In writing upon this subject the narrative form is convenient, and while
it cannot be claimed that this is entirely a “true story,” it may be said
to be founded on fact. Personal experience is my basis, and whatever of
fancy may be interwoven with the facts would have been quite practicable,
and all ought to have occurred as narrated, if all did not.
Let me premise by saying that I own a comfortable little home in a
village of a few thousand inhabitants, not a thousand miles from New
York, supporting my family by a moderate income earned from day to day,
and my occupation is such as to enable me to spend an average of three
hours of daylight on my place, from the middle of March to the middle
of October, and occasionally a whole day besides. Thus I can make and
care for my garden, which for some years has uniformly been an excellent
one, quite a model, though I say it. Of this sort of work I have always
been very fond, as well as of domestic animals, all kinds of which were
familiar to me when a boy.
MAY 1ST, 1875.—For several years I have kept more or less poultry, and
sometimes a pig; there is so much from a good garden that is otherwise
wasted. The ambition of the family is to own a horse and a cow. It has
been talked about a good deal, but we are agreed that the horse would be
a pure luxury, in our circumstances, and must wait. The cow I have felt
would be a luxury too, that is, cost more than it would produce, but on
this point the good wife has differed with me, claiming that it would be
a real economy. It has been a part of our domestic policy to use milk and
butter liberally, thereby keeping down the butcher’s bill and buying very
little lard. Of the value of milk as an article of food, in its natural
state, and in the many ways which it can be used in cooking, there can
be no doubt, especially where there are young and growing members of
the family. Still, I have been skeptical on the economy of keeping a
cow, and to convince me, the help-meet recently proved, from well kept
accounts, that during the last two years there have been consumed by our
family of five persons, one thousand five hundred and forty-five quarts
of milk, averaging seven cents a quart, and three hundred and sixty-one
pounds of butter, average price thirty-three cents a pound. These have
amounted to a cash expenditure of one hundred and thirteen dollars and
sixty-four cents a year, which was a decided surprise to me, and feeling
pretty sure the expense need not exceed two dollars a week, I yielded
to the argument; am the owner of a cow, and here record the result of
my experiment. One of the pleasant spring days of last week, we took a
drive among the farms of the vicinity, and selected a good looking cow
which had just dropped her second calf. The price paid was sixty-five
dollars, to be delivered to me to-day, without the calf. The man I bought
of called her “pure Alderney,” but she looks large of her age for that
race, weighing somewhat over seven hundred pounds, and if, two or three
generations back there was a cross of Ayrshire, or of Guernsey, it is all
the better. My belief is that she has a streak of Ayrshire blood, and
that she will make a fine cow. Being three years old next month (exact
date unknown), it has been decided that our cow is to be known as “June.”
MAY 1ST, 1876.—When “June” was bought, it was in the full expectation
that pasturage could be hired in a small lot adjoining the rear of mine.
I supposed it was fixed, but the spring had been favorable, the grass
on the meadow promised well, and the owner concluded he would mow it,
so that arrangement fell through. By that time I was too late to secure
room in the only pasture convenient to the village, and I have been
forced to keep her in the stable and a small stable yard, the whole year.
The result is more than satisfactory, considering the disadvantageous
circumstances.
A year ago to-day “June” arrived, in fair condition, save that her coat
looked a little rough, and with a good bag of milk; her daily yield
that month was about twelve quarts. In a day or two I noticed that when
in the yard, she rubbed her neck vigorously against the corner of the
stable and sometimes backed up to a building or fence for the purpose. An
examination proved that she had vermin upon her; so I made a pail full of
strong suds, with soft soap, and put into it an ounce of sulphuric acid,
and with this I sponged the parts infested, twice daily, for a few days.
This seemed efficient and there has been no such trouble since.
For long forage “June” had only dry food, good fine hay, until late
in May, and then I began to give her a green bite whenever I could,
clippings from the yard, trimmings of early vegetables and whatever there
was to spare from the garden. Besides this, everything she ate had to be
bought, except a few roots used since February. A little bran was fed for
the first few days, and gradually increased, so that during the summer
she received four pounds daily, fed in two parts, morning and night.
Later in the season corn-meal was added to the ration, and at times oats
were substituted for the bran. In the winter, eight pounds of meal and
bran, half and half, mixed, was the daily allowance. Buying hay in small
quantities I managed to keep both rowen and clover hay on hand, some of
it very fresh, and could thus vary the dry food. Also, for variety, I
frequently gave one cut feed a day, moistened. Besides this, I obtained
and worked in, during the summer, a lot of half-ripe oats, in the straw,
which had lodged and were cured like hay. The food, although thus often
changed, was changed carefully.
In my garden I made a large parsnip bed, and followed my earliest peas
with carrots, so that in the fall there were several bushels of these
roots. The carrots were buried in the garden, a mellow loam, and the
parsnips left in the ground. The former were opened during a thaw in
February, and a few fed to “June” each day, lasting until the end of
March; by that time I could get the parsnips and they have just given
out. When I began the roots the grain was gradually withheld and she has
had none since February. These roots have had a most apparent effect,
giving her coat a bright, thrifty look, and she is in fine condition
for calving, which is expected in ten days. But the roots made it hard
to dry off the cow. She was shrinking in milk fast when we began on
the carrots, then started up again and was giving about three quarts a
day in March, when the milk (and especially the cream) began to have a
sharp, unpleasant, bitter taste, and we soon had to give up using it.
It then took a fortnight to dry her off, which was done by lessening
the roots, milking not quite dry, then only once a day, and once in two
days. Water has been offered three times a day, through the year, all
she would drink, salt has always been within her reach. All summer, and
every mild, dry day in winter, “June” has passed some hours in the stable
yard. A large amount of bedding has been necessary, and for this I have
used the waste hay, the rakings of the yard last autumn, the scrapings
of the garden walks, garden litter, and the leaves from a row of maple
trees in front of the house, carefully saved for the purpose. So much in
the stall, “June” has required more personal care, and it has been made a
rule to rub and brush her body enough to keep it clean and free from dead
skin. But I never use a harsh card; nothing is better for rubbing than a
piece of old seine or very coarse bagging. Everything about the cow, too,
is kept clean and sweet.
The result of this continuous stabling has been a rapid accumulation of
manure, and this having been mixed with all the suitable refuse of the
place, and forked over several times, I this spring have on hand a huge
pile of rich compost. It is more than can be used on the garden, and the
newer part has been corded up under a temporary shed for sale or future
use. This alone well pays for all my extra work in keeping the cow, as I
have yearly been obliged to buy for the garden.
Our plan during the year has been to sell a little milk to neighbors, set
aside two quarts daily for family use, cream and all. The cream from the
remainder has been made into butter, and an accurate account kept of the
butter produced.
The following is the result of this first year keeping one cow: