I have been up for over an hour. The sun came up, or dawn mixed with night long enough the sky is now the color of a muddy rain puddle. And then I heard the bellowing. I was waiting for it, it was my first go around in the rain, and I was wondering how it would feel.
I have had a few friends with milk cows. Friends that had to scurry away from a meal in the evening to milk, or couldn’t stay out too long for their days began too early. Always, a tinge of jealousy at their never ending supply of foamy white milk hit me right in the chest. Seeing those big eyed jerseys with their bouffants on top, and silky soft noses, made me want one like I can’t explain. And recently, my wishes came true! With the pigs settled in nicely, we knew we wanted to feed them as much milk as possible. It makes for the healthiest of meats, and the most delicious- never mind cost-effective. My sweet dairy-farming neighbor was kind enough to let us borrow Sorrel, the old lady jersey, for the summer. We have had her about a week and she looks perfect out there. The milk is sweet and delicious for both us and the cloven ones on the other side of the garage.
There is only one problem. I am holding back tears not to cry over spilled milk. The girl has no patience for me, and likely misses the 6 minute milking back at the barn on the machine. And after about ten minutes in she starts kicking like an excitable baby (if a baby had a leg the size of my body and a foot that could crush me of course). It is frustrating to say the least. I am finding myself on dairy forums, on the phone with cow-ish people, and just generally fretting. It goes without saying I am truly learning to appreciate every drop of milk. Our food is so precious, and behind it is work. Hard work. In the rain work. During a bout of sickness work. All the time it is work. I can’t believe it took me 33 years to see this so clearly.
This morning, I came in from milking with a little more knowledge, a tight lipped determination to hold on hope, and a little over a gallon of milk. I made a latte because that was the most sensible thing I could do, and then I toweled off my wet hair. I’ll try again this evening.
Until then- all this nice rain is going to help the garden so! It feels like things are really going out there now. We are eating regular meals of asparagus and herbs and sorrel too! Soon enough our lettuces and peas will be part of the repetoire too. And my absolute favorite- fresh flowers on every table. The world smells pretty good right now.
Now wish me luck with this kicky cow!
Owl pellet dissection, blown eggs containing clues to a fantastic scavenger hunt, and paper airplane decorating/throwing tradition made for a sweet and memorable sixth birthday party. I couldn’t help but reminiscing the caution (bordering on fear) for last years celebration. This boys ill ease in a crowd prompted the beginning of the drop off party, a much-needed and well-loved change turns out. It also turns out that this style of kids birthday party is so, so much easier for us than the invite a whole bunch of kids and their parents over, feel pressure to clean and serve beers and nice meals, and your kids just want your attention but you can’t give it to them, variety.
And I tell you this six year old dazzles me. I cut no less than five inches of platinum blonde off this boy the day before his actual birthday. I wiped off his very dirty face, and cleaned his almost embarrassingly dirty ears, and what was underneath shocked me to tears. He is a beautiful, charming, and compassionate little boy, whom I am so lucky to call my son.
When I was a kid and lived by the ocean, nothing could beat starting the day with a run to the salty cove for a dip. I would go alone often, and sometimes meet friends – All of us knowing in our souls the beauty of wet sand sending ripples of light in perfect circles around our sneakers, the importance of seagulls and crashing waves touching our ears before any other sound- the magic that is immersing your whole body under a salty body of water before a regular day begins. Then I trotted off home to change into my school clothes, showering when I felt it necessary, but mostly keeping the salt on my skin to remind me of how good it all really is.
Running is like that. It takes you farther, earlier, quieter, than you could or would be otherwise. I imagine it to be a battle of synapses inside your brain. Some telling your legs to stop, and others insisting you just keep going, and some demanding you even to go faster. It has been a long, long time since I felt the rush of it all on a regular basis. Injuries and babies and shoulds standing in my way. I have ushered these roadblocks aside and made way for the whole thing lately. And this morning I am off to my first race in five years.
I have heard it is spectacularly beautiful- this course. I have heard it is crazy hard too. I am up for it.
These pictures have nothing to do with this post. Our game cam captured some critters that rise even earlier than I, and some gorgeous tulips from my Mama’s garden just because they are peach and blooming. Hopefully I have a good one of a grinning me after finishing this 10K for next week!
A first game of Tball can go many ways. The mass confusion, the wild excitement, the expectations… they can be a recipe for a really delectable dessert just as easily as a meal of rotten eggs. Oh sweet five and six year olds, they have an uncanny way of being absolutely unpredictable. Last night, a whole crew of them served up a tray full of melt-in-your-mouth, fresh out the oven chocolate chip cookies, for every face on that field that was plastered with a giant smile. These boys and girls were literally dancing on the field. When I told Rowan how much I liked his moves after the game he scowled at me. He had no knowledge of his fancy footwork at first base. None at all. Miles reassured him (and he was in the position to do so I may add, as the official “third coach”) that there was nothing to worry about, everyone was doing it. And he was right, those kids were all so happy and excited you could tell in every fiber of their being. It was like a bit of the full body baby laugh that everyone loves, spilling over into childhood. It just came bubbling out. I always hear the phrase, “My kids teach me more than I teach them”, and last night I learned so much.
My boy, just dancing on the field, having the time of his life. My heart is so full.