I think you are all aware that Naddy's in love. She has been warned of the dangers of gazing into big brown eyes. Seems the owner of the eyes is shy about carnivores locking eyeballs with her. This dissapoints Natalie, who naturally wants to gaze into the big brown eyes.

Last Friday morning we hooked up the little 4X8 trailer to the Suburban and went to pick up Marcy at the Bechard Farm. The previous occupants of our farm were kind enough to leave us a livestock box designed for a pickup truck. The box fit just barely into my little 4X8 utility trailer with a little persuasion from the sledge hammer. If I ever want it out of there, I suppose I will have to beat it back out. I strapped it to the trailer for good measure anyway.

Leaving the farm wife at home, Naddy, the boys and I, joined by Doug and his son Luke, who stayed a few nights with us while checking out Missouri, set off on the 45 minute drive. I figured the drive through parts of Polk, Dallas, and Laclede counties, and the adventure of picking up a cow would probably be a good way to pass some of our time with our guests. We arrived after nine and found the farmer at his breakfast. As he told us, "We eat after the animals eat around here." We spent some time in conversation in the hubbub of the Bechard kitchen, which the addition of our group of nine people seemed to affect not at all.

We loaded the cow without incident and headed back, a handful of Bechards joining us for some on the job training through the first milking routine. On the way back, I swerved a bit once and sent the cow into the side of the trailer, putting a scratch on her udder. Mr. Bechard assured us it wasn't serious, and it does look much better now. I also had to stop when I observed one of my tie straps had come undone. Going back to fasten it back on I realized it was covered with a brown sort of a goo substance, that seems to have coated large portions of the trailer bed. Now where are a man's gloves when he wants them? Jumping back in the Suburban I explain to Doug that I just had an agrarian experience.

Back home we unload, and I learn how two people can move a reluctant cow along, one pulling on the halter, the other gently kicking the back of the legs above the hooves (is that the hocks?). We had to do this to get Marcy to climb the two steps up onto the concrete floor of the barn above the stalls. This was our preferred milking station due to the ease of cleanup. It took a bit of persuasion but eventually she clambered up. I figured we'd have to keep training a while, and hoped that eventually one person would be able to lead her into the barn without help.

Our trainers made the whole milking operation seem easy, but taking a hand myself, I realized that it was one of those expertise things that required lots of doing before looking easy. Looking easy and being easy being two different things. The cow did an admirable job of not laughing at us, but she did seem to inspect us as we bumbled. "Yes, these people seem to be in possession of all their fingers," seemed to be her conclusion, as she ruminated. Considering all the continuing hubbub surrounding her she did well. I gathered that all in all, she thought well of her new celebrity status.

Shortly before sundown that evening a messenger arrived in the kitchen. Marcy was in the barn. Apparently impatiently tapping the toe. And so we found her, although one look at me changed her mind and she retreated to the yard. Apparently she had been expecting someone more qualified. After absorbing this disappointment, she was persuaded to clamber back up and submit to her fate. I wonder what it must have been like for the man, or maid, who first hit upon this idea of appropriating milk from a cow. Beer surely must have been invented first. He must have been amazed that the animal was going to just stand there and allow it. And this cow does allow it, although she frowns a bit on our continued bumbling, and seems put off with the minor little arguments about how to proceed with the work.

We had a little struggle with the morning milking, the cow apparently knowing the drill better than we do. Marcy was fine for awhile but when we switched milkers, she got impatient and wouldn't stand still while we finished up. Are we there yet, she kept asking. When we finally were done, we realized that the hitch I had shown Natalie how to tie in the halter rope would not come undone. Apparently it was high time for less subtle forms of communicating disapproval, the kind requiring the shovel to remove. Natalie and I went out afterward and practiced tying a proper slip hitch for next time. We think the cow knows we are ignorant and is being pretty patient, but we don't want her to get into an uppity frame of mind.

We are planning to milk for about three weeks and then dry her up. Her production is already pretty low, but we are still getting more than a gallon of milk a day. This will establish the milking routine. Not that Marcy needs the practice, since she walked right into the barn at sunset yesterday and again this morning. It's us that needs to get this figured out.

Felling the Oak Tree

A late night post, since I'm waiting for Naddy to get back from her Arizona trip. It was cold today. Temperatures are down in the single digits and we keep the woodstove going all day. I finally managed to drop the big old dead oak tree out in the front yard that was leaning over and threatening to take out our puny little power pole. The tree died quite a while ago by the looks of it, and it was starting to make some cracking noises and shedding some good sized branches every time the wind blew, and for a couple of days afterwards. Free firewood from heaven was nice, but we started taking the long way to the barn.

In Flagstaff I'd cut all my firewood with my little chainsaw with a sixteen inch bar - no problem since I never needed to drop any really big trees. The oak tree was going to be tricky since it was leaning at a steep enough angle that I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep it from taking out some good fence. I was pretty sure I could keep it off the power pole using the Suburban and a long rope to pull it in the direction it needed to drop, which was at a right angle to the direction of the lean.

I'd been thinking the little saw was too small to get a really good felling notch in the tree, but I threw some rope around some solid branches and hooked it up to a tow strap and stretched it tight. I cut into the trunk and could see right away that this was not your Arizona Scrub Oak. My notch looked pretty small on the big tree, but I figured I could still get a decent enough hinge that the Suburban wouldn't have to do all the work. I took my time and kept my area clear of trip hazards, but I was intimidated enough that I thought pretty hard about how to not get squished by the 3 foot diameter trunk.

Imagine the tree above leaning steeply toward you and you'll get the idea. The Suburban would be pulling to the right and away from you. Not surprisingly, as I was cutting the back cut my blade wasn't going in deep enough to make a good hinge, so I had to notch the back side as well to make room for the saw. No problem since the Suburban was pulling the tree the other way. I cut an even bigger notch than the felling notch and was working toward the hinge. Then the saw quit.

Last time I had the saw out I realized I was low on gas and made plans to put gas in the can. Before I went to the station, I poured in the 2 cycle oil. Then something happened and I didn't get to the gas station. Then I forgot about it for awhile. When the saw ran out of gas while cutting the oak, I went and found just about a half tankful in the can. Great, I thought, thinking it would be enough to finish the tree, but forgetting about the extra oil in the can. ( <8-()>

Now I've got a really big tree notched on two sides, but just as likely to fall where it was leaning anyway, a dead chain saw and no good gas. Detaching the Suburban seemed risky. If the tree went the opposite way it would crush either the power pole or possibly the travel trailer and the well house. If it was going to fall in the direction the Suburban was pulling, it would have already dropped. I used the maul to drive an axe head in as a wedge, but it didn't seem to do a thing.

Well, I guessed the best thing would be to put it in low gear and see if I could pull the tree over, but I couldn't get a good idea of how much wood was still holding the monster up. Still, I had the rope thirty feet up the tree and that seemed like a lot of leverage. It's getting dark out now and I figure I've got nothing to lose, so (prayed here) I started to pull. A couple of feet, a couple feet more. . . and the rope snaps. In my mind I can see the tree springing back in the opposite direction as the rope snaps and falling on the travel trailer. I don't look back, I just listen. All quiet. Somehow the rebound didn't send the tree the other way. Thanks be to God.

I order all to remain inside the house (the one direction for sure that the crazy thing can't fall) and head to town in a hurry, praying all the way that the tree stays upright, or at least doesn't fall where I don't want it to. I get three thirty foot tow straps and some better wedges and race back. It's darker now and getting cold, but I have no choice but to get the tree down. First priority is to get the Suburban hooked up and pulling in the right direction. This takes a while since the tow straps are harder to toss over the branches than the rope was and I have to watch the tree carefully. After a half hour, I settle for a lower part of the tree, figuring I can pull a lot harder with the new straps than I could with the rope.

The saw is still sputtering pretty badly and it takes cleaning the fouled spark plug a few times before it starts to run right. But now I'm feeling kinda bad for my half-mile neighbors, whose house I can see on the hillside to the Northeast. Would I want to listen to some fool's chainsaw at nine o'clock at night? I opt for driving the two new wedges and my reward is a nice cracking sound as the second wedge goes in.

I get in the Suburban and put it in low gear. The Patient Wife is spotting from a safe distance. I stretch the tow straps. Lots of cracking noises but the tree stays up somehow. I go for a look, not sure how the thing can still be standing, and then pull some more til it finally drops harmlessly with a big whumpf! It looks bigger on the ground, and I figure we'll be burning it for a couple of years unless we get a Minnesota winter next year.

Oak is amazingly strong wood. After inspecting the stump I realize that I have been pulling like mad to bend a hinge that is only about an inch and a half thick by 18 inches or so. Just doesn't seem like enough wood to hold that tree up, much less fight against 7000 lbs of Suburban.

It's hard to realize I am struggling with basic things like getting trees down. I grew up in cities, and the time in Flagstaff was a constant learning experience just to figure out some of the basic skills of rural living - skills I feel like I am having to relearn after just five years of disuse. But hey, the tree is down. The chickens are laying lots of eggs when the temperatures are higher. The cow will be here soon. March is just around the corner, time for planting peas. Lord willing we'll continue to learn, and more importantly, teach what we learn.

Feeding the Heater

I'm up early waiting for the fire to catch before I dampen down the stove and get a few more winks. I've never figured out a way to avoid getting up to feed the stove on really cold nights. In Flagstaff it was much colder than it has been here this winter, but most nights here we can just let it burn down and restart it in the morning if we feel the need. But its cold out this morning and there is even a nice dusting of snow on the ground.

There is some pretty big excitement brewing around here since we are getting a dairy cow in about a week. She's a Jersey who's marginal for use commercially because of severe mastitis in one corner and reduced production in two others. I'm hoping she'll give between 1 to 2 gallons a day, which will be all we really need. We'll probably have to dry her out pretty soon anyway since she's pregnant.

We've been reading the book on keeping your own cow, but we still feel pretty ignorant of all that we need to know What really encourages us is the number of people we know that are already doing what we want to. It seems unbelievable that here in modern America we know five families that have milk cows.