a bucket o' goats!

Home dairying and the family cow

Keeping a family cow is a dream for many homesteaders -- a romantic one at that. A cow will produce all the wholesome milk a family could drink, plus beautiful butter, healthful yogurt and delicious artisan cheeses -- without any of the hormones, antibiotics and other medications, or animal cruelty practices associated with conventional industrial farm-sourced dairy products. Her offspring will either expand the bounty (if it's a heifer) or one day put meat on your table (if it's a bull calf).

It's a compelling reason to keep a cow and I've dreamed the dream myself.

But having spent almost four years on the farm I've learned that there's a great divide between dreams and reality. It's easy to spend much time savouring the outputs of the cow without fully considering everything that has to happen to get these glorious dairy products to your belly in the first place. Or maybe I'm just a bit more cautious about getting in over my head…again!

When I first thought about home dairying, I envisioned goats, but now I'm considering other options. That's why I attended a home dairying workshop on Wednesday -- and I'm thrilled (yes, thrilled!) that I did.

While book learning is wonderful, nothing compares to sitting around a kitchen table with a group of like-minded farm women (and two husbands, who I'm convinced were there largely for the delicious potluck lunch) with various degrees of experience and know-how. It was a place to swap stories and laughter over when things go well, and share knowledge, support and encouragement for the times farm life does not.

It was like a knitting bee, but we talked cows, not wool. Instead of sipping tea, we tasted the milk from three different heritage breeds -- Jersey, Milking Shorthorn and Canadian Lineback. Like wine, each had its distinct appearance, taste and finish. My favourite has to be the Jersey -- rich, creamy and smooth!

We started the day with some practical lessons, covering some basic how-tos on making quark, butter and yogurt.

The quark, a kind of soft cheese-like spread, was so easy to make and didn't require any specialized equipment. It's a great way to use large quantities of milk and can be served plain, or fancied up with fruit for a sweet treat or herbs and garlic for a savoury spread. It also makes for a beautiful photo, had I remembered to pull out my camera!

I'd made butter before by shaking it (a great project to do with kids), but I was impressed by this large-scale motorized butter churn. When the conditions are just right, it'll take cream to butter in 20 minutes. (I was gabbing too much to pay attention to how long it actually took!)


After rinsing the butter in water, it was packed into a beautiful antique wooden press.


Of course it didn't last long in this pristine form as we each smeared it on thick chunks of freshly-made whole grain bread (baked by one of the above-mentioned farm husbands).

I make my own yogurt, but I usually do so in a small yogurt maker. I've read about other no-tech methods, but I thought this idea so smart and so simple, especially when you're making larger quantities.

Once the milk has been inoculated with the yogurt culture, either from a previous batch or store-bought yogurt, the container is placed in a cooler filled with warm water and within two hours, it's done!


We talked briefly about the basics of cheese making, focusing mostly on mozzarella and a mild cheddar, but it's a much more complicated process with different handling practices, culture requirements, etc., and would be better suited to its own workshop. What was lacking in learning was well compensated by enthusiastic tasting!


After a delicious potluck (farmers lunches are the best!), which included freshly-harvested greens from the hoop house, we moved onto talking about herd health and management practices.

This is where I feel I have the most to learn. While I'm thinking about (one day) keeping a family cow, I'm intimidated by my perceptions of what that involves -- the daily milkings, trying to keep up with (or being 'drowned' by) such a steady supply of milk, how to breed (AI vs bull), difficult calving, food-borne illness, providing the proper nutritional needs, and so on.

Here's just a fraction of what I learned:

Choosing the "right" breed (for our particular needs) is so important and will naturally help alleviate some of these concerns. For example, a heritage breed like the Jersey (one of the traditional family cow breeds) is an easy keeper, calves well on her own and on pasture, is a good mother and produces enough, but not too much, milk for a family. What's more, the Jersey isn't a very big cow to manage, which is important when you're (almost!) 5'4" tall.

The scale isn't quite right, but you can see the height difference between Guinevere, a Jersey, and a large draft horse in behind.

Next, the farm women shared different strategies for milking -- some milked every day, another milked every other day and a third milked every third or four day (this with the Milking Shorthorns) -- but the commonality was a long 'natural' lactation. Each allowed the calf to nurse for months, not a few weeks, which grew a healthier and happier calf (and cow), and created a manageable milking load. (For example, the farmer who milked ever third day, simply separated the calf the night before, which provided enough milk for the next morning without any ill effects to the cow, i.e. she'd never had a bout with mastitis.)

I have limited experience with milking (I only milked Lucy a few times after the birth of the triplets, just to syringe feed Archie who needed a boost in the first two days) but now I have a much better understanding of how to get the milk from the cow to the kitchen and beyond. It all starts with creating a scrupulously clean environment -- from the udder to the collecting containers to the storage jars to the final processing.

All the farmers were hand milkers, so I didn't learn about milking machines, but in terms of milking buckets, pails and strainers, stainless steel is the material of choice. I also have some leads as to where I could source these supplies, which isn't as easy as I first thought.


We had a robust conversation about the pros and cons of AI versus breeding with a bull. With AI, you can expose your cow to a wide range of favourable genetics and you can time the breeding (once you get attuned to your cow's heat cycle, which isn't as easy as it sounds -- apparently cows only have a 24 hour "window" within each 21 day cycle) but there can be a lot of bureaucratic red tape and cost (in Ontario, at least) around obtaining and storing the straws, especially if you don't have a local dairy farmer with a freezer handy.

The alternative is to borrow a bull (with only one or two family cows (to stagger the breeding cycles), I wouldn't consider keeping a bull) but that opens up a host of issues around sourcing and transporting the bull, fencing, proper handing, etc. The benefit is he naturally knows when the cow is in heat, which can remove a lot of the guesswork for novice farmers.

Of course no conversation around a home dairy would be complete without talking about food safety, which starts with good herd health and nutrition. This could (and should) be a post on its own but for folks concerned about microbial contamination (this includes you, Dad!) I have a greater understanding of how to enjoy the benefits of fresh milk and reduce the risk of food-borne illness.

It was a long and full day and after a visit to the barn where we visited with the beautiful creatures who shared their bounty with us, we (the women, not the creatures -- they got nose rubs) exchanged hugs, expressions of gratitude and requests to keep in touch.

As for me, I think my next step is to find someone local with a house cow who can teach me more of the practicalities. I'd also like to connect with some local breeders. I won't be bringing a cow to the farm soon -- I have to repair and reconfigure the barn, and fix and install many (many) lengths of fencing, just for a start -- but I'm doing so with the vision that one day this farm could house a family cow. Until then, I'm comforted by the knowing that when questions or problems arise, I now have a community of farm women there to support me.

Remember when -- The triplets' birth day

Spring is a time for birth and new beginnings and I've loved reading about the many new arrivals on other farms and homesteads (see here, here and here.) In fact it's inspired me to write about the time we welcomed our own new arrivals.

This is Lucy and her wee one Sammy. We brought them to our farm in November 2008 as our wether, Oscar, was showing signs of stress due to what we thought was loneliness.

We were wrong. Oscar was just nasty and nutty. So Oscar went (into the freezer), and Lucy and Sam stayed.

Sam thrived and grew into a fine wee buck.

Being greenhorn farmers we kept the two together too long and before we knew it he was a virile young buck. Rowangarth Farm was expecting its first babies.

I was really worried about Lucy being rebred by her own offspring, but our vet was quite pragmatic about it; the deed was done and we'd deal with the consequences.

It was hard to tell how far along Lucy was because being a pygmy goat, she resembles a barrel on four legs even when not pregnant. Knowing the gestation period is 145 to 155 days, we did the math and anticipated an August delivery. Early that month, I began looking for the signs -- a hollowing of the flank, a discharge of mucus, bagging up of her udder -- nothing.

Then one night, as I was closing up the barn, I noticed her pawing at the ground like she was making a nest. Having experienced my own nesting instincts when I was pregnant, I decided to move her to the birthing pen, next to the main goat pen, to give her some time to get used to the space.

I said goodnight and flipped off the barn light.

Around 12:30 pm that night, we awoke to the sound of whinnying and thundering hooves. Lucas and I threw on our boots, grabbed our flashlights and trundled out to the barnyard. One of the donkeys had escaped into the hayfield and the horse was flipping out. After much cajoling and carrot waving, we managed to lure her back (yes, it was Cinder... the cheeky one) and secure everyone for the night.

As I walked past the usually quiet barn, I heard Lucy cry out with a pitch and intensity that I'd never heard before. I slide open the barn door, flicked on the light -- and there was Lucy with her three newborn babies: two boys and a girl, two white like dad, and one fawn like mum. They were perfect.

The afterbirth was still hanging from her and the kids were still wet from their watery delivery. I grabbed the birthing kit and pulled from it a pile of flannel receiving blankets that I once wrapped my own babies in.

I helped rub down the tiny kids and dabbed their umbilical cords with iodine. I put down some fresh straw for bedding and gave Lucy a bucket of warm water with a cup of cider vinegar and a handful of raisins for a treat.

Then I sat quietly in the pen, simply watching and reveling in the beauty and wonder of new life. Lucy was an attentive mama and she encouraged all of her babies to suckle, chortling and nickering as she nudged them towards her udder.


One baby was smaller than the others (the white one pictured above), and he couldn't get up off his belly. I'd read about how many farmers who don't want to bother raising buck kids for meat simply drown them at birth. It made economical sense, but I simply couldn't do it. It was the first time I came face-to-face with the realities of rearing livestock; it made me question whether I would ever have the fortitude to make a living doing this or whether the animals will remain a project of my heart. I'm still wrestling with the answer.

I moved slowing and carefully and positioned myself beside the new mama. Her udder was bright pink, silky and warm. I gingerly took a tiny teat in one hand an and sterile shallow cup in the other and I slowly began to draw some of the thick, sticky colostrum from her. I'd read about offering this first milk to kids in a pan, but baby showed no interest at all in feeding. I'd also read about using a stomach tube, but I didn't have one on hand and as it was now 2 a.m., it would be several hours before we could make it to the farm supply store.

What we did have was a large supply of newborn syringes for human babies. I knew there was a danger of discharging nourishment into the kid's lungs and not the stomach, but I felt if I did nothing, he'd certainly die.

So I took the wee runt in my lap, pried open his mouth and gave him his first drops of sustenance. He dribbled some of it on his chin, but I was sure most of it made its way to his tiny belly.

I remember laughing at Sam who kept popping up and looking over at his new brood/siblings. It looks like he's smiling in this photo, doesn't it?


I didn't stay in the pen too long as I didn't want to interrupt this new family's precious bonding time. I tucked the runt back in with mama, closed the pen gate and for the second time that evening, flicked off the barn light.

I dozed for a few hours but by 6:00 a.m., I was headed back out to the barn. I remember feeling nervous -- would I find happiness or heartache?

You be the judge.

We continued to supplement the runt's nursing with a syringe for the next few days but I left most of the mothering to mama.

As Lucy was raising three babies, we didn't think there wasn't much milk left for us. We could have bottle fed all three of them, which would have been the sensible thing to do given that we were interested in using goat's milk, but we didn't.

I was in such awe of Lucy's mothering and the growth and development of her babies, I let nature take its course. She did a beautiful job raising her spirited little ones.

This is the whole family in April 2010 when the kids are 8 months old. We named them Rosie, Billy Nibbles and Archie -- he's the runt, who's grown into the biggest 'kid' of the three.

Sadly, we lost Billy Nibbles this past fall to urolithiasis, a condition whereby urinary calculi form in the urinary tract making it impossible to pee.

While I look forward to welcoming some spring arrivals to our farm again, we don't plan on breeding the girls any time soon. While I'm still interested in milking goats, it's not part of this year's plan. Besides, we may want to consider Nigerian or perhaps Nubian goats, both being higher milk producers than pygmies.

In the meantime, I tell people these are my starter 'herd', to help me learn about the ins and outs of raising goats. Truth be told, they are more pets than livestock now. But they keep the weeds down, the sumac in check and they show us all the weak spots in our fencing. They're also an endless source of amusement and joy and I feel privileged to have shared in their beautiful and wondrous beginnings.

Madcap Monday -- Goat silliness

Goats are extremely intelligent creatures. At least that's what my goat-raising books tell me. Goat kids also love squeezing into tight spaces.

So last year when our Rosie started crawling into the feeder to eat (and even sleep), I didn't think much of it. The chickens didn't seem to mind either.

I think mama Lucy was a bit curious as to her babe's latest antics. Or maybe she was just jealous -- knowing Lucy's eating habits, I'm sure she'd love to immerse herself in her food.


I figured Rosie would simply grow out of it -- the feeder and the behaviour.


Fast forward a year later: she's still eating in the feeder. How she squeezes her pygmy-goat girth through the opening is beyond me.



I think she's laughing at me, don't you?

Madcap Monday

Think I need to make some new nesting boxes?

Our midnight surprise

Lucy and her triplets - two boys and a girl!

Morning barn madness

Farmers are early risers for a good reason.

There's lots to do, especially when you've got animals.

Thankfully, many hands make light work and the kids have taken to helping me with the barn chores (they actually look forward to the visit -- most mornings.)

So here's a peek at our post-breakfast routine:

1.) Feed equines. Gallagher first, donkeys next.

Yes, Gall is our biggest animal but feeding him first has more to do with managing herd dynamics than his size: If we don't give him his grain first, he gets all snooty and pushes the donkeys out of the run-in (he's the alpha so he has to eat first in the name of "protecting" the donkeys). Hay in the summer? What about grazing, you may ask. We also have a paddock roped off in the larger hayfield but it's so buggy out there right now, the equines stay pretty close to the barn during the day. While we're still trying to get some weight on Gall, the donkeys certainly don't need any help there. But it's either we feed them hay or they eat the barn. No kidding.

Gentle boy


We think Cinder was looking for the self-serve buffet.

Lee too. He's got to work on his stealth skills though (note that donkeys are not allowed in this part of the barn.)

Putting those muscles to work.

Breakfast, finally.

2.) Release ducks.

The ducks are free range during the day but we house them in a converted goat stall at night. Once the donkeys are munching on their hay, there's a clear passage from the barn to the duck/goat yard where they've got their water and paddling pool.

Once (if?) we get our hay cut, they'll be able to access the ponds where they can paddle at will (the Rouens at least. The Muscovies aren't too sold on this whole swimming thing. They prefer flapping, perching and sleeping. And squeaking once in a while (they can't quack, though they do try so hard.))

Peeking duck

Getting ready for the big release


Paddle pool or bust!

Testing out the wings (the Rouens prefer the feet)


Upside-down duck limbo

Like a duck to water

3.) Release chickens.

We've got 30 "babies" (they're three months old now -- I'll get around to posting about their arrival soon) in addition to our nine laying hens (we lost one Red in the spring.) We keep them inside the barn during the night but let them out first thing in the morning. We've got a poultry "yard" made with chicken wire and snow fencing (so classy) but the chickens use that perimeter as a loose guideline. They're usually roaming around the barnyard, scratching in equine poop (of which there is a lot of ), picking at weeds (of which there are also a lot of) or catching bugs (ditto for lots of those).

Chicken run

On their way...

Strike a pose

Henry really needs some sheep or something. The chickens just didn't want to be herded.

We have proper nesting boxes but the chickens have taken to laying in a secret nest among the straw bales.

4.) Feed and water goats.

We've been keeping the goats inside lately because Lucy, who we suspect is pregnant (yes, us greenhorn farmers didn't realize that a buck could be so 'fruitful' at such a young age. We've fixed the problem (okay, we fixed Sammy) but we're left with the prospect of a goat kid (or kids, it's hard to tell) sometime in August) likes staying close to home during the day (who knew goats could get barn sour?). Sammy likes staying close to Lucy (though he also loves tearing around the barnyard terrorizing the sumac.)

Lucy (behind) and Sammy on goat mountain.

Getting in to her work

More muscle power (That look means, "Come ON mum, this water bucket is heavy!")

The nighttime routine is pretty much the same (but in reverse) except we also feed the chickens and ducks and collect eggs. The ducks usually return to their pen on their own around 6:00 pm and the chickens come in for the night at dusk. Of course there's also cleaning, sweeping, fixing, grooming, picking feet, refilling feed bins, stacking hay, etc. (And we're only hobby farmers at this point -- just wait until we get our 'working' animals!)

It's a lot of work but it's worth it, especially when I've got my farm hands to help.