Bev
Looking back through the veils of time, I remember when daddy acquired a milk cow. She was gentle Guernsey we named Lady. Early in the morning, before work, daddy would walk out to the pasture and find her. He'd cut a willow branch along the way and swing it, sometimes slapping her gently along the flanks as she ambled back to the barn. Occasionally, my sister and I, and sometimes one of our younger brothers, would go with him, our bare feet getting soaked by the dew on the grass. The sounds of frogs croaking, along with the meadow larks singing and blackbirds trilling was music to my ears.
The sun would rise up over the horizon, just a sliver at first then jump up like a giant orange ball and fill the land with pale yellow sunlight that warmed the earth.
Lady would go into the milk barn, as we called it, chewing her cud as she went straight to her stall. She knew good grain was waiting for her. Daddy would put the kickers on her so she couldn't kick over the milk bucket, then caution us to be quiet when he began milking.
The swishing sound of the milk going into the bucket was a comforting sound, somehow, just as the smell of the milk barn, with its mixed scents of grain, hay and cow manure was comforting. To this day, I like the smell of cows and hay and grain, the smells mixing together like a comforting potpourri.
After he'd milked her dry, daddy would clean Lady''s teats and bag and turn her out to pasture again. He'd then pour some of the milk into a pan for the barn cats, and head home with the rest of the milk, where mom would strain it through a cloth into gallon jars. That was the beginning of the day.
The picture provided by Morguefiles
The sun would rise up over the horizon, just a sliver at first then jump up like a giant orange ball and fill the land with pale yellow sunlight that warmed the earth.
Lady would go into the milk barn, as we called it, chewing her cud as she went straight to her stall. She knew good grain was waiting for her. Daddy would put the kickers on her so she couldn't kick over the milk bucket, then caution us to be quiet when he began milking.
The swishing sound of the milk going into the bucket was a comforting sound, somehow, just as the smell of the milk barn, with its mixed scents of grain, hay and cow manure was comforting. To this day, I like the smell of cows and hay and grain, the smells mixing together like a comforting potpourri.
After he'd milked her dry, daddy would clean Lady''s teats and bag and turn her out to pasture again. He'd then pour some of the milk into a pan for the barn cats, and head home with the rest of the milk, where mom would strain it through a cloth into gallon jars. That was the beginning of the day.
The picture provided by Morguefiles
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