Our Cows' Registration Comes!

As we drove up to Charlottesville to visit a friend, the boys and I unexpectedly ended up behind a crew mowing the side of the road. Only one problem: they took up the entire lane of our road, with a double yellow as far as the eye could see. Nothing like a stint at 5 mph to make me reflect on the frustrations of country living. Except that rush hour happens in the city. Perhaps there is no sure way to avoid the scourge of irritating traffic, short of staying home.

Back on the home front, our cow registrations finally reached us. We knew the lineage of the three from Vermont, but I was tickled to see that one heifer had her first birthday on Saturday, and the other has her first birthday tomorrow. Happy Birthday, Toots and Babe!

Our Tennessee cows were a complete mystery to us. We knew they were registered, that they have had no troubles giving birth, and that they were a decade or less in age, but other than that, they were unknown.

Humorously, they are registered by their tattoo number. But the tattoos are in their ears, and very difficult to see, so I'm not certain even now which cow is which. I suspect, based on appearance, that Bethany is the "old lady" of the group, at the ripe old age of seven. Because Milking Devons mature later than most, she's just about fully mature now. We're her third owners.

The other cow (our Bianca) will turn five in August. Her father, I was tickled to find, is Colonial Williamsburg Valentino, a top bull, born in 1992. His semen straws are sold out. But I have one of his daughters on my farm! We're her fourth owners.

In other news, to add to my growing list of accomplishments, I can now say that I can set up sheep netting in parched ground, on my own. It took a long time, and I even brought over the watering can to loosen the soil, but I managed to get the next three sheep paddocks set up.

Isaiah had an interesting experience yesterday. He helpfully picked up a lid I had dropped, not realizing that the cast iron still retained heat. I had heard that burns can heal with additional heat—the opposite of what you'd expect. Isaiah quickly flicked his sore fingertips against the hot lid, and after two or three flicks, his fingertips were completely fine. So, if you find yourself with a little burn, try a little heat. It should help.

And I've been meaning to mention that I saw a new marketing method at Whole Foods. Their conventionally-grown cherries (which I didn't buy because cherries are one of the "dirty dozen" of pesticide-laden fruit) had, on the sign, "brix 20!" So the idea of brix (pronounced "bricks") levels is going mainstream. I wouldn't have expected it so soon. (Brix measures the total dissolved solids in a food; the higher the number, the more sugars and the more nutrients. Better quality food tastes better!)