Welcome, Clover!

I checked the cows yesterday morning and didn't see Catherine, but I had to hurry back for breakfast, and she is often by herself. Since she was dehorned, she keeps to herself a bit.

After a FULL day of canning (nine hours or so), Phil and I headed down to the cows in the gathering dusk, and although I walked the perimeter of their pen and looked in every crevice, I couldn't find her. And by then it was totally dark in the woods, and we hadn't eaten since breakfast, so we headed home.

I was distraught: what made me decide to can on a day when Catherine could be giving birth?! What was I thinking? She could have been lying somewhere, calf stuck, and I would find a dead mama, good milker!

It woke me in the night and kept me in fitful sleep.

But daylight didn't bring relief. I ran to look for her before breakfast: nothing. Phil headed down to look with me after breakfast, and we searched the area thoroughly. As he headed home, he called, "Here she is!" In her old, familiar pen, next to a little runoff creek, she had found a level, shady, grassy area, and there delivered her baby bull and the afterbirth.

I am torn between wanting the cows to only deliver in my easily observable locations, which would save stress, and between wanting them to deliver in whatever perfect, instinctive location they select.

When we found them, they were both standing, he completely dry, she relaxed, protective. Phil managed to get her collar on, which he hasn't been able to do since she came to the farm, and then I milked out her very misshapen udder.

The largest, most pendulous quarter, which dangles only about four inches off the ground, has been slightly swollen for a long time: perhaps because she wasn't dried off appropriately? Or maybe because the udder is misshapen? In any case, I easily milked out a half gallon of colostrum, and then painfully, slowly stripped her enormous quarter, with plenty of crunchies coming out. Poor girl. The quarter itself is pliable, body temperature, and does not appear to be hurting her, but I didn't quite finish before the baby began to bawl for her, and I stopped.

By evening, the baby was strong, frisky, and shy of me. While little Charlemagne was beautiful, like a soft deer, baby Clover is more robust, with slightly protruding eyes.

In other news, Phil scooped up the compost piles made in 2010, and dropped the compost in the greenhouse frame.

The boys helped spread the compost for a short while, then went and picked raspberries.

I attempted canning yesterday, and had made 20 quart-sized jars, after boiling the jars for a half hour, when I suddenly realized that I was probably just filling them too full. It turns out that when you calculate head space in the jar, you need to calculate it not from the jar's rim, but from the ring at the base.

I also tried Melanie's trick, too: flip the hot jars upside down to cool. So the 36 jars I made (during eight batches of canning!) will hopefully turn out better this time!

And the final little happiness: Joe found his missing flip flop!

Pair of shoes, successful canning (we hope), and a little Clover: what a great day.