The search had begun but had thus far been fruitless. Old Bossy had not returned with the herd for the afternoon feeding and milking and with her projected time to drop a calf, it was assumed that is what she had done. Otherwise, as a steadfast member of the herd of two dozen Guernsey milk cows she would surely not have chosen to bypass the twice daily feeding routine to which she had long been accustomed. My mission was to find the brownish/orange and white speckled animal, and to return cow and expected newborn to the barn where cow could be fed and calf could be monitored to assure that suckling was being accomplished. The west woods fields had been searched to no avail and now the search would need to be taken further west to the foot hills of Dan’s Mountain. This area was total woodland with two small mountain streams that fed off the rising terrain to the west. These streams formed as one which then that meandered through the center of the 175 acre dairy farm that was the site of my upbringing and home for two decades.
With fairly heavy vegetation among the trees, the woodland could not simply be scanned for the large animal, so the draws and thicker brush had to be viewed at closer range. Approaching the end of the fenced land that was the western boundary of the farm, Old Bossy finally came into view. As I drew closer the sight of the gangly calf was seen among the thorn bushes. The birth had only recently occurred, but the newborn had been licked reasonably dry by the mother and appeared capable of four leg mobility. The ten year old cow, one of the oldest in the herd, had elected to have her calf about as far from home base as was possible. Anything to make life difficult for a young thirteen year old farm hand. Dairy cows are for the most part a very docile animal, bred to be controlled and placed where their masters so choose. But with a new born calf, some could be of a difficult nature and could be most protective of the their offspring. Old Bossy was one of the latter.
After getting through the barbed brush, I was able to get the calf on its spindly feet and by pushing and shoving got free of the thickest vegetation. But Old Bossy was unappreciative of the manner in which I was handling her flesh and blood. As I pushed the calf forward, the mother would butt me from behind. We, therefore, had three grossly unhappy individuals – me, with a mission to accomplish and nearly a mile to get it done, a mother who did not like my method of handling her offspring, and a newborn calf, hours old, that could not comprehend anything other than that she would like to be left alone to suck on one of those four new found faucets under her mother’s belly that gave needed nourishment.
With a stick in one hand that was used to ward off the mother, and using the other hand in an attempt to direct the calf in the general direction of the far distant barn, I made slow progress. When the calf would not go forward and would simply fall to the ground, I would, in order to make progress, simply pick up the calf and carry it like a sack of grain as far as I could before becoming too winded. Its weight was not quite as much as my own but it sure felt like it. At least this way I knew the mother would not fail to follow us on the desired trek. I suppose I should have appreciated the fact that a calf, barely five hours old, could walk at all, given the fact that I could not possibly have carried the youngster the total distance. The retrieval took a good hour and a half, but finally the barn was in sight. Of the three I am sure I was the most relieved. The good news was that with the time taken to get the cow and calf back to the barn, my Dad would have nearly completed the daily ritual of milking the herd of cows, and at least I would not have as many tasks to accomplish while my breathing returned to normal.
Life on a dairy farm in the mountains of Western Maryland entailed activity such as this. Our farm was one of several in the Potomac Valley that was bordered on the east by the Potomac River and on the west by the mountains of the Alleghenys. All of these farms generally had three divisions. Three railroad tracks ran perpendicular through the farms and separated the fertile farmland, or bottom land as we called that section along the river, where the crops were planted. U. S. Highway 220 ran parallel to the railroad and the section between the highway and railway was used as pasture, or sometimes planted with crops. To the west of the highway was a larger wooded area that was partially pasture, woodlands, or a combination of both, and a separate fenced off section dedicated to an orchard. On our farm were 32 acres of choice bottom crop land, 26 acres of good pasture which was occasionally used as crop land, and a remaining 117 acres to the west of lesser value used for free roaming pasture. It was there that I had located Old Bossy and her calf.
In addition to the herd of dairy cattle maintained for the production of milk, the farm was also home to horses, chickens, and hogs all in need of constant care and feeding. Maintaining a dairy farm such as this required manpower. My father was as hard a worker as I have ever known or expect to know. But farm assistance was in order and in that vein my parents would bring eight children into this world. I chose not to say that was their prime function in raising a large family but it must have been a factor. At least the children were staggered out in a manner that gave a large time frame of coverage. Seventeen years separated the birth of the eight. The first six were all males, then finally a female, and then four years later another male, me. My sister and I have often wondered which of us was the mistake. Although I had thought of making that query of my parents, I chose not to. The rejoinder would have undoubtedly been, “We could have stopped sooner, but then where would that leave you?” As the last of the eight children I guess they would have made their point.
One of my mother’s major disappointments must have been the upbringing of my one sister. I am sure her initial reaction was – finally I have some one to help in the kitchen and with the house work. But if there ever was a tom boy it was my sister. She gravitated to the outdoor farm work as just another boy and had little interest in the house work, much to the chagrin of my mother. The apple of her father’s eye, my sister much preferred to be in the fields with her father, whom she adored. As the follow on child and last son, I should feel grateful, since my dedication to the chores and tasks assigned was not required quite as soon as they might otherwise have been.
The integration into the daily routine of involvement in the multitude of tasks required of farm activity did not begin at a certain age or point in time. It was an evolutionary process, then suddenly your part of the process was ingrained and became almost an automatic function, duties that were necessary as you grew into a production worker. Out of bed by 6:00 am, complete the milking process and clean up at the barn, eat breakfast, work the fields or other chores involving the other animals, then the afternoon milking process repeated starting at 4:00 pm, to be followed by the evening meal at about 6:00 pm, then if daylight allowed, other work in the vegetable garden or in the repair of farm machinery. During school session the only difference was that the time after a 7:45 am breakfast and between the afternoon milking was spent at the school house. School bus pickup was at 8:00 in the morning with afternoon drop off at 3:45, just in time to quickly change clothes and back to the chores in the barn. The morning and evening milking times were accomplished every day, seven days a week, twelve months a year, for ever and ever. The requirements of maintaining a dairy herd go on and on.
Our dairy herd was comprised of the Guernsey breed. Some of our farm neighbors had Holsteins, a larger animal, always black and white, that produced a greater quantity of milk but with lower butterfat content. Others had Jerseys, a smaller animal that delivered less bulk but with the highest of butterfat. My dad’s chosen cattle breed, the Guernsey, was somewhere in between in terms of cow size, producing a moderate quantity and butterfat. During the summer and moderate weather months the cows would be herded into the milking stalls, fed some high protein grain, milked and put back out to pasture. The cold winter months would call for the herd to spend almost all of the time within the barn in their designated stalls. They would be fed dry hay from the loft, that being cured alfalfa, clover, or timothy cut from the fields in the summer. From the silo, chopped up corn or silage would also be fed, topped off with some ground grain, with a water cup for each stall supplying the needed drinking requirement. In the coldest of days the herd would be let out only in the afternoon prior to the late milking period to allow for a better clean up of the manure deposited in the channel to the cows rear. This also allowed for at least a once a day exercise period even in the coldest of weather. The never ending process was lots of feed into the mouth of the cattle, manure and urine out the back end, with the necessity of collecting the milk from the under belly of the cows during a twice a day ritual that was a continuing process.
For a good part of the dairy operation a stud bull was kept on hand to fulfill the male half of the reproductive process when that duty was needed. That service requirement, while being kept in good health and well fed, was the only purpose of this ungrateful creature. The bulls would be changed from time to time, thus they would not be in position to impregnate their daughters, who had quickly grown up to become adult members of the milk producers. Not that the old sire bulls would have cared what female was the object of their brief duty – but my father’s interests were in keeping the best reproductive stock on hand. While kept in their own bull pen most of the time, the only grown male member of the herd seemed to have a scowl on his face in spite of his life of pure leisure. It would seem they should have been the happiest of all the farm animals, but their superior attitude and snobbish behavior did not endear them to their owners and handlers. They could also be downright mean and difficult to control. However, in later years modern technology caught up with their personalities. Artificial insemination practices overtook the need for these surly creatures. They were replaced by a human being, trained in the art of inserting a glass tube in the right place at the right time, while injecting the fluid necessary for the reproductive process to continue within the herd of cows. This technician would make the rounds of all the farms in the area when called upon to do so – and he had a better personality.
The milk was collected in open two gallon cans by hand from the four faucets at the bottom of the udder. The teats, or faucets, would be thoroughly washed prior to the hand squeezing operation. Clean hands were also a necessity. Milking machines came later in my tenure after a long conversion process to that practice by my father who finally made that more modern purchase from Marshall Porter, the local Surge dealer. Udder size or faucet length was not necessarily an indication of the amount of milk collected. The good producers had a home for as long as they were good producers. Those that were not were sold for beef harvest. Teat damage sometimes would occur due to the cow pinching the wrong spot upon rising from a lie down position. This and other problems such as mastitis would be treated with medication as required. When major medical problems arose the local veterinarian would be contacted for a house (or barn) call. Some animals even had more than the normal four faucets, some with an extra one or two that did nothing but make the cow look a bit different. The collected milk, filtered and stored in five gallons cans and quickly refrigerated, would be picked up daily by an individual in a delivery truck, who would take the daily harvest to the Queen City Dairy in Cumberland, ten miles away. A monthly pay check based upon the poundage and fat content would be my father’s reward for this hard and labor intensive work.
Little was wasted in this continuing process. The manure from the cows, cleaned daily from the stalls would be collected in a manure spreader and disseminated over the pasture or crop fields as the weather allowed. A dairy cow has no regard for anything other than to be fed and to relieve bodily functions when and wherever required. It seemed downright disrespectful to do this in the middle of a milking process, but some seemed to delight in so doing, with an added emphasis of a quick switch of the tail across your face as you were collecting the milk. Others did not like the milker personally, or did not like to have her faucets pulled, and would not stand still long enough for the process. There were those that had to have a hobble placed around the rear legs in order for the process to be completed. Of course, those stubborn individuals would always further display their displeasure by insisting on dropping manure and urine in the middle of the milking process. We had various names for these creatures, and on occasion a bent leg in the milk stool that came in contact with the cow’s ribs when our displeasure became too great.
The cows would be trained to occupy the same stall every time upon entry to the barn. All were given a name that we knew even though the animals did not. Spot, Susie, Baldy, Gorgeous, Flame, Gertrude, and Sally come to mind. Some trained quite easily, others not quite so. But once they were exposed to the same location time and time again they came to know the stall as their own. Should one move on to the beef factory, die, or otherwise open up a space for a newcomer, the process was not too difficult. The old-timers always went to their assigned stalls so that there was only one other not occupied, and that then became the space for a newer member’s feeding and milking station. Some smaller brained cows would occasionally have memory lapses and would go to the wrong stall. A few choice words and a kick to the nose or head would cause a retreat and placement to the proper location. Once all were in place two vertical bars were locked on either side of the cow’s neck to keep them firmly in their place. Of the two dozen stalls, all would be occupied, with normally eighteen or twenty cows being active in the milk collection process at any one time. The two rows of twelve stalls faced each other, with the cow’s heads toward the center, with a wide middle section allowing for the feeding of the silage, hay, and grain. The silo was at the end of the barn and a given amount of silage was forked down a chute to the floor level daily and shoveled in the feeding trough in front of each cow. During winter hay feeding was needed to replace the grasses not then available from the summertime pastures. An opening directly in the center of the two rows of stalls allowed for the loose hay to be forked down from the loft for feeding to the waiting animals. Supplemental Southern States store bought grain, or grain ground up from our own stored corn, would provide higher protein food. The complete twice daily milking process took about an equal time for feeding, preparation, and cleanup as the actual milk collection itself.
We were not rich but we were well fed – that can be said for spending our youth on a dairy farm. Obviously we had all the milk, eggs, and beef we needed, but with a vegetable garden, and chickens and hogs we had plenty of variety to our meals. When a Sunday chicken dinner was planned, a simple trip to the chicken coop was made and a bird not doing as well as expected in the laying of eggs was singled out. Some seemed to know what was happening and did not want to be caught no matter how hard one tried. But when the unfortunate chicken was finally grabbed by the legs, it was time for the ax to fall. I have wondered why Ripley’s Believe It or Not, which then appeared in the local daily newspaper, failed to include at least once the record for the “Most Steps Taken By A Headless Chicken.” It was fascinating, I will admin, to see the antics of a white Leghorn chicken continuing to do some strange things with its full body, while its head lay completely separated on the ground. In spite of that, the fried chicken dinner with all the trimmings would be enjoyed by all.
As my older siblings grew to adulthood they moved on to other endeavors, leaving it to the younger of the clan to become the newest production workers on the dairy farm. It is my guess that none wanted to stay on the farm for the simple reason that they wished not to deny the younger siblings the opportunity to partake of the full exposure and experience that they had undergone. Of course, the opportunity to explore other avenues in life was a consideration. Either that or they got awfully tired of pulling teats and shoveling manure and desired to see what else there may be out there on this planet. The same could be said of me, even though I stayed longer in the production worker function of a home bred and home grown dairy farm hand than any of my siblings. That was simply because I was the end of the line with no one to replace me. My departure did come, however, and it was not soon thereafter, that my father retired from the dairy farm business, having given his life to the fullest in raising a large family in what he enjoyed most, working the soil, working with animals, and enjoying the outdoor life. I am sure he realized, in the final analysis, that this hard working farm environment was an outstanding location for him and his wife, and their eight children.
Of the seven sons, five would serve in the military, four in the United States Air Force, (the other served in the U. S. Army Infantry), three would become Air Force pilots, and two, including myself, would make military duty a career. Although none of the eight siblings continued in any kind of farming environment, in retrospect, this was not a bad place to spend a childhood, and for that we have the highest regard for our father and our mother.
Wings Over Cumberland 