Modern Farm Wife

The 12 Days of Christmas, Dairy Style

12/07/201205/03/2013by Modern Farm Wife14 Comments

Yesterday I unintentionally wore green earrings and red shoes at the same time. It wasn’t long before someone in my office said, “Red and green, huh? Somebody must be ready for Christmas!”

Embarrassing. But um, yes. Somebody is ready for Christmas. I’m downright jolly, even if it’s just accidental.

More evidence?

I’ve been listening to Christmas music since November 21 (thus breaking my rule to “never be one of those pitiful people who rock out to Trans-Siberian Orchestra before Thanksgiving”).
I am hopelessly addicted to candy cane Hersey Kisses (to the point where I’m bringing them to meetings, just begging coworkers to save me from myself).
I am compensating for our faux tree at home with a bevvy of pine-scented candles (our house smells like a forest, and it is awesome).

I love the holiday season. And while I’m no Andy Williams, I wanted to take a stab at adding a yuletide carol to the existing glut.

So over the next two weeks, I will be feeding you verses of my shiny new song. If nothing else, at least it will be better than “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas,” right? The bar is pretty low there.

Thus I give you:

The 12 Days of Christmas, Dairy Style*
(*It’s like Gangham Style without the dancing and foam. Oh, and there are a lot more cows.)

On the first day of Christmas, the Dairy Man gave to me:
A twinkly-light-laden faux tree.

I love our tree. It’s fluffy, realistic, and doesn’t shed needles. But this year I made the mistake of Googling “how to string Christmas lights on a tree” and found my way to the Better Homes & Gardens website. I should have known better. As the Dairy Man says: nothing good comes of reading BH&G.

Last year I just draped the lights on the outer branches of our tree. This year, I tried the BH&G method. I quickly realized that we were going to need more lights.

Oops. Speficially, three times as many lights as last year. DM wasn’t a happy camper.

Maybe I should have stuck with the old method, but I am loving the extra twinkle coming from inside the tree this year. And, DM, can you really put a price on Christmas spirit?

Family

Conference Season in Dairyland

11/20/201203/19/2013by Modern Farm Wife8 Comments

Alas and alack. Our little hamlet of Smalltown, Michigan received a light dusting of the white stuff last week.

I can no longer ignore the fact that it is late November and the cold season is upon us.

I despise winter; I really do. Don’t get me wrong—I love a little snow between Thanksgiving and Christmas to get me in the mood for tree-trimming, egg-nogging, and fa-la-la-ing. But I would be perfectly happy if it all melted on January 1 and we jumped into spring. For me, winter means freezing temperatures, gray skies, pasty white skin, treacherous driving, and a puppy that suffers from cabin fever whenever he’s not playing in the snow.

But there is one good thing about this time of year (besides peppermint stick ice cream): I have a lot more QT with the dairy man. That’s “Quality Time,” Mom. Don’t get all weird on me.

After the frantic pace of fall harvest settles down, we enter the dairy’s “slow” season. Sure, DM may occasionally have to run up to the barn at 4 a.m. to fix a milk tank, but he tends to work shorter days at a slower speed. The world is our oyster and we have nothing but time to spend together.

Except for the conferences.

That’s right. Just when I’m getting used to eating dinner before 8 p.m. and having a housecleaning partner on Saturdays, the dairy farm conference season begins.

Back in the days of three-legged stools and buggies, farming was a relatively isolated profession. Until I met the dairy man, I thought this was still the case. I would have laughed at the prospect of a bunch of farmers gathering at a two-day summit in a hotel multipurpose room to discuss “the latest on carbohydrates, starch digestibility, shredlageTM, and snaplage for dairy cows.”

But these conferences exist. Farmers like mine are puttering all over the country in the winter to learn, network, brainstorm, and tour each others’ dairies. Being married to a dairy farmer has made me realize how large and collaborative this industry really is.

My DM reads dozens of dairy magazines and checks stock and commodities prices on a daily basis.

He also closely follows immigration legislation and yes, spends his winter going to dairy conferences in locales from Cleveland to Las Vegas.

Last year the DM spent three days at the Bellagio in Vegas. He saw David Copperfield. He ate expensive steak. He socialized with other “elite dairy producers” and talked cows 24/7. Rough life, eh?

I think the dairy man enjoys going conferences because he believes that if our dairy isn’t moving forward, it is moving backward. He comes back home from each meeting bursting with new ideas, innovative solutions, and a whole lot of swag from …ahem… semen distributors.

I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that the dairy man won’t sit still, even in the dreary days of winter.

This is the guy who couldn’t even kick back on a beach in Mexico during our honeymoon. While I was sipping fruity drinks and taking long naps in the sun, my dear farmer spent most of the week poring through dairy magazines, drawing barn plans, and solving complicated math problems.

That man doesn’t know how to relax. I’ve seen him jump out of a nap with a start, scribble something on a sheet of paper, and immediately fall back asleep.

There’s no such thing as winter hibernation for my farmer. Conference season is upon us. But he loves it.

As for me, I think it would be great if our dairy cooperative would hold a conference in Hawaii … or the Bahamas. I’ve heard that you can learn a lot about dairy cows with a coconut beverage in your hand. Especially if you bring your wife. Trust me.

Family

Thankful November

11/08/201203/19/2013by Modern Farm Wife6 Comments

Everyone keeps telling me that life speeds up when you get older. This terrifies me. Because life seems to be moving pretty darn quickly already.

HOW is it already the second week of November? I was flabbergasted to see snow (not in my neck of Michigan, thank goodness) on the morning weather report. Gross. We will discuss my extreme revulsion to the white stuff another time. As the Dairy Man man charitably puts it: I, like a good red wine, don’t chill well.

As my brain shifts into winter/holiday mode, I can’t help but wonder “where does the time go?” Imagine me, old and creaky, waving my cane at you. You young whippersnappers just don’t understand. Dark skies at 4:30 p.m. make me feel positively geriatric.

The Dairy Man and I have been running around like headless chickens since mid-September. Between corn harvest, my crazy work schedule, weekends traveling, and pesky things like eating, sleeping, and breathing, the holidays will almost be a much-needed respite. Comparatively. We’ll see.

As I try to catch my breath from several months spent perpetually in motion, I decided to jump on a Facebook bandwagon of daily thankfulness. If nothing else, I need to be reminded that life is beautiful and positive.

Each day this November, I am posting one thing for which I’m thankful on my MFW Facebook page. I will do my best to avoid being sappy or cliché. Though I am thankful for my husband, family, dog, friends …yawn, gag, yadda yadda yadda… I promise to make it more interesting than that. I am thankful for everything from a swell husband to tangy cherry salsa.

I invite you to follow all of the posts going forward, but for today let’s bring you up to speed:

Nov 1: I am thankful for a husband who milks cows, pretends to care about serial commas, occasionally forgets to shake hair-filled towels out before putting them in the wash, and almost loves football as much as I do.

Nov 2: I am thankful for family members that drive all the way to our house in the boondocks to hang out with my furry child, Jersey the border collie. I’m even ok with the fact that they might love him more than me. Woof.

Nov 3: I am thankful for cows. They make delicious milk, provide a soundtrack of mooing to my domicile, and help us bring home the bacon. Figuratively.

Nov 4: I am thankful that the DM and I have four grandparents here on earth and four in glory. We’ve been blessed to have such strong, intelligent, courageous, and loving role models. Their legacy of faith, perseverance, good humor, and Dutch ham buns, is an inspiration.

Nov 5: I am thankful for Cherry Republic salsa. My complete lack of self-control forms a direct correlation between cherry salsa and a throbbing tummy ache, but that’s the price of love, baby.

Nov 6: I am thankful for laughter. Nothing cures stress, unhappiness, distaste for cold weather, or a wicked head cold quite like the ability to let out a big belly laugh. Or giddy guffaw. Or cheerful chortle. Or soothing snort. Today, I will LAUGH.

Nov 7: I am thankful for karaoke tracks on YouTube. Without these great backups to my renditions of “Killing Me Softly,” “I Believe In a Thing Called Love,” and “Any Way You Want It,” what would I do when the Dairy Man is working late or away at a conference? Certainly not leave the comfort and privacy of my house to actually karaoke in public.

Nov 8: I am thankful for our home. Sure, the DM and I spent the majority of 2011 painting wood paneling, we can roll marbles down the slope of our kitchen floor, and we still have no heat upstairs, but this house has evolved into a place full of warmth and love. I’m even thankful that I can see cows out my dining room window.

**Update 12/12/12: I will now add the rest of November to this post for posterity!**

Nov 9: I am thankful for a safe and clean place to sleep, electricity, running water, and heat. It’s very easy to take these simple things for granted, but today I can’t stop thinking about the people who are going without. If you are thankful for these basic necessities, consider donating to relief efforts on the East Coast and around the world! http://www.redcross.org/charitable-donations

Nov 10: I am thankful for NyQuil. Without it I would probably hack up a lung in my sleep and keep DM up all night. Ah, modern medicine.

Nov 11: I am thankful for the men and women of our armed forces who serve and have served to give us freedom. Happy Veterans Day!

Nov 12: I am thankful for winter. Believe it or not, this cold, snowy season does bring one positive thing: more time with the Dairy Man! Although, now that things have slowed down, he does scooter off to dairy meetings and conferences more than I’d like. What do they have to confer about!? Oh farm life.

Nov 13: I am thankful for a job that is fulfilling, challenging, and allows me to write for a living. If only yoga pants were socially acceptable work-wear.

Nov 14: I am thankful for the unconditional love, furry cuddles, and slobbery kisses I receive from this little guy, aka Jersey the dog!

Nov 15: I am thankful for two siblings who share my odd sense of humour, provide me with delicious baked goods (because I do not bake), usually listen to the advice of their big sister, and have been in my corner through the worst and best times of my life.

Nov 16: I am thankful to have grown up next to one of the most beautiful natural wonders in the country: Lake Michigan!

Nov 17: I am thankful for a powerful vacuum cleaner. Without it, the DM and I would be living knee-deep in puppy fur. Darn border collies.

Nov 18: I am thankful for friends who buy me huge bags of quinoa at Costco because it is HIGHWAY ROBBERY to buy the tiniest little box at our local grocery store. #smalltownwoes

Nov 19: I am thankful for Andy Williams’ soulful yuletide crooning. Yes, this does mean Pandora’s box is open. Christmas music listening begins today! Not ashamed.

Nov 20: I am thankful for a hilarious, fabulous group of girlfriends in this small town. We laugh, we cry, we pray, we shop, we drink wine, we travel, we make life in the boondocks awesome.

Nov 21: I am thankful for the fact that I am only responsible for bringing a salad to Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. Family, get ready for couscous salad with roasted red peppers, chickpeas, feta, and lots of other deliciousness!

Nov 22: I am thankful for my family. If you ever meet this band of oddballs, you’ll understand ME a whole lot better. We are loud, passionate, and will probably interrupt you a dozen times. We will feed you into submission. We give human voices to stuffed animals. We relate every single life experience to Seinfeld. We take annual Christmas photos that are legen …wait for it… dary.

Nov 23: I am thankful for a loving God who continually reminds me that, despite my fears, doubts, and disappointments, he is in control.

Nov 24: I am thankful that –after completely restringing the lights THREE times– the tree is finally decorated! Let the holidays begin.

Nov 25: I am thankful for all of the “little” things that are so easy to take for granted: like a reliable vehicle that allows me to travel to work and to visit my family, even in the snow (yay for 4WD!); a working furnace that keeps our drafty old farmhouse warm; the ability to buy delicious, healthy food; a steady job that provides a good living and utilizes my strengths; a strong healthy body that allows me to walk, talk, eat, dance, and hug those I love.

Nov 26 : I am thankful for my in-laws. When I married my wonderful Dairy Man, I also married into a truly fabulous Dairy Fam. They accept me unquestioningly as one of their daughters/sisters (sometimes too much – I really, reeeeally don’t need to talk about artificial insemination at the dinner table), put up with my opposition to getting dirty and obsession with trendy clothing, and get a kick out of watching me morph into a modern farm wife!

Nov 27: I am thankful for Double Stuf Oreos. Trans fat never tasted so good. And, as an adult, I am finally allowed to lick the frosting. (Yes, Dad, I’m playing with my food. Nanner nanner.)

Nov 28: I am thankful for the Internet. Seriously. Back in the days of yore, a farm wife such as myself would have been enormously isolated. I might have sadly wandered the grassy plains with only a musket, a dog, and the forlorn wind to keep me company. But thanks to modern technology, aka the Internet, my little hamlet in Smalltown, Mich. is completely connected to the rest of the world. I can Skype with friends across the country, shop online, stalk Facebook pictures of old high school buddies, stay updated on the latest trends via Pinterest, share cute pictures of Jersey the dog with my family, and participate in a lively community of bloggers. The world is a lot smaller than it used to be—let country folk rejoice!

Nov 29: I am thankful for YOU – the people (grandmas, neighbors, and strangers alike) who read my blog and make me feel like I’m not crazy for writing 632 words about cow manure. The blog has proven to be a creative outlet, coping mechanism, and great way to enter a wide community behind the fences of our dairy farm. I love your comments and hearing your side of things. You all are awesome. I wish I could mail you some Double Stuf Oreos to prove just how awesome.

Nov 30: I am thankful that there are only 30 days in November! Phew. 🙂

Family

A Hairy Situation: How My Husband Almost Destroyed my Washer

10/17/201203/15/2016by Modern Farm Wife14 Comments

Three important facts you need to know before I begin this rant:

The Dairy Man has a habit of leaving dirty towels around the house.
The Dairy Man cuts his own hair.
I love my husband.

Let’s begin, shall we?

As the wife of a farmer, most household tasks fall to me. This was one of the first things I had to accept when we got married. It’s not because I’m a guileless victim to my gender, I just happen to have more time. And frankly my standards are higher. If left to his own devices, the DM would live in squalor and eat nothing but Frosted Mini Wheats. At least that’s what I suspect.

One of the Dairy Man’s more irksome habits is leaving a trail of items—socks, flannel shirts, shoes, towels—in his wake as he putters around the house. I always allocate time on laundry day to collect these wayward articles.

I was on such a mission on Monday. After tracking down all of the dirty towels in the house, including an innocuous green towel balled up next to the washing machine, I started a load of wash while I made dinner. I was feeling good. Productive. Like a modern day Marsha Brady with a full-time job and a college degree. When the washing machine timer dinged, I headed to the back room to throw the towels into the dryer.

As soon as I opened the door, I knew something was terribly wrong. The inside of the machine looked like a bunny had exploded, leaving little piles of brown fur everywhere.
______________________
Before I go on, let’s back up.

A few days ago, the DM decided to give himself a haircut. He laid a towel on the bathroom floor and went to town on his head with an electric shaver. After he was properly shorn, DM rolled the hair clippings up into the towel and headed to the back room.

MFW: Babe, make sure you shake out that towel outside before you put it in your hamper.

DM: I will!

MFW: Well, it’s just that last time you balled the towel up in the bottom of your hamper and I washed it and hair got everywhe…

DM: (Interrupts) I got it! I’ll take care of it. ______________________

Fast forward to the next day. Me. Standing in front of my washer. Horrified.

The DM listened; he didn’t put the hair-filled towel in his hamper. He rolled it up, placed it next to the washer, and thought “I’ll take care of that later.”

Except he forgot.

I spent the next 10 minutes wiping piles of brown hair from the washer drum, filter, and rubber seal. The hair-covered towels were thrown into the dryer and I stopped their tumbling every few minutes to empty the filter. When all was said and done, it looked like a small furry animal had taken up residence in my trash can.

Kids: marriage is always glamorous, logical, and grown-up. Wait, no. I lied. It can be messy, frustrating, and silly.

But thankfully, even under all of the hair, there is still a lot of love.

XOXO,

MFW, chinchilla wrangler

Family

Corn Harvest In 6 Steps

10/11/201202/11/2016by Modern Farm Wife17 Comments

Well, it finally happened. I dug my fluffy winter coat out of storage yesterday. Alas and alack; it’s cold in Michiganland. I know this weather is nothing compared to what I can look forward to in December, but I’m waving the white flag on sandals, short sleeves, and coatless workdays.

The cool fall air signifies the end of a lot of things: corn harvest, watering the grass, suntans, dinner on the deck, shaving my legs. It also signifies that I absolutely must fill you in on the corn-ish happenings around the farm in the last month or so.

Thus, before I launch into a late-fall tirade of apple cider, football games, and pasty white Dutch skin, let’s take a look in the rear-view mirror to corn harvest. I give you:

Corn Harvest in 6 Steps
Step 1: Accept sleep deprivation and bad wife-ery
Step 2: Bring in the harvester and chop! that! corn!
Step 3: Build the pack (and fill the bags)
Step 4: Cover the pack
Step 5: Harvest shelled (high moisture) corn
Step 6: Take a nap

Step 1: Accept sleep deprivation and bad wife-ery
My Dairy Man gets in around midnight each night during corn harvest. Between you and me, I don’t even notice anymore. During my first corn harvest, I would abruptly spring into consciousness as soon as the DM got home. This year—my third corn harvest—I found it startlingly easy to go (and stay) asleep without the husband next to me. Some call it bad wife-ery, I call it a coping mechanism. After over two years of marriage in the shadow of farming, I’ve gotten pretty good at sleeping through late nights, 3 a.m. phone calls, and power outages. As for the Dairy Man? He entered a zombie-like state somewhere in the second week of harvest and didn’t snap out of it until late September.

Step 2: Bring in the harvester and chop! that! corn!
Imagine that last part being as exciting as “move! that! bus!” It’s Extreme Home Makeover: Cornfield Edition. Each year we hire an outside company to chop our corn. Max the friendly chopper and his intrepid crew drive a machine called a harvester through the fields. Trucks follow along to collect the chopped corn.

A forage harvester (a.k.a. silage harvester, forager, or chopper) chops the entire corn plant into silage. Corn silage is just a fancy way to say “chopped up corn.” And I realized this year that a lot of farmers put silAGE into a siLO. Whoa. Do you think that’s where the word “silo” came from? I think yes. Silage in the silo. Don’t underestimate the gravity of this realization. When I finally figured it out, you would think I had invented butter. It was like the day I realized cows give milk because they’d just had a calf. Earth-shattering stuff.

Anyway. The chopper mows down the corn and blows the silage into trucks. The trucks drive from the field to the dairy and dump the silage on the PACK.

Step 3: Build the pack (and fill the bags)
After the trucks dump their loads of silage, tractors are waiting to push the piles up the pack (how’s that for alliteration?).

We squirrel away corn silage in two ways: giant packs and tubular ag bags. Ag bags are easier to seal and maintain; packs are more space efficient. This year we put up two large packs AND filled a bunch of ag bags. We like to keep things interesting.

Last year I explained the process of packing corn silage. Each pack this year contains almost 7,000 tons of silage and took approximately a week to build, compress, and cover.

Can’t get your head around 7,000 tons? For reference, the average adult blue whale weighs around 150 tons. Just imagine 46 blue whales flopping around behind our dairy. Now there’s a mental image not often associated with dairy farming. I’ve included this artistic and highly-scientific diagram to help you make the jump:

Between packs and bags, we put up approximately 16,000 tons of corn silage this year, or 106 whales. (No whales were harmed in the making of this example; we released them into Lake Michigan.)

Corn silage from harvest 2012 will feed our bovine ladies for the next year. And parents complain about the cost of feeding their kids. Geeze. You can’t buy Canned Cow Corn at Costco.

Step 4: Cover the pack
After a pack is built and compacted, we cover the entire monstrosity with huge pieces of thick plastic and thousands of sliced tires.

The tires hold the plastic down and ensure that no moisture or oxygen gets into the pile. They also serve as stepping stones if certain modern farm wives decide to climb to the top of the pack. King of the mountain, anyone? Just don’t fall into the manure pit.

We will uncover the pack bit by bit over the next year to feed our ladies.

Step 5: Harvest shelled (high moisture) corn
This step is currently in process on our dairy. A few fields have purposefully remained unscathed during Corn Chop 2012.

The corn stalks in these fields are left to completely dry out and the Dairy Man goes through a few weeks later to harvest shelled corn. While corn silage is comprised of the entire corn plant, shelled corn is just the kernels. Both silage and shells are used in our feed rations. And both types get tracked into my house on DM’s boots. I promise to drop some thrilling shelled-corn-knowledge on you in my next post. BAM.

Step 6: Take a nap
When the corn is harvested, the cover crops are planted, and all of the cows are starting to grow their furry winter coats, reacquaint yourself with family, friends, and puppies. At long last, my Dairy Man will slip into hibernation. Winter is almost here.

Family

Wallowing, Vegging, and Dogging

09/25/201202/11/2016by Modern Farm Wife9 Comments

All right, friends. I’ve failed you.

I’m sure you’ve noticed. All of the people who read this blog faithfully (there are at least two – thanks, Mom and Dad) have undoubtedly noticed the lack of cow, corn, and canine tales. I’ve still been posting plenty of pictures of Jersey the dog to my five lucky followers on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram, but I have neglected the written word.

“Not cool, MFW,” you might say. “Man cannot live on ‘Omg! Lol! What a cute puppy!’ alone. He needs cows. Machinery. Detailed farming explanations.”

That’s not going to happen today. I blame corn harvest and self pity. Plus, I’ve already donned my sweatpants. Nothing productive can happen while wearing sweatpants.

I shouldn’t complain too much. At least I’m not the one out there farming from 6 a.m. to midnight. My Dairy Man amazes and exhausts me. I would be a terrible (and excruciatingly whiny) farmer.

During corn harvest the Dairy Man leaves at sunup and doesn’t crawl into bed until I’m long asleep. I’m a lone wolf for a few weeks and this phenom plummets me into bachelor-like behaviors. I eat cereal and hummus for dinner, walk around the house in my skivvies, and watch an embarrassing number of Say Yes to the Dress episodes (Netflix streaming will be the death of me). There is no one to judge me or the socks I haven’t picked up yet. A few husband-free weeks would make some gals hyper-productive, but I tend to go the other way. Rather than write about corn, I grab a giant container of Greek yogurt and a large glass of wine, plop in front of the tube, and feel sorry for myself.

I also blame my writer’s fatigue. I write (and write and write) at my snazzy new job all.day.long. Press releases, articles, web copy, marketing copy, tweets. I love it. It’s challenging, frustrating, exhausting, and invigorating. But when I get home at night, the thought of hunkering down at my computer to do more writing makes me twitch. It also makes me eat a lot of salsa. Or maybe that’s the guilt.

Speaking of guilt, I’ve got a depressed puppy on my hands. Jersey the dog has been spending a lot of time in the house these past few weeks. He usually goes to work with the Dairy Man, but not during corn harvest. Jersey gets carsick in the tractor and DM doesn’t like to have him around all of the heavy machinery. When I should be blogging, I’m giving the furry child my undivided attention. We walk, we play fetch, we learn new tricks, we take naps on the couch, we guffaw over dog-shaming.com, we eat a lot of peanut butter, we ogle at the neighbor’s heifers.

Between wallowing, vegging, and dogging, when’s a girl to do anything productive?

Next week I will drop some thrilling corn knowledge on you. I promise. For tonight, there is a furry fellow and a glass of red calling my name.

Thank goodness harvest is almost over.

Family

Two Years of Love

08/28/201203/15/2016by Modern Farm Wife11 Comments

Sometimes it seems like I’ve been married to the Dairy Man forever.

Easy now, I mean that in a good way! It’s like “I wish the summer could go on forever,” “I could eat chips and salsa forever,” “This Glee marathon is going on forever.” It’s a positive thing. I feel blessed to share each day with my best friend. Things like college, dating, and awkward AIM chats seem to be eons away from this grown-up married life.

Even our wedding is becoming a distant memory. It’s this old brain of mine. But, believe you me, it was a great day.

Today is a great day as well: our two year anniversary. I’ve shared an abundance of mush on days such as our one year anniversary, Valentine’s Day, and the dairy man’s birthday, so I’ll keep things succinct.

I love that man desperately. I’m so happy to be married to him. He makes me better and our lives are full of joy.

So for today, let’s look back on those two crazy kids getting hitched. (A.k.a. I lured you into my living room with cookies and suddenly pulled out the wedding album. You look for an exit, but the cookie is so, so good. Maybe just a few pictures…)

Here’s our wedding day in 10 pictures.

We got ready.

We saw each other for the first time.

We polka-ed with our bridal party.

We realized why people use skinny candles to light the unity candle (thick candles = you’re just dripping hot wax into the unity candle. Curses!)

We shared our first kiss as husband and wife.

We drove away in the Dairy Man’s flashy yellow Chevelle.

We spun.

We ate five courses of delicious tapas.

We enjoyed cupcakes.

We danced and started a life together.

Happy anniversary, Dairy Man. I like you.

Family

The Sorry Saga of a Stiletto

08/21/201203/15/2016by Modern Farm Wife8 Comments

Let me tell you about my day yesterday.

Yes, that is my shoe. Stuck in the mud. I stepped right out of the thing while walking from my car to the house. There it sat, mired in the muddy quagmire that separates our garage concrete from our back door concrete. WHY these two sections of concrete were poured without a connector is inconceivable. These are the countrylife questions that haunt me.

I will be the first to say that yes, high heels can face their share of dangers and perils in the big city. There are cracks in the sidewalk, uneven curbs, subway grates, and pigeon poop.

In fact, I was once trotting to work in Chicago and wedged my heel firmly in an ‘L’ grate. It was horrifying. I’m thankful my ankle didn’t snap. Rather, I kept moving forward a few more yards while my shoe remained sad and lonely in its metal prison. Try to look like a dignified urbanite while standing barefoot on the sidewalk wrestling with a shoe. I dare you.

That traumatizing experience notwithstanding, I found city life to be much kinder on my heels.

My country house does not have a paved driveway (the tractor tires would likely tear it up), nor does it have a smooth path from garage to house. My shoes are always getting dirty and scuffed. I engage in a delicate dance each morning and evening as I leave for and return from work. On any given day I can be seen balancing car keys, an iPhone, a coffee thermos, a massive purse, binders, and an umbrella while trying to leap from one section of concrete to another.

It’s not so bad when the ground is dry, but we’ve (thankfully) had a lot of rain lately. The Dairy Man and I live at the bottom of a big hill and when it rains heavily, torrents of rainwater wash down and pool in front of the garage. (And in our basement, but that’s another story for another time.) Though the puddles have dried up, the ground has not.

Thus, my heel sunk into the squish and didn’t pop back out.

While I have mostly adjusted to country life, my shoes can’t say the same.

These girls are not prepared for off-roading.

It might be time to start wearing my barn boots to the garage. Either that or convince the Dairy Man to provide daily piggyback rides. Honey?
—-

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.

Family

Happy Birthday, Dairy Man

07/26/201201/07/2014by Modern Farm Wife7 Comments

Today is the dairy man’s birthday. On this special day he sojourns forth at the ripe old age of 27. I’m just glad he’s older than me again. I always liked older men. Wait … that came out weird.

Anyway.

It’s already been an eventful birthday for my poor farmer. A severe thunderstorm rolled through our area last night and wreaked some havoc on the dairy. A mere hour and a half after the clock struck midnight (happy birthday!), the DM was out on the dairy getting the generator started.

In addition to losing power, we had a puppy that decided his lifelong fear of thunder should transition from terrified cowering in the closet to furious barking and running in circles. Incessantly. For hours. We tried putting Jersey in our room, in the kitchen, in his crate, out of his crate. He even donned the snazzy Thundershirt we bought a few weeks ago.

But to no avail. We soothed, we yelled, we ignored, but when all was said and done, Jersey barked himself silly and we lost at least three hours of sleep.

Did I mention DM also had to get up before 6:00 to deal with our bulk tank? Oof. Needless to say, he’s going to be dragging on this birthday. Oh, farm life. How you torment us.

Despite my bleary semi-conscious state, it’s important to make the dairy man feel special today. In that vein, I’ve written him a little note. Feel free to peek over my shoulder.

Dear hubs,

I’m not always the best wife. The laundry can pile up. I sometimes cook more chicken than beef (the nerve!). I drink skim milk (the horror!). I don’t always accept the dairy’s prominence in our life with grace. I can be stubborn, opinionated, and impatient.

But on this day, your birthday, I want to thank you. Thank you for taking the dog out when it’s raining. Thank you for rubbing my shoulders when we watch TV. Thank you for saying that my new recipe “definitely isn’t terrible” when you don’t like it. Thank you for caring about the weeds in our yard more than I do. Thank you for filling my head with thrilling cow facts.

Thank you for blearily waking up long enough to tell me which shoe looks best with my outfit. Thank you for biting your tongue when I go overboard at Target. Thank you for your levelheadedness and your faith. Thank you for killing spiders. Thank you for working so hard to build a life for us. Thank you for being kind, hilarious, inspirational, patient, ambitious, and wise.

Thank you for being my best friend, partner in crime, and confidant.

You are my love, my family, and my dashing karate kid.

Happy birthday, dairy man.

I like you.

Family

When Cows Get Hot and Bothered

07/13/201202/11/2016by Modern Farm Wife16 Comments

Last week was a scorcher. The pavement sizzled, the sun blazed, and the air lay thick, heavy, and suffocating. I had to resist the urge to melodramatically bellow “I’m meeeeelting! I’m meeeeeeeelting!” each time I stepped out the door. Well, I resisted the urge to do it more than that first time.

Thursday and Friday were the worst of it. Highs of over 100 degrees and smothering humidity? Far too hot for this Michigan gal.

Much to the Dairy Man’s chagrin, this week hasn’t been much better. 80 degrees felt like a cold snap and the 90s will be back today. The corn is dry and the dog days of summer are upon us.

Everyone around the farm has their own method of coping with the heat.

Jersey the dog hangs out in the air-conditioned house or truck.

The corn gets irrigated.

The cows drink a lot of water and do a lot of lounging.

It’s vitally important to keep our herd cool. Cows do not like the heat. They’re most comfortable when the temperature is around 50 degrees. When the thermometer tips above 55/60 degrees, the ladies start getting hot and bothered. The more scientific term for this hot flash phenom is “heat stress.” When dairy cows experience heat stress, they begin to reduce feed intake and lose body weight. Milk production, reproductive performance, and health are also affected.

We contemplated fanning the bovine ladies with palm fronds and feeding them cold grapes. But that seemed too extravagant. And Grecian. Plus, cows much prefer bananas.

So when the hot, airless days roll in, we kick on the fans.

These huge fans keep air moving in the barns and make the cows feel like they’re in an airport hanger. It’s glamorous. But once temps climb up past 75, the fans aren’t enough. At that point, it’s time to get wet and wild. Well, as wild as a cow lounging in the sand and chewing her cud can be.

The dairy cow version of Girls Gone Wild involves sprinklers. Our sprinkler system travels the length of each barn (on both sides) and runs on a timer based on the temperature. The hotter it gets outside, the more frequently the system kicks on. The spray wets the cow to the hide and then turns off, allowing the moisture to evaporate and pull heat from her body like sweating.

During the hottest summer days, the barn sprinkler system kicks on every seven minutes.

There are also sprinklers in the holding pen where the ladies wait to enter the milking parlor. All of these nozzles are sure to get a workout this weekend as Michigan temps again tip into the 90s.

You know the old saying: “If the cows ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” Or something like that. I was never very good with old sayings. I’m still grasping the whole bird in the bush concept. But really, if our cows aren’t happy and comfortable, we can’t be either. The Dairy Man invests enormous amounts of time and energy keeping the herd cool this time of year.

There’s talk of a slip n’ slide, but we’re still shopping for a plastic that can withstand a wet, sliding, 1500-pound cow.