Milking: The daily schedule

Ever since Maggie's latest calf was born on June 18 (we named the calf Lucy, by the way), milking was a priority.

This goal was far, far easier than last year's rodeo, for two reasons: One, we already had the milking infrastructure in place (calf pen, milking stall, etc.). And two, Maggie is already trained to milk. Picking the morning routine back up was a piece o' cake compared to last year.

It was muscle memory for me as well. I haven't milked since February 26 (before Older Daughter and I went to Italy to visit Younger Daughter), so I had to remember the basic steps and not forget anything. In this respect, muscle memory played a large part.

So join me in my morning routine. This time of year, I'm in the barn sometime between 5 and 6 am.

This is the milking equipment I take out to the barn. On the left is the milk bucket into which I actually squirt the milk. In the center is the holding bucket, into which I routinely dump the fresh milk as I progress. (I'm a big fan of the two-bucket milking system. This way if Maggie kicks over the milk bucket, I haven't lost the entire morning's output.) Notice the black line marked on the center holding bucket; this delineates one gallon. On the right is just a small bowl which I put a towel and some warm water for washing Maggie's udder.

Here's the bowl with the towel and warm water.

I stack everything together and cover it with a plastic cap before going to the barn.

In the barn, I grab a scoop of grain to put in the feed bucket on the other side of the head gate. Maggie looks forward to this morning treat-slash-bribe. (Never underestimate the power of grain to convince a cow to do something.)

This is the layout of the calf pen and milking stall Don built last year. The main pen is where I sit on a crate to milk. This arrangement has worked superbly.

Maggie is now in the milking stall, eating her grain. On the right is the crate I sit on while milking.

The head gate has an arm that swings closed, which locks in place with a pin tied to a string. Maggie cannot pull her head out until I remove the pin and allow the arm to swing open.

Here's little Lucy, waiting for me to finish up so she can have her breakfast.

On the shelf in the main pen, I keep a bucket of sawdust (on the left) for the times Maggie urinates in the milking stall (it absorbs the liquid almost instantly), and the crate on which I sit. On top the crate is the leg-tie I use to secure one of Maggie's back legs.

I don't care how well-trained a cow is; it's imperative to tie the near leg to a post so she won't kick. Maggie doesn't kick from viciousness; she might kick if a fly is annoying her or if she's getting impatient. Regardless of the cause, I don't need a black eye from getting kicked by a cow. (Ask me how I know.)

Once Maggie is confined, I wash the udder and teats with the warm water. Most of the time her udder is fairly clean, but washing will also remove bits of straw, etc.

After this, I milk. For obvious reasons, it's hard to take photos as I milk, but it actually goes rather rapidly. I usually just milk out a gallon, no more, so there is plenty left over for the baby. Not counting the lead-up and clean-up afterward, the actual milking itself usually takes only fifteen minutes or less.

Interestingly, we had something of a glitch in the otherwise smooth milking season; namely, Maggie's yearling heifer calf Stormy. This young lady is half Angus and is actually slightly bigger than her mother at this point ... but she's still a baby at heart, and quickly learned Maggie has milk again. The thing about Jerseys is they're a soft touch when it comes to milk – we call them the Universal Donors – and they seldom turn away any bovine who wants access.

A couple of mornings in a row, Maggie had been draiued dry by this greedy girl, and I didn't want to take any milk for myself lest Lucy not get any. After some discussion, Don and I started closing Maggie into the barn by herself at night, and locking Stormy (and Romeo, our young steer) outside.

This makes for much easier milking in the morning since I can leave the milking stall gates open for extra elbow room and not be bothered by other animals. After I finish milking Maggie, I release Lucy.

I cover the milk and put it out of the way, then putter around the barn, cleaning up, while the calf gets her breakfast. This way she's not competing with Stormy.

I open the barn doors, and naturally Stormy dives for her mama.

I'm not too worried about Stormy's milk consumption. I suspect it's just a phase. Maggie is producing plenty at the moment, the calf is getting all she needs, and Maggie is getting plenty to eat. In fact, for the last two mornings, Stormy didn't go for the udder at all. I suspect her sudden interest in nursing might be a "regression" situation, similar to how a human toddler suddenly wants to breastfeed again when a new sibling is born. We'll see how this pans out.

When I've finished cleaning the barn...

...I open the gate to the pasture to release the animals, then I'm free to return to the house.

Back in the kitchen, I clean the milk bucket and the bowl with the udder cloth in it (the cloth goes in the laundry basket), and upend them to dry. Then I fit a small strainer over the gallon-sized jugs I use for holding the milk, line the strainer with a cloth, and pour the milk from the holding bucket through the cloth to strain the milk.

I cap the milk, date it, and store it in the dairy fridge (a dedicated beverage refrigerator) set at 35F.

Then I clean the holding bucket and upend it to dry with the others.

The last thing I do is put the straining cloth in some water and boil it to sterilize it.

This all sounds like it takes hours, but honestly from the time I leave the house to go to the barn to the time I finish straining the milk and cleaning the buckets is usually just half an hour or so.

So that's my morning routine.

"Stars and Stripes Forever" – wait until the end

When I was in high school, I had one semester in marching band (I would have had more, but I didn't like the music teacher). Because I played flute and piccolo, I learned to play the piccolo solo for the classic John Philip Sousa patriotic song "Stars and Stripes Forever."

That said, I haven't given much thought to this piece of music for decades. But just recently I saw a clip on YouTube and spontaneously clicked on it.

Watch until the very end! If you've ever played piccolo as I have, this blew me away.

Trust me, this will make you smile.

Fun photo

Younger Daughter now has a nice place to live in the West Coast city where she has her new job ... although it's practically barren of furniture, since everything is still being shipped from Italy and likely won't arrive until late August or early September.

Anyway, she's exploring her new community. Just today she was in her local branch library. She messaged me and wrote, "I'm at the library! Wanna see something you'll appreciate?" And here's what she sent:

My books are in the library!

I messaged Younger Daughter back and said, "You gonna tell 'em your mom wrote those?"

She replied: "I am NOT going to be the Daughter of the Amish Smut Writer again, thank you."

(Long story short, while Younger Daughter was in Italy, my authorship became known to many of her Navy cohorts, some of whom ordered a few of my books and thereafter christened me "The Amish Smut Writer." It's a title I bear proudly, though she was teased unmercifully.)

So yeah, a fun photo indeed.

Bambi in duplicate

Last year, if you remember, I lost an incredible photographic opportunity when I saw a beautiful bull elk drinking from a river and I didn't have my camera with me.

I'll admit, I've been obsessively watching this stretch of river ever since, just in case lightning struck twice. Well the other day, lightning struck twice, kinda. I saw two white-tail bucks standing in the river, drinking.

This time I did have my camera with me. However I was also driving, and since it is a narrow and windy road, I had to find a place to pull over and turn around. By the time I was able to get back to the spot where the bucks were, they had waded out of the water to the bank. Therefor the following photos are a little less dramatic than they might have been, but they had the compensating virtue that I was stationary, the animals weren't bothered by my presence, and I was able to snap away to my heart's content.

I'm guessing these young bucks are twins. After their first fawning, does produce twins thereafter.

Unfortunately the cluttered background made their antlers kinda blend in, but oh well.

I'm not the best photographer, so I don't feel I did justice to these handsome boys.

Still, it was like watching Bambi in duplicate.

I watched these bucks until they left the river bank and climbed back up the slope, then drove home.

And this, boys and girls, is why you should never leave your camera at home. After all, you never know what you might see.

Celebrating America's birthday in small-town USA

While America's capital is engaged in phenomenal spectacles and events to celebrate her 250th birthday, hundreds of millions of Americans are celebrating in small towns across this wide nation. We were privileged to be among them.

It's about a half-hour drive to the nearest town, and this modest place went all-out to celebrate Independence Day.

Every flag pole, every store front, every hand rail was adorned with flags and bunting.

As we walked the Main Street of the town, we saw benches set up for the convenience of those who would be watching the parade, due to start at 2 pm.

In other places, people had lined up picnic chairs in anticipation of the parade.

Patriotic signs where everywhere.

One store had put out a container of sidewalk chalk and invited kids to express themselves, which I thought was sweet.

We ducked into the local Veteran's Center where a three-piece band was belting out an outstanding version of "Johnny Be Good."

The city park was set up with booths selling everything from honey to crafts to books to soaps. It was a hot day, so the park was just a nice place for many people to hang around in the shade.

Lots of patriotic clothing.

By pure chance, we found a place to watch the parade in the shade with our pastor and his wife and toddler. People lined the street, waiting for the show to start.

Many kids carried bags, since a lot of the parade participants throw candy to the crowds.

Here's Mrs. Pastor and her toddler waiting for things to get started.

(By the way, Mrs. Pastor is expecting their second child, also a son, in October.)

Some kids waved flags.

The parade started, and somehow it just embodied the best of small-town America. Lots of cheering and applause for veterans, rodeo queens, classic cars, local businesses, emergency services (ambulances, fire, paramedics, etc.), tractors and other farm implements, and all the other components that help make a town function.

This being rural Idaho, there were lots of horses.

Many of the horses had glitter or sparkly stencils on their rumps.

The local Quilts of Valor exhibit.

And what's a parade without royalty?

A local gymnastics group showed up in full force. Every thirty seconds or so, at the sound of a whistle, they would all do a cartwheel. Honestly, by this point (we were near the end of the parade route), the girls looked pretty tired. That's a mile of cartwheels, after all.

Many times we didn't even know what certain vehicles represented. All we knew was they added to the chaotic fun and everyone was having a good time.

This is the local high school's extremely modest marching band. Despite their lack of numbers, they belted out tunes with great enthusiasm. 

Nothing like a little death-metal garage band on a flatbed truck to showcase a variety of talent. Not my genre, but they were actually quite decent.

Let's not forget a salute to the people who feed this nation.

Or who harvest its timber for our building needs.

We saw a really cool series of flatbed trucks carrying various ordinary people. Are you ready for this? These were high school class reunions. This is the class of 2016 (10 yr reunion).

The class of 1996.

The class of 1986.

And – drum roll, please - the class of 1976, America's bicentennial. This float got a huge round of cheers as it passed.

What this day of festivities conspicuously lacked was some of the chaos taking place in larger urban areas, such as the teen takeovers plaguing various cities. Instead, it was just a lot of people gathering together to celebrate and have fun. Honestly, it was as fine a Fourth of July as we ever had.

Tonight Don and I plan to watch a livestream of the fireworks in Washington D.C., as well as some of the other celebrations such as the aircraft flyovers and the parade of tall sailing ships from all over the world.

Happy birthday, America!