Chapter Two --- "The Parlor"

Chapter 2 Glossary

Holstein Cow….. Large black-and-white animal that produces milk, calves, and fertilizer.

Udder……………. The milk producing organ located between the hind legs of a cow.

Quarter………….. One-fourth of an udder.  Each quarter has one teat.  

Whole milk…….. Nothing removed.  Cream included.  The way it comes from the cow.

Milk replacer….. A powdered milk fed to calves.  Less expensive than fresh whole milk.

Calves…………….. Grow up to be cows.

Parlor ……………...Room where the cows are milked.

Milk house…….. Room where the bulk tank is located that cools and stores the milk.

Free stalls………..Long rows of open stalls divided by iron pipes.  Cows choose freely where they will lay.  It’s interesting to note that they often go back to the same stall each day.

    

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We moved on a Saturday.  Sunday, we rested and looked at each other in amazement.  We’re really here!  We’re living in hill country.  It was exciting, but sort of scary too.  We opted out of going to church this first Sunday, but decided instead that the Lord would understand if we rested and put a few more things away.  Monday, my first official day at work would come soon enough, and I was a little nervous about it.  I’d be milking the cows with Lisa, Matt’s older sister.  She managed the dairy herd for her parents, Jim and Ann.

Sunday afternoon our family spent some time with my cousin Jay and his family.  Our children were learning to know each other, and seemed to be enjoying the developing friendship.  Together we drove down through the large river-bottom field to the Ohio River and sat on the bank for a good while, watching the barge traffic and talking about the area.  Just downstream from us, a lock-and-dam moved the river traffic a step up or down, depending on the direction of travel.  Jay said he likes to fish just below the dam.  It sounded good to me.  That was one of the reasons this area was so appealing.  

The moment of truth came early Monday morning.  Milking started at 5:00 AM, so I rose at 4:30 and dressed in the dark.  My growling stomach told me to eat something before leaving the house.  That wasn’t in the plans, because Matt said we would take a break after milking to eat.  But I was hungry now!  Seemed like it wouldn’t hurt to eat twice, so I wolfed down a quick bowl of cereal.

Four-forty-five; I slipped out the door and eased it shut behind me, being careful to not awaken the family.  My barn boots waited on the porch and I slipped my feet into them.  Ah, the rubber smelled clean and new, but that was about to change.

A glance towards the dark pasture indicated I’d need a flashlight to walk the couple hundred yards across to the barn.  I arrived at the milk-house before Lisa, and stepped inside to wait.   In a few minutes she arrived.  

“Mornin’ Dave.”

“Hi Lisa.”

“Ya ready to milk cows?”

“Sure.”

“Well let’s go get ‘em in.”

It had been a fairly warm night, so most of the cows had slept out in the pasture.  Lisa grabbed the flashlight and headed out the door.  We walked around the barn to the pasture gate and stopped.  I nearly jumped out of my skin when Lisa cut loose with her loud call.

“Come ooooooooon!  Hey girls!  Come oooooooooon.”

I figured we’d have to walk out to get them, but we stood there waiting a minute or two, peering into the darkness, and Lisa kept calling.  Then slowly, large dark shapes began emerging from the field, huffing and snuffling along in single file.   They walked past us into the free stall barn, and down the long aisle toward the parlor.  They knew exactly where they were going, as if they did it every day.  We watched them until they were all in, but Lisa remained in place, staring intently into the darkness, shining the flashlight in every direction.

“Granny’s still out there,” she said.  “Ya wanta go take a look?  Sometimes she’s a little slow.  I’ll start getting the parlor ready.”

I took the flashlight and walked out a ways, sweeping the beam across the pasture.  And there she was, still way out, slowly picking her way towards the barn.

I followed her to the holding pen just outside the parlor, pushed the gate closed behind the tight pack of animals, and walked around the building to the milk-house door.

Lisa was installing the milk filter.

“Why’d ya walk around the parlor?”

“The cows were in my way.”

“Just walk right through them, they won’t bite ya,” she laughed.

“I didn’t want to get my feet stepped on.”

She smiled patiently, “They’ll move outta your way. You don’t have to worry about getting stepped on”   

It was all so strange and unfamiliar – the parlor, milk-house, milking equipment, and the cows.   I noticed right off that Lisa knew each one by number, and some by name.  This was a little intimidating.  Okay, it was a LOT intimidating.  No way on God’s green earth could I learn to know these cows like she knew them. To me they all looked the same – roughly one hundred of them.  Some were black and white, and the rest were white and black – large curious creatures with intelligent brown eyes, all completely cloned.  They eyed me with suspicion.  Who was this stranger?  What puzzled me even more was that from our view in the parlor, we could see only the udders and legs, and Lisa still knew each one.   It must be a gift I figured – or perhaps some stray gene that you had to be born with – and I didn’t have it.  I thought there was a very good chance that Lisa had been born right there in the barn.  

Milking lasted for about two hours, and thankfully Lisa had a sense of humor.  She patiently taught me how to wash and dry the udders, strip a little milk from each quarter to visually inspect it, and then attach the milker.  It felt so awkward the first time, and I nearly became convinced my right hand had suddenly become another left one.  But thankfully by the end of the milking, it was feeling almost natural.  

Following the milking, we scraped and hosed down the parlor and fed the calves.  These cute little critters each had their own outside hutch, lined up in the yard outside the barn.  They dove hungrily into the milk-replacer, butting and licking the bucket when it became empty.  Then, it was time for our own breakfast.

Up until this time in my life, the morning meal had been a bowl of cereal (okay, two or three bowls.)  Now, it was going to be a real farmer’s breakfast.  Right from day one Juanita baked homemade bread and served it toasted and buttered, along with oatmeal, bacon and eggs. I was famished, and never had a breakfast looked so appetizing.

Juanita wondered how my first morning had gone.

“Good.”  What else could I say?  Really, it had gone well.  My head still spun a little from all the newness and the many details, but it was a good start, and I was planning to be here a while.  

“I’m going to like Lisa.  She’s just as nice as everyone else here.  I’ve got a lot to learn, but I think they’ll be patient with me.”

After breakfast I returned to the barn where Lisa showed me more of my daily chores.

Once a day, the free stalls needed to have the muck raked out, and sawdust bedding added.  The long aisle between the rows of stalls needed to be scraped with a small tractor pulling a blade, dragging the “soup” out to a corner of the feed lot where it would later be spread on the fields.   The hutches that the calves lived in also received fresh bedding as needed.

Then she taught me how to mix the calf feed.  It consisted of a combination of grains, minerals, and medications – all designed to grow healthy replacement cows.  Every female calf (heifer) stayed on the farm, and all the bull calves were sold.  In addition to the milk replacer that the calves received until they were eight weeks old, they learned to eat the grain and small amounts of hay.  

Lisa also gave me a detailed explanation of the parlor and milk-cooling system.  Perhaps you would find it interesting too, to learn a little about the process and to finally, definitively, have the answer to the age-old question, “Where does milk come from?”

Kids may tell you that we get it from the grocery store.  Or, sort of like growing up to learn the truth about Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny, they will learn that milk comes from cows.  That may startle them a bit at first, but after years of enjoying it, they can shrug it off and not care so much about the details of collecting it.  

But since I’d like you to know the full story, it seems appropriate to give a more thorough look at what I learned on my first day of milking cows.

For starters, the word parlor seems like a huge misnomer.   My mind pictures a parlor as a type of formal room in the house – most often reserved for guests and special occasions – a place with expensive furniture, where polite people sit around in nice clothes, discussing politics or the latest book they’ve been reading.  In one corner there may be a large world globe perched delicately on an intricately-carved ebony pedestal.  An ivory-inlaid coffee table may be located in front of a plush suede davenport.  An original leather-bound copy of Moby Dick would lie neatly on a crocheted doily in the center of the table, with a cloth tapestry marker protruding from the pages.  Along one wall might be a tall, narrow bookshelf that contains copies of all the great classics - probably never read – but adding authenticity to the décor.  A modest crystal chandelier would cast a warm glow in the room, setting the mood for a cup of tea and intellectual exchange.

But hang on for one minute!  That's FAR from the way it is on the farm!  Milk parlors are a noisy place of animal sounds, slamming doors, and the steady hissing-and-clicking of the milking machines.  The air contains a pungent mixture of bovine odors, bodily functions, and iodine.  And we call it a parlor?  I can’t explain it.

Parlors came into being quite a few decades ago to speed-up and ease the process of milking cows.  Prior to that time the cows would be milked in the barn, fastened side-by-side in long rows, and the herdsmen were required to move from cow to cow, and bend down to wash and milk them twice a day - an arduous task.

Clearview Farms had a typical milking parlor of that era, where cows were lined up six on each side of the room, with each cow overlapping the cow ahead, so that the people milking them would have six udders pretty close together on each side of the parlor. Those who milk the cows stand in a pit between the rows of cows. This arrangement is called a “herringbone parlor,” and it saves many steps.  There are protective panels between the cows and the people, exposing only the lower hind legs and the udders – and on tall cows, the top of their rear.  Standing in the pit to milk the cows puts all the udders at an ideal height for washing and milking without having to bend down. The cows sort of like this setup too.  They have the security of other cows beside them, and in front of their face a small bin with grain in it.  Not only do they get relief from having their milk removed, but they get to munch on a nutritious treat at the same time.

Six by six herringbone parlor

The milking machine itself is a marvelous invention - a four-tube contraption with vacuum running through it.  Once the tubes are attached to the teats, the suction pulsates in an attempt to imitate a suckling calf – suction, release, suction, release, suction, release; and the milk is whisked away in clear lines, through a filter, and into the bulk tank where it is quickly cooled.

It may not be necessary to talk about this next part, but here goes anyway.  Cows are not like cats that bury their poop.  And they’re not like dogs that must circle around until they find just the right spot.  Rather, it seems like they are completely unaware of what they are about to do.  It's almost an involuntary action.  For some reason - perhaps a response to eating the grain - they do a lot of it in the parlor.  And just in case you didn’t know, cow poop is NOT solid.  It hits the concrete floor with a splat, and becomes a daily hazard for the poor people working in close proximity.   In the course of a morning or evening milking it is normal to walk away from the parlor somewhat polka-dotted by cow splatter, or even worse, plastered by the occasional blast that on rare occasions can shoot over the wall.  I’m not kidding!

We did our best to keep the facilities clean and disinfected, and it was our responsibility to install a filter on the line before each milking to catch any small bits of dirt - although we tried to avoid any dirt by thoroughly washing and drying each udder before attaching the milker.  Both the parlor and the adjoining milk house - which contained the bulk milk tank - were inspected regularly by a state-certified inspector who dropped in for surprise visits.  His examination was so thorough that he even gave bad marks if the outside of the bulk tank had too many water spots on it.  The clear glass lines leading from the parlor to the tank had to be spotless as well.  And the washing system that was used to cleanse and sanitize the lines before and after each milking had to be functioning perfectly.  It was serious business.  The place had to pass inspection, or you couldn't sell Grade A milk.  

But that’s still not all.  Every tank of milk is sampled and tested somatic cell count, bacteria, and antibiotics.  The entire process is designed to deliver high quality milk from the farm to the processing plant.  It's helpful to know all that, and hopefully sets your mind at ease when purchasing milk and milk products.  

But as an afterthought, I have to wonder about milk purchased from the store.  When we grab a container of two-percent pasteurized milk from the grocery store cooler, is it really better than milk as it comes from the cow?  Could it be that in a slower, simpler time, when the family cow provided rich, creamy, whole milk, that it was even healthier?  Have we really improved the product through skimming, homogenization, and pasteurization?  There are many folks who prefer to purchase whole, raw milk from farms that are allowed to sell it directly to consumers.   I guess there are arguments for both ways, and we won’t solve it here, but having been raised in my younger years on raw Jersey milk, and never getting sick from it, it does make me wonder.

                Our oldest son, Mike.  His Grandpa thought he should have barn boots too, so he                                                                         bought some for him.  

Next week:  “Church for the Mennonites.”