Our friend and helper, Steve, scythed the cherry orchard this morning. ("It was fun in the beginning," he said.) I think it looks fabulous: all the taller weeds that the chicks didn't eat are now mulching the soil, and we'll be able to spray our raw milk to boost calcium and life in the soil.
With over two and a half inches of rain in the middle of the night, we had a good deal of water backlog. When I went down to milk Reese this morning, there was a little stream of runoff, swirling right around her milking area: another four feet, and she would have been in the stream, but as it was, we sat in a little island as the water ran around us.
Sunday morning, Reese gave about a quart of milk in the morning. A far cry from the two gallons and more she gave just a week ago. I was concerned that she just wasn't letting down, so I massaged her milk vein, and massaged her udder, and spoke soothingly. But no more milk came. She did give two gallons in the evening, about what she has given every other night. Perhaps she just doesn't eat in the evenings any more, and so has no fuel to produce milk for the morning?
Monday morning she gave only a pint! And about 1.5 gallons in the evening. So Sunday's drop in production was not an anomaly, perhaps.
The best news, though, is that I managed both morning and evening milkings all by myself! Reese voluntarily walked over (most of the way) in the morning. In the evening, she was lying down and made no move to get up, even with the lead rope.
What followed made me laugh. I fetched the halter, and as soon as I got part of it over her nose, she turned her head away from me and held it tightly to her side. She was a pouting toddler with every fiber of her being.
And after I latched the halter and tugged, she again rolled her eyes back in her head, and lolled her head as if convulsing. Since she's done this before, and since I had just watched her amazing performance of petulance, I just laughed. If she didn't want the tugging, she could stand up and be milked!
Which she soon did, and walked easily to the edge of the woods. Once in the clear, I continued giving very gentle tugs, and she suddenly fell onto her front knees. Since I knew my last tug hadn't been at all strong enough to bring her to her knees, and since this is now the third time she's tried this same stunt, I just laughed again and thought, "Oh, you rascal!"
I had no idea cows had such personality.
But Phil's holding back her leg has trained her well. She stood for me as long as I milked, didn't kick out a hoof to the side, and overall has finally settled into the routine of our farm. What a great relief.
In closing, I've been trying to figure out ways to use our farm's bounty, and I submit the following, knowing the photo looks a bit too much like a weird casserole from the 1960s. Leftover chicken, chopped and combined with farm grown tomatoes, green peppers, and onions, with homemade Caesar salad dressing: that was quite a tasty treat.
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