me. I tried to mimic Clayton’s deep voice—but Penelope just looked at me like I was a stupid human being who was not fooling her. I had only managed to get in about two cows by the time Mom arrived. Friday morning the cows wouldn’t come—Saturday morning was a different story for before Mom arrived at the milking parlor I was running the show by myself and what a show it was. When the first four cows came in, Sunshine decided to barge in too. There was no empty stall for her—so she went into the middle stall (where I sit at to milk and where it leads to the feed room). I chased Sunshine around and around in the milking parlor trying to get her to go back out—but in the process another cow came in too. It was crazy! I finally had to just block off the exit ramp and let Sunshine and Merci hang out at the water tank until Dijon and Ellie Mae were finished eating. Dijon, the bull, is always funny when he comes out of the stall and finds the hotwire closed. He talks to you in his deep moo voice telling you to open the wire. Once the fiasco was over I could finally sit down and milk America—my cow who had been patiently waiting for me to come and milk her.
I was able to spend Friday afternoon in the greenhouse planting herbs, flowers and vegetable seeds in seed trays. There was mullein, chamomile, catnip, parsley, sage, rosemary and creeping thyme. Then I planted some snapdragons and strawflowers, three kinds of lettuce, and 72 more broccoli seeds (I am determined to have broccoli this year—only 8 of the last 72 sprouted). When I finished planting the last seed and went to leave the greenhouse I heard the Phoebe bird—she has returned! The Phoebe bird arrives every October. I am always on the lookout for her, and it is a treat to hear her first call a clear phoe-be, repeated many times; the second syllable is alternately higher or lower than the first. Later that evening after I got a pot of chicken noodle soup cooking I headed out with Papa to separate the calves and lock up the ducks and the turkeys. It is usually Clayton’s job—but he was gone for the weekend.
Papa spent Friday painting the cattle trailer. The poor thing is so old and had rusted so bad that we considered buying another one—but new ones were too expensive and you could not find one, and the used ones were not much better than ours. We decided to repair ours. Papa took it to a welder who patched all the holes and put in a new frame, then for the last so many weeks Papa has been sanding and priming the trailer. He finally got it ready to paint and so he watched tons of YouTube’s on how to use a paint sprayer and then he bought some paint and a suit and spent his afternoon sweating like a horse and making the trailer look really pretty again. He ran out of paint before he finished, and was able to get a new can of paint on Saturday. Once the painting is done then he has to fix the seams on the roof and put in a new floor—and then the trailer will be back in business. Poor Papa has spent his year learning more skills than he cares to learn and fixing more things than he cares to fix.
Saturday morning found Wally here helping Steve do his morning chores—which ended up being perfect timing because the turkey’s pens needed to be turned and it is not possible for a person to do it alone. Wally wanted some chicken manure and decided to swap some labor for some garden gold. Once the morning chores were all done we packed the orders and then Mom and I tackled the pantry and kitchen—somehow they needed a major organizing session. My brother David stopped in for a visit and we enjoyed spending some time with him while we did a little organizing. All in all it was a good week, and much was accomplished—for many hands really do get much more accomplished. As I look toward next week I wonder how we will ever accomplish all that needs to be accomplished—time will tell, and then I will tell you all about it next week.
Serving you with Gladness,
Tiare