New Pasture to Graze and Milking Woes

Saturday morning, after the disappointment of waking to find that the long-predicted rain had not come, Phil and I set about to clean up the homestead. Old, battered pallets, random torn-up tarps, feed bags, and regular family garbage needed to go. After the truck was piled high, we still garbage strewn about, but at some point we will have cleaned all.

Our neighbors to the south came down to see the progress on their cabin. We had a pleasant two hour conversation, and we were thrilled to have the opportunity to graze their land. Phil said, "We need more cows!"

The cows we have aren't thrilling me. After four more times milking Fern the last two days, she refused to let down both attempts Saturday. Today, I got to her before she first stood up in the morning, so while Charlemagne wandered, I tried to get some milk. Nothing doing. The little guy came over and began to nurse, which did cause her to let down. Then it was a free-for-all: I would milk whatever teats he wasn't interested in, and whenever her let down would ease up, I would take my hands off and the baby would help her let down a bit more.

I ended up with two cups. Quite disappointing. And the evening milking was worse: the baby was eating as I came down the slope, and by the time I managed to get her collar hooked to the leash, and her body connected to the fence, she was empty. Two teaspoons for all that effort. Bah humbug!

I read an article today that said that dairying is really an unnatural activity that we're asking animals to do. Generally, mothers don't produce massive quantities of milk beyond what their babies require. Or we don't pull babies away from mothers to harvest the milk. The unnaturalness doesn't make me feel better, necessarily, but it shed some commiserating light on why I've felt so stymied.

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I made my first batch of salsa, with tomatoes, cilantro, jalapenos, and garlic from the land (onions, salt, and apple cider vinegar from the store). I love salsa.

I also picked my first green pepper (it was small) and dug up my first potatoes. They were small, too, but tasty.

Phil went to move the rotational grazing cows today (probably a day after he should have) and found that six of the seven had escaped. He found some suspicious hoof prints that indicate that they may have wandered up the road a ways, but when he found them, they were all approximately where he wanted them, and he corralled them again.

Our egg production dropped from 16 eggs a day last week to about five eggs a day this week. And often three of them are broken.

But, on the positive side, Charlemagne dashes around now, kicking up his heels and cavorting with joie de vivre.

And, perhaps even better, yesterday afternoon the thunder did not only tantalize us, but actually resulted in rain. I sat under the RV awning and cried and cheered. The Lykoshes and the land had been so hot and dry.

The two-tenths of an inch wasn't much, but it cooled the air nicely. Then this afternoon, we had another six-tenths of an inch fall in about ten minutes. That kind of rain feels more like an attack than a blessing: sheets of water ran off the sides of the RV, streams broke out down the driveway.

We hope the swales will do a good job stopping all that beautiful water before too much runs off into the river.