Dairy Farm Adventures: Date Nights

by Lee-Rae Jordan-Oliver
    Living on a dairy farm is a fast-paced, busy place. Matthew manages the farm operation, while I am director of homeland security, running the household and raising three vivacious children, ages 2, 4 and 6. Though Matthew walks 20 paces to work, we barely bump into each other some days because we’re racing in opposite directions. To keep the foundation of our marriage strong, we learned to survive the tumultuous times of starting a dairy farm from scratch and parenting young children by creating a weekly “Date Night.”
    On Wednesday nights, our worlds collide for a brief, but precious time. On “Date Night” our babysitter, Jillian, has supper with the children, gives them a bath, and puts them to bed after story time. Matthew and I savor a kid-free meal and then return to the barn and milk the cows together as a team. I don my knee-length muck boots, baggy camouflage pants, and raggedy T-shirt and traipse to the barn. Not exactly amorous attire, but the cows don’t mind and Matthew never complains.
    A night in the barn begins with bringing the cows inside from the pasture. We let 32 of our 70 cows come into the barn at a time. They step up into a stanchion stall and snack on grain while Matthew and I hook them up. Matthew prepares the milk tank while I feed the cows a scoop and a half of grain. Then I clean the cows’ teats by dipping them in an iodine solution and thoroughly wiping the manure and mud off each teat with a clean rag. Before bending over to clean each cow, I pet their hip and talk to them to let them know I’m there. This lessens the probability of them being startled. Many of them swing their giant heads around to look at me. It’s their way of saying, “Hello, I haven’t seen you for awhile.” If I’m wearing a hat, some mischievous cows will grab it off my head. Sometimes I’ll get a cow scrub when their long sand-papery tongues sideswipe my face.
    Milking in stanchion stalls requires a measure of trust and respect between the cows and farmer since there is no protection for the farmer, should a cow misbehave and kick. Each cow has distinctive personality traits and quirks, some more pronounced and dangerous then others. Matthew always reminds me to “Watch out for ‘Heart’, “or “Stay clear of ‘Gigi’s’ hind legs.” I can usually tell when I approach a cow what kind of mood she’s in that night. If her eyes are wide and googly-eyed and she starts swishing her tail with calculated accuracy aimed at my head, I’ll tell Matthew to deal with her. I decided if I’m out there once a week, it should be a positive experience, so I try not to push my luck.
    After the cows have been washed and milked, I post dip each teat with a thick coat of iodine solution which seals their teats and prevents bacteria from entering and causing infection. Recently, I’ve started taking the milkers off cows and putting them onto another cow. This is a big step for me. In the past, I’ve stayed out of Matthew’s way as he deftly switches the milkers from one cow to another with lightning speed. I appreciate the cows who stand stock still as I fumble around trying hard to attach the milkers on just right. Each time I’m successful, I thank the cow for being a “good girl.” With practice I’ll improve and someday be able to keep up with Matthew’s swift pace.
    If the night goes smoothly, it takes us less than three hours to milk 70 cows, and we’re in the house by 9 p.m. An especially good night is when I avoid getting pooped on, kicked at, or swatted in the face with a slimy tail. Our date nights are not relaxing or romantic. However, for a short time, it’s just the two of us working together side by side focused on a common goal with no interruptions. Many people have asked me, “So do you like milking cows?” To which I reply, “Well, as long as I love the farmer, that’s all that matters.
    Editor’s Note: Lee-Rae Jordan-Oliver and her husband Matt are former educators who own a dairy farm in Hodgdon. Her column, discussing life on a farm in 2011, will appear on a semi-regular basis in The Houlton Pioneer Times.