And then I had TWO broken pumps

I went out yesterday morning to wind up the new old pump and get to milking  and it did not start, not a whisper not even a prayer. Nothing. Nada.  Zip. Silence.  I tried my one to see if maybe it was going to miraculously start, nothing there either. Tock Tock said Kupa from his perch in the peanut gallery.   I had two broken pumps out in the barn and one hot sweaty cow bursting with milk.

It was 6 am in the morning. No help was coming. I stood in my dripping oil skin,  my hands on my hips, bad words in my mouth, my head dropped to  pump level and glared at both pumps. I mean if looks could kill. Ah well. Both pumps were already dead.

So I hand milked her. This was the most arduous and unsatisfactory few hours of my day. I had never hand milked before. I had no idea what I was doing. But Daisy had no other suggestions. So I pulled over the little glass footed piano stool and began.

Hand milking is very hard. There is a technique that I never  discovered. No-one to teach me. The milk came out in little dribs and drabs.  You are supposed to have a rhythm but I just had sore hands and a sore back.  We worked at it for almost two hours and I managed to milk just over two gallons.  Daisy ate almost a bale of hay,  the milk when it did get going squirted everywhere, almost never in the bucket.  We were covered in it.   The time passed so slowly as we worked. After the first hour my only objective was to get some of that milk out of her udder for her health.

I can’t hold on any longer daisy said. I have got to go.

You can’t go, I told her, just wait. If I let you out now you will not come back in, then  you will get a fever or mastitis of something, I have to milk you.

I can’t hold on any longer, said Daisy. So she didn’t.

Now I was not only covered in milk, I also had splat splash back on me (at least grass fed cow poo is not too bad smelling) and did I mention the flies. The milk was dirty. My legs were dirty. Daisy was covered in flies. My hands and arms were beginning to cramp. It had just rained and while we toiled, the sun had come out and invited every fly in the world to come and sit on me and Daisy.  I scooted  glass footed milking stool closer and worked.  Grabbing the bucket and ducking every time she raised her leg to kick.

Give up. Said Daisy.

I can’t. I told her.

What is that thing you say about Picasso. She said.

A good artist knows when it is time to stop. I said.  It does not refer to milking it is about knowing when your painting is finished.

So, stop. She said. You are the worst hand milker in the history of mankind. Just stop already. I am tired. I need a drink. She heaved on her halter.  I will just keep kicking over that stupid bucket until you stop. She gently raised her foot again and tipped it over again. Let me out now.  It has been hours. 

I let her go, fed the calf, gave the rest of the dust covered milk to the pigs, fed all the other animals who were moaning their arses off because I was late, washed in a bucket of sun warmed water and then went inside to call the man. Actually I called two men. The nice one who had lent me the pump and the nice one who had sold me the first pump. The second one did not answer. The first one said I will be there shortly.

So I picked a bowl of tomatoes, cooked them with basil and onion, blended them,  a ladle full at a time, in my teensy sauce food processor. Then into the crock pot with the lid off for the rest of the day. This sauce will be for todays pizza night! 

The neighbour man came and tested his pump, scratched his head, said I will have to buy a new motor, I don’t know what the problem is, but it did take a tumble a while back,  and we heaved it back into his truck.

I cleaned out the mess of a milking parlour. Pulled some weeds in the front vegetable garden and  ate the last of the watermelon. No sorbet today.

Then the  man who sold me the pump called back and he sent through instructions on how to fix it. He thought the pump had taken in some moisture and needed cleaning out. Hmm. I needed a bribe for Our John so he would dismantle the thing after work.  It was already 97 degrees and he works outside. So I took the cold coffee I keep in the fridge for 3 O’clock, grated in a little chocolate, added some cream and sugar, and a little kahlua, then put it in the ice cream maker.  This went into the freezer to wait for him. I hoped he could fix it. 

I hand milked Daisy again at lunchtime figuring that another milking would help ease her udder and keep the milk moving on a bit. I was very concerned about her health. Not milking a cow can kill the cow.  I was feeling a little panicky. I was hot. So was she. And I was still rubbish at milking.

By 4 m the nice man who lent me the second pump brought me another old pump which we heaved into the barn and I was able to milk on time.  He stood watching  to make sure all went well and was fascinated by my bell and the sheep who stood to watch. Daisy sighed an enormous sigh of relief.

Later John ate his ice coffee stuff (what do I call that?)  with a spoon, while sitting in the barn on a concrete block taking apart, cleaning  and putting back together the new pump. My printer does not work either so I had to jog back and forth from the barn reading the directions to him. And then it fired up!  And we learnt how to fix it for next time. 

As I was jogging past the third time Sheila decided to meet me half way. She had got out. I called to her and she followed me like a good pig. I walked with her to the gate to put her back in, looking for Charlotte calling and calling.  I looked everywhere, under trucks we passed and in gardens. Then I heard a huffing behind me. Sheila and I both turned to look and she had been following us the whole time.

What on earth were you two doing in the garden, I said.

Just having a look, Charlotte told me, as they dashed back through the gate.   I opened their barn door. Go home.  Through the barn they ran, snuffling at John and inspecting his tools on the way past. 

It’s fixed, he told them as he put the cover back on. They both froze at the sound of his voice, then laughing they ran helter skelter back down the barn corridor and into their pen.

Good morning.  Another day on the farmy has passed.  Only just barely in control. But in the end I had another 4 gallons of milk, two working pumps, contented sleeping animals,  and everyone was fed and where they belonged.  Then a cool North wind sprung up and fanned me as I completed the days chores into the evening.  I had been running two hours late the whole day but we made it.

Today will be a lovely day.

celi

What happened on this day a year ago.  Mary’s Cat found the farmy as a tiny tiny stray kitten.  Click on tiny and go see. You can just look at the pictures. Also there is a recipe for Mama’s Quiche.  I used to set recipes out so nicely!  I still make quiche about once a week!  

This is Mary’s Cat yesterday. She certainly has grown!

c