Braking for Cows!
On a recent, late winter day we went on a pastoral adventure to find raw milk. A luxury to us city folk, raw milk is just the anecdote to what ails you right before Lent. And, with Lent just two days away, we decided an adventure was in order. Plus, we’d get to see cows!
Down windy roads, soft hills in the distance, trees still bare, we made our way to the dairy. Grey skies dominated the top half of the horizon, blanketing over any possibility of a sun sighting. The smell of feed bins and earth permeated the air coming through the sun roof. Then, somebody saw the sign, “Purple Haze Dairy.. there it is Mom!”
We pulled through the gate and there they were. Cows! I eased on the brakes and stopped just a few yards into the farm.
Why do I love cows so much? Is it because they are gentle in spite of their size? Is it their often wet noses? Is it because they are an American icon? Perhaps all of these reasons and they’re just darn cute.
These happy bovine were happy to see us and came over for a lump of grass and a forehead rub. We petted and visited and laughed as long as the cows were interested. After about 10 minutes they grew bored with our offerings of day old hay.
Dusk was settling quickly over that country scene so we made our way to the honor system cooler for a jug of the raw deliciousness. $6 and worth every dime.
As we walked toward our vehicle, a giant cow pattie reminded us city folk that we are tourists out here. Farming is hard work! Then, jug in hand, we climbed into the truck, kicked the mud off our shoes and rode back from whence we came.