Rhythms of Change
“The measure of intelligence is the ability to change,” said Albert Einstein. Intelligence is certainly something we strive for, especially on the homestead. So here is a story about the ability to change.
In April, we bought the most beautiful, precious wee cow ever. Her name is Jersey, she is a Jersey/Aberdeen cross, and the apple of my eye – animal wise.
In May, she calved a precious, darling little heifer the girls named Charlotte. I had expected to begin milking when Charlotte was about 6 weeks old and able to be separated from mom during the night, but here was change number one: Charlotte nursed from only 3 quarters (3 of the 4 sections of Jersey’s udder). So when Charlotte was two days old, I began to milk that 4th quarter. In preparation for this undertaking, I had built a beautiful milkstand. It stood 12” off the ground so that it could be moved as needed by a skid steer, and had a neat set of steps for Jersey to climb onto the stand. But she wouldn’t. Not for love, not for money, not for treats. Nope. K, fine.
I decided to try field milking. So, armed with a nice flake of hay, her bowl of treats, and a mason jar, I climbed the hill and milked that 4th quarter. It worked splendidly! She stayed at her hay, just walking around it to get a better angle, and I frog-marched around with her, squeezing out milk and exercising both arms and legs. Perfect!
For a while. That flake of hay was good and heavy, though, and it was clumsy to carry everything up the hill. So, change number two. I set out the hay and treats and called the cow. She didn’t come. So I trudged up the hill with her treats and the lead rope and lured –and dragged–her down to her hay. Okay good. And it was. She quickly got the hang of it and came running when I showed up with food. Life was good, milking was fun, and boy, that milk is good!
And Charlotte grew, and grew. And pretty soon, she was nursing all 4 quarters, and leaving nothing for me. Time for another change, so I dropped down to milking just in the evening.
We also took a look down the road of the future and knew it was time to prepare for separating mom and baby overnight. We built a tiny corral of pallets and moved the milk stand in beside it. I wasn’t going to play with any stairs, though, so we dug four holes and sunk that milk stand to ground level. (Better to dig holes and leave the legs long, then to wish for a board stretcher down the road.) Then I began the process of training Jersey to the milk stand so I didn’t have to add that the first time they were separated.
But Jersey had other ideas. She was on grass, so why come in for any hay? Every night, we had to walk out, catch her, clip on her lead rope, and coax her down to the milk stand. But that wasn’t all. Once we got there, we had to bribe, plead, and finally, winch her up onto the stand with the lead rope. Jersey was not a happy camper, and her manners on the stand proved it. There was a lot of dodging that first week. And it only lasted about a week before she again was not able to keep up with Charlotte and me.
So this was it. The big night. We played tag around the pasture and finally convinced Jersey and Charlotte into the corral, then led Jersey out and tied the gate. And it went pretty well. The corral was not knocked to bits, Jersey and Charlotte didn’t die from bawling all night, and it didn’t take nearly as much effort to load her into the milk stand. And it has gotten better every day. This morning, Jersey was on the stand when I got there, but she did give me half what she did yesterday, so… perhaps it’s time to check our intelligence with another change.
