1st summer
In late May 2018, Meg relocated her four goats out of my father’s barn into the newly cleared out sugarhouse next to her farmhouse down the road. Not surprisingly, it wasn’t long before Pip and Bob had some new neighbors as AJ once again pursued a lead on two more cast-off dairy calves, this time twin Holstein X Black Angus heifers. I was thrilled! As a child, I had spent a considerable amount of time handling calves in our dairy barn, always eager to help with bottle feeding during evening chores. Dairy animals are notoriously curious and friendly, happy to be on the receiving end of a rub behind the ears. Our calves back in the day were especially affable, undoubtedly from all the human handling commencing only minutes after their birth. However, I was somewhat disappointed as to the wildness of this new pair of adorable youngsters. Even though they were penned in our stall for several weeks and I was the provider of their food, they would huddle in the corner, darting to and fro if I attempted to approach for even a mere nose scratch. This became my first lesson in genetics. These two girls had 50% pure wild beef cow running through their veins. Beef cows are pack animals, just like their buffalo cousins. They are wired to stay together because there is safety in numbers. Dairy cows, by and large, have had that instinct bred out of them. They come into a barn when their udders are full. Humans will provide their sustenance while simultaneously relieving them of the pressure from an abundance of milk. These two girls, named Tinker and Belle by AJ, would never be fairy tale pets (probably just as well since that certainly wasn’t part of AJ’s plan).
Having grown up on a farm with beef cows, AJ had concerns that Big Bob might be inclined to rough up this diminutive pair of youngsters, so he chose to leave Tinker and Belle in their stall for several weeks until they got a bit bigger. Pip and Bob, having free access to come and go as they pleased, spent the summer indulging in fresh grass from the expansive pasture above and below my father’s house. During the middle of the day, they would retreat to the barn for a respite from the heat and nagging flies. Of course, they would be waiting for me in the coral every morning when I arrived for daily milking. One of those mornings, it was quite evident that Pip wasn’t herself. Her body, from neck to belly, was covered with welts, and she felt hot to the touch. She did not exhibit her typically gentle demeanor but was jumpy and agitated. When I attempted to prep her for milking, she kicked at my hands, and then launched herself dangerously into the concrete wall. For the first time in our human/animal friendship, I became aware of how massive she was compared to me, and with her in this state, I was in danger. Ultimately, I abandoned any consideration to milk her by myself and summoned assistance from my back-up team, Meg and AJ, only to once again garner the same feverish reaction. We resolved to scrap milking altogether and telephoned Dr. Barry to come evaluate. His diagnosis - allergic reaction to an overwhelming number of bug bites. His treatment - swinging his arm up and then with full force back down, successfully penetrating the thick skin on Pip’s hind quarter with a needle dosed with a cow-appropriate amount of steroid. AJ paid close attention, because he would be on duty to administer dose #2 the next day. Before departing, Dr. Barry bestowed upon me admonishment for allowing a dairy cow to navigate through waist-high grass and weeds.
The following day, after spending the day and night locked up in the barn, Pip was back to her mellow self again. With trepidation, I gingerly prepped her for milking, and was most relieved to see none of the drama of the day before. Matt, always keen to run the tractor, corrected our pasture issue with a quick onceover with the bushhog mower. My first lesson regarding grazing was that I had a drastic imbalance of forage to livestock. Pip and Bob were simply too few animals to manage the sleep, creep, and leap effect of my overabundant pasture. I had also failed to recognize the propagating pattern of low-growing multi- flora rose bushes scattered along the hillside that left my ankles and shins shredded and dripping with blood. Of course, a delicate Jersey cow udder would have experienced the same misery. Most of all, the tall grass and weeds created a perfect hiding spot for swarms of biting black flies that clearly loved the taste of cow blood. By the evidence from two days prior, Pip had met her match but lost the battle.
Not even a year into this farming endeavor and I was already overwhelmed by the dauntingly apparent learning curve that I had barely begun to climb. I never would have gotten past that first summer if it wasn’t for Meg and AJ. Unlike me, they didn’t transfer every negative experience into an automatic assumption that we were destined for failure. They were both 20 years younger than I, with fresh ideas and optimism, just what I needed to keep this train moving forward - and move forward it did, quite swiftly!
