She's been adorned with a very stylish #39 earring and officially welcomed to the clan.
Tally so far? Boys 1, Girls 1.
Showing posts with label Murray Greys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Murray Greys. Show all posts
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Boys 1, Girls 1
Calf #2 was born this morning. It's a girl!!
She's been adorned with a very stylish #39 earring and officially welcomed to the clan.
Tally so far? Boys 1, Girls 1.
She's been adorned with a very stylish #39 earring and officially welcomed to the clan.
Tally so far? Boys 1, Girls 1.
Friday, April 8, 2011
The Official Start of Spring
Most people don't tend to think of spring as a date on a calendar. Sure, March 20th is the first official day of the season, but if it's a blustery, wintry March 20th does that really count? And if it doesn't, what does?
And what gardener doesn't joyously exclaim "Spring is here!" when they see the first daffodil, with its bright yellow petticoats, adorning the yard?
But on the farm? On the farm nothing quite says "Spring is here!" like the first calf of the season.
In Irish Grove, Spring officially started on April 8, 2011.
At 9:23 a.m. to be exact.
For example, I'm friends with many birdwatchers. I can't count how many times I've heard them talk about their fist robin or red-winged blackbird of the season, exclaiming "Spring is here!".
And what gardener doesn't joyously exclaim "Spring is here!" when they see the first daffodil, with its bright yellow petticoats, adorning the yard?
But on the farm? On the farm nothing quite says "Spring is here!" like the first calf of the season.
At 9:23 a.m. to be exact.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Where's the Beef?
Our cattle are rotated through organically-managed pastures and have free-choice access to an organic salt, mineral and kelp supplement. They are fed absolutely no grain, hormones or antibiotics.
You can order by the whole ($2.75/lb hanging weight), the half ($3.00/lb. hanging weight), the quarter ($3.25/lb hanging weight), or a 25 lb. beef variety box for $150, which contains steaks, roasts, round steaks, hamburger patties, ground beef, etc.
Email Jackie at comepifa@aol.com to place your order. Or call (815) 742-6781.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Hot Mamas
We are in the middle of a typical August heat-wave. You know the kind. The kind that turns the winter-haters into winter-aficionados. The kind that creates a perpetual background humming noise, which is the din of a gazillion air-conditioners straining to keep things cool. The kind that gives you that lovely summer glow, a.k.a. sweat-shine. The kind that has you sleeping in your skivies because it's so bleepin' hot in here!
I'm weathering the heat just fine. You see, I've got that typical Irish Catholic point of view that a little suffering is good for the soul. Marcel's holding his own--his Panamanian alter-ego might tell you to suck it up, because this ain't nothing compared to back home in Panama. The real Marcel, of course, would never say that. And the kids are a little more lethargic than usual, but surprisingly uncomplaining. (We don't have air-conditioning. Air-conditioning is for wimps.)
But the cows? The cows aren't happy. And who, really, would blame them? They're stuck in the middle of a field with lots of good food and fresh water, but also lots of flies and the blazing sun beating down on them all day.
They've responded to the heat with a little revolt. Perhaps you would call it a small protest. It's just a small one, but it's there all the same. They've started purposely tipping over the moveable water tank. That's right, they tip it over and slosh around in the ensuing mud like a bunch of pigs. Pigs, I tell you! Since when did a cow aspire to pig-like status?
It's actually quite a problem, though. Because while the huge wave and ensuing splash of cool water and mucking up of my lovely pasture assuredly feels great at the moment, about 15 minutes later they get a little thirsty. Sure, there's a trickle of water continuously flowing out, putting a lovely strain on the water pump, have you. But when you've got 40+ hot and thirsty cows, a trickle ain't gonna cut it.
No lecturing by me is gonna make them any happier, nor will it stop the water-tippin'. So, I'm wondering if this isn't just a bad idea. You know, keeping them on our grazing plan, out in the sun in this terribly-hot weather.
The strict (successful) graziers might say something like, "grazing-cattle must be tough and able to withstand the extremes. You gotta push them to the limit and select for hardiness. How are you going to know which cows are suited to grazing if you provide them with pillows and soft blankets at the first weather-test?"
The traditional cattlemen, the grain feeders, might say something like, "This proves that rotational grazing doesn't work, that it's bad for the cows, and that the confinement and/or grain-based feeding system is ubiquitous because it's the only one that works."
(True graziers and grain-feeders might say this, or they might not. They are a varied lot.)
The mother in me would bring them in to the tree-lined pasture for a few days, to give them a little relief from the hot sun. Which means they would really just stand in the round barn all day, pee and poop constantly until the barn floor is covered in a green soupy mess perfect for breeding more flies, skin infections, and diarrhea in the calves.
The farmer in me, though, is inclined to leave them in the pasture and just check on the water more often. Why? Not because I'm a big meanie, although you can accuse me of it if you'd like. But because for one, I don't want skin infections, flies and diarrhea. And two, if we brought the cows in for every weather-event, be it large storms, heavy rainfall, extreme heat, stiff winds, extreme cold, etc....they'd never be in the pasture!
I'm open to suggestions, though. Let's hear what ya got.
I'm weathering the heat just fine. You see, I've got that typical Irish Catholic point of view that a little suffering is good for the soul. Marcel's holding his own--his Panamanian alter-ego might tell you to suck it up, because this ain't nothing compared to back home in Panama. The real Marcel, of course, would never say that. And the kids are a little more lethargic than usual, but surprisingly uncomplaining. (We don't have air-conditioning. Air-conditioning is for wimps.)
But the cows? The cows aren't happy. And who, really, would blame them? They're stuck in the middle of a field with lots of good food and fresh water, but also lots of flies and the blazing sun beating down on them all day.
They've responded to the heat with a little revolt. Perhaps you would call it a small protest. It's just a small one, but it's there all the same. They've started purposely tipping over the moveable water tank. That's right, they tip it over and slosh around in the ensuing mud like a bunch of pigs. Pigs, I tell you! Since when did a cow aspire to pig-like status?
It's actually quite a problem, though. Because while the huge wave and ensuing splash of cool water and mucking up of my lovely pasture assuredly feels great at the moment, about 15 minutes later they get a little thirsty. Sure, there's a trickle of water continuously flowing out, putting a lovely strain on the water pump, have you. But when you've got 40+ hot and thirsty cows, a trickle ain't gonna cut it.
No lecturing by me is gonna make them any happier, nor will it stop the water-tippin'. So, I'm wondering if this isn't just a bad idea. You know, keeping them on our grazing plan, out in the sun in this terribly-hot weather.
The strict (successful) graziers might say something like, "grazing-cattle must be tough and able to withstand the extremes. You gotta push them to the limit and select for hardiness. How are you going to know which cows are suited to grazing if you provide them with pillows and soft blankets at the first weather-test?"
The traditional cattlemen, the grain feeders, might say something like, "This proves that rotational grazing doesn't work, that it's bad for the cows, and that the confinement and/or grain-based feeding system is ubiquitous because it's the only one that works."
(True graziers and grain-feeders might say this, or they might not. They are a varied lot.)
The mother in me would bring them in to the tree-lined pasture for a few days, to give them a little relief from the hot sun. Which means they would really just stand in the round barn all day, pee and poop constantly until the barn floor is covered in a green soupy mess perfect for breeding more flies, skin infections, and diarrhea in the calves.
The farmer in me, though, is inclined to leave them in the pasture and just check on the water more often. Why? Not because I'm a big meanie, although you can accuse me of it if you'd like. But because for one, I don't want skin infections, flies and diarrhea. And two, if we brought the cows in for every weather-event, be it large storms, heavy rainfall, extreme heat, stiff winds, extreme cold, etc....they'd never be in the pasture!
I'm open to suggestions, though. Let's hear what ya got.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Cow/Calf Update
Our downed mother cow is still down. It has now been 2 weeks and we've lost hope that she'll get up. It's heart-wrenching to see her. She's getting sores on her legs, and her front legs have lost their muscle tone as well.
We've gotten her up using the hip lifters a few times, to no avail. When we lower her to the point where she has to support her own weight, the legs just melt underneath her. They are useless.
The sad truth is we are going to have to put her down. It is a painful decision to make, but we don't want her to suffer any longer. We've kept her as comfortable as possible, with a shade tent over her, fresh grass and water every 2 hours (many thanks to Mom and Gordy for taking over this job for the past week), fly spray to keep the darn things off of her, and some green apples for treats. But she is fading and it is obvious she is giving up hope as well--her ears are drooping and she's no longer making an effort to stand. We are going to have to help her along in her journey so she doesn't suffer any longer.
Honeysuckle, her calf, has given us a few scares as well. For the first week, she would hardly wake up to eat. When we'd call her, her eyes would open and she'd start to lick her lips but she wouldn't raise up her head. It's quite alarming when you grab her by the ears, lift her head up, and then let go only to have her head flop backwards in an awkward position. There were many times where we had to check her breathing to make sure she was still alive. When she'd finally wake, she would eat only a little bit before lying down again.
The past two days, however, have been a different story. All of a sudden she's perked up. Marcel gave her a strong dose of vitamins in the form of a paste and I read online that perhaps I was making her milk too strong. I've diluted her milk-replacer a bit and she's chugging down 2 bottles, twice a day and still asking for more. What a relief!
She really is adorable. Madelina and Armando have taken it upon themselves to be her playmates--riding their bikes around in the barnyard with her, jumping around and teaching her how to kick up her heals. It's pretty hilarious. And she is now my personal alarm clock, mooing loudly at the gate first thing in the morning, awaiting her breakfast. She gets going at around 5:30 a.m., not caring that I don't like to get up that early. Marcel just laughs and says, "Your newest daughter is calling you."
I'd rather he said, "Don't worry, sweetie. I'll feed her."
Oh well. She's doing well and is the one positive outcome from this situation, so I'm not going to complain. OK, so maybe I'll complain a little.
I wish I had happier news to share with you about the mother. If there's one lesson that farmers learn early and often: there isn't always a happy ending.
We've gotten her up using the hip lifters a few times, to no avail. When we lower her to the point where she has to support her own weight, the legs just melt underneath her. They are useless.
The sad truth is we are going to have to put her down. It is a painful decision to make, but we don't want her to suffer any longer. We've kept her as comfortable as possible, with a shade tent over her, fresh grass and water every 2 hours (many thanks to Mom and Gordy for taking over this job for the past week), fly spray to keep the darn things off of her, and some green apples for treats. But she is fading and it is obvious she is giving up hope as well--her ears are drooping and she's no longer making an effort to stand. We are going to have to help her along in her journey so she doesn't suffer any longer.
Honeysuckle, her calf, has given us a few scares as well. For the first week, she would hardly wake up to eat. When we'd call her, her eyes would open and she'd start to lick her lips but she wouldn't raise up her head. It's quite alarming when you grab her by the ears, lift her head up, and then let go only to have her head flop backwards in an awkward position. There were many times where we had to check her breathing to make sure she was still alive. When she'd finally wake, she would eat only a little bit before lying down again.
The past two days, however, have been a different story. All of a sudden she's perked up. Marcel gave her a strong dose of vitamins in the form of a paste and I read online that perhaps I was making her milk too strong. I've diluted her milk-replacer a bit and she's chugging down 2 bottles, twice a day and still asking for more. What a relief!
She really is adorable. Madelina and Armando have taken it upon themselves to be her playmates--riding their bikes around in the barnyard with her, jumping around and teaching her how to kick up her heals. It's pretty hilarious. And she is now my personal alarm clock, mooing loudly at the gate first thing in the morning, awaiting her breakfast. She gets going at around 5:30 a.m., not caring that I don't like to get up that early. Marcel just laughs and says, "Your newest daughter is calling you."
I'd rather he said, "Don't worry, sweetie. I'll feed her."
Oh well. She's doing well and is the one positive outcome from this situation, so I'm not going to complain. OK, so maybe I'll complain a little.
I wish I had happier news to share with you about the mother. If there's one lesson that farmers learn early and often: there isn't always a happy ending.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Mama Cow.....
...has another calf?
A quick recap of yesterday's fiasco:
I'm stuck with the nagging thought that we failed this mama and the poor dead heifer calf. Did we think she could have twins in there? Actually, yes we did. Did we check for a twin after the first heifer was born. Actually, yes we did. But we only stuck our arm in up to the forearm. We should've stuck our arm in up to our shoulder.
The vet said the calf died about 5 minutes after the first one was born. We have learned a very costly lesson. Again.
A quick recap of yesterday's fiasco:
Marcel checked on the Mama.
I went to move the cows to a fresh paddock.
Marcel started whistling, yelling, waving.
I knew something was wrong.
Mama cow had a hoof coming out her rear.
Yes, I said a hoof.
The hoof was upside-down.
Marcel inserted his arm.
Yes, arm.
He couldn't find the other foot.
I inserted my arm.
I couldn't find the other foot.
I called the vet.
"The mother cow is having another calf."
"There is only one hoof presenting and it's breech."
"We can't find the other foot."
Vet said, "I'll find it."
Mother cow is lying head outstretched.
Mother cow is moaning.
Mother cow is breathing abnormally.
Vet arrives, gloves up, inserts arm.
Says, "This is going to be a disaster."
Vet pushes calf back in.
Vet works for about 10 minutes finding other hoof.
Vet pulls other hoof out.
He hooks it to the calf-puller: a pulley system used for emergencies.
I drive the tractor close to mama cow.
Marcel hooks pulley to tractor and starts cranking.
Marcel pulls dead calf out.
It was a girl.
Mama cow looks relieved.
Mama cow sits upright again.
Mama cow is all swollen on the inside.
I run home and get the antibiotics in my fridge.
Yes, there is a place for antibiotics and livestock.
This is it.
Marcel gave her 2 large injections, 50 ml total.
Mama cow drinks water and eats a little hay.
I'm stuck with the nagging thought that we failed this mama and the poor dead heifer calf. Did we think she could have twins in there? Actually, yes we did. Did we check for a twin after the first heifer was born. Actually, yes we did. But we only stuck our arm in up to the forearm. We should've stuck our arm in up to our shoulder.
The vet said the calf died about 5 minutes after the first one was born. We have learned a very costly lesson. Again.
This morning the mother cow is sitting upright again.
She is trying to stand.
She is one tough mama.
This afternoon we're going to try the hip lifter.
Basically it's a big clamp.
That you hook to her hip bones.
And lift her with the tractor.
To see if she can put weight on her back legs.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
When Physiological Becomes Psychological
The mother cow's physiological problem has played nicely into my own personal psychological problem. Namely, my fear of having to pull a calf on my own.
So when the mama cow went into labor yesterday, and little hooves were sticking out her rear by 1:00 pm, and the vet told me she wouldn't be able to birth lying down without assistance, and she was literally butted up to the barnyard fence with no way to move her and no room for the calf to come out.....the reality of the situation washed over me and put me into a minor tizzy. It was just me, standing there in the barnyard, swearing a little, realizing I was gonna have to do this by myself, alone. Well, my kids were there of course, you know, but I was basically alone. It was all me.
(This picture was taken after the fact, but shows just how close the mama cow was to the fence.)
What'd I do? I called Marcel and told him he needed to come home from work NOW. Having some backup on the way relieved a bit of my anxiety (i.e., psychological problem). Then I got to work. I hooked the chains around the babe's legs and stretched open the vagina to see the calf's nose. Her tongue was hanging out and her nostrils were not moving--I needed to get the baby out right away.
Since I couldn't get behind the cow, I had to pull on the chains from the other side of the fence. I pulled, the mama pushed, and we got the calf's head out! The calf shook her head a little, she was alive, but now came the tricky part. How do we get her all the way out when there is no room for her? I was worried the mother would break her back when she moved.
So I called in reinforcements. No, not Farmer Scott. Not the vet. Not Marcel--he hadn't gotten there yet. I called my girls.
"Ana! Madelina! You've gotta help me, NOW!" I had them take over my position with the chains on the other side of the fence as I stretched open the mama cow's vagina. The girls pulled as hard as possible, saying things like, "EW! The chains are all goopy," and "This is really HARD," while I stretched the mother open, pulled on the calf's slippery shoulders, and rearranged the calf so she wouldn't get squished. The cow started to accept the help, gave a few good pushes, and the whole calf slipped out.
Thanks to the help of my girls, we got that calf safely out of her mother. 5 minutes later, Marcel arrived. Just in time to help us celebrate our small victory and get to work caring for the mother and babe.
The mother cow can't nurse the calf lying down, so the little heifer has become a bottle calf and has moved up to a stall in our barn. The mother is still down, but she's doing OK. She is eating and drinking water and hasn't given up yet, so we aren't giving up on her either. We fashioned a sort-of tent over her, using a large tarp and some round bale cages pushed up on their sides, to shade her from the hot sun. We're hoping that with the calf born, the pressure on her nerves will be relieved and she'll get up within a few days.
That's our hope: a double happy ending and the end of the mother cow's 'physiological problem'.
Here are some pictures, taken by my sister and Ana, after the calf was born. Enjoy.
So when the mama cow went into labor yesterday, and little hooves were sticking out her rear by 1:00 pm, and the vet told me she wouldn't be able to birth lying down without assistance, and she was literally butted up to the barnyard fence with no way to move her and no room for the calf to come out.....the reality of the situation washed over me and put me into a minor tizzy. It was just me, standing there in the barnyard, swearing a little, realizing I was gonna have to do this by myself, alone. Well, my kids were there of course, you know, but I was basically alone. It was all me.
What'd I do? I called Marcel and told him he needed to come home from work NOW. Having some backup on the way relieved a bit of my anxiety (i.e., psychological problem). Then I got to work. I hooked the chains around the babe's legs and stretched open the vagina to see the calf's nose. Her tongue was hanging out and her nostrils were not moving--I needed to get the baby out right away.
Since I couldn't get behind the cow, I had to pull on the chains from the other side of the fence. I pulled, the mama pushed, and we got the calf's head out! The calf shook her head a little, she was alive, but now came the tricky part. How do we get her all the way out when there is no room for her? I was worried the mother would break her back when she moved.
So I called in reinforcements. No, not Farmer Scott. Not the vet. Not Marcel--he hadn't gotten there yet. I called my girls.
"Ana! Madelina! You've gotta help me, NOW!" I had them take over my position with the chains on the other side of the fence as I stretched open the mama cow's vagina. The girls pulled as hard as possible, saying things like, "EW! The chains are all goopy," and "This is really HARD," while I stretched the mother open, pulled on the calf's slippery shoulders, and rearranged the calf so she wouldn't get squished. The cow started to accept the help, gave a few good pushes, and the whole calf slipped out.
Thanks to the help of my girls, we got that calf safely out of her mother. 5 minutes later, Marcel arrived. Just in time to help us celebrate our small victory and get to work caring for the mother and babe.
The mother cow can't nurse the calf lying down, so the little heifer has become a bottle calf and has moved up to a stall in our barn. The mother is still down, but she's doing OK. She is eating and drinking water and hasn't given up yet, so we aren't giving up on her either. We fashioned a sort-of tent over her, using a large tarp and some round bale cages pushed up on their sides, to shade her from the hot sun. We're hoping that with the calf born, the pressure on her nerves will be relieved and she'll get up within a few days.
That's our hope: a double happy ending and the end of the mother cow's 'physiological problem'.
Here are some pictures, taken by my sister and Ana, after the calf was born. Enjoy.
Water for the thirsty, tired mama.
Ana, attending the mother.
Madelina and Marcel, rubbing the calf to stimulate blood flow.
More massaging.
Isn't she darling? We're calling her Honey. Honeysuckle.
Ana, trying to feed Honeysuckle the colostrum replacement.
Making some shade for the mother.
The ending to my psychological problem? A successful calf-pull and darling little heifer named Honeysuckle.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Something Physiological
We are caring for an injured mama cow. We're not sure what happened, but she started limping about two weeks ago, taking care to not put any weight on her back left leg. We called the vet, thinking she had foot rot--a fungus that can cause painful sores on the hoof, but after giving her a thorough hoof cleaning, clipping and check-up he found nothing. "I'm worried it could be something physiological," he had said.
"Something physiological" sounds awfully vague and pretty scary to a beginning farmer like myself. So we locked her in the barnyard with some fresh hay and water which was effectively like sending her to bed for a little R & R.
Fast forward a few days and the poor thing can't get up anymore. She's lying upright and rocks back and forth as if she wants to stand, but then settles back down again, obviously frustrated with her inability to move. We called the vet out again to see if he could better diagnose the problem.
This time he said she must have a pinched nerve in the hip that is making her back leg useless. It could be that the almost full-term calf inside her could be pressing against a nerve. Or, it might be a "physiological injury" for which there may be no cure. He gave her a shot to get her labor started, with the hopes that we can assist her in giving birth, save the calf and hopefully relieve the pressure on her nerve.
Or, we might save the calf and have to put her down.
Or, we might lose them both.
In the meantime, I am visiting her every 1.5 hours, taking fresh cool water to her to drink, bathing her with a little water to cool her down (she's lying in the open sun), and bringing her hay to eat. It's the least we can do to keep her comfortable until her labor begins. Please wish us luck.
"Something physiological" sounds awfully vague and pretty scary to a beginning farmer like myself. So we locked her in the barnyard with some fresh hay and water which was effectively like sending her to bed for a little R & R.
Fast forward a few days and the poor thing can't get up anymore. She's lying upright and rocks back and forth as if she wants to stand, but then settles back down again, obviously frustrated with her inability to move. We called the vet out again to see if he could better diagnose the problem.
This time he said she must have a pinched nerve in the hip that is making her back leg useless. It could be that the almost full-term calf inside her could be pressing against a nerve. Or, it might be a "physiological injury" for which there may be no cure. He gave her a shot to get her labor started, with the hopes that we can assist her in giving birth, save the calf and hopefully relieve the pressure on her nerve.
Or, we might save the calf and have to put her down.
Or, we might lose them both.
In the meantime, I am visiting her every 1.5 hours, taking fresh cool water to her to drink, bathing her with a little water to cool her down (she's lying in the open sun), and bringing her hay to eat. It's the least we can do to keep her comfortable until her labor begins. Please wish us luck.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Grassfed Beef for Sale
Currently Available: Grass-fed, grass-finished beef.
The meat will be available on or around July 14th and processing will be done at Eickman’s Processing in Seward, IL. (All wholes, halves and quarters will be picked up at Eickman’s.) Please place your order as soon as possible, keeping in mind that orders will be filled on a first come first served basis.
___Whole beef, $3.00/lb. hanging weight* (approx. 320-400 lbs. beef)
___½ beef, $3.25/lb. hanging weight* (approx. 160-200 lbs. beef)
___¼ beef, $3.50/lb. hanging weight* (approx. 80-100 lbs. beef)
___Variety Beef Box, $135
Our cattle are rotated through organically-managed pastures and have free-choice access to an organic salt, mineral and kelp supplement. They are fed absolutely no grain, hormones or antibiotics.
Send your name, contact information and order to Jackie at comepifa@aol.com. Thank you!
Local orders only. We do not ship or deliver at this time.
The meat will be available on or around July 14th and processing will be done at Eickman’s Processing in Seward, IL. (All wholes, halves and quarters will be picked up at Eickman’s.) Please place your order as soon as possible, keeping in mind that orders will be filled on a first come first served basis.
___Whole beef, $3.00/lb. hanging weight* (approx. 320-400 lbs. beef)
___½ beef, $3.25/lb. hanging weight* (approx. 160-200 lbs. beef)
___¼ beef, $3.50/lb. hanging weight* (approx. 80-100 lbs. beef)
*Processing fee not included. Processing usually runs about $0.55/lb. depending on how you specify your order. You will need to contact Eickman’s to specify which cuts you prefer.
Includes approx. 25 pounds of varied cuts: steaks, roasts, round steaks and/or cube steaks, ground beef, etc. Processing fee is included in this price. You will pick up box at the farm.
Our cattle are rotated through organically-managed pastures and have free-choice access to an organic salt, mineral and kelp supplement. They are fed absolutely no grain, hormones or antibiotics.
Send your name, contact information and order to Jackie at comepifa@aol.com. Thank you!
Local orders only. We do not ship or deliver at this time.
Monday, March 29, 2010
A New Addition
It wasn't like we didn't have anything else to do Saturday. I had 3 coats of primer to apply to my new (!) kitchen walls (a project which of course necessitated two trips to the hardware store for forgotten supplies), the electrician was out to look at some old wires we had unearthed in the process, Marcel and Rob were finishing up a job we had started two weeks ago--cleaning out the barns and spreading manure, my oldest had plans with a friend at 3 PM, and we were keeping my nephew for the night, whom was supposed to arrive at anytime. I had no food and my house was a disaster, but I was going to get to that, too, eventually.
So when Marcel called to say that the young heifer #19 was in labor and not progressing, I had no choice. Everything else had to be put on hold; we switched gears and jumped into 'birth-assistance' mode. #19 had never given birth before and is quite small, so we knew she might have problems. Marcel was already up there cleaning up the manure pile, so he kept an eye on her as I quickly excused myself from the electrician's conversation about his beagle puppy, grabbed the kids and gathered the birthing-assistance tools: 3 straw bales for clean bedding, rubber gloves for Marcel and I, and the birthing chains.
When I arrived, the chute we use to confine the mother had been pushed out of position during the manure operation, so we had to get the tractor and move that first. At this time the mother was prostrate on the ground, pushing with little progress. Her eyes were strained and her neck outstretched--we needed to help her, fast.
Next we had to separate #19 from the rest of the herd. This is the worst part--how horrible to have to chase a laboring mother around the barnyard, knowing what she is going through and worried about the life of her calf. We separated a group of 5 from the rest and corralled them into the barn. Once in, it was pretty simple to get the others out (they know something's up and want out of there!) while keeping her in. The nice thing about a round barn is that the cows follow the contour of the walls and don't get hung up in corners where they might decide to turn around and go the other way. So #19 kept walking until she reached our 'capture area'. We have a gate secured in place that runs from exterior wall to interior wall, blocking her progress, at which point we swing a hinged gate around from behind and capture her in a small triangle-shaped pen.
At the wide side of the pen is a door to the exterior with a cattle chute on the outside. The chute is the only way out of the enclosure, so the cows try to walk through it to the outside. As they progress through the chute, we close the headgate around their neck, shut the reargate and voila--we've got 'em! Now we can vaccinate them, castrate calves, pregnancy check, you name it. Here is a picture from last year, showing how it normally goes:
In this case, however, we didn't catch the mother in the headgate--we shut it before she gets that far so that she has some free movement within the chute. And instead of shutting the reargate, we put a large 2X4 board through the back of the chute about thigh-high, preventing her from backing up but giving us access to her nether-regions.
We immediately gloved up and got to work. Marcel inserted his hand into her vagina to find the calf's hoove. I passed him the chains and he hooked one end around each foot, just above the second joint so as not to break the calf's ankle as we pulled. This is harder than it sounds, and took him a good 10 minutes. Once the chains were in position, we hooked handles onto the chain, waited for the mother to push and then pulled with all our might. Literally. It is really hard to pull a calf and it takes awhile to get that babe out of there. We noticed the calf's tongue hanging out of its mouth--not a good sign. So I told Marcel to keep pulling as I tore away the placenta from the calf's nose. The nostrils were moving! The calf was trying to breathe, so it was still alive!
If we could just get that head out. I pushed up on the cow's labia to help widen the pathway as Marcel pulled. All of a sudden the mother gave a good push and the head slipped out. Now we had to quickly change tactics: if the mother sat down onto the 2X4 board, she would kill the calf. We had to let the calf hang there through a contraction to help squeeze the liquid out of its lungs, and then get it down quickly and gently. Here is a photo from last year showing Farmer Scott pulling one of our calves. He is a dairy farmer from down the road and taught us how to assist difficult births.
Isn't that amazing? He did this by himself with some assistance from my brother-in-law (my sister was taking photos). That's what I call experience.
Anyways, I stood underneath the calf and wrapped my arms around it (they are super slippery!) as Marcel pulled. The mother pushed, Marcel pulled, and I caught the calf. Well, I helped break its fall to the ground at least. Did I mention how slippery they are? We removed the board and pushed the mother back into the pen where she went to work licking it, cleaning it, and mooing gently at it.
It's a girl! And she is a strong, spunky little calf. We stood around and watched her try to stand up, which was the entertainment of the day for my kids. They laughed and laughed as she stumbled and toppled over, head over feet, more than a few times. But she did it. Within 2 hours she was walking, nursing, and checking out her new home. Pretty amazing, isn't it?
Here they are, mother and daughter, immediately after she was born. Welcome to Irish Grove, little lady.
So when Marcel called to say that the young heifer #19 was in labor and not progressing, I had no choice. Everything else had to be put on hold; we switched gears and jumped into 'birth-assistance' mode. #19 had never given birth before and is quite small, so we knew she might have problems. Marcel was already up there cleaning up the manure pile, so he kept an eye on her as I quickly excused myself from the electrician's conversation about his beagle puppy, grabbed the kids and gathered the birthing-assistance tools: 3 straw bales for clean bedding, rubber gloves for Marcel and I, and the birthing chains.
When I arrived, the chute we use to confine the mother had been pushed out of position during the manure operation, so we had to get the tractor and move that first. At this time the mother was prostrate on the ground, pushing with little progress. Her eyes were strained and her neck outstretched--we needed to help her, fast.
Next we had to separate #19 from the rest of the herd. This is the worst part--how horrible to have to chase a laboring mother around the barnyard, knowing what she is going through and worried about the life of her calf. We separated a group of 5 from the rest and corralled them into the barn. Once in, it was pretty simple to get the others out (they know something's up and want out of there!) while keeping her in. The nice thing about a round barn is that the cows follow the contour of the walls and don't get hung up in corners where they might decide to turn around and go the other way. So #19 kept walking until she reached our 'capture area'. We have a gate secured in place that runs from exterior wall to interior wall, blocking her progress, at which point we swing a hinged gate around from behind and capture her in a small triangle-shaped pen.
At the wide side of the pen is a door to the exterior with a cattle chute on the outside. The chute is the only way out of the enclosure, so the cows try to walk through it to the outside. As they progress through the chute, we close the headgate around their neck, shut the reargate and voila--we've got 'em! Now we can vaccinate them, castrate calves, pregnancy check, you name it. Here is a picture from last year, showing how it normally goes:
In this case, however, we didn't catch the mother in the headgate--we shut it before she gets that far so that she has some free movement within the chute. And instead of shutting the reargate, we put a large 2X4 board through the back of the chute about thigh-high, preventing her from backing up but giving us access to her nether-regions.
We immediately gloved up and got to work. Marcel inserted his hand into her vagina to find the calf's hoove. I passed him the chains and he hooked one end around each foot, just above the second joint so as not to break the calf's ankle as we pulled. This is harder than it sounds, and took him a good 10 minutes. Once the chains were in position, we hooked handles onto the chain, waited for the mother to push and then pulled with all our might. Literally. It is really hard to pull a calf and it takes awhile to get that babe out of there. We noticed the calf's tongue hanging out of its mouth--not a good sign. So I told Marcel to keep pulling as I tore away the placenta from the calf's nose. The nostrils were moving! The calf was trying to breathe, so it was still alive!
If we could just get that head out. I pushed up on the cow's labia to help widen the pathway as Marcel pulled. All of a sudden the mother gave a good push and the head slipped out. Now we had to quickly change tactics: if the mother sat down onto the 2X4 board, she would kill the calf. We had to let the calf hang there through a contraction to help squeeze the liquid out of its lungs, and then get it down quickly and gently. Here is a photo from last year showing Farmer Scott pulling one of our calves. He is a dairy farmer from down the road and taught us how to assist difficult births.
Isn't that amazing? He did this by himself with some assistance from my brother-in-law (my sister was taking photos). That's what I call experience.
Anyways, I stood underneath the calf and wrapped my arms around it (they are super slippery!) as Marcel pulled. The mother pushed, Marcel pulled, and I caught the calf. Well, I helped break its fall to the ground at least. Did I mention how slippery they are? We removed the board and pushed the mother back into the pen where she went to work licking it, cleaning it, and mooing gently at it.
It's a girl! And she is a strong, spunky little calf. We stood around and watched her try to stand up, which was the entertainment of the day for my kids. They laughed and laughed as she stumbled and toppled over, head over feet, more than a few times. But she did it. Within 2 hours she was walking, nursing, and checking out her new home. Pretty amazing, isn't it?
Here they are, mother and daughter, immediately after she was born. Welcome to Irish Grove, little lady.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Of Life and Death
The last time I wrote about learning opportunities I was scoffing at a silly mistake I made that could have broken a part on our tractor. In all honesty I was making a joke to deflect my embarrassment at being a dope. A dope that forgot to unplug the tractor before she drove it.
What I've come to realize, however, is that being a dope and breaking a tractor part or two is the least of my worries when it comes to the farm. The farm is about more than that. It's about more than a simple tractor part, and it's definitely about more than my silly vanity and pride.
The farm is about life and death. Life and death. It's as simple and basic as that.
The lessons I need to learn and the opportunities that have arisen to provide me with those very lessons have been numerous and varied this spring, as are the emotions that come with the living and dying on this farm. These circumstances have come at a time when I have been feeling impatient with the farm's progress, with the organic conversion, and with the cows who hadn't calved and who also hadn't been very cooperative in my new grazing systems. "I've been at this three years," I kept muttering. "It shouldn't still be this difficult."
Yet three years didn't prepare me for this:
This is our bull and a pregnant cow lying dead in our pasture. They were struck by lightning during a thunderstorm.
Two good cows gone. All of a sudden my grazing difficulties don't seem all that important. Instead, my impatience was transformed into dismay and concern. Our bull was so gentle and easy-going. How could we replace him? And this mother cow was one of our lead cows, not to mention that she was due to calve any day now. Death on the farm. It happens, but who expects to find this scene after a routine thunderstorm?
The cows were extremely distressed, so we moved them to another pasture so we could remove the carcasses. In fact, I think it was stress that put one heifer into labor. Our very first calf of the season was born that night. Ironically, the bull's first offspring was born the day he died:
We named her Storm. And she is a beautiful, spunky little Murray Grey.
Life and death at the hands of a lightning bolt.
The shock wore off after a few days as I busied myself with smaller farmer duties--you know, the ones I like to do because I can manage them. The ones that rookies can't screw up. (And if we do, we can write funny little stories about them.)
But then my favorite heifer was in labor, number 11, and she was in trouble. She had progressed to the point where the calf's hooves were coming out and then stalled. We let her work for 2 hours wondering if we should pull the calf or let her alone. A cow will suspend her labor if stressed, so if you bother her too soon you'll cause problems. And yet if you let her go too long, both she and her calf could die.
As a rookie, I have no experience in making these calls. And the literature says you just have to have a "feel" for it. Great. That's helpful.
Finally we decided to pull it. We corralled her into the chute and called Farmer Scott from down the road. He's a dairy farmer and is absolutely not a rookie. He showed us how to hook the chains around the calf's second foot joint and then how to pull it down and away from her backbone. He and Marcel strained, and I mean strained, for about 10 minutes. They got the calf out and he lived, but barely. And number 11 was OK. Ahhh, life. Sweet, sweet life.
Disaster was averted and a lesson was learned.
Or so I thought. Because today we lost one. A nice large heifer calf died because we didn't pull her soon enough. We acted quicker than last time, but the placental bag hadn't broken. Farmer Scott came to help once more and told us that if the bag isn't broken in time, the mother can't get enough traction to push the calf out and the calf suffocates.
I had seen the intact bag and thought it had meant there was time. Precious time, ticking away for that poor little heifer calf. "It's hard to say," said Farmer Scott. "Sometimes an intact bag means you should leave the mother alone a little longer. You just have to get a feel for it."
There it is again. That "feel" thing. The way I see it, the "feel for it" is a farmer's way of saying you need to be experienced enough to know. And as easy as it may be to learn to drive a tractor or make good hay, this calving thing is throwing me for a loop. A very precarious loop. After two difficult births, it's hard to say if I'm really getting a "feel" for calving or not. The first time we waited longer and had a live calf. The second time we acted and it wasn't soon enough.
I am, however, getting a "feel" for the ups and downs of farming. The joys and sorrows. The celebrations, the frustrations...the life and death of it. I'm just not sure I have enough experience to know how to deal with it.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Calving Season
Calving season is upon us.
May is the month our calves are scheduled to be born, if the bull did his job right, that is. And how hard is it? All he's gotta do is be a typical bull and work the crowd, so to speak. He doesn't even have to compete for the ladies. He is their only option.
I do believe he did a regular fine job, though, because I saw him all frisky and sly, all coy and cudly; I saw him whispering sweet nothings in the cows' ears and.......umm......maybe I'll just leave it at that. A bull deserves some privacy, doesn't he?
In defense of my creepiness, when the future of your farm depends upon one bull doing his thing correctly....well, I'm trying to say that my spying from the edge of the field had nothing to do with any socio-psychological problems of my own. Really.
Lord help me. This farm stuff can be embarrassing.
Anyways, i.e., how can I get myself out of this awkward situation, what I'm trying to say is that I'm really looking forward to seeing this:
and this:
I love how they play follow the leader like that.
I also love how they strike a pose and act all tough like this guy:
And then, of course, there's this sweet scene:
Oh, dear. Maybe a call to my therapist isn't such a bad idea.
May is the month our calves are scheduled to be born, if the bull did his job right, that is. And how hard is it? All he's gotta do is be a typical bull and work the crowd, so to speak. He doesn't even have to compete for the ladies. He is their only option.
I do believe he did a regular fine job, though, because I saw him all frisky and sly, all coy and cudly; I saw him whispering sweet nothings in the cows' ears and.......umm......maybe I'll just leave it at that. A bull deserves some privacy, doesn't he?
In defense of my creepiness, when the future of your farm depends upon one bull doing his thing correctly....well, I'm trying to say that my spying from the edge of the field had nothing to do with any socio-psychological problems of my own. Really.
Lord help me. This farm stuff can be embarrassing.
Anyways, i.e., how can I get myself out of this awkward situation, what I'm trying to say is that I'm really looking forward to seeing this:
and this:
I love how they play follow the leader like that.
I also love how they strike a pose and act all tough like this guy:
And then, of course, there's this sweet scene:
Oh, dear. Maybe a call to my therapist isn't such a bad idea.
Friday, January 16, 2009
What Happens When....
What happens when.....
the cows are hungry,
the cows are hungry,
and they're really giving you the business for not bringing them hay any sooner,
and these are frozen to the ground?
A farmer temper-tantrum, that's what.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Have You Herd?
Sorry, that title is terrible. I couldn't help myself. But......
Y'all have just GOT to take a gander at the newest members of Irish Grove.
Here's our first little guy, born the second week of June. He was startlingly silver. But now he's white, and goofy-lookin', and definitely thinkin' he's a big deal.
Here's #2, pitch-black at birth. Altho he'll end up a nice dark brown. If you look hard, you can see the brown peeking through on his neck.
Next up? Numbers 3, 4 and 5. Two of which are females. Heifers, as we call 'em.
The white-faced one is our spunkiest calf. She tends to run circles around the other calves, kickin' up her hind legs and just generally havin' a good time. She's been named Delilah by the kids. We only name the girls, because, well, umm.....just because. (We shouldn't talk about the facts of cow life when they're just babies.)
Delilah was our first girl. We're partial to her because she's so darned cute with those black circles around her eyes. And because she's spunky.
Here's #6, the dark one with his mother. Another boy, and a sweet little guy at that. He only weighed about 60 lbs at birth.
Number 7 is another story. He's this big bumblin' bull-calf that has a very annoying tendency to walk off and hide in the tall grass. He's like a great big oaf that doesn't have any survival instinct what-so-ever.
I've never before seen a calf like this. He will literally sleep in the tall grass all day, all night, and all day next as well. We have to go looking for him in the morning and literally roll him over a few times before he finally finds the gumption to stand up and try to find his mother. The big lazy bum!
Hopefully he livens up a little as he gets older. Here he is after being pushed, prodded and generally rolled around by his human keepers. His mother isn't too happy with us, seeing as we're botherin' her baby. We decided to keep our distance:
Last but not least is this little cutie. Gosh, is he a doll. White as can be, with a black nose a black eyelashes.
Y'all have just GOT to take a gander at the newest members of Irish Grove.
Here's our first little guy, born the second week of June. He was startlingly silver. But now he's white, and goofy-lookin', and definitely thinkin' he's a big deal.
Here's #2, pitch-black at birth. Altho he'll end up a nice dark brown. If you look hard, you can see the brown peeking through on his neck.
Next up? Numbers 3, 4 and 5. Two of which are females. Heifers, as we call 'em.
The white-faced one is our spunkiest calf. She tends to run circles around the other calves, kickin' up her hind legs and just generally havin' a good time. She's been named Delilah by the kids. We only name the girls, because, well, umm.....just because. (We shouldn't talk about the facts of cow life when they're just babies.)
Delilah was our first girl. We're partial to her because she's so darned cute with those black circles around her eyes. And because she's spunky.
Here's #6, the dark one with his mother. Another boy, and a sweet little guy at that. He only weighed about 60 lbs at birth.
Number 7 is another story. He's this big bumblin' bull-calf that has a very annoying tendency to walk off and hide in the tall grass. He's like a great big oaf that doesn't have any survival instinct what-so-ever.
I've never before seen a calf like this. He will literally sleep in the tall grass all day, all night, and all day next as well. We have to go looking for him in the morning and literally roll him over a few times before he finally finds the gumption to stand up and try to find his mother. The big lazy bum!
Hopefully he livens up a little as he gets older. Here he is after being pushed, prodded and generally rolled around by his human keepers. His mother isn't too happy with us, seeing as we're botherin' her baby. We decided to keep our distance:
Last but not least is this little cutie. Gosh, is he a doll. White as can be, with a black nose a black eyelashes.
Eight healthy calves, born in the height of summer. Who could ask for more?
Marcel is pretty happy with the new crop of calves. Can you tell?
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Bringin' the Cows Home
Irish Grove has a few new additions. Seven adorable Murray Grey calves that are so cute you just want to squeeze 'em. We bought them from a nice man in Platteville, Wisconsin, and had a fun day of loadin' and unloadin'.
Here I am, trying to let one calf at a time out of the trailer. My brave husband is inside(!) the trailer with the calves, piercing their ears. Who'd have thought we were so beauty-conscious on the farm?
The one to set free is the calf that Marcel has just pierced.
So far, so good.
Darlin', you look mah-velous.
A few calves later, I was still doin' okay.
This one pierced her right ear. Umm, wait a second. Does that mean...? No, it couldn't. Could it?
Okay, only two more to go, and one brings her own tag with her. We can let her out, and then quickly tag the last one. Piece of cake for a seasoned cowgirl like myself, right?
Wrong.
Do you see an oh-so-stylish yellow dangly earring on her? Me neither.
Uh oh, Marcel looks a little peeved.
I mean, he's inside the trailer with those unhappy babies, trying his best to pierce their ears without getting kicked, or butted, or smushed against the side of the trailer. All I have to do, for Lord' sake, is slide the gate open and shut!
Might as well just let the last one out, since she brought her own earring with her. She's a trend-setter, that one. Go on and join your siblings, little lady.
And now it looks like we're going to have an impromptu rodeo.
Lucky for me, Marcel loves playin' cowboy. Look how happy he is!
Aww, anything for you, sweetie. Aren't I just the best?
Marcel may be happy, but this little heifer doesn't want any part of it. She prefers the natural look.
Who knew we'd be into forced piercings? (I'd better remember this day when my kids come home with a nose ring and a pierced tongue.)
Ahh, the beauty of new beginnings:
In the meantime, can you tell which one of my kids is the cowpoke in the making?
Armando?
Ana?
or Madelina?
Here I am, trying to let one calf at a time out of the trailer. My brave husband is inside(!) the trailer with the calves, piercing their ears. Who'd have thought we were so beauty-conscious on the farm?
The one to set free is the calf that Marcel has just pierced.
So far, so good.
Darlin', you look mah-velous.
A few calves later, I was still doin' okay.
This one pierced her right ear. Umm, wait a second. Does that mean...? No, it couldn't. Could it?
Okay, only two more to go, and one brings her own tag with her. We can let her out, and then quickly tag the last one. Piece of cake for a seasoned cowgirl like myself, right?
Wrong.
Do you see an oh-so-stylish yellow dangly earring on her? Me neither.
Uh oh, Marcel looks a little peeved.
I mean, he's inside the trailer with those unhappy babies, trying his best to pierce their ears without getting kicked, or butted, or smushed against the side of the trailer. All I have to do, for Lord' sake, is slide the gate open and shut!
Might as well just let the last one out, since she brought her own earring with her. She's a trend-setter, that one. Go on and join your siblings, little lady.
And now it looks like we're going to have an impromptu rodeo.
Lucky for me, Marcel loves playin' cowboy. Look how happy he is!
Aww, anything for you, sweetie. Aren't I just the best?
Marcel may be happy, but this little heifer doesn't want any part of it. She prefers the natural look.
Who knew we'd be into forced piercings? (I'd better remember this day when my kids come home with a nose ring and a pierced tongue.)
Ahh, the beauty of new beginnings:
In the meantime, can you tell which one of my kids is the cowpoke in the making?
Armando?
Ana?
or Madelina?
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