Chapter Seven --- "Farm Wife"

“You might be a farmer’s wife if grass stains are the least of your laundry problems.” -unknown.  (But true).

So you’d like to work on a dairy farm?  Good!  It’s a great life most of the time.  Always outdoors, new births, sunrises and sunsets, and a place to enjoy the satisfaction of hard work.  Be prepared though, for some of the realities that go along with it.  Think manure, manure, manure -- and marry someone who doesn’t mind the smell of it.  Most of all, have a sense of humor, and if that humor is slightly warped, all the better.  

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Juanita and I had just stepped onto the sidewalk after a rare evening of eating out at a restaurant.  As we walked towards the car, it happened.  I felt a splat, dead center on top of my head.  “What the……”, my words hung suspended as I looked up in disbelief, just in time to see a feathered bomber happily flittering away.

“CRAP!” I couldn’t help (accurately) exclaiming, and bent over to quickly swipe the top of my head.  “That bird just pooped on me!  Good thing we’re headed home.”

Juanita’s response was anything but sympathy.  She was laughing uncontrollably.

“Wow hon, you’re pretty easily entertained you know.”  I wasn’t seeing so much humor in it myself, but my words only caused another spasm.

“It’s not THAT funny.”

“Oh, yes it is,” she gasped.  If only you could’ve seen the look on your face.”

I guess it shouldn’t have been such a shock to wear what the bird dropped on me.  Maybe it was the surprise attack, and the fact that I was dressed up, and trying to appear at least a little bit sophisticated.  I don’t know.  But the fact is, life with the cows had rapidly toughened me up to such things.  It was not all that unusual to wear the smelly stuff.  For the last number of weeks, I had been walking in it, scraping it, getting splattered by it, spreading it, even falling in it, but most of all, wondering how they could produce so much of it.  I guess it stands to reason though -- a cow eats an enormous amount of food, so the end result is only natural.

One morning, not too long after the bird-bomb, I walked across the lush summer pasture towards our lovely old farmhouse.  As the sun worked its way up into the eastern sky above the river, warming rays were cast across the rolling landscape.  Dandelions were blooming by the hundreds, accenting the green with a cheery yellow glow.  I knew breakfast would be waiting, and I was hungry!   Except for a little glitch in the parlor, this was shaping up to be a beautiful day.  Leaving my gumboots on the back porch, I stepped into the kitchen and headed towards the bathroom.  My lovely farm-wife, who had been watching out the window, had my breakfast waiting.

“Whew! You smell like the barn!”  Her words were a mixture of fact and surprise.

“Well yeah, dear……….it kind of goes with the territory.”

“It’s worse this morning.  Why are you all wet?”

“I’ve been baptized, “ I said with a chuckle.

“What do you mean.”

“Well give me a chance to clean up, and I’ll tell you.”

After washing up, and slipping into a clean shirt, I settled down to a delicious breakfast and proceeded to explain.

“I was busy washing an udder, and had my back turned to old number 31 – you know her - one of the tallest cows.  I didn’t notice her coughing, but that’s not unusual anyway.  They try to eat their grain too fast, and inhale it sometimes.  I didn’t see her tail go up either.  It was a deadly combination.  My first clue was Lisa yelling, ‘Look out!’  But it was too late!  The stuff went shooting over the dividing partition and plastered me.  I felt something warm running down my neck, and turning around, saw that Lisa was quite humored by the shocked look on my face.”

“Come here, I’ll spray you off,” she barely managed to say, making no effort at all to conceal her laughter.

“You’ve just been initiated.  It happens to all of us.”

“Thanks Lisa, I don’t remember reading anything about this in the job description.”

“So there you have it, hon. I’m a smelly mess again.  How do put up with it?

“Oh I don’t mind.” Juanita answered,  “I grew up around pigs and cows, and it just smells like home to me.”

That was reassuring.  Just a few months earlier, this part of the operation hadn’t even entered my mind.  I guess I had a pretty romantic view of farm life.  With my memories of childhood, and the two calm Jersey cows that dad and my brothers used to milk.  In my head I could still see them perched on their little three-legged stools, leaning into the cow’s flank, and milking them by hand.  It was a much different environment on the Clearview Farm.  This was an operation designed to produce and sell large quantities of milk.  And if you get large quantities of milk, you’re going to have large quantities of liquid fertilizer.

“You know ‘Nita, this is the most fun I’ve had in my entire life.  I love it here!”

“I do too,” she replied, with a contented look spreading across her face. “It takes me back to my younger years.  I sure spent a lot of time in the farrowing pens when the hogs were about to give birth.  I used to take my homework with me, and sit in the pen, waiting for the little piglets to pop out.  When they did, I’d wipe them off – especially around their nose and face, so they could breathe.”

Now here on the dairy farm, it was especially nice to have a wife who had been raised on a farm.  She understood the long hours, the barn odors, and the flies.  Not only that, she also enjoyed participating in farm life.  Although it was not required of her, she often came to the parlor and helped out, just to be a part of the activities, and to be near her good husband.  To be perfectly honest though, I think she enjoyed being around our farm family as much as I did.  They were great employers, but even more than that, they were becoming good friends.  We found that we had a lot in common with Matt and his wife Noreen, and our times of working together also extended naturally to times of socializing.

Often at breakfast, Matt would stop in at the house and share a cup of coffee with us while I finished eating, and we’d talk about the plans for the day.  More often, we just talked about whatever came to mind.  And with a sharp inquisitive mind like Matt’s, an entertaining conversation always ensued.

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About once a year the cows needed to be “worked”, and a couple extra hands were very much appreciated.  On these days, Juanita’s assistance was a big boost, and she was happy to put on her boots and join the fun.  “Working” the cows consisted of running them one at a time into a portable cattle chute and administering several vaccinations.  This was done mid-day, between the milkings, and usually right after our breakfast.  It took a while to get nearly one hundred cows vaccinated, and it was important to get it done as quickly as possible so they could get back to the business of eating, chewing their cud, and making milk.

One particular vaccination-day stands out in my mind the most.  It was a typical summer morning and the work chute was in place.  The cows were in a holding pen behind it, and next to the chute stood a table with all the syringes and tubes, and a book for logging the vaccinations of each cow.

On this day, it was Lisa, Juanita and myself busily engaged in the process.  Juanita’s deft hands were kept busy getting the syringes and nasalgen tubes ready for each cow, while Lisa and I ran them into and out of the chute, and administered the vaccinations.  It was all going along quite well, and presently we heard a “Good mornin”, as Matt and a friend of his, Mark, stopped by for a little chat, and to check up on the proceedings.

It was at this very moment that cow who was just released from the chute decided to make a quick break towards the parlor instead of back to the feed bunk.   Her direction of travel needed to be altered quickly, and Juanita was the first to react and run towards her in an attempt to head her off.

Now it may be helpful to explain that the surface we were standing on was a freshly scraped concrete feedlot, and it was very slippery with cow stuff.  Not only did the errant cow – who was by now getting excited – begin slipping on the concrete, but as I watched with growing interest, my dear Juanita also began to lose her footing.  As all eyes settled in on the rapidly unfolding drama, she gave four people a perfect demonstration of how to stay on your feet in very unfavorable conditions.  But unfortunately, it wasn’t to remain that way.  To her dismay – and our great amusement – her torso quickly accelerated beyond the reach of her legs, and although there was some frantic and desperate spinning in an effort for her feet to catch up with her body, gravity won out.  By this time her forward momentum was increasing quite dramatically, and the final plunge to the ground ended with an almost graceful swan dive – culminating in a good long slide – all the while gathering up a fairly generous amount of the slippery stuff on the concrete.  There was no holding back at this juncture.  The poor cows just had to wait patiently while Lisa, myself, and the fortuitous spectators Matt and Mark, took complete advantage of the opportunity to fully embrace one of life’s spontaneous little comedies.  Poor Juanita, dear wretched and filthy Juanita, jumped to her feet and ran for a water hose to clean up.  But alas, the valve in the barn must have been turned off, and while we continued to hoot and gasp, she ran to the parlor and proceeded to use liberal amounts of water to rid herself of the odiferous matter plastered on her entire front side.  My, what a great day this was becoming!   Life on the farm at its “best,” and nobody hurt.

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It was about a year after I started at the dairy that Lisa decided to look for employment elsewhere.  She had done an excellent job of managing the herd and teaching me how to share in the management.  Although I didn’t feel nearly ready for the job of managing, I was put into that position when she left to work at a power plant.  A local lad was hired to help with the morning milkings, and Matt helped in the afternoons.

Afternoon milking began at four PM, and in the humid heat of Southern Ohio summer days, it became our habit to have cold beverages in the parlor.  While we milked the cows, I drank Mountain Dew, and Matt sipped on Old Milwaukee brew.

One hot afternoon in August, we were beginning the afternoon milking.  Matt, as usual, quenched his thirst with Old Milwaukee, and I with my Dew.  Juanita, at this time, came to the parlor nearly every afternoon to help out, and to get some social interaction with a couple of her favorite men.  We knew she’d be coming, and although I can’t remember who came up with the idea, we thought it would be entertaining to put some Old Milwaukee in my Mt Dew can.  She always helped herself to my beverage, and today would surely be no different.   

So I chugged my Dew, and Matt poured some beer into it, and set it on the ledge.  The trap was set.  Sure enough, a few minutes later my good wife stepped into the parlor, ready to lend a helping hand and share in the splattery events of the day.  She washed and dried several udders, attached a couple milkers, and joined happily in the conversation.  We watched her carefully, and nearly choked when she reached for the Dew.  She tipped her head back and took a big swig.  It was about two-tenths of a second before her eyes looked like they were going to pop out of her head, and a powerful spray spewed from her contorted mouth.  The shock was all we had hoped for, and we lost ourselves completely in the “joy” of the moment.  Great peals of laughter could be heard ringing through the parlor, while a singular voice shouted some understandably exasperated words that I dare not repeat.  But Juanita was a good sport, and it wasn’t long before she was able to join us in the festivities.   That was a good one, she had to admit it.

And there was an unexpected upside to the experiment. I no longer had to share my drinks, because from that day on, Juanita wisely chose to bring her own cold beverage when helping in the parlor.

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For all the fun and good times we shared in farm work, it would be terribly wrong of me to neglect the many other ways the Juanita participated in our down-home country style of living, and to attempt a recounting of the ways she supported me in this venture.

Very briefly:   She planted and tended a large garden in the fertile soil just north of our house.  Corn, beans, tomatoes, peppers, lettuce, spinach, cauliflower, cabbage, carrots, and broccoli graced our table and fed our hungry family.   Rows of flowers bordered the lush garden, not only providing contrasting beauty to the scene, but also attracting many butterflies.
And cook, and bake!  My goodness!  For a guy like me who can work up a killer appetite – especially when doing rigorous labor - mealtime easily became the favorite  part of every day.  Homemade bread always accompanied our meals, and along with veggies, fresh milk and meat, a homemade pie or cobbler usually topped it off.

And then it was Juanita who looked after most of the kid’s needs.  Obviously, farm hours are long, and working seven days a week left little time for me to run errands.  So doctor and dentist visits were her responsibility – along with all the shopping for clothes and food, as well as taking care of the family finances.  These responsibilities fell on her shoulders.

The fact that Juanita had been raised on a farm, prepared her for all the parts of this life that the average woman might find distasteful.  She could understand and tolerate the barn odors, the flies, the long hours, the filthy clothes, the big appetites, and the need for support in other areas.

I couldn’t have lived this dream without her.  Yes, it was “our” dream, but in full honesty, it was ME who really wanted and needed an experience like this, and Juanita lovingly joined in.

Next week: "The Days of Summer"