How to relieve stress

As 2020 proceeds on, hurling obstacles and challenges left and right, apparently there's a growing trend on how to alleviate stress.

Hug a cow.

Yes, really.

This article offers details: "Cow-hugging, an alleged wellness fad, has people cuddling farm animals to relieve stress": "According to the BBC, the practice of cuddling cows is supposed to reduce stress in humans by releasing the bonding hormone oxytocin. Cows are chosen specifically for their warm body temperatures and calm demeanor, the outlet reported."

To be fair, I can't argue. It's one of the reasons I loved milking bovines. Warm body temperatures, calm demeanor (and fresh milk) – what's not to love?

Now granted, not every cow we've ever owned has fit the blissful category the article describes: "Cows are very relaxed animals, they don’t fight, they don’t get in trouble," a farm owner who promotes the practice told BBC. "You come to the fields and we have some special hugging cows and you can lay next to [them] – people think it's very relaxing." (In fact, we've had a few bad-tempered critters who soon found a new home in our freezer.)

But my Jerseys – ah, those were lovely creatures, ready for a cuddle at any time.

 I've seen worse advice on how to handle stress.

Double-dipping

Our beloved Jersey cow Matilda, who passed away February 10, absolutely loved calves. She would nurse any and every calf who wanted milk. As a result, we called her our Universal Donor.

Yesterday I caught Amy, Matilda's adult daughter, engaging in the same practice. Double-dipping, anyone?

One calf is hers, and the other is little Ferdinand.

As far as I'm concerned, having a Universal Donor is an excellent thing on a farm ... plus it's a testimony to Matilda's gentle, generous nature -- something she clearly passed on to her daughter.

Birth and death

Just as we welcomed two new members of our herd in the last two weeks -- Hickory and Ferdinand -- I'm grieved to report we lost our beloved Matilda today.

We're clueless, absolutely clueless, what happened. This morning, as usual, she and Amy (her adult calf) were in the barn, lying down, chewing their cud. She seemed perfectly healthy. I went and opened the corral gate so the animals could get out. When I came back in the barn, Matilda was on her feet; so I scratched her on the forehead and said something foolish and cutesy to her, as I often do. Then I left to do the rest of the barn chores. That's the last time I saw her.

The weather today was chilly -- a low of 19F this morning -- but bright and sunny and beautiful. Then Don came into the house around noon. His nose was a bit red. "Matilda is dead," he said gently. I stared at him, stunned. "I'm not joking," he went on. "She's dead."

I threw on outdoor clothes and went to see. Sure enough, she was a few yards outside the corral, lying flat on the ground, unbreathing. Don thinks she might have had a heart attack. It didn't look like she had struggled much, but she was indisputably gone. Her unborn calf, of course, is gone too. I couldn't bear to take a photo.

A kind neighbor will be here in about an hour to dig a hole to bury her.

Last October, I put up a post on why Matilda was always my favorite cow. Let that be my tribute to her. It happened so quick, I simply cannot believe she's gone.

Birth and death. Life on a farm. Good-bye, dear Matilda. Thank you for so many fine years.

Nine years and still spoiled

Amazingly, it's been nine years since we brought Matilda home from the commercial dairy herd where she had become a burden. They sold her off because she had scabs on her teats and a raging case of mastitis. Because of these issues, Matilda had a rough start here with us; but throughout the subsequent round of unpleasant treatments, she remained sweet and gentle, a true Jersey in disposition.

I blatantly admit she's far more of a pet than livestock. Matilda taught me more about animal husbandry and dairying than all the rest of the herd put together. Nowadays I prefer Polly's milk to Matilda's, but Matilda remains my favorite. We don't hesitate to butcher any extraneous animal on our farm, but Matilda? No way. Oh, I know her day will come, and it won't be too far in the future, but on that day I will absent myself from home and when the meat comes back, it will all be donated to our church's food pantry.

And even after all these years, I continue to spoil her, especially in winter.

Consider this peaceful scene: All the animals, tucked under the feedbox awning. At the time I took this photo, it was spitting rain and chilly, and everyone was cozy under the shelter.

Except Matilda, who has always been at the bottom of the totem pole. While the other critters enjoyed the shelter of the awning and the abundant food in the feedboxes, Matilda stood alone a few yards away. Her gentle, undemanding nature means she never argues back against anyone who wants to push her around.

This is why, every winter, I tuck Matilda in the barn each night with her own food. This way I am assured she's warm, dry, and well-fed. Sure it's a bit of extra work to make sure the pen stays clean and stocked, but my peace of mind is worth it.

Each evening, just before Don feeds the rest of the beaties, I poke my head out the back of the barn and call, "Matilda!" She's waiting for this call, and starts ambling her way toward the stall.

Her 18-month-old steer calf, Sean, follows. Sean doesn't need the food or shelter, but Matilda likes him with her, so along he comes.

I don't close the stall door behind them; I close the corral gate. That way Matilda and Sean have room to move around the corral without being confined to the stall (plus they have access to the water tank).

Sunday morning, when I took the photo below, it was pouring sheets of rain blowing horizontally in a 30-mph gale. I delayed releasing the chickens since they would just be blown away, but I fed the cattle and horse, all of whom were happily protected from the weather by the awning. Had Matilda been among them, she would have been out getting drenched in the pouring rain and howling wind.

Instead, she was cozy and dry in her stall. Yes.

Matilda is due to calve in late January or early February. She loves, loves, loves raising babies, and she produces beautiful calves, so her life's purpose happily continues.

I'm not sure how old Matilda is. I know she's at least 15, maybe older. If she'd stayed on the commercial dairy, even if she'd remained healthy enough for them, her useful life would have ended years ago. But here on our farm, she has a purpose and has enjoyed life a decade longer than she might have otherwise. She won't be with us forever -- in fact, probably not much more than a year or two -- so I'll spoil her while I can.

Fall FELL hard

There has been a great reversing of the celestial weather machine. A week ago we were sweltering in 90F temps and bone-dry. Now it's windy, rainy, and cold. Fall has fallen.

Knowing we had a change in season coming, we've been embarking on a variety of projects with an aim toward buttoning up our farm for the winter.

Last week I harvested the peaches. These are the first fruits from our young newly planted orchard, and I couldn't be more thrilled to be picking my hands-down all-time favorite fruit from our own trees at last.

Altogether I got about 20 lbs. of fruit.

I won't bother canning them -- I have plenty of canned peaches -- but will instead happily eat them fresh. For a few days, I let them finish ripening on top our cookstove...

...until the fruit flies discovered them. Then I covered them with mosquito netting.

You can see the flies, pounding their little fists on the netting, wanting in. Tough patooties, guys.

Meanwhile Don embarked on cleaning out the bull pen sheds. Right now we don't have a bull, so we're going to get two piglets from a neighbor and raise our own pork. The sheds are the perfect place to put them (with a few modifications, of course) and the bull pen is spacious and well-fenced (I'll be aproning the perimeter to sabotage their rooting efforts).

He's also been transporting our enormous manure compost pile into the pasture where we'll be growing wheat next spring. The manure will be tilled into the soil this fall so it can decompose over winter.

The chickens think this is just a spiffy plan. There is nothing better for chickens than a manure pile.

I also started cleaning out the back of the barn. We have plans for this area -- moving the old chest freezer in place for grain storage, and putting in a new milking stall. But first, the mess. Before:

And after. The milking stall will go in the section where the florescent-orange reflector is; and we manhandled the chest freezer into position.

By the way, this will be my milking stall. We got this squeeze chute back in 2013 for an incredibly good price, but never used it. I have some cows I'd like to train to milk (notably Amy and Pixie, both half-Jerseys), and a squeeze chute will work perfectly for this purpose.

Next, the chest freezer.

It was filthy inside. But it's also mouse-proof, moisture-proof, and holds 25 cubic feet of material. In short, the perfect place to store bulk chicken feed.

So I scrubbed it out as best I could (without actually climbing inside) with a mop, then gave it a washover with bleach water. It will do for grain storage.

A couple mornings ago, the temperature dropped to 29F.

First frost on the windshield. Oh well, there goes the garden.

We also had rain moving in, the first appreciable rain in almost three months.

Time to harvest -- fast -- the garden. Everything got nipped by the frost. Tomatoes...

Red bell peppers...

Watermelons...

And beans, among much else.

The chipmunks are voracious this year. Sometimes, standing still among the corn tires, I could see as many as a dozen, diligently harvesting my harvest.

This past weekend was a frantic couple of days of harvest, trying to get things under cover before the rain hit. Potatoes:

Beans (the corn is pretty much done). Here's a "before" photo:

And an "after" shot.

Lots of beans.

I ended up piling them in the wheelbarrow...

...and dumping them in the barn.

I'll have to hasten and pick the pods off the plants, but that will happen after the rain starts when I can't work outside.

The chickens enjoyed the stripped-out beds...

...and ate any leftover corn they could find.

I saw an occasional tiny frog.

Chipmunks were everywhere, harvesting whatever they could.

Not just chipmunks. We've had chickarees around here too. This one was in an old bird's nest in the pear tree, munching on a pear.

The weather was definitely thickening up as we worked.

Younger Daughter started in on the green tomatoes.

We didn't have a whole lot of ripe tomatoes, but we had lots of green ones. I'll put these in a box with apples and bananas to supply ethylene, and run them through the food strainer as they come ripe.

The red bell peppers were still green, so I picked them all and will ripen them in the house.

The chickens got most of my watermelons, but this baby was growing so well I netted it so they couldn't eat it. With the vine dead after the frost, I went ahead and picked it.

It weighed in at 20 lbs.

The pear trees are massively loaded with fruit.

I started by picking the low-hanging fruit...

...which nearly filled the wheelbarrow.

But I still have two or three times as much fruit in the upper branches. Holy cow, the Magic Pear Fairy is soon gonna have to wax up her wings and once again fly around the neighborhood, bestowing the blessings of pears on anyone she can catch.

But I had to put aside the rest of the pears until later. We had other stuff to do.

Don cut up a bunch of rounds of firewood, which I split.

Then we stacked it on the porch. First firewood of the year!

The last step of the day was to bring in the cattle from the neighboring property we lease for grazing each year. The beasties were all peacefully browsing...

...until they heard the universal cattle call: "Bossy bossy bossy bossy BOSSY!!!!!"

Instant response! They all threw up their heads and came galloping.

Here comes Brit, always first through the gate.

The rest thundered after her.

Except Matilda, of course. Matilda doesn't "thunder." She walks. Sedately.

Don had little Mr. Darcy on a leash to watch this twice-a-year "two-minute cattle roundup," as we call it.

The cattle came through the gate in no time...

...with elderly Matilda bringing up the rear in a stately fashion.

The cattle will stay on the wooded side of the pasture for the winter, where they have shelter under the barn awning when they need it.

It's a good thing we did all this harvesting and battening down, because today has been windy, rainy, and cold.

The fire in the cookstove feels good.

Winter is on its way. You can never forget that in north Idaho