522

Hi Everyone,

               Last week I wore many different hats—I was a Farm girl (for I worked and live on the farm), I was a Milkmaid (for I milked the cows every morning), I was a butcher (for we processed chickens on Friday), I was a gardener (for I harvested vegetables and cleaned up the garden beds), I was a cook (for I cooked dinner every night), I was a Baker (for I baked a cake), I was a Housekeeper (for I vacuumed the house and cleaned my bathroom), I was a Friend (for I took time out of my day to talk with a few of my friends—one by phone and one here on the farm), I was a Videographer (for I took a few short videos of life on the farm)—and now I am going to be a Storyteller (for I have some stories to tell).

To See or Not to See

After a few very late nights last weekend, I have to admit that I was pretty tired on Monday and really had a hard time being motivated—but that didn’t prevent us from getting things done. Once the cows were milked, Mom and I both found ourselves inside doing what is called “Administrative Duties”. Monday morning email answering of all the orders can take a few hours, but once noon rolls around I get antsy and just have to get outside. That day our duties took us clear up to lunch time and so it wasn’t until after lunch that we made our way back outside. As soon as I walked out of the garage I realized that there was a strange color in the air—and then I remembered that there was supposed to be a solar eclipse. I knew that we were not in the line of viewing the total eclipse, but I wasn’t sure just how much we would be able to see. Of course we never bought any fancy eclipse eyeglasses, so it wasn’t like I could look at the sun to see what was going on. I also didn’t really know the time for the eclipse—I just knew one thing and that was for about an hour the atmosphere had a strange color about it. I did my best to get a look at the sun without actually looking at it—I used my camera to take a picture, but I really couldn’t see anything beside a bright ball of light with a big ring around it.

Our afternoon chores consisted of cleaning up the last bits of the poultry kitchen from the Friday Night Pizza Dinner and washing off the oilcloth tablecloths and folding them up and putting them away. Then Mom took to the lawn mower and Steve and I headed to the garden to harvest the first batch of yellow onions this year. I didn’t get as many onions planted this year as I usually do, and I am not sure that they are doing as good as they should be. One batch got pretty big, but half of them started to bloom—we had blooming onions growing in the garden! Ha! Ha! There were only about 68 of them, so it didn’t take long to pull them all up. Then we took them to the barn and hung them upside down on the drying racks.

Hungry Egrets                                                

Papa spent his afternoon on the tractor mowing down the fireweed (aka Heartleaf Nettle) that the sheep didn’t eat. Once he finished that field he decided to mow the field that is beside the sheep barn. We haven’t been able to drive into that field for years because the lane was two and four feet below the gate—due to rain wash out. Then last year we were finally able to fix the lane making it level with the surrounding pastures. The weeds in that field were pretty thick and Papa said that his first pass through the field caused our tomcat Sunny Boy to come flying out. As Papa continued to mow he realized why the cat was hanging out in that field—there was a community of voles living in there. I looked out the window and saw that the local egrets had arrived for dinner and were following Papa around eating the bugs that were jumping around after Papa made a pass. I ran outside with the camera and videoed a little short for YouTube called “Feeding the Egrets”. I didn’t realize that I should have left the camera with Papa because one egret had an extra big appetite. Papa said that he saw an egret catch one of the smaller voles (smaller, but not a baby). Papa wondered what in the world that egret was going to do with that vole. As he watched the egret opened his beak wide and began to swallow the vole whole. Papa said it had to work real hard to get that vole down its skinny little neck. The egret would stretch its head up then scrunch its neck down into its body over and over until it finally managed to swallow the vole. I do not think that it will need to eat for a whole week!

Liberty’s Belle

               Once upon a time on a little farm in Florida a calf was born—and I called her America so I could say “Good morning, America!” A few years later America gave birth to a little bull calf and we named him Patriot. The next year America gave birth to a little girl that we called Liberty. Liberty turned two last year and we put her in with the bull in hope to have a spring calf. Last Wednesday I headed out to the milking parlor to milk the cows and I realized that Liberty was not with the herd—for she is usually the first cow to be standing at the gate waiting to come in and eat. I was going to go looking for her, but I had to harvest some last minute veggies first. Papa headed out and found her lagging behind in the lane with a little calf tagging along behind her. By this time I had made it down the lane myself and was excited to learn that Liberty had given birth to a little heifer—which meant that we got to name her Belle. You can see Liberty’s Belle here on our YouTube channel.

They Call her Buttercup

               Have you ever wondered what the most popular name for a dairy cow is? Well in the last twelve months the name Buttercup has been used quite a few times here on the farm and on some of the farms that we have sold cows to. Last year we had a cow that we could never manage to get into the milking parlor—before or after she calved. So when someone called wanting a milk cow, we sold them Anne. Just because we couldn’t tame Anne, didn’t mean that someone else couldn’t. We knew that someone with more time than we had and someone who could give one on one attention would be able to tame Anne right down. When the family from down south bought Anne they renamed her Buttercup—and in a few weeks they were milking her by hand. Then we sold a heifer to a family at our church and they named there cow—Buttercup. We sold another heifer to another family—and they named their cow Buttercup. Last April Blossom gave birth to a little calf and we decided to name that calf after her Grandma—Buttercup. Then in December the family that had bought Anne called and asked if we would be interested in buying her back—they had to move out of state and couldn’t take their cows with them. We figured that since they had been hand milking Buttercup (Anne) for a year that it should work out for us to be able to milk her too. So we said yes! Then another lady from down south called and asked to buy a heifer calf and since we were getting a cow back that was called Buttercup, I told Mom that we should sell our calf named Buttercup so that we didn’t have two of them. That exchange happened last Tuesday. The one family brought up Buttercup and her calf Petunia, and then they took back the little Buttercup to deliver her to the other family. Wednesday morning the goal was to milk Anne—I mean Buttercup, but Buttercup had not forgotten that she doesn’t like our milking parlor. We had only a pile of heifers left to feed, and Anne—I mean Buttercup, left to milk. We used a bucket of feed (for they said that she was food driven) and tried to entice her into the milking parlor. She came in and went in a stall—but sniffed the food and backed out quicker than she came in. Anne—I mean Buttercup, did that three times and then she busted through the hotwire and was gone. No milk from her that day, and since we had to pack the order for the JAX delivery we had no time to fight with her. Thursday rolled around and we were determined to milk Anne—I mean Buttercup. Papa was available to help guide her in. Instead of coming into the milking stall, Anne—I mean Buttercup, barged through the hotwire and broke it on her way out to pasture. This time Papa was able to catch her up in the panel pens and get a halter and lead rope on her—but since her calf  who we were weaning (Buttercup had nursed her for fifteen months) had escaped from the heifer field we decided to let Petunia nurse so that we didn’t have to worry about milking Anne—I mean Buttercup, that day. Friday rolled around and once again Papa was on duty to bring Anne—I mean buttercup, in to be milked. Alas though, the rope had fallen off of her halter and there was no way to guide her into the milking parlor, and instead on coming into the milking stall she once again bolted through the hotwire breaking the wire once again. Papa tried to catch her up into the panel pens, but Ann—I mean Buttercup, would have nothing of it and she jumped wires and totally escaped. Have you figured out one of our problems yet? We are having the hardest time getting her name right. Half the time we call her Anne and the other half we call her Buttercup. We want her to stick with Buttercup—because that is what she has been called for over a year, but Anne was her birth name. Anyway, Saturday rolled around and I gathered up three sheep panels and set them up in front of the three hotwire gates in the milking parlor. Then Steve stood behind one panel while I closed one of the panels behind Buttercup as she entered the milking parlor. I then dodged back and forth between the two panels in order to encourage her not to jump the panels. Then to our delight Buttercup entered a milk stall and we put a 2 x 4 behind her so that she couldn’t back out. She was caught! Yeah! Buttercup was not a happy camper though. She tried her best to turn around in the stall (about the equivalent of a cow trying to turn around in a public bathroom stall—not easy, but not impossible). Buttercup got turned halfway around when her feet slipped out from under her and she did a headstand in the stall. Her feet were going wild, and all we could do was back out of the way—Mom still managed to have both of her feet stomped on. Buttercup finally managed to regain her footing and stand back up and to our delight she was facing the right way—and she was ready to calm down and be milked. Yeah! We finally accomplished milking Buttercup. Then Sunday morning arrived and we were outside ready to milk at 6:00 in order to get the chores done and get to church on time. But it was one of those days! Some for the cows had been lazy or didn’t check the ground before they laid down to sleep and therefore they needed baths before we could milk them. Some of the cows wouldn’t come in to be milked—because of the panel pens that were hanging out in their waiting area (cows hate change). Then Buttercup came up to the hotwire gate and Mom thought that we should try to get her in by ourselves. So we set the panels up in front of the openings and just as we began to open the entrance panel Buttercup turned around and went to the back of the line. So we removed the panels and then I noticed that Abby (who I had started to milk) had covered everything in poo. That took a good twenty minutes to clean up. By 7:30 I think we had only milked three cows each. Once we had milked all the other cows Papa had arrived to help get Buttercup in so that Mom could milk her. We set up the panels, took our positions and then I let Buttercup in. She headed for the milking stall and then she turned and jumped right over the panel beside Papa. She got stuck halfway over and smashed the panel. Once again she didn’t get milked. We totally missed the first service at church, and barely made it on time for the second service—but thankfully we made it because I am the piano player. Tomorrow is another day, and Papa has found a better rope to hook to Buttercup’s halter. We have not given up yet—though Papa did mention selling her this morning. We need more milk, so I am really hoping that tomorrow will be a turning point and Buttercup gets milked every day from here on out. Yes, we all have “one of those days” where things just don’t go as smoothly as we would like . . . but

There is coming a day, When no heart aches shall come,
No more clouds in the sky, No more tears to dim the eye,
All is peace forever more, On that happy golden shore,
What a day, glorious day that will be.

 What a day that will be, When my Jesus I shall see,
And I look upon His face, The One who saved me by His grace;
When He takes me by the hand, And leads me through the Promised Land,
What a day, glorious day that will be.

Until that day comes I will continue . . .

Serving you with Gladness,

Tiare