Udder Chaos

Before I moved down south, I was living in the Big Apple. Loved Manhattan, loved the food. But as I proudly purchased my fruit at the little farmer’s market across the street from me on Central Park West on Saturdays, I quickly realized how little I knew how food is grown, or how to be self-sufficient. I was in the process of writing my dissertation, and thought it would be a perfect time for me to escape the lovely chaos of New York City for some peace and quiet on a farm.

Little did I know that farmlife can be chaotic as well.

Two years around this time, I found an organic farm in the mountains of northern Georgia which looked for volunteers through a great group called WWOOF (Willing Workers on Organic Farms). You can find farms everywhere, from New Zealand to Canada.

So I packed a suitcase, several pairs of overalls, left the City, and found myself waiting at a bus “station” for my ride to the farm.

No, your eyes do not deceive. There are no buses nor people. But there’s my little suitcase in red with a pillow waiting. I was no longer in New York City.

Someone finally came by to pick me up and we drove to Wal-Mart to buy me some good rubber boots (for stepping in…stuff). After driving through winding mountain roads, we arrived at the Farm, which turned out to be also a RV camp. They had incredible water falls

and a 3-acre farm with some of the best organic soil in the state of Georgia. With three horses, many goats, three cows, rabbits and chickens, our days were full.

Every morning, I made myself a breakfast sandwich with the fresh eggs gathered the day before and a glass of raw cow’s milk milked the day before. Deliciousness. (FYI: most people who are “lactose-intolerant” can digest raw milk).

Then I’d hit the garden, picking chard, mustard greens, kale…planting strawberries…weeding, harvesting mushrooms…getting everything prepared for the farm/RV guests that day. Everything was organic and sustainably-grown. The picking was hot, sweaty, dirty, and simply lovely.

Once the sun was high in the sky, I went up to the main kitchen (I lived down at the “Farm” with the “Boys” without indoor plumbing. Yes, this meant no bathrooms, so the trees by the outhouse did the trick late at night) to help chop all the veggies I picked. I’d head back out to the garden in the afternoon to weed or plant.

On other days, I got milk duty. Here’s where chaos can happen in a hot Georgia minute. I got one lesson and the next day, it was just me, five goats and two cows.

The goat were great – like big dogs. But I gotta admit, poor Flo got handled not as gently as I wanted because her udders were…HUGE…and I couldn’t figure out to get them into the little pump. She was what we would consider a 38DD…and the pump was like a 32A bra. I guess just like humans, a goat’s mammary comes in all shapes and sizes.

After the goats came the cows. I learned to back a cow out of the tiny milking shed: you put one hand on its hip and push it out like you’re moving a stalled Chevy truck. I can’t move a stalled Chevy truck.

The milking shed was a tiny little wooden structure that could fit ONE cow or maybe 4-5 goats if you can manage them. If you bring it more than one goat, you have to tether them to the wall or they’ll go find wherever you stash that sweet feed. Sweet feed is some sort of crunchy, molasses treat that makes cows and goats go bananas.

I mean BANANAS.

The milking started out okay. Cow Number 1 was happily situated and tethered her to the post so she couldn’t move (not that there was room to move). However, before I could hook her up and close the door, Cow Number 2 comes storming in looking for some sweet feed. Mind you, the milking shed is SMALL. See this? Cow Number’s 2 butt was hanging out the door because there is no room for two cows…or shouldn’t be any room.

I tried to put my hand on Cow Number 2′s hip and push her out like I was taught, but it might as well been a brick wall because Cow Number 2 was not going anywhere.

Before I knew it, one goat jumps in the shed. Then another. Then another. Soon, there were five goats and 1 and ½ cows in this tiny place. Seven animals were scrambling for the sweet feed located in large metal trash bins. The milking shed was shaking. SHAKING.

Great, I just broke the milking shed, I thought.

I quickly latched all seven animals in the shaking little milkshed, hopped in the farmtruck (with no door and the steering wheel needed to pop out to drive), and raced up to find some help.

Help came. Soon, all seven animals were out of the shed, which was still standing. There was zero sweet feed left. They ate it all.

Long story short, I learned that because I have no ability to push a cow, I could back a cow out of a milk shed with a tap with a leather strap on the hindparts, wave my hand in front of a cow’s face, or make really deep sounds.

That was my peace and quiet on the Farm.

Tags: cow, cow's milk, environment, farm, farmer's market, food, Georgia, goat, milking, New York City, organic, organic produce, RV park, sweet feed, travel, waterfall, Willing Workers on Organic Farms, WWOOF

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