Sometimes, a whimsical idea takes root, and you find yourself incredibly grateful to have a partner who embraces your spontaneous adventures. That’s the story of how our family unexpectedly welcomed a milk cow into our lives. Living on our farm, I had a vision, a yearning for something more, and luckily, my husband, Ryan, is the kind of man who supports my dreams, no matter how outlandish they might seem at first.
It had been almost a year since we settled into farm life when I casually mentioned to Ryan that we were going to “visit” a cow. What I didn’t disclose was that this visit was more of a done deal – I had already bought her. In my defense, it was a cow, something he had always expressed a fondness for. Okay, maybe not specifically a dairy cow, but a cow nonetheless! At least, that’s how I justified it to myself. Bringing home a dog without prior discussion was one thing, but a cow? This was a whole new level of surprise.
Let’s rewind a bit. We were introduced to Marie and her husband when they came to our farm to quote us for some fencing work. Based in Whatcom County, Aussie Fence, their company, truly stood out. We instantly connected with Marie and Steve, and I found myself captivated by their farm. Marie shared stories of her goats, beef cattle, and family milk cows, painting a picture of idyllic farmstead living. At the time, we were raising two bottle calves, and our children eagerly showed them off to Marie, proud of our small farm beginnings.
Shortly after, Marie reached out about a milk cow she was seeking a new home for. My mind raced with images of homemade cheese, creamy butter, and rich ice cream. The reality, however, was a bit less picturesque. Our fenced area was barely half an acre, and we lacked the infrastructure for milking a cow. Memories of my brother-in-law expertly milking family cows during my sister’s children’s younger years flooded back, reminding me of the skills and knowledge involved. We were missing key elements: proper fencing, milking facilities, and a husband experienced with dairy cows. Minor details, right?
Despite the practicalities, I was drawn to the idea of meeting this cow. Truthfully, I also wanted to spend more time with my new friend, Marie, and the “cow visit” was the perfect excuse. Little did we know that we were about to fall head over heels for a gentle giant, a cow who patiently endured our boisterous four-year-old son and his endless stream of questions. The moment we tasted her milk back home, a wave of nostalgia washed over me, transporting me back to childhood memories, and I was completely smitten.
It was at this point that I finally informed Ryan about Marie’s cow needing a new home. I kept the details vague, but the next morning, armed with fresh cream for his coffee, I launched my rationalization strategy. I calculated our expenses on milk replacer for our calves and argued that a milk-producing cow could offset those costs. Saving money and enjoying fresh dairy? It seemed like a win-win.
In the midst of February’s rain and freezing temperatures, we embarked on fencing two acres for this “dang cow” that had captured the hearts of myself and the kids. One evening, we sent the children to my parents for a sleepover and fenced by headlamp in the pouring rain, using our son’s small quad to haul supplies. It was a true Family Cow Farm project in the making, even before the cow officially arrived.
Our makeshift milking parlor was born from our cement floor shed. We laid down a rubber mat, created a feed bunker, and for nine glorious months, we milked our cow before giving her a winter break. Nine months of rich cream for our coffee, homemade butter filling our freezer, fresh yogurt, tangy kefir, and endless mozzarella, with extra skim milk for the pigs. Nine months of hand-milking three to four gallons daily. Nine months of peaceful moments listening to her munch contentedly while the children played nearby. I cherished every single minute spent with that spoiled, opinionated, but utterly beloved cow.
A family cow is not for the faint of heart. We discovered countless uses for the milk, ensuring nothing went to waste. The commitment meant finding a reliable milker when I was away, as Ryan was yet to learn the skill. Early mornings became the norm, ensuring the cow was milked before any outings, and evenings were often spent rushing home to feed and water her. Our kitchen transformed into a dairy processing center, requiring nightly cleanups to accommodate the daily milk harvest.
The commitment was the price we willingly paid for the old-fashioned practice of keeping a family cow. And to this day, I have no regrets about those hours spent in the shed or the invaluable experience of raising and producing our own food with our children. As Jill from the Prairie Homestead aptly puts it, we were “Old Fashioned on purpose.”
