Home for Supper
The barn is empty now and the cows exist only in my memories, but oh my, what good memories they are …
“It’s time to go get the cows,” my mother said, reminding my brother Lanny and me to get moving as she set the supper table. We grumbled a bit, but out the door we went.
Pasture land on our Sugar Hill dairy farm was limited, competing with woods and cropland so our walk to find the cows took us up the dirt road about 100 yards past an open field to a wooden gate leading into a small pasture. Once in a while, the cows were right there where their day after the morning milking had started. Usually though, they were nowhere in sight, so we lowered the poles to the gate and continued our search.
Sometimes, we stopped just inside the gate at a big white salt block mounted on a stick. We searched for the cleanest spots on the block and took a couple of good licks. Only as an adult did it hit me that the cleanest spots most likely were where they’d been licked “clean” by a giant Holstein tongue!
In the springtime, we passed by beautiful pink blossoms of the mountain laurel bushes, pausing just long enough to pick a few blossoms for my mother. As our Pennsylvania state flower, I felt proud as a kid to have these on our land. I’ve since learned that the branches, leaves, flowers and all parts of the bush are toxic to most animals. Fortunately, they must have tasted badly or our cows somehow knew not to eat them since they never complained of bellyaches!
After passing the mountain laurels, we walked through woods for another quarter mile to the main pasture next to the swamp. If we were lucky, they’d be there after a long lazy day, most lying down dozing off, while a few might still be ripping at the grass getting their last bites in before supper in the barn. Lanny and I were happy that we’d guessed right when we left the gate about where they’d be. Otherwise, we’d be backtracking a quarter mile along the swamp to find them.
We didn’t need big sticks or loud voices to get them started. Cows know when it’s dinnertime, so when the lead boss cow saw us, she made the first move toward home and the others followed. They lumbered along, weaving their ways around the trees, their full bags a sure sign it was time for milking. Some days, as they moved ahead of us, we stopped long enough to find a just-right, not-too-wet and not-too-crusty cow manure pile to carve our initials into with sticks. Then, we ran ahead to catch up with the cows, determined to check on our solidified artwork the next day!
Home at last after their half-mile trek, the cows walked single file into the barn and found their designated spots, putting their heads through the stanchion openings. My father rolled the feed bin down the center aisle, scooping out the right amount for each cow. Those long cow tongues came in handy for swiping feed from a neighbor’s portion! Lanny and I fed the weaned calves, and as every belly in the barn was getting full, my father, brother, and I set off to the house to fill our own. Home for supper again.