We went on a family trip over the weekend so of course Honey had her baby while we were away.

I was pretty sure she was close so I’d resigned myself to missing the birth, but even so, when our animal caretaker neighbor called on Saturday to say she was in labor and was it okay if she slept at our place so she could keep an eye on things (of course!!), we were bummed, especially my older daughter who’d missed both Daisy and Emma’s births (because she was in Massachusetts). Our caretaker said she’d called our other neighbor and he’d confirmed that Honey was, indeed, in labor, and then we let our other friend, Honey’s owner, know, and then my Pittsburgh brother said, “You have a better support network for your animals than we do for our children!” which made me laugh because yeah, it’s pretty amazing how everyone rallied to take care of our animals while we were gone.

Less than two hours after we got the call that Honey was in labor, we got an email: “The calf has arrived! It looks alert and Honey is doing what good mama cows do.”

The next day, the updates continued: “Honey has a spunky heifer calf. She is very protective and Butterscotch has some scrapes on her neck, behind her ear, and on her side from getting too close to the calf.” And the owner updated us with messages and photos, too, along with their family’s name suggestion of Redbud.  

^{photo credit: Honey’s owner}

Other name ideas included:
*MCC, because of the dove on her head
*Goldie, because the white marking looked like a Golden Eagle
*Queenie, because one of my daughter’s friends kept saying “yaaaas, queen” to Honey when they went to pick her up, and because the marking kinda looked like a crown.
*And then, to cover all our bases, “Her Royal Highness, Queen Goldie of Redbud”

At which point we went back to Redbud which really is the sweetest name. 

When we got home the next day, we zipped straight down the the field to greet the new baby. She’s absolutely perfect, feisty and curious, gangly-wobbly, and soft. 

Kisses from Aunty Emma
(Honey will actually leave the calf with Emma and go off to eat.)

Honey was a bit fierce, huffing and puffing if we got too close, and since my parents had just reminded me over the weekend that one of my great uncles (who I didn’t know) was gored to death by a bull ten years ago, I was a little more nervous than normal.

Butterscotch, a bit roughed up.

one of several

But my husband and son got right in there and managed to get Honey into the milking stall for the first hand milking.

It always feels touch-and-go with a new cow.

This is our second heifer cow (first-time mama), so we’re still pretty new at this. There’s always so many questions: Is the calf nursing okay? Do we need to hand milk more often? Are we milking too much? Why isn’t she letting down? When should we try the machine? Is that quarter too full? What does mastitis look like?

We watch YouTube videos on milk-training heifer cows and read websites about udder problems and research kick bars. Honey’s owner has come over a couple times to check her, and to drop off some peppermint udder balm to help alleviate the edema. 

Each milking is a team effort — bringing her in, keeping her calm with brushings and rump rubbings, keeping a constant eye on her legs so we can dodge the kicks, picking up the kicked-over buckets, etc. My younger son is actually quite good with her — calm and measured — but my husband falls into the pit of despair every five minutes.

Yesterday morning I wasn’t there and apparently it was a real shitshow: Honey kicked the milker off with both feet so hard that one part of the milker flew the whole way across the shed, and then my husband lost it and threw open the gate to set her loose, at which point he yelled at himself “THAT’S NOT RESPONSIBLE” and slammed it shut again, and all the while my son was laughing so hard he could hardly stand up.

So when my husband goes out to milk, I have to go along so I can coo a steady stream of Calming Big Picture Perspective into his ear to counter his steady stream of “This Won’t Work” and “What’s The Point” and “I Didn’t Sign Up For This.” (Yes, you did.)

Like I said, a team effort. 

It’s getting better. I think every single issue we’re dealing with is one hundred percent normal and it will all even out in a week or so, and Honey will be a fabulous family milk cow. 

Here’s to hoping I’m right!

This same time, years previous: celebrating seventy, the quotidian (3.29.21), milk bread, now that she’s back, for-real serious, teff pancakes with blueberries, absorbing the words, seven-minute egg, our oaf, on being together: it’s different here somehow.

Last week we got a new cow. (Well, she’s not ours, really — she’s on loan from a friend in exchange for milk — and she’s a heifer, not a cow. But those two minor details aside, my opening statement is one hundred percent true.)

you can’t see her in the photo for all the people admiring her

Her name is Honey and she’s due the end of this month or the beginning of April. I’m not exactly sure what breed she is — a cross between Jersey and maybe Holstein and/or Normande? — and she’s super sweet.

Or at least she’s sweet with humans. With the other cows, she’s pretty much a holy terror, charging them with her horns and chasing them away from the food. It was so bad, in fact, that we got a little worried that Emma’s milk production would drop and wondered if we might have to feed them separately, but things are stabilizing now — i.e. Honey’s learning to share. She’s still somewhat territorial and stabby, but less so. 

We’ve been trying to spend time with her, getting a halter on her and coaxing her into the milking shed, turning on and off the vacuum pump (for the milker) so she gets used to it, etc.

She doesn’t like grain, but she’s a voracious hay-eater and goes nuts for alfalfa, so we bought her a few bales of that. 

thanks for the present, girlfriend

I thought she’d be delivering in April, but she’s looking close: swollen and hard udder, bits of mucus, leaking teats. I spent a lot of time yesterday staring out the window: Why is she stretched out like that? Is she straining? Is her back arched? Has she stopped eating?

I ran down to the field several times, too, to poke her udder, check her pins (the ligament between the pin bone and the tail bone that turns jello-y before birth), and give her lots of good brush-downs and neck scratches. Pro tip: always scratch a cow’s neck( instead of the top of the head) so they’re less likely to headbutt for attention.

checking the pins: they’re beginning to soften

At one point, the kids joined me in the field, and my older son taught my younger son how to ride motorcycle. There was lots of “Watch out for the poop!”

And then Honey got frisky from all the excitement and tossed her head at me, goring my boob with her horn. It was just a light poke but that was enough to make me turn tail and head back to the house, thank you very much.

P.S. Is anyone else getting a kick out of today’s date? Three-twenty-three-twenty-three, wheee!

This same time, years previous: the cheezer, the quotidian (3.23.20), almond cardamon tea cake, the solo, the tables are turning, the quotidian (3.23.15), the walk home, oatmeal toffee bars.

A few weeks back, my older daughter bought herself a sewing machine and now she stays up late at night teaching herself how to make linen skirts, coffee-dyed cotton petticoats, and corsets with zip ties for ribbing. (Next up, buttons, which have her positively buzzing.)

This sewing streak began when she was living in Massachusetts and made herself a Halloween costume based on a character from Outlander — lots of petticoats and a bustle — though, wait a sec. Hang on. Now that I think about it, she did take sewing lessons from a friend of mine years ago, and before that there was that “dress” she fashioned from an empty bag of dog food, the pair of slippers she made out of masking tape, and the doll quilt. So maybe she’s actually been into sewing a lot longer than I realize? Hm, I may have to rethink my narrative arc.

In any case, I find her fascination with sewing equal parts hilarious and curious. See, I dislike sewing with a vengence (just the thought of working with bobbins and fabric makes me feel almost nauseated) and yet here I am with a child who loves it, what the heck?

When I mentioned this bizarre turn of events to a friend, she pointed out that sewing isn’t that big of a jump from making cheese or baking a cake, which is true, yes, but still. I always find it a little startling when a child loves something I don’t — skydiving, horseback riding, motorcycling, chickens, coding, fantasy books, computers — and my surprise is usually greater with the girls, perhaps because I subconsciously expect them to be more like me. (I know better, of course, but this is how I feel.)

The other day after my daughter showed me one of her most recent seamstressing developments, I just shook my head and said to no one in particular, “Where in the world did you come from?”

Without missing a beat, she said, “Your hoo ha,” and we both busted up laughing. 

There’s no point to this post, really, except to say that it’s truly wild to watch the evolution of your children as they go from Helpless Blobs to Distinct Humans — quirky, curious, passionate, and driven. It’s so surprising, it’s almost funny. Like a cosmic joke but of the very best sort. 

I love it.

P.S. While I was working on this post, a box of fabric arrived in the mail for my daughter — yards upon yards of dark green, pinstriped wool — and now I’m beginning to think she may have been born in the wrong century…

This same time, years previous: any-cut-of-beef pot roast magic, beef tamales, from my sister-in-law in Hong Kong: Covid-19 at the two-month mark, spring hits, what did you eat for lunch?, the quotidian (3.21.16), a morning’s start, an accidental expert, over the moon, roasted vegetables.