Princess Pomegranate
Adopting a cast-off dairy cow is the beginning of my story about this mid-life descent into agriculture and ultimately becoming a sheep farmer. I purchased Princess Pomegranate in early November 2017 after nearly 25 years of fantasizing about resurrecting Balla Machree as a working farm. I hoped volunteering over the prior year with occasional milking shifts at Kiss the Cow Farm, an organic grass-based dairy down the road in Barnard, VT, had provided sufficient training to take this plunge. Besides, I knew I was doing Farmer Randy a favor by taking sweet Pip off his hands. Her bout of mastitis during spring dry-off resulted in a vet call and a shot of antibiotic, ultimately downgrading her to a non-organic producer. Ridiculous state mandate, but I’m glad he made the decision to treat her since it was effective.
Matt, at the time, was working as a lawyer for a company based out of Amsterdam, Netherlands. His “home time” was limited to holidays and maybe one weekend a month. This really was not a good time to adopt a fully lactating dairy cow! However, with winter fast approaching Randy was eager to get Pip out of his barn. Fortunately, my friend Meg (another Kiss the Cow worker) had recently moved to a house down the road, and she was fully committed to helping me get this old farm back in farming again.
My “new to me” Surge Belly milking cans.
In advance of Pip’s arrival, I perused the local Craigslist for some used milking equipment and found two complete, old-school Surge Belly pump milking set-ups - one for me and one for Meg, my stand-in when I had to be out-of-town. As keen as I was to finally be able to commence my hands-on education as a homestead farmer, I was fraught with trepidation. Yeah, I know, running a household takes some organization, but raising kids comes with an intuitive instruction manual. Moreover, once they hit about 18 months old, actual dialog answered lots of questions. Taking on ownership of a dairy cow needing to be milked 365 days a year was not exactly toe dipping before the plunge into agriculture. Thankfully, I had lots of days in advance working alongside Randy in his barn. Like me, he was once a grown-up farmer newbie. His first Jersey cow Sophie spent her first months (maybe even years) living in a modified stall in his garage. Over the years, his operation evolved, and he also stopped relying on grain and simply adopted farming protocols similar to the early farmers in our area, fully transitioning to a grass-fed dairy. Now that didn’t seem so hard! Fortunately, the fall season had been glorious, and the pasture by my father’s house, Pip’s new home, was lush and ready for her to indulge. I had some hay stockpiled, but for now my feeding instructions were as simple as they could be – just leave the stall door open and she’ll take care of herself.
Pip enjoying her new home.
Meg wasn’t the only Kiss the Cow farmhand to set up camp in one of the rental housing options available on Balla Machree. Earlier in the summer, Maggie and Ashley, two adorable hard working 20-somethings, took over residence in the Little Red House. With them came their own starter herd - one young KTC heifer and a cull Jersey that Ashley vowed to spare from being sent to slaughter. Their two cows moved into the old bull pens at the Balla Machree main barn down the road. Daisy, calf of Daffodil the rescue cow was added to the team that August (born on the 25th – my grandfather’s birthday). By November, the pasture by the main barn had been chewed down to nothing, and Maggie was happy to lend me her heifer Cream Cheese to keep Pip company in her new surrounds. They had lots of lush grass and plenty of space to rest side-by-side in one of the stalls in my father’s barn.
Despite my daily dose of self-doubting chatter, Pip was a champ. She tolerated my stumbles and apprehensions, especially since I diverted from Randy’s strict grass only diet and presented her with a heaping scoop of grain at milking time. It was also extremely comforting to have Meg on call whose approach to animal husbandry was refreshingly laid back and very reassuring.
My mother made me pose for this one!
With Thanksgiving approaching rapidly on the calendar, and since Matt was still working full-time in Amsterdam, requiring me to hop on a plane for a visit from time to time, Meg was critically valuable to this whole operation. In typical fashion for me, I would fret and flutter about for several days in advance of my impending departures. I’m sure Meg would snicker when my paragraph long WhatsApp message popped up, dictating endless instructions that, of course, stated the obvious. Meg was a lot more accomplished and experienced as a dairywoman, and more than capable of managing chores in a lot less time than I consumed.
My first farm hiatus fell just a few weeks after Pip’s arrival. Thanksgiving meant five days at Matt’s mother’s home in New Jersey. Unfortunately for Meg, I had failed to inform her that on one of the days we were away, there would be a large family gathering at my father’s house. This assemblage gathered right in the middle of Meg’s milking which resulted in her new-to-her stick shift mini-wagon getting into a parked-in jam. Being relatively novice with maneuvering a standard transmission, while trying to finagle her way out of a tight parking spot, she inadvertently slipped the clutch resulting in a lurch straight into my uncle’s parked car. Poor girl had to skulk into the sea of unknown faces and confess to her unfortunate mishap. Of course, she recalled the story to me with humor and dismissed the whole thing since her insurance would take care of everything.
