The luxury of having fresh milk, cream, and butter, may be enjoyed by
every family in city, town, or hamlet, that can provide a cow with the
necessaries expressed in one word—comfort. To show what may be done
in this respect, allow me to give somewhat of the history of Joseph
Earnest. Joseph’s father was a carpenter, and never kept a horse or cow.
After giving his son the best education he could receive at the common
school, he kept him at work with himself until Joseph also became a
master carpenter. At the time our story commences, he is married and
has a family of three children, a girl of eight, a boy of six years,
and a baby. By industry, economy, and good habits, he had accumulated
sufficient means to purchase a half-acre lot in the outskirts of a
flourishing manufacturing town. Upon this lot he had built a small but
comfortable house. His wife, the daughter of a well-to-do farmer, having
a little property of her own, invested it in the vacant lot adjoining
them. The winter previous Joseph had put up a building which was to
serve the double purpose of barn and workshop. The barn for his visiting
friends, the workshop for himself. Back of this building, and adjacent to
it, was a small hennery in which were kept a few fowls; at one side was a
shed for his gardening implements. Everything about the premises showed
the owner was neat and orderly, as well as thrifty, while within the snug
cottage the same virtues reigned supreme. Many a time did Mary look back
to the old home-life on the farm, and think of the plentiful products of
the dairy. Then she would say to Joseph, “How I wish we could keep a cow.
It seems as though I cannot half cook with only one quart of milk a day,
and the children would be so much healthier if they could have what milk
they want.” Joseph agreed with her, and would add, “But you know Mary
we cannot raise our own vegetables and fruit, and keep a cow, with only
one acre of land.” Imagine her surprise, when, after a short absence one
morning, Joseph returned leading a cow. He was soon surrounded by his
family and plied with questions, such as: Whose is she? Where did you
get her? What will you do with her? In answer to these questions Joseph
replied, “I went over to Mr. Durham’s this morning, to see if he could
pay me what was back on the work I did for him last fall. I found him
feeding his cattle and made known my errand. He said he had no money at
present, but was wanting to sell a cow, and as soon as he could would pay
me. I asked him which cow he wanted to sell; he pointed out this one,
which was smaller than the others and seemed driven by them. Not a very
large cow, he said, but young, with some Jersey blood in her—better for
a family cow than for a factory cow. I say Earnest, she is just what you
need, with your family. But I’ve no place to put her, said I, and I don’t
know how to take care of a cow. Nonsense, said he, put her in your stable
for the present, and you’ll learn how to take care of her fast enough.
But what shall I feed her? Why the money you pay Churchill for milk,
with what you can raise on your lot, will keep your cow right along, and
instead of one quart a day, you’ll have all the milk and cream and butter
you want to use, and some to spare, and, Mary, I thought it wouldn’t
break us up if it didn’t prove a success, so I took the cow on what he
was owing me—twenty five dollars—and here she is.”
“Oh, Joseph, I am so glad you bought her, I do believe we can keep her,”
said Mary, “how gentle she seems,”—for during the talk the children
had been petting the cow, who appeared well pleased with her new
acquaintances. The baby partaking of the general animation, crowed with
delight, as though already anticipating the good time coming.
“She has behaved like a baby coming over here,” said Joseph, “and I
declare I begin to love her already. I have always wished we could live
where we could have animals around us, and perhaps we will some day.”
Mary said she hoped they could, for she felt lonesome for them. “But what
shall we name our cow? For my part I would like to call her ‘Comfort,’
and while she contributes to our comfort we will endeavor to do the same
for her.” Joseph agreed to the name, saying he needed plenty to eat and
drink, a good bed and pleasant home, and he believed that animals did
too, so he would give her one of his nice roomy stalls in his barn, make
her a bed of shavings from the shop until he could do better. “We have
pure water for her to drink, with hay and vegetables to eat, and that
will keep her alive until we learn what she will thrive on best.” As this
was a “broken” day, he thought they had better get neighbor Manning’s
horse and carry-all, and drive out to father Granger’s. He had always
been a good farmer and could tell him just how to care for the cow. All
were delighted with this plan and were soon enjoying a six-mile drive
into the country.
He learned that a cow would eat almost anything that grows, but that
judgment and experience was needed in feeding to produce the best
results. Father Granger said they could keep a cow as well as not, and
better too, and Joseph began to believe it. At the suggestion of father
G. he borrowed a bag, and on his way home stopped at the grist mill and
had it filled with bran, which the old gentleman said was about the best
feed for a cow just before coming in. After arriving home “Comfort”
received a feed of hay and a quart of bran—had a drink of fresh water,
her stable cleaned, some fresh shavings given her for a bedding, and
with kind pats and words was left for the night. In the evening bedding
was talked over. Joseph thought he would get the privilege of gathering
leaves from a wood lot about one half mile distant, but Mary thought
they would be too wet at this season, then sawdust was suggested, but
that was not quite the thing they concluded, that is, if they could
think of anything better. To be perfect it must be comfortable for the
cow to stand or lie upon, it must be an absorbent of liquid manure, and
something that would add to the value of the compost heap, and would
easily decompose. Suddenly Joseph exclaimed, “I have it, just the thing.
You remember I went out to N. last fall to do a job of work for Charlie
Curtiss’s brother, and when he came to bring me home, with my tools, he
put a large top box on his wagon box, and also put in a number of sacks.
I asked him what he was going to bring home and he said ‘oat shucks’ to
bed his cows with—that the shucks were dry and bulky, and for fifty cents
you could get all you could draw at a load. He said it was the best and
cheapest bedding he could get, and much more than paid for itself in the
value of the manure. That is just what we want, and I will get Charlie to
draw me a load to-morrow.” So the next night “Comfort” laid down for the
first time in her life on a “first-class” bed of oat shucks, while the
adjoining stall was filled full for future use.
“Joseph, what are you going to do with that lumber Charlie left here
to-day?” said Mary, a few evenings later. “Well I have been thinking
‘Comfort’ ought to have a little yard where she can walk around and enjoy
the sunshine and fresh air. I am going to build a fence from the farther
corner of the hennery to the fence on the back side of the lot, and one
from the corner of the shed back, and that will make her a good yard.
Those two English cherry trees will come in it and furnish shade for her
in the hottest weather.”
Another evening, as Joseph came home from work, Mary asked, “What in the
world are you going to do with these,” as she drew from the bundle a card
and brush. “Which of the family are you going to use these on?”—“Oh, I
thought they would be good things to have in the house,” said Joseph,
laughing. “You know I started out early this morning to go around by
Mason’s, to see about repairing his house this next summer. He is one
of the best of farmers, all his stock look thrifty—everything is up in
order, and he makes farming pay. I found him in the stable carding and
brushing his cows. That was a new idea to me, and I asked him if he
thought it really paid him to spend so much time and labor on his cows.
Well, said he, I’ve had the care of cattle nigh on to thirty years, and I
think my carding and brushing pay as well as anything I can do, and there
is nothing an animal enjoys more than having its coat combed.”
“What did Mr. Mason say about the work.”—“He is going to have his house
thoroughly repaired, and I am glad to say your husband has the job, and
he is going to keep his eyes and ears open and learn what he can about
farming.”
Joseph had bought a load of fine hay a farmer was taking into town to
market, and “Comfort” was now fed hay three times a day, with two quarts
of bran night and morning. At noon there was something from the house
also, like potato and apple peelings, small potatoes, wilted turnips or
beets, cut up cabbage leaves, etc. The children thought it nice fun to
feed her at noon. Some loose bars had been put up to her stall which
was quite roomy, and she did not have to be driven into it by some of
the men and all of the boys in the neighborhood, but when the gate of
the yard was opened she walked briskly to her stall, knowing she would
find a good supper waiting for her. Humane care, the plenty of food and
drink, given regularly, have wrought in a month’s time a great change
in the appearance of “Comfort.” From being a poorly fed “whipped” cow
in a dairy, suffering all the discomfort of stanchions for eighteen out
of twenty-four hours, with no bed but a bare floor—she has come to be a
thrifty, happy animal, giving good promise of rewarding her owners well
for their care. One morning the first week in April, Joseph came in from
the barn looking pleased, but a little anxious. “Children,” he said,
“what do you think I found at the barn this morning?”—“Oh, a bossy,” they
said, delighted with the idea.—“Yes, ‘Comfort’ has a little ‘comfort,’
and she is very proud of it; but now comes the rub, who is to milk, and
what is to be done with the calf?”—“Oh,” said Mary, “I guess I have not
quite forgotten how to milk yet, and you can soon learn—‘never too old
to learn,’ you know. I will go out after breakfast and milk out what the
calf does not take, and you can go around by Mr. Mason’s and ask him what
we had better do with the calf.” Joseph felt these were good suggestions,
and after standing by Mary, in more than one sense, while she performed
her part of the programme—which was successfully accomplished—he started
for work by way of farmer Mason’s. Arriving there he made known his
errand. “Well,” said Mr. M., “you can ‘deacon’ it or veal it. Don’t
many but dairymen follow the first way, and I should advise you to let
it have all the milk it wants for four or five weeks, and the butcher
will take it and pay you five or six dollars. Put the calf by itself,
and night and morning let it go to the cow and get its own milk.” When
Joseph arrived home that evening, he partitioned off a corner of the
barn with some barrels and boxes, put in some bedding, and put the calf
in his new quarters. Then he tried his hand at milking, Mary standing
by him this time, telling him what to do, and laughing a little at his
awkward efforts, yet encouraging him by saying he did splendidly for the
first trial. “Comfort” rewarded him for his kindness to her, by being
very patient with his awkwardness, and he daily improved in the art of
milking, so that while vealy was getting his fill, he would get about two
or three quarts as his share.
The latter part of April Joseph commenced work for Mr. Mason, and as his
work-bench was at one end of the barn floor, he had a good opportunity
for observation. He noticed Mr. M. fed his cows corn meal, and asked
him what feed he considered best for cows giving milk at this time of
the year. Mr. M. said, in his experience he had found there were three
things to be considered in the care of cows. Health of the cow, quantity
and quality of the milk. Plenty of wholesome food and pure water (also a
little salt each day), given regularly, out of door exercise in pleasant
weather, and general good care will give the first. “Clover hay, corn
fodder, wheat bran or ground oats, with some roots, will keep up the flow
of milk,” said he, “but if you want thick cream, and plenty of golden
butter, feed your cow corn meal. When my cows are in milk and kept on dry
feed, I give each cow daily, morning and evening, four quarts of mixed
feed, one part, by weight, of wheat bran and two parts of corn meal, with
about one tablespoonful of salt. We make more and better butter on this
feed than when the cows have grass only.”
Joseph, having no experience of his own, was glad to use that of others
in regard to his cow, so from this time he began feeding “Comfort” corn
meal, beginning with a pint and increasing gradually to one quart;
the result being plainly seen in the improved quality of the milk and
condition of the calf. When this was five weeks old the butcher took it
away giving five dollars for it, and seemed much pleased with his bargain.
That evening Joseph figured a little. He found his bran and corn meal had
cost three dollars and fifty-five cents, so there was a balance of one
dollar and forty-five cents from the calf to pay on the hay. They had
had from three to four quarts of milk per day, of better quality than
that they could have bought for six cents a quart. Thirty days, three and
one-half quarts a day, at six cents a quart, is six dollars and thirty
cents. By stabling and bedding the cow, quite a quantity of good manure
had accumulated, and Joseph felt very well satisfied, so far, with his
experiment, and most of all for the luxury of having good sweet milk for
the family use. It was now the middle of May, grass was well started,
and as there were farms near them, it was thought best to hire pasture
for the summer. By inquiry they found she could be pastured one-fourth
mile from home. This seemed too far to carry the milk, and would take too
much time to drive back and forth twice a day. “Why not keep her at home
nights, and feed her something as we do now,” said Mary; “she will be
glad to come home then. Father always feeds his cows bran in the summer;
he says it pays in their ‘coming up’ if in nothing else. He goes to the
gate and calls ‘come boss,’ and they all start as quickly as if he had
said, ‘come to supper,’ and it is that to them.” So it was decided to
keep “Comfort” home nights. In a few days “Comfort” was introduced to her
summer range, and quickly learned the way to and from the pasture, and
the children thought it a great pleasure to drive her to and fro.
“Joseph,” said Mary, about this time, “what shall we do with the sour
milk? The neighbors will take some of it at two cents a quart, but the
demand is irregular, and it don’t seem right to throw it away. Don’t you
think we better get a pig?”—“Perhaps so; as we are in for experiments
this year we might try that also. Mason has some nice pigs—two kinds. One
kind make large growthy animals, the other kind are smaller but finer,
and would be best for us, I think.” Soon a pig was added to their farm
stock. Joseph declared he would not try to live without a cow again if
it cost twice as much to take care of her. “Why we didn’t know what good
living was until ‘Comfort’ came to live with us, did we, children?”—“No,
indeed, only when we went to grand-pa’s.”—“Look at this baby,” said Mary,
“she never was so well before, and she is getting as rosy and round as
a Maidenblush apple. You can’t think what a help the milk is to me in
cooking. I can always have something fresh and nice now, and it will
lessen our meat bill too.”
Some of the neighbors wanted to buy milk; “Comfort” was giving sixteen
quarts a day. So four neighboring families were supplied each with one
quart of milk a day, and after a week’s trial Mary reported she had made
five pounds of butter that was worth twenty cents per pound, grocery
price. They had sold twenty-eight quarts of milk at six cents a quart,
butter and milk amounting to two dollars and sixty-eight cents, and
they had used all the sweet milk, cream, sour milk and butter-milk they
needed, and the pig had been kept on the surplus of the last two. Joseph
was now feeding “Comfort” as Mr. Mason advised, with corn meal and bran,
two-thirds of the former and one-third of the latter by weight, giving
three quarts of the mixture night and morning. Corn meal cost one cent
per pound, bran cost two-thirds of a cent a pound, the cost of the feed
per day being a fraction over seven cents. He also gave her a little
hay—to the value of say ten cents a week—pasture cost twenty-five cents
a week, so the expense of her keeping was eighty-five cents a week,
the work offsetting the milk used, left a profit of one dollar and
eighty-three cents. There was another item not to be overlooked. The
manure that was accumulating, the value of which was largely increased
by the ground feed given the cow, and the oat shuck bedding. Of the acre
of land about one-quarter was occupied with buildings, walks, shrubbery,
a small lawn in front, and flower garden at the side of the house, but
every foot of intervening space was well seeded to grass, so it really
made quite a little mowing. Another quarter had been set out to fruit
trees five years, and was now well stocked with red clover, the remaining
one-half acre had been used as a garden and potato patch. With the
exception of a few loads of manure, obtained at different places, no
fertilizer had been used on this acre of land. But now having gone into
the stock business, Joseph began to read and think about such things. He
frequently brought home an agricultural paper from Mr. Mason’s to read in
the evening, and began also to feel he must have one of his own. He found
considerable in the papers about commercial fertilizers, so he asked Mr.
Mason if he had ever used any of them. He said he had experimented with
them considerably, and thought them excellent helps. “I have never,”
said he, “paid out money for anything that came back as quickly with as
good profit, as superphosphates. These and other fertilizers must be used
with judgment to get the best returns, but on gravelly soil, with a clay
subsoil like ours here, it pays well.” Joseph also asked Mr. M. what he
could raise on his lot to the best advantage for his cow. “I should say
sowed corn and mangel wurzels. You see this little lot at the back of the
barn, it is ten square rods, and very rich ground.