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There’s More Than One Way to Milk a Cow

6 Mar

Believe it or not, there’s more than one way to milk a cow.

You can milk by hand … by sucky-thingy … by robot. Yes, I said robot. If the Jetsons had a dairy farm in space, they would have Rosie out there milking the cows. (I am aware that I’m dating myself with that reference. We could also talk about Lisa Frank notebooks and how emotional it was to watch Littlefoot lose his mother.

But we’re not here to talk about adorable longnecks, we’re here to talk about milking parlors. Let this tide you over until our next foray into the 90s.)

I’m slowly developing proficiency with dairy lingo. My vernacular has been stretched, twisted, and traumatized more times than I can count. Thankfully, one area that doesn’t cause too much emotional distress is milking parlors. Especially when you compare them to companies that sell bull juice.

It’s hard to believe that there was a time when the word “parlor” conjured up mental images of Victorian wingbacks, lace doilies, and Jane Austen novels. After over 2.5 years in this dairy world, my version of  a “parlor” always has cows, milking units, and stainless steel.

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I’ve only recently learned that there is more than one kind of milking parlor.

So how does a farmer decide which type is right for his or her dairy?

Several factors have to be weighed when picking out the perfect parlor, such as herd size, breed of cow, number of available employees, and existing space. Some dairies utilize robotic milking units and have only one fella running the show. Other dairies have 60 cows on each side of the parlor and six full-time milkers per shift.

For this post I tapped into my …ahem… notable artistic skill (just look at the scientific diagram in this post comparing blue whales to a silage pack) to explain the four main types of dairy milking parlors:

  1. Tandem
  2. Parallel
  3. Herringbone
  4. Rotary.

As you will quickly learn, I draw a very realistic aerial view of a cow.

1. Let’s start with a tandem (side opening) parlor.

Tandem

Our north dairy was purchased in 2010 with a tandem parlor. In a tandem parlor, the cows stand horizontal to the milkers. A gate at the entrance of the parlor holds the cow until an empty stall is ready. One benefit of a tandem parlor is that it releases cows individually (versus all at once like in a parallel), so a slow-milking Bessie doesn’t impede the group.

The facility had previously been used to milk water buffalo and we quickly found out that there are some major differences between buffalo and cows. The existing parlor was not working for our bovine beauts. So in February of 2011, Dairy Man undertook a weeklong process to gut and renovate our parlor.

2. We changed to a parallel parlor.

Parallel

During parlor-renovation week, my poor DM worked a total of 120 hours. No, that’s not a typo. 120 hours. Yes, that is out of a possible 168 hours IN an entire week. We’ll talk about that another time.

When all was said and done, we had a shiny new parallel parlor.

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In a parallel parlor, cows stand on an elevated platform at a 90-degree angle with their posteriors pointed at the person milking them. This is the area I refer to as the “kill zone” and I avoid it at all costs. Once I got caught in some horrifying brown spray while visiting DM at work. No, I don’t want to talk about it. PTSD.

Our parlor is a “double 12,” which means that we have 12 milking units on each side of the parlor, allowing us to milk 24 cows at a time.

3. Our home/south dairy has a herringbone parlor.

Herringbone

This is the most common type of parlor in the U.S. for “small” parlors (less than a double 12). Cows hang out on an elevated platform on an angled, or herringbone, fashion. Like the parallel parlor, the milker is staring at a lot of bovine bums.

4. A rotary parlor is the stuff of Dairy Man’s dreams.

Rotary

This drawing is not to scale. Most rotary parlors hold 60-80 cows at a time. But I didn’t want to draw that many cows. So you get 14.

In his dairy world, this type of parlor is the crème de la crème, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, an automated wonderland. In a rotary, or carousel, parlor, the ladies spin around slowly on what is essentially a fancy bovine merry-go-round. This type of parlor is expensive to build and is best-suited for herds of 1000+. Someday, DM, someday.

The fact that I even know what a milking parlor is, much less that I can identify more than one kind, is still shocking to me. DM is so proud.

Dying to know more about the process from MOO to YOU? Check out these posts:

My first explanation of a parlor
A look at milking shells
Milking 3x a day

Someday soon we’ll talk about what happens to the milk after it leaves the cow. Get ready for bulk tanks, milk trucks, and milk processing. Exciting stuff, people.

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Ps: Did you know you can follow the MFW escapades on Facebook? If you’re into cute pictures of border collies and posts about thrilling subjects like manure management, I’m your girl. Like me! I dare you.

12 Cows A-Carolin’

22 Dec

On the twelfth day of Christmas, the Dairy Man gave to me
Twelve cows a-carolin’

We all know that cows can’t sing. Well. They can sing, but their melodious mooing is rarely in tune. Regardless, in the interest of sending you off into the holiday weekend with visions of sugarplum dairies (see what I did there?) dancing in your head, I thought I would let our bovine ladies wrap up the twelve days of Christmas.

Thus, a herd of cows, steers, and even a calf or two are here to sing the twelve verses of my little dairy ditty. May you all have a Christmas full of blessings, family, eggnog, and twinkly lights!

“On the first day of Christmas, the Dairy Man gave to meeee,

Twelve cows a-carolin’
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Eleven (thousand) sliced tires”
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Ten mooing neighbors”
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Nine essential nutrients”
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Eight loads of sand”
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Seven bales of hay”
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Six stripping shanks”

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Fiiiiiiive commodity baaaaaays”

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Four milking shells”
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Three shifts of milking”
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Two orange tractors”
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“Aaaaand a twinkly-liiiight-laden faux treeeeeeeee!”
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A Dairy Merry Christmas to you and yours!

****

Ps: Fun fact about December 22. Did you know that three years ago today a very nervous boy got down on one knee to ask me to be his wife? It’s been a wild adventure full of love, change, and cows ever since! Love ya, Dairy Man.

11 (Thousand) Sliced Tires

21 Dec

On the eleventh day of Christmas, the Dairy Man gave to me
Eleven (thousand) sliced tires

tires

Ten mooing neighbors
Nine essential nutrients
Eight loads of sand
Seven bales of hay
Six stripping shanks
Fiiiiive commodity baaaays
Four milking shells
Three shifts of milking
Two orange tractors
And a twinkly-light-laden faux tree

When we chop corn each year for cow food, DM has two options for storage: ag-bags or silage packs. Ag-bags are easier to seal and maintain; packs are more space efficient. We utilize both methods of storage, but I’m partial to the pack. Maybe it’s because Dairy Man won’t let me climb on the ag-bags. I’m all about storage methods that allow me to scurry around on them like a mountain goat.

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After we’re done building the pack, we cover it with huge sheets of plastic and thousands of sliced tires. Though I enjoy talking about “sliced tires” and imagining them on a pastrami sandwich on rye, DM would prefer I use their proper name: tire sidewalls.

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Tire sidewalls are sliced tires used to hold the plastic down on our silage pack, thus preventing oxygen from seeping into the valuable cow food. The slices come from the sides of old semi truck tires. Semi tires suit our purposes better than car tires (or rubber inner tubes, which, I admit, is what I first thought the black circles were when I first saw a silage pack) because they are heavier and cover more surface area per tire. We don’t use full tires because they hold water and are clumsier to handle.

The tires are ultimately tied together with bale twine to keep them from sliding down the pack. It also makes a perfect stairway for MFW mountain goats.

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In addition to creating a delightful farm jungle gym, sidewalls are an effective and cheap way to keep our cow food fresh and tasty throughout the year.

9 Essential Nutrients

19 Dec

(We’re going to do two days of Christmas today in the name of wrapping this up by Saturday. A certain modern farm wife has some Christmas shopping to finish up…)

On the ninth day of Christmas, the Dairy Man gave to me
Nine essential nutrients

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Eight loads of sand
Seven bales of hay
Six stripping shanks
Fiiiiiive commodity baaaays
Four milking shells
Three shifts of milking
Two orange tractors
And a twinkly-light-laden faux tree

Did you know that the milky goodness our ladies produce every day (“white gold” as DM calls it) is not only delicious and nutritious but contains NINE essential nutrients? That’s more than I can say about other imitation versions of milk you see above. #Snark. But seriously, everything we do here on the farm, from manure management to keeping the ladies cool, all works towards the production of pure, healthy milk.

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The nine essential nutrients you’ll find in our milk are:

  1. Calcium: The most famous ingredient in our milk concoction; helps to build strong bones and chompers
  2. Protein: Protein isn’t just found in tasty steaks. Milk is packed full of the stuff, which can build and repair muscle tissue and serve as a source of energy
  3. Potassium: Regulates the body’s fluid balance and helps maintain normal blood pressure
  4. Phosphorus: Feeling sluggish? Phosphorus strengthens bones and generates energy in our cells
  5. Vitamin D: If you don’t want to look like an overly-tanned, leathery Real Housewife of New Jersey, you’ll want to find a way to get your Vit D that doesn’t involve the sun. Milk is a great way to get it, promoting the absorption of calcium in the body and enhancing bone strength
  6. Vitamin A: This nutrient helps to maintain normal vision and skin and is important for the immune system
  7. Vitamin B12: A fancy little vitamin that helps to maintain healthy red blood cells and nerve cells
  8. Riboflavin: Aka Vitamin B12, but Riboflavin is SO much more fun to say. Helps to convert food into energy
  9. Niacin: Metabolizes sugars and fatty acids. So if you MUST eat four donuts, make sure you wash them down with a tall glass of milk. Yes, I’m a doctor.

DM says that milk is the perfect beverage. He’s a little biased (and we go through a RIDICULOUS amount of milk in our house), but he’s not wrong. According to the National Dairy Council, you don’t even have to drown yourself in milk to get the health benefits. Just one 8-ounce glass of the cold white stuff provides as much vitamin D as 3.5 ounces of cooked salmon, as much calcium as 2 1/4 cups of broccoli, as much potassium as a small banana, as much vitamin A as two baby carrots, and as much phosphorus as a cup of kidney beans!

milk

That’s practically a salad. Even Santa knows that you can’t beat the white stuff.

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4 Milking Shells

12 Dec

On the fourth day of Christmas, the Dairy Man gave to me
4: Four milking shells

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3: Three shifts of milking
2: Two orange tractors
1: And a twinkly-light-laden faux tree

The Dairy Man and I struggled to find a way to phrase this one. I wanted to call them “the four thingys that suck the milk of out the cow,” but DM didn’t appreciate my lack of technical phraseology. So, when I say “four milking shells,” I’m talking about the four “arms” of the milking cluster/claw that go to the four teats of a cow. Got that? Warning, if you are offended by the word “teat,” you’ll want to stop reading now. It’s frightening how accustomed I have become to the word. It may even be used at the dinner table. What has become of me?

Anyway. In the past, milking a cow required a stool, a bucket, and a good aim. Modern milking is faster, more efficient, and utilizes a lot of fancy “thingys” …er… machines. Get ready for a quick and dirty explanation of the milking machine. Our parlor has a total of 24 milking units (clusters, claws, thingys, etc). Each of the four “arms” on the unit has a shell with a liner inside.

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The milker (human) starts the milking process by cleaning each cow’s teats with a teat dip to kill any microorganisms. It’s all about clean milk. Duh. After the milker (human) wipes off the dip, he/she attaches the milker (machine) to the four quarters of the cow. Pushing a button turns on a vacuum that opens and closes a rubber liner inside each of the four shells. This pulsating movement makes the milking process very relaxing for our ladies.

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The milker (machine) automatically detaches when the meters sense that the flow rate has decreased. Before the cow heads back to the barn, she gets a post-milking iodine teat treatment that includes a skin conditioner. It’s basically lotion. Yes, some might say that a trip to the milking parlor is a little bit like a trip to the spa for those udders.

After the ladies leave the parlor, they feel as light as a feather and bound back to the barn to eat, nap, eat, poop, eat, socialize, and eat.

3 Shifts of Milking

11 Dec

On the third day of Christmas, the Dairy Man gave to me
3: Three shifts of milking

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2: Two orange tractors
1: And a twinkly-light-laden faux tree

On our dairy, we milk the bovine ladies three times a day: 8 a.m., 4 p.m., and 12 midnight. Each shift runs for approximately 3-4 hours and each cow spends an average of 15 minutes in the parlor.

While the cows are hanging out in the parlor, we are fluffing up their sand beds, cleaning their stalls, and piling up some food for a post-milking snack. The Dairy Man milks three times a day–or 3X as the experts say–because it increases overall milk production and keeps our cows more comfortable (less milk to carry around in those udders).

And did I mention that occasionally they even get to wear Christmas hats in the parlor?

Moo-ry Christmas!

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When it reeks to high heaven…

11 Apr

Marrying the Dairy Man has inexplicably changed my vernacular, my vocabulary, and the stories I relay without a second thought. I am often shocked at the things that come out of my mouth. Seconds after nonchalantly finishing a sentence with, “…and that’s how the cow broke out of the barn,” I realize, with startling clarity, that I am slowly becoming desensitized to the things city slickers find abnormal.

I chat about feed prices. I regale mildly interested coworkers with tales of mischievous cattle. I utter words like “artificial insemination,” “TMR,” and “manure” without skipping a beat. It’s shocking. Half the time I don’t even realize I’m talking about something counter-Jess until I’m around a friend who knew me before I moved to the country. Their look of horror/shock/confusion provokes a moment of self reflection—“Um, how the heck do I know that!?”

I hope to cling to my urban roots for as long as I can. I don’t want to lose my knowledge of the Chicago subway system or how to be an aggressive city driver, but as I spend more time out here, it’s inevitable that I will slowly morph more deeply into my role as a farmer’s wife.

This brings me to something I never EVER thought I would be discussing: cow poop. Or, for those with more delicate sensibilities, manure.

These are the facts: We have cows. Cows eat food. As with all animals, food has to be digested and then *ahem* disposed of. Our hundreds of bovine ladies spend a good majority of their day engaged in this disposal process. When the girls are in the milking parlor doing their thing, our employees drive a skidster (small loader) through the barn and push the latest offerings out into a manure pit.

Our dairy has several small pits. Please do not confuse them for ponds or reflecting pools. Not even the ducks would make that mistake.

The Dairy Man’s father’s dairy (also known as the home dairy) has a massively ginormous pit.

This baby is the size of a soccer stadium and can hold FOUR MILLION gallons of manure. Back in 2008, it was a thrilling addition to the farm.

Each winter, the cavernous pit fills to the brim. In the spring,  we (as always, “we” is a loose pronoun) spend a couple of frenzied weeks emptying it out.

Typically our manure hauling just involves a pit, a pump, and a tractor. But during the weeks I’ve dubbed “Manure Mania,” we actually bring in trucks to expedite the hauling process. This allows us to haul a greater quantity of the smelly stuff in a shorter period of time (because, after all, five trucks can drive much faster than one tractor). The Dairy Man hauls manure throughout the year, but there are only a couple of weeks in which we actually try to empty out the pits.

During the mania of manure, there are four steps.

1: Pump the manure from the pits using a tractor.

2: Fill a truck and drive it to one of our fields (we’ve only got 1100 acres to choose from – oy vey).

3: Pump stinky liquid from truck to manure spreader.

4: Drive the tractor through the field spreading a delightful fairy dust of … poo.

Rather than simply throw manure on the fields, we inject. Oh yes. A futuristic little contraption on the back of the manure spreader injects the organic fertilizer directly into the soil.

This process not only cuts down on the odor, but it injects nutrients directly into the soil, creating an optimum environment for our future corn babies.

Waste not, want not. The cows are making it and our crops will love it.

Now I just have to resist the urge to whip out this information at dinner parties.

“Boy cows.”

20 Sep

A few weekends ago, our old friend Josh came to visit the dairy. Amongst his many other wonderful traits and skills (sorry, ladies, he’s taken), Josh knows how to film and edit video.  As someone who just discovered the panoramic setting on my normal camera, this skill always amazes me. Josh makes informational videos for his adorable nieces. What a guy. And really, all kiddos should know about cows.

Josh made two videos, a “boy cow” version and a “girl cow” version, the former of which you can view below. There’s no such thing as a boy cow (it’s either a steer or a bull), but that’s how Josh introduced them to his little nieces. It’s an easier transition. Anyhoo. The Dairy Man was running late for the tour that day, so I’m the star …er… narrator of the video. My information is almost always correct—not bad for a gal who didn’t know an iota about farming until she met her Dairy Man.

As I explain, steers are male cows raised for beef. They differ from bulls in that they don’t have the parts necessary to perform bull-ish duties. We have a bunch of steers just up the hill from our house; they enjoy leering at us and mooing… all the time.


So, without further ado, enjoy this brief video introducing you to the dapper gentlemen on the dairy: the steers. They are incredibly friendly and love to lick things. And people. And cameras.

(*Disclaimer, after watching this video, the Dairy Man informed me that the steers are more like 15-18 months old. Not two years. Close, but no cigar.)

Moo.

Summer on the farm.

30 Jun

I’m back.

No, I haven’t been trampled by a cow.  I haven’t moved to a foreign country, joined the circus, or lost both of my thumbs in a tragic accident.

It’s been a little bit of procrastination, a little bit of family tragedy, and a little bit of summer, but I’m back.

Procrastination and summer fever can happen to anyone, but the family tragedy portion of my recent life deserves mentioning. Since mid-April, two of my Dairy Man’s grandparents have passed away. We acutely feel the loss. I’ve wanted to write about our wonderful Grandma F or vivacious Grandpa Z, but I can’t seem to find enough words to describe their love and faith. They were amazing people. I was a lucky girl to even get to know them. We rejoice to know that both are celebrating in glory, but our family parties this summer will be missing some important people. While the loss of our precious grandparents clouds my psyche a bit, the summer soldiers on.

This week has been a “slow” week for my Dairy Man—in a world where 50 hours is slow—and I’ve taken full advantage of the chance to spend time with him before 10 p.m. But, as always in farming, this is the calm before the storm. In a few days, second cutting of hay begins, and it is CRAZINESS. I’m talking tractors and trucks out in fields at 2 a.m. craziness; no showers for a week craziness; meals that consist entirely of things the Dairy Man can eat in one minute or less craziness. I’m not looking forward to it. All I ask, dear hay, is that you wait until after the fourth of July.

So. While I’m still feeling tranquil and full of good humor, I thought this would be a good time to show you what summer looks like on the farm. As someone who gets all tingly about tall buildings and taxi cabs, I never thought I would find the claustrophobic openness of the country to be beautiful. But I stand corrected. I am a human being full of wisdom and growth.

But on to the prettiness.

This is the view from our back deck. Beautiful, right? Even the most fervent city slicker has to admire that big blue sky. I love sitting out here with a glass of Cab and a husband. Even the cat likes it.

Here are the cow dormitories, er, I mean barns. Dor-moo-tories? Anyone? Oh boy, I need to get more sleep. And better jokes.

But not all of our cows live in the barns. The Dairy Man has moved our dry cows (a.k.a. the pregnant cows) out into the pasture.  Surprisingly, they don’t suffer from mood swings or crave chocolate ice cream with pickles, but they do love to sunbathe. And eat. Oh my, do they eat.

As temperatures rise in west Michigan, the Dairy Man spends a lot of time making sure the ladies stay cool and comfortable. Since a beach day is out of the question (we just can’t afford that many flip flops and scuba masks), it’s all about the sand. Each barn has several rows of “free stalls,” which give the cows a cool place to lounge in the sand. So, life as a cow really IS like a day at the beach.


The beautiful weather makes a tramp around the farm on a warm evening nearly irresistible. I even managed to coax a feline companion to join me!

Until he spotted a baby woodchuck to meow at…

…And, after chasing it into a hole in the ground, decided that he would not be joining me for the rest of the stroll. Heaven knows he had an exhausting day at the office, sleeping, eating, chasing bumblebees, and sleeping. A cat needs his rest.

After a long day at work and the proceeding 80 minute drive home, there is something profoundly peaceful about my place in nestled in the hills of dairy country. I still think that skyscrapers and asphalt are sexy, but I’m beginning to love green pastures and blue skies. Besides, we have our own skyscrapers.

Step into my parlor.

23 Mar

An introduction to the life of a dairy farm wife wouldn’t be complete without getting to know the parlor.

No, I’m not talking about a sitting room with Victorian wingbacks and frilly curtains. I’m talking about a parlor with swinging gates, long rubber tubes, and a thick layer of warm manure on the concrete floor.

As you may have surmised, a large part of this whole dairy operation is milking the cows. This takes place in a milking parlor. A city slicker like me had little idea how dairy farming actually works. My image of a straw-hatted farmer on a three-legged stool milking each cow by hand is vastly outdated. Between two facilities, my Dairy Man and his father milk over 800 cows. The idea of milking by hand is laughable.

So, let’s step into the parlor.

Our bovine ladies are herded into the milking parlor twice a day. My Dairy Man and his employees coax the cows into their places and hook them up to robotic, spider-like machines that act as vacuums, pulling the milk into several large tanks in another room. After they have been milked, the large animals independently tramp back into the barn to spend the rest of their day eating and making more manure.

And there you have it. That’s where milk comes from. I have shared a little piece of my knowledge that didn’t exist in any form before I met the Dairy Man.

Sometimes it’s alarming how much space in my brain is occupied by all things cow. And how unfazed I now am by the smell of manure.

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