By: Kerry
Guest Blogger and Farm Sitter Extraordinaire
Rise and shine on a cool, foggy Sunday.
The sun was working hard at 8 am to break through the grey mist that hovered over Gael Glen Farm but it hadn’t quite touched the tips of the barns when I arrived.
The "water parks" had thin sheets of ice covering them, which did not impress the ducks upon their explosion from the hen house...I quickly rectified that with fresh water, non frozen.
Charlie & the sheep were a bit blazé...a “thanks for showing up” kinda deal.
I knew my welcoming morning greeting would come from the goats and Ava. I could hardly control my enthusiasm to see them as I could hear them from across the yard and started calling to them that I was on my way.
A cacophony of bleats erupted when I swung open the door. “It’s beautiful morning!” I proclaimed.
Five little faces stared at me as if to say, “Get on with it.” They know they are the last to get released so it wasn’t quite a beautiful day for them yet.
Martha and Mellie clearly knew the routine...”Milk me, woman!!”
I could barely get the stand out of the barn and Mellie was already in position.
But I decided to start with Martha.
Why?
Why?
I am still reliving the moment now...questioning my decision-making skills.
I recalled Krystal’s posts about Mellie perching herself up on the crate and not being available for her babies when they were nursing. I thought that “attitude” also transferred into milking, so I though I was being strategic in choosing Martha first. You know, easing into the task.
Au contraire.
There was kicking and pushing and shoving and glaring. I restrained her legs to limit the kicking but she managed to escape from the hobble twice. She ate through the whole bowl of food before I had even started.
And then it began...while the milk was easy to express, it was not easy to collect. With every three squeezes. Martha rebelled and proficiently stomped into the pail.
Goat shifted, milk to the face.
Goat shifted again, milk to the ground.
Accuracy under pressure is not my forté.
The mocking continued, for Martha knew I only had two hands. Trying to steady the goat, squeeze the teat and secure the pail was near impossible.
Three more squeezes, pail tipped over completely.
“Liquid gold!” I cried to the heavens.
“Why the liquid gold?”
Reposition and go at it again.
Martha got rambunctious.
I filled up her bowl for the second time.
I resumed my duties only to have a repeat, a three-peat, and yes, a four-peat.
Milk everywhere...but not in the pail.
The sun had begun to pierce through the fog but I was already sweating. The babies began to bleat solemnly - “Won’t you let us out?”
“Sorry kids,” I replied. “This milk maid needs more time.”
I had collected about an ounce in total by this point.
I had dreamed of making cheese, even a bar of soap...heck, I would have settled for enough to soften my cereal. But more importantly was to get Martha milked so she didn’t become engorged and adversely affect her milk production (not on my watch!!).
Discouragement was creeping in when efficiency presented itself. Was there a better technique?
Yes.
Yes there was.
I needed three hands.
Which I didn’t have.
But I had me...as in my body.
I filled up Martha’s bowl a third time and let ingenuity take over. (Humour me)
I leaned over our beloved Martha from behind and reached around her, like a great big hug. I did still love the moody momma. Now I could milk her from both sides at the same time. Ha! It might not have looked pretty but it worked. It worked well.
Within a minute, Martha was done and using the same technique I had Mellie done in a quarter of the time and no loss of liquid gold with the new technique.
Once the chore was done, the aftermath resembled a milk massacre. I cried just a little at the waste, but Ava was happy to help clean it up. And I got more than enough for my cereal. Behold my bounty!
At 9:15am, the skies were blue and the animals were all happy. I stood back and reflected on what had transpired while most were still in bed. It made me smile.
Would I do it again?
You bet.
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