Name Calling

Today I called Noelle the C word and it wasn't cow.  When the husband is in the city, I am responsible for milking the cow and feeding the chickens.  Not a huge time commitment, but when you add getting everybody up and fed, lunches made and putting myself together in a somewhat presentable state, it adds an extra 40 minutes or so to a morning that is already a frenzied, screaming, running out the door at 7:45 mess due to my fantastic procrastination skills.  When I have to drag my butt and the 20lb milker out to the barn at 5:45 a.m. for a puddle of milk from an ornery cow, it makes me upset.  What makes me even more upset is watching her leave the barn so she can nurse a very large calf.  I called him the B word and it wasn't Billy or Beef.

The days of having Noelle supply enough milk for every creature on the farm, seem to be over now that Billy is big enough to suck her dry in five minutes.  When I was staring at a refrigerator overflowing with milk a few months back, I was grateful we had the calf to share in the bounty, but now I am in a panic.  The thought of store bought milk or butter makes me sad, not to mention what it would do to my street cred as a self-sustainer.

We tried luring Billy into the barn one night but he broke out of the stall within an hour and went running to his Mommy.  A night of Noelle in the barn meant a night listening to the most heartbreaking laments you have ever heard. We need a plan.  Maybe he should be renamed Vinny Veal? I am thinking about inventing some sort of screw top teet caps.  I could make millions.

Lactose Intolerant

The other day when I was dining on homemade greek yogurt topped with fresh from the garden beet tatziki and cherry tomatoes, I was struck by how freaking awesome I am. Just five years ago the only food I produced on the farmette was arugula and blueberries and let me tell you, if those blueberry bushes hadn't already been on the property, it would have been straight up arugula salad and I guess tree bark.

Nowadays, I'm milking a cow; making yogurt, ice cream, butter, cheese (getting better at that).  Nestled in among the weeds in my garden, there is kale and beans and six different types of squash growing.  Never mind that I am not sure what they all are because I just kind of transplanted the seedlings willy nilly. Five different types of tomatoes have overtaken the green house along with beets, carrots, basil, parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme and the tiniest little cantaloup I have ever seen. There are meat birds in the freezer and a dozen or more eggs coming out of the hen house most days.
What more is there for me to write about?  I am now a master farmer.  Oh yeah. There is Noellle.

Trying to deal with a stubborn 850lb cow on a daily basis makes me tense.  As I sit here writing this at 5:30 a.m. I am filled with trepidation thinking about having to go out to the barn to milk the beast. What will await me today?  Will she stand with her body and legs angled  just so in order to make it impossible to attach the milker?  Will she try to kick me when I reach in to remove the milker?  Will she lunge and jerk in the stanchion so much that the milker falls off the belt and spills milk all over the stall? I can hardly wait. Dairy farmers, I don't know how you do it.  I genuflect at your courage and patience.

She will stand perfectly still while he milks her.  I think it is a conspiracy.

And then there are her Houdini like abilities to suddenly appear on the other side of the fence. Earlier in the summer the husband and I were woken by Prince letting us know that the cow and her calf were in the front yard.  After chasing and cajoling with treats for a half hour, we got them into the barn and then spent the rest of the day mending fences as the song goes.

My worst Noelle fear came to pass a couple of days ago.  I was in the house preparing dinner when Scrappy came in.  "Mom, Noelle is in the backyard." F*%k!  The husband and eldest son were away which meant, James Dean, Scrappy and I had to get the cow in and fix the fence on our own.  My first thought was to get my neighbor, but he wasn't home and I didn't want to be the damsel in distress.  I wanted to fix it on my own.  I tried to lure her with some hay but she was much too happy with the fresh grass in the backyard. The hay did attract young Billy Beef however so between trying to get her into the pasture I had to keep him away from the open gate.  He doesn't scare quite as easily as he used to.  I was a lunatic calling to her in my sweetest voice one second and chasing him up the hill shrieking the next.

I finally managed to get her in with a scoop of grain sprinkled on top of the hay and got to work on the tangled, trampled barbed wire fence she had escaped from and would surly escape from again if I didn't fix it.  I stabbed myself about a dozen times with the barbs but finally got the wire untangled.  Unfortunately it was hanging about six inches from the ground so she and Billy Beef would have no problem with a repeat performance. Thank God for the husband and his barn full of crap. I was able to find two moveable fence posts that I pounded into the ground and hung the wire on.  I headed back into the house with a smug satisfaction of my farmhand skills.

Noel and Billy spent yesterday behind the fence but I suspect there will be many more breakouts.  6:30a.m. (Gulp)  Time to milk the cow.  Wish me luck.

PS: Today she threatened to kick me.  I think it is time for a restraining order