Progress, Birth, and Death

Well, things have been happening rather quickly.

Our friend Dean helped us divide our paddocks into smaller, more manageable sections. Now there are two sections for tree lots, and we have fences around our veggie patch and orchard. This is a picture of Dean and his tractor, setting posts in the ground.

Our property now looks like this:


The last part of winter and the beginning of spring is a fine time to plant trees. So far, we have planted:

• 12 apple trees
• 10 cherry trees
• 3 plums
• 1 nectarine
• 1 peach
• 3 pear trees
• 45 cherry plums
• 19 grape vines
• 2 kiwi fruit vines
• 1 lemon tree
• 1 lime tree
• 2 pomagranates
  
• 2 fig trees
• 2 olive trees
• 3 hops vines
• 10 oaks
• 10 pinion pines
• 40 tree lucerne
• 100 radiata pines
• 50 willows

We had some help planting all of these trees. A friend came over one morning, and we planted the back tree lot with about fifty trees. This is rugged terrain, and Gail and I both suffered some back strain, so we decided to call in a professional for the next push. He planted the next 200 trees all by himself, in a single afternoon!


We bought a guest house, and had it delivered on a truck. It's nothing special, but with a little love, she'll be a nice cozy sleepout. (Well, what do you expect for $300?)


Our chicken coop was delivered. She's a beauty. Guests can stay in there, too.

Here is a picture of our grape and kiwi trellises in the orchard. Soon they will be covered in vines!


We have had seven baby turkey chicks, and Matilda is sitting on more eggs for a second clutch.

This is Harold, our proud daddy turkey tom.
Our geese haven't had any chicks yet, but they're awfully pretty. George is a bit ornery, but Gaberdine is a sweetie.

All our ewes have lambed. Out of four sheep, we got seven lambs, so that's pretty good.



Two of our cows have calved, and we're waiting for the other two.

Some of you have asked what our days are like. Today was a busy one:

• 7:30 Check the cows for new calves. (None, thankfully!)
• 8:30 Castrate our second calf.
• 8:45 Move the cows, so the ones with babies are out of the way.
• 9:00 Bill arrives unexpectedly, looking for part-time work to do. Bill and I finish the grape trellises, and Bill installs wind-screen around the garden.
• 11:00 Fix tractor.
• 11:30 Cultivate and harrow the garden, then plant half of it in barley. We won't eat that much barley, but it's better to plant something (even if it's for the cows) than keep bare dirt.
• 1:30 Laundry. Hey, some things are normal, no matter what kind of life you choose.
• 1:45 Go to town to buy a milking pail. Get accupuncture to help recover from tree-planting.
• 3:00 Pick up Levi from school.
• 3:15 Harrow the front paddock.
• 4:30 Feed the animals and check on babies while Gail makes dinner.
• 6:00 Write some business emails.
  
• 6:20 Dinner.
• 6:45 Chop firewood.
• 7:15 Decide that the herbs should be planted. Clear herb garden, and turn with compost.

By the time the herbs were planted, it was just about dusk. Time to tuck Levi in, make a pot of mint tea, and update the blog.



Sorry I haven't published this page yet.... more has happened!


Bessie had her calf on Wednesday morning, a beautiful bull calf with wide eyes; he looks just like Bambi. I have been frantically busy all week, so I left Bessie and Bambino to bond for the day. I checked them every so often, to see how they were doing. I was looking forward to milking her.


I have been training Bessie to be a milking cow for almost a year. When we got her, she was completely wild, and it took weeks just to be able to stand within twenty feet of her. Slowly, through careful interaction and trust-building exercises, she became tame enough to come when called, to follow me to the milking byer, to let me put a halter on her, to let me touch her, and (finally) to let me play with her teats. That sentence went by rather fast; in reality, it took several hours every day, for about seven months.

All during this daily routine, I would sing to her. "Swing low, sweet chariot..." At first, she didn't know what to think, but after a few days, she seemed to like it. I think she associated the singing with kindness, affection, soft praise ("What a good girl, good Bessie!") and a good scratch behind the ears.

For months now, Gail and I have been talking about what we will do with all that fresh milk and cream. How do you make butter, anyway? Yogurt? Hmmm, we'll have to make quiche every week. And ice cream. And, oh God, yes, cheese!

Now, finally, the waiting was over, and the day of the first milking had arrived! An experienced farmer friend called and advised me that I should milk her this first day, and milk her as if her life depended on it. If the milk stays in the udder too long, he said, it goes rancid and spoils inside her. Mastitis follows quickly, and then death.

Another friend had told me of the importance of feeding her well, especially when she is making milk. She said that feeding her barley helps to bring more milk to her udder.

And so, just before dinner, I fetched half a bucket of barley, led Bessie into the milking byer, and started to milk her. It went so smoothly, just like we had practiced. After the barley was gone, she got a little restless, so I tied her to the trough while I worked the teats. She didn't like that, but I kept going. (Inner voice: "Must milk her, must avoid mastitis...") Still, she wouldn't stay calm unless I gave her more barley.

By the time we were done, she had eaten quite a lot of barley, and had given me about five litres of milk. Beautiful, thick, rich, yellow, creamy, colostrum milk. Wow! Time to celebrate!


Oddly, I didn't sleep at all that night. The next morning, when I went to check on her, she staggered into the byer like a drunken sailor. I called the vet immediately.

It turns out that a lot of barley isn't good for a ruminant animal like a cow. It changes the pH in the stomach, which kills the bacteria that process the food in the rumen. The undigested food starts to ferment, causing the stomach to bloat up like a balloon. Meanwhile, the altered pH causes electrolytes to go haywire. This condition is called acidosis; it's like a really bad hangover, but worse, and can lead to dehydration and (you guessed it) death.

Bessie died last week, early Friday morning, with her head in my lap. I was bawling like a baby.

Later, when we were all very quiet around the dining room table, Levi asked us, "What does the word 'ironic' mean?" While we struggled to think of an example, the mail truck arrived, delivering a large box of cheese making supplies. "That's ironic," I said with tears in my eyes.

We buried Bessie in the orchard, on the hill amongst the apple trees. It has been a week now, and I cry for her every day. She was my animal companion, my dairy partner, my friend. She was intelligent, beautiful, trusting, and loyal; and I killed her. My grief is made so much worse by my guilt.

If you ever have a cow, please learn from my experience.

Bessie, ??? to 16 October, 2009. We love you.