First Milk

Last evening Phil set up an extra fence in order to separate Annabelle from her kids overnight. The kids cried most piteously (and LOUDLY) through much of the night. But by morning, Annabelle's udder bulged. Phil held her with the halter, and I tried milking her tiny teats.

This was not easy. She's not trained to stand still, and I had Joe on my back. After 10 minutes of milking, I came away with six ounces. I weighed it, so I know. We let the kids back in, but decided to try feeding her grain to keep her in place. I improved my technique, she stood happily while munching, and we got another six ounces.

Now 12 ounces of milk is only a cup and a half. A good goat can give fourteen or fifteen pounds of milk a day (about two gallons), and, of course, a good family milk cow can give three to five gallons. (Modern Holsteins can give up to ten, but they pay for such incredible production in extremely short lives and extremely low fat. I've read that you can take five gallons of Jersey milk, add five gallons of water, and come up with the same product as a Holstein gives, at a greatly reduced price, since Jerseys are much more economical in their feed needs.)

BUT—this was the first milk we drank on our farm. A bit of milk towards a land of milk and honey. (Next month: the bees arrive. Stay tuned.)

One of our neighbors drives by daily. Since we've been close to the road planting, he has offered Phil bread a few times. (He has a connection with someone who works at Whole Foods.) The loaves are beautiful, artisanal loaves of sourdough, or just white bread. Phil, the only one who eats wheat, enjoys them.

This morning, though, he had sour dough for breakfast. All the rest of us ate my spelt bread. We went out to dig, and within ten minutes, Phil felt like all the strength drained from his body, to the point where he sat down with his head in his hands. "I've never felt like this," he said.

After some pork cracklings and kale, and then some goat milk, he felt remarkably better. Nothing like good fats and some protein to help the body function.

I suppose I relate this primarily as a cautionary tale: white flour does not sustain life! Eat food that nourishes! (Read Nourishing Traditions!)

The weather forecast said sunny, but the chilly drizzle and, more unpleasantly, the wind, drove us inside after only six trees. Phil went to pick up our chipper, and returned, filled with energy, at 5:30. We planted six more trees, and then realized that it was 7:30pm, and the As (Abraham and Abigail) are usually in bed. Oops!

This row we're planting now is the first row that wasn't scraped, so instead of digging through all subsoil, we pull up sod. And there are worms! So many tree holes had no worms at all; we rejoice to see those little workers, those little signs of health and life in the soil. We enjoy noticing the differences between rows, and between holes. Some holes are more pebbly; some more solid clay. Some have dandelions growing on top; some have grass.

Ninety-six trees in the ground, and their rootlets are growing.

And our little potted lemon tree, coddled inside during the cold months, happily grows buds outside once again.