Bianca Milking, Day 3: Success!

Phil and I woke 20 minutes late, despite going to bed at a reasonable time. Phil went to tie up Bianca, and she kicked at him and ran away. Not encouraging.

Happily, though, when Phil went to get some dried molasses for her, she walked right up to the gate, and let me clip her to the lead and pulled her into the headgate. I tied her to a T-post this time (she couldn't pull the whole fence over on herself and me), Phil put a board in front of her hind legs, and she stood still, licking up molasses the whole time I milked.

Two quarters were noticeably more full (the two with the larger teats, actually). The other two quarters appeared to be absolutely empty, so I tried massaging her again with warm water, and then I was able to milk her.

She was peaceful; I was comfortable, on my little stool, head on her flank, not pressing my head really hard to prevent her from kicking. The board worked well. It was the way milking should be.

And it was 8 pounds, 14 ounces! Almost three full pounds more than yesterday. It filled two half-gallon jars, and another little jar. So much better emotionally.

Phil and Butch started to clear the fence line along the next door property. It's wooded the whole 1300 feet, so Phil took the chainsaw and cut down many of the larger trees, while Butch came with his claw on the mini-excavator, and the bulldozer to make a path for the equipment, and to knock down the stumps that Phil left.

They made good progress after a full day of heavy labor, perhaps finishing one-third of the route.

Towards the end of the day, they came across on old dump. The junk is mostly just past the boundary line, not on the neighbor's land. Phil figured it was probably the farm dump, back before the land was subdivided. White-walled tires, an old refrigerator and window A/C unit, chairs of a '60s vintage, glass bottles, plastic bottles, metal barrels.

It was a sobering place, to see what, really, all our land should look like, were it not for landfills.

And it was sobering to ponder how we would clean it up (not that we need to, as it's not on the land we manage). How do you get rid of dozens of old tires? Hundreds of old jars?

Phil's big issue was the 700 feet or so of rusty barbed wire, stretched on "our" side of the boundary. How to clean it up? Butch said to cut it into lengths, and then dispose of it somehow.

For myself, several of the boys had a rough day. Jadon was on the highest bunk, about five feet off the ground, and fell on his head. The thud was so loud, and the delay so long, I was just about to comment that I was thankful that no one got hurt. But then Jadon started to sob.

Not a good sign when there's a delay like that. Maybe he passed out for a bit? Arnica for trauma, and a restful afternoon helped him out.

Then another boy pulled the metal shelving off the dresser, the shelving that stores the boys' toys, puzzles, and games. Great was the fall thereof. Both the sound of the crash, and the conk on Isaiah's head. More Arnica for trauma, and then a grumpy momma and intentionally cheerful, helpful children cleaned up the amazing mess.

There are times the size of our dwelling seems really, really small. Or maybe we just have too much stuff.

One day at a time, and more than a gallon of milk, so the day wasn't all bad.