Bianca or Bethany for Milk?

Wednesday morning, I went out to milk Bianca. I put her halter on and pulled her tight. I tied up her tail. I put the board in front of her legs.

And it was still disastrous. She managed to pull her tail loose; she inched here and there, and some milk sloshed out on my jeans. My toes barely avoided mashing, and she only gave six pounds (way less than a gallon). Her udder felt fairly heavy still, but no more milk was coming down.

The grand finale came when I walked her out of the headgate and she ran away from me. There's no way I can hold a 1000 pound cow if she's determined to go.

I asked Phil to switch her with Bethany, who had been the nurse cow.

The switch quickly done, we had to deal with Bethany bawling for her baby all day and all night. Phil checked Bethany's udder at about 11pm, and thought it felt very full and firm (which makes sense: 12 hours without any nursing, when she had been supporting two babies, was probably long enough). So I headed out, headlamp and all. Bethany is so patient and good, and stood still so patiently. (Except for once, when she stepped over the board, right onto my knee. She didn't trod heavily, but it still made me cry. This milking stuff is not for sissies!)

But she only gave five pounds. And she was an incredibly hard milker. While Bianca's milk flows out easily, which allows me to quickly milk, Bianca required all my strength; I even had to use both hands on one teat for a while. That, too, left me in tears of exhaustion.

I've been in tears a lot lately. I stumbled back to the trailer, sobbing, and fell into bed and cried myself to sleep. I cried this morning when I went to make breakfast and realized I didn't have all the ingredients. Phil was just about beside himself, with this puddle-for-a-wife.

And you know what I realized? I must not be eating enough! About two weeks ago, I weaned Joe. That day, in early October, was the first day since September 2001 that I was not either pregnant, breastfeeding, or both. Which means, for the last nine years, I've been eating for two. I hardly remember how to eat for only one, and apparently undershot it. What a relief! I won't always be a basket case!

Phil researched how to train a cow to milk more easily, and he thinks it will take just a few weeks to get Bianca to mellow out. And, as I talked to goat-cheese maker Gail yesterday when I went to pick up whey, she said that she, too, dissolved into tears on occasion. Even sometimes sang show tunes to the goats. Apparently, Jesus Christ Superstar was a hit: "I don't know how to milk you!"

She said to try massaging peppermint lotion into the udder, or speak soothingly, or press firmly but gently on the udder.

So Phil switched the cows back this morning, and we'll resume Bianca milking tomorrow.

After we had an amazing inch and a half of rain in less than ten hours last night, Phil and I walked the soggy perimeter of our land and the neighbor's. He has his work cut out for him, though it's encouraging to see the contour of the land better now that the leaves have fallen. As always, he sees possibilities, and I see an unbelievable amount of work.

Finally, as Phil and I talked about the possibility of moving, we realized that, as tough as life can be here, we really like everything we're doing. We like milk, and, someday beef; we like pork; we like lamb. We really like fruit. Sadly, though, we don't really like vegetables that much. A small garden is wonderful, but eight acres of vegetables sounds like too much for us.

And we really like our community right here. Even as I was typing last time, I thought, "You know, despite the promise of a greenhouse, and a real house; cold storage and Gators, tractor and 100 pigs—even though it's everything I think I want—I don't sound quite that excited about the opportunity." I thought the same when I woke up, and didn't ever really change my mind.

So we hope for future production here at Spring Forth, and we continue to trust God for the wisdom (and frugality!) to survive until that happens.