Have you watched the movie Son In Law? Pauly Shore, sitting at the family table, declares that he does, in fact, have a job. "Well, I'm a farmer," he states, matter-o-factly. The real farmer, at the head of the table, chokes, sputters and says, "you most certainly are not a farmer!"
Or something like that.
So, what's that got to do with anything? Well, once a week, I channel Pauly Shore. I don a little denim, jump in my jetta, drive southerly for about an hour and arrive at my raw milk producer's farm, ready to work.
I know, right?
Squeeee!
They milk 10 cows, manage 100 head of beef angus, and muck a handful of pigs.
My first day is still a blur. I know that we fixed fencing. We fixed, moved and handled a lot of fencing. I watched my (real) farmers, Craig and Vicki, milk cows. I moved fencing parts and I quickly learned that Oz will be my best friend on the farm.
This is Oz.
Oz is a forgiving fella (I took his seat on the mule, he forgave me after an ear scratch) and keeps himself between me and the bulls. Yeah. Bulls. One would be enough, but there's plural on this farm.
I remember (before I was Pauly Shore) telling myself that I'd never be on the same side of a fence as a mature bull. Actually, I think I once declared that I'd prefer to have a double fence between me and bull. Well, that was before I decided to work on a farm. That was before I realized I may be a touch nutters.
So on my first day, before fences, Craig told me to open "that gate" but not until he was really close with the tractor. "Sure thing, what are we doing?" I asked. "Feeding the bulls" you goofy towny girl that brought 3 pairs of shoes to her first day at the farm, Craig said. I must have sputtered when I choked out "come again? Bulls?" because he just told me that I had Oz and something about not to worry.
Oz comes the first time you call him and I called him a lot, just to make sure he came every time. Which he does.
Bulls fed, out to the fences. But first, we had to stop at the machine shed and that's when Craig told me to get the Mule. Ok, I'm going to confess here that I did casually look around for a Jenny or Jack with four legs, but I wasn't totally dumb about it. I remembered telling Craig from the go that I was pretty much clueless but I was an enthusiastic student that could tote her own weight so I didn't figure he'd make me pack sack up a....M-U-L-E. Ahhh, there in plain English, painted on the side of a Kawasaki 4 wheeler it said MULE. lol. Ok, whew, he didn't even catch on that I was stumped for a split second. Ok, maybe he did, but he didn't let on that he knew, that I knew, I was being dumb.
To get to the grass pastures that needed fence-tending, we had to go through another pasture with 30 head of Angus, including the herd bull. Again with the bulls! omg.
We arrived at the top of the hill, the hill that's never been "farmed" and suddenly the brush gave way to apple trees and plum trees and wild roses and wild MN prairie flowers and just all sorts of lovely things. This is a century farm. The antique orchard was planted 4 or 5 generations ago and there's a real possiblity that those trees are endangered. Who knows for sure, an heirloom orchardist, I suppose. But I have to say, they were lovely to see and made my thoughts drift to another time.
I'm back to the farm tomorrow. Before I go, I have to share baby pictures. It wouldn't be fair not to.
These babies are the sweetest. They sniff sniff sniff my pant legs until my cuffs are up to my knees...when I protest, they skirt behind me...like I can't see them. Maybe they can smell a towny. When they think I'm not paying attention, they'll do it again. sniff sniff sniff.
The dairy herd's forth baby, but first female, of the year. High hopes that this girl will test positive for A2, beginning the transformation of the herd from A1 to A2. A2 is a genetic code that predates hybridization or at least genetic modification. More on that later. I'm *just* learning about this and not versed enough to defend my disturbed feelings about A1 yet.
Finally, my road into work. This is the driveway. A great farm should have a great driveway...
I admit, it's hard being on the other side of the driveway pointing away from the farm. But Craig and Vicki keep welcoming me back....
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