Farm-Assist

Weldon has been farming his whole life. He's a farmer like his father and grandfather before him. I've been here for almost 13 years, but I'm not a farmer. When I helped with the milking chores, I liked to call myself a farm-assist. Sounds pretty important, doesn't it? I still assist when Weldon comes to the house and asks if I can help him for a few minutes. That happened a couple days ago, when he had to go up into the silo to make some adjustments.

This silo is 50 feet tall, not counting the rounded top. Weldon and a friend had cut and chopped the early corn and blown it up there. Well, they didn't blow it up there ... a machine did it. You can see a video of silage being blown into the silo here (scroll down almost to the end): http://farmmuse.blogspot.com/2012/10/chop-that-corn.html.

The cows were super excited to see what was going on.

Now, were was I? Ah, yes. Helping Weldon at the silo. This "crank thing" (below) raises and lowers the auger that's inside the silo. I don't have the strength to turn the crank, so the handle is replaced by a drill that can get the job done. Weldon is in the silo and I run the drill to raise or lower the auger per his directions. That's not a very good description, but if you want to understand it better, come for a visit and I'm sure Weldon will tell and show you all about it.

When I was done and Weldon was safely back on the ground, I decided to stroll toward the back of the barn and the pasture area. A calf had gotten out of the fence and was feeling footloose and fancy free - until he saw me. He scampered as fast as his little legs would carry him right back to his mama's side.

The early corn is in the silo, so I asked Weldon when the "later" corn would be ready. In September, of course. I should have remembered that, because on the morning of our wedding (September 25), Weldon was chopping corn! The late corn won't be late ... it will be right on time. And we're finally getting some rain to make it happy and healthy.

Hanging On

I guess you've figured out that I'm not a fan of living on a dairy farm. It's hard, dirty work with little return. But farmers love their farms ... and the small family farm is becoming a thing of the past. That aspect of it breaks my heart. It just doesn't seem right that the big business of huge farms can force the little guy out.

The cost for Weldon to ship his milk to the processing plant went from $2500 a year to $7,000 a year, effectively putting him out of business. On January 31, 2015, Weldon sold all of his best milkers. I confess to getting teary-eyed as I saw the truck driving away with our cows. Right now, Weldon is still milking eight Holsteins. Whatever milk isn't fed to the calves or sold as pet feed to our customers is poured down the drain.

For the year 2014, Weldon once again had the cleanest milk in the state, receiving what will be his final Platinum Award. He'll continue to have the cleanest milk in the state, of course, and he'll hang on to the farming life as long as possible - planting corn, raising the 16 new calves, and doing what he loves to do. I think he's adjusting pretty well, but he asked another retired dairy farmer, "When will the pain go away?" The answer: "Never."

There was an interesting article in the Winston-Salem Journal this past week about another North Carolina dairy farmer trying to hang on. You can read Randy Lewis' story here.

"His life has a certain good and timeless rhythm - and that includes square dances...." At the end of the article, you'll find a link to "The Last Barn Dance," a documentary film that has been made about his farm and the dances. Hey! I think it's a pretty cool idea.

Life goes on. Most of the female cats are pregnant, the jonquils are pushing up through anything that stands in their way, and this Sunday we'll "spring forward." I just hope someone has reminded Mother Nature of the event.  

All's Well That Ends Well

Just before dawn breaks, as I'm heading out to feed the cats and kittens, I shouldn't hear the roar of the big tractor. But that's exactly what I hear this morning.  It's bound to mean problems, so I feed the cats and hurry to the back of the hay barn where I can get a view of the free stalls and, hopefully, see what's going on.

Sure enough, there's Weldon on the tractor and Pat standing near a cow lying in a free stall furthest from me. It's obvious that the cow has just had a calf and, as I work my way over to Pat, I see the new baby standing among some of the other cows. But Mama Cow is "hung up" between the upper and lower rungs of the stall divider pipe and can't get free.

The nuts and bolts that hold the stall together have been unscrewed, and Weldon has a big chain wrapped around the stall pipe and attached to the lift forks of the tractor. Slowly he lifts the stall divider pipe up and away from the cow.

However, the cow can't stand. This is when I start to cry (silently, of course) and pray (silently, of course). And this is exactly why I'm not cut out to be a nurse. These kind of things just tear me apart.

So ... Weldon goes to get the hip clamps (for the cow, not for any one of us) and attaches the device to the cow's hips and then chains it to the lift forks of the tractor. (I've seen him do this before, so I'm not in total shock like the first time I saw it.) Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifts the back end of the cow until she is obligated to stand. But she's doesn't want to stand on those back legs! (cry, pray, cry, pray)

Finally (seems like forever, but it was probably just a minute or two) she gingerly puts weight on her back legs and Weldon can remove the hip clamps. (sob, thank you, sob, thank you)

We slowly conduct mom and baby through a gate so they can get out to a nice grassy field and recover from their traumatic morning.

All's well that ends well :-)