Milk Like Cream of Tomato Soup

When Phil and I went to milk this morning, he put a gentle hand on Reese's knee. If she tried to kick, he would tap her with a screwdriver. One time, she kicked a bit, and I stood up hastily, and she kicked out, waist high, trying to knock the bucket out of my hands. If Phil hadn't been there to corroborate my experience, I'm not sure I would have believed it.

But no dire injuries occurred. She gave two full, rich gallons from two quarters. Her milk has been improving every day. The first day or two, we had an extremely scant cream line, not worth skimming. Yesterday, the cream line started to creep down the bottle, until today, it was a solid third of the milk. THAT is good.

What was less good, and extremely startling, was that her third quarter came out looking like cream of tomato soup! Very bloody. She didn't show signs of mastitis, like huge clots, a hard quarter, or heat, but the incredible color! She kicked the bucket over a few times, and I hoped there was no infection that would spread to the ground. But after we returned to the house, we checked a reference book that said that this is fairly common. Caused by some injury, she's bleeding into the cavity. Arnica for trauma should help, and hand milking is best, but we should expect about a week without using that quarter. When we'd drink the milk ourselves, it will be safe.

The evening milking was decidedly less red. I wouldn't call it cream of tomato soup: maybe strawberry smoothie?

And, again with Phil holding her knee, Reese came almost willingly to be milked in the evening. For the first time, she didn't knock over the bucket! Her ears weren't back, flattened in bovine rage. She ate the kale and carrot tops I brought for her.

Today: over three gallons, from only two quarters, of rich milk. She's eating the triticale and the peas, and she's sustaining production on that grazing alone! Of course, it will be better when Phil doesn't have to crouch next to me for the duration, but that will come, I hope.

***

I picked the remaining garlic, my favorite variety. Usually auditory, this is "Music" you can eat.

A few of the bulbs astounded me in their size.

So far, we've had an enormous harvest of Principe Borghese drying tomatoes.

These little jewels, with origins in Italy, are left on the vine and hung against a brick wall to dry. That easy method appeals to me: I spent quite some time today washing, halving, and placing tomatoes in the dehydrator. I did put some in the greenhouse, to see if it will serve as a natural solar dehydrator. Somehow, I doubt that whole tomatoes, even little ones, will be able to dry in our humid climate, even in a well-ventilated greenhouse.

I spent some time weeding among the onions. I surprised myself by pulling up a couple of carrots! I had planted rows of them months ago, but nothing came up, and nothing came up, and with space at a premium, I planted onions instead.

Now, since I had been hoping for pounds and pounds, the few I harvested were not really enough, but it was still fun to pick them and eat them. They were sweet!

This evening, Phil grabbed a tarp to cover the tractor. The tarp had been covering feed, but it had served its purpose there. As we were unfolding it, suddenly a mouse bolted from her nest within, three or so babies dangling from her teats. What an unusual sight! The frantic mother lost babies as she ran: straight for the grain bin. Tiger the cat seemed uninterested. The babies were extremely small: Isaiah, age 7, has a pointer finger as long as the baby's body.

Speaking of Isaiah: he tore his shirt earlier this week, and found some string and a needle, and set about repairing it himself. The early pioneers would not have been impressed, since rather than seven stitches to the inch, he had, at the best, one, but I was impressed with his initiative.

And, to close this week, a happy photo, by Isaiah, of Bitsy.