Rid yourselves, therefore, of all malice, and all guile, insincerity, envy, and all slander. Like newborn infants, long for the pure, spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow into salvation— if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good.
1 Peter 2:1-3
For a number of years my grandparents raised dairy cattle. To be honest, they gave up dairy cattle when my uncle Joe graduated from high school and the labor for milking the cows went off to college. For a couple of years after that they maintained a herd of dairy cattle that required milking every day. But, the labor required for a couple in their fifties was more than my grandparents were prepared for. They were preparing for retirement, not adding more work.
Running a dairy farm is very rewarding, but it is also very labor intensive. Each cow requires milking twice a day. The milk has to be gathered and stored until either you take it to the dairy or they come and pick it up. Each of the milk cans holds about 5 gallons of milk, and therefore weighs about 60 pounds. More often than not, my grandmother was stuck with that task.
Many people may not realize it, but dairy cattle are creatures of habit. Once they establish which stall they will be milked in, that is the only stall they will go to. When it is milking time, they are more than anxious to get milked; as the milk builds up in them, so does the pressure. It is as if they have to go to the bathroom, very bad, and you are their only outlet. It is not difficult to get them to love you under these circumstances. They stand at the gate waiting on you to bring them in for milking. Usually, they almost charge the gate because they are so bloated and uncomfortable. Their schedule is inviolate, and they will be ready, on time, even if you are not.
I loved to participate in the daily events around the farm, and although I was not really old enough or large enough, I would often attempt to help. More often than not, this help turned out to be more of a chore for everyone else than assistance.
One day, my grandmother was milking the cows and I was observing; or at least I was supposed to be only observing. Somehow, I got it in my head that she needed assistance. The best way I could think of to help was to bring her another cow. After all, the cows were there, I was there, and they needed milking. What could go wrong?
Despite my age and very small stature, somehow I found a way to release the gate latch and coax another cow out. This in and of itself was no small task. No gate on the farm was as straightforward at a normal gate with just a quick latch and some well-oiled hinges. Most of them were cedar posts with barbed wire running between them with no support between the cedar posts. To open the gate you had to release the catch then drag the first cedar post around with the barbed wire and other post in the center dragging along behind you. The closure point had a ring made of wire at the bottom that was semi-fixed and one at the top that was capable of slipping over the top of the moveable post. How I did this is still beyond me. As I mentioned, I was only three and maybe three feet tall if I put a little newspaper in my shoes. The loop at the top had to be moved up to open the gate and it rested at about four and a half feet off the ground. I had to move this loop up to about five feet to get the gate open. Nevertheless, I did it.
Once the task of opening the gate was behind me all I had to do now was to convince one of the cows to come with me to be milked next. What I did not count on was the fact that the one cow I invited had friends who also wanted to be milked; now. By the time my grandmother realized what was happening, I had cows all over the yard. It is hard to imagine why, but she really didn’t find much humor in this situation.
My grandmother came out of the milk house shouting and running around chasing about five cows back into the fenced in area until she was ready for them. I probably was not supposed to be amused by this, but boy was I. Now I knew I had something that I could help her with. It is truly amazing how fast a cow can run. We chased them and chased them until we finally got them back in the pin. There is no doubt in my mind that as she would get one cornered, my attempts at assistance only freed that cow again. I have no idea how long this all took. After all, I was only three and the concept of time to a three-year-old doesn’t hold a lot of water. Eventually, we did get the cows back to where they belonged.
After all of the excitement, I got a severe scolding from my grandmother. This kind of took me by surprise. This woman, who had only shown me love in large quantities was now scolding me over helping her. However, never was I scolded there without also being hugged and told how much I was loved. Looking back years later, I understood perfectly how dangerous what I had done was. But, we all know what the word danger means to a three-year-old. Nuclear physics means just about as much at that time. I do remember recognizing, even at that early age, what I had done was wrong then. Because of the love my grandmother had shown in the way she scolded me, I also understood that my grandmother was not asking me to not do something because she was being vindictive, but because she loved me and was concerned about my wellbeing; not to mention how hard recalcitrant cows are to round back up.
Grandparents are great for teaching right from wrong. They aren’t concerned about anything but loving you and making sure that you are safe. There is never a doubt to a child that their grandparent loves them and is not doing this to them to be mean. The distance they have from you is sufficient that it is not the same that is felt when a parent tries to teach you the exact same lesson. The lessons that my grandmother taught me, are to this day indelible in my mind.
1 Peter 2:1-3
For a number of years my grandparents raised dairy cattle. To be honest, they gave up dairy cattle when my uncle Joe graduated from high school and the labor for milking the cows went off to college. For a couple of years after that they maintained a herd of dairy cattle that required milking every day. But, the labor required for a couple in their fifties was more than my grandparents were prepared for. They were preparing for retirement, not adding more work.
Running a dairy farm is very rewarding, but it is also very labor intensive. Each cow requires milking twice a day. The milk has to be gathered and stored until either you take it to the dairy or they come and pick it up. Each of the milk cans holds about 5 gallons of milk, and therefore weighs about 60 pounds. More often than not, my grandmother was stuck with that task.
Many people may not realize it, but dairy cattle are creatures of habit. Once they establish which stall they will be milked in, that is the only stall they will go to. When it is milking time, they are more than anxious to get milked; as the milk builds up in them, so does the pressure. It is as if they have to go to the bathroom, very bad, and you are their only outlet. It is not difficult to get them to love you under these circumstances. They stand at the gate waiting on you to bring them in for milking. Usually, they almost charge the gate because they are so bloated and uncomfortable. Their schedule is inviolate, and they will be ready, on time, even if you are not.
I loved to participate in the daily events around the farm, and although I was not really old enough or large enough, I would often attempt to help. More often than not, this help turned out to be more of a chore for everyone else than assistance.
One day, my grandmother was milking the cows and I was observing; or at least I was supposed to be only observing. Somehow, I got it in my head that she needed assistance. The best way I could think of to help was to bring her another cow. After all, the cows were there, I was there, and they needed milking. What could go wrong?
Despite my age and very small stature, somehow I found a way to release the gate latch and coax another cow out. This in and of itself was no small task. No gate on the farm was as straightforward at a normal gate with just a quick latch and some well-oiled hinges. Most of them were cedar posts with barbed wire running between them with no support between the cedar posts. To open the gate you had to release the catch then drag the first cedar post around with the barbed wire and other post in the center dragging along behind you. The closure point had a ring made of wire at the bottom that was semi-fixed and one at the top that was capable of slipping over the top of the moveable post. How I did this is still beyond me. As I mentioned, I was only three and maybe three feet tall if I put a little newspaper in my shoes. The loop at the top had to be moved up to open the gate and it rested at about four and a half feet off the ground. I had to move this loop up to about five feet to get the gate open. Nevertheless, I did it.
Once the task of opening the gate was behind me all I had to do now was to convince one of the cows to come with me to be milked next. What I did not count on was the fact that the one cow I invited had friends who also wanted to be milked; now. By the time my grandmother realized what was happening, I had cows all over the yard. It is hard to imagine why, but she really didn’t find much humor in this situation.
My grandmother came out of the milk house shouting and running around chasing about five cows back into the fenced in area until she was ready for them. I probably was not supposed to be amused by this, but boy was I. Now I knew I had something that I could help her with. It is truly amazing how fast a cow can run. We chased them and chased them until we finally got them back in the pin. There is no doubt in my mind that as she would get one cornered, my attempts at assistance only freed that cow again. I have no idea how long this all took. After all, I was only three and the concept of time to a three-year-old doesn’t hold a lot of water. Eventually, we did get the cows back to where they belonged.
After all of the excitement, I got a severe scolding from my grandmother. This kind of took me by surprise. This woman, who had only shown me love in large quantities was now scolding me over helping her. However, never was I scolded there without also being hugged and told how much I was loved. Looking back years later, I understood perfectly how dangerous what I had done was. But, we all know what the word danger means to a three-year-old. Nuclear physics means just about as much at that time. I do remember recognizing, even at that early age, what I had done was wrong then. Because of the love my grandmother had shown in the way she scolded me, I also understood that my grandmother was not asking me to not do something because she was being vindictive, but because she loved me and was concerned about my wellbeing; not to mention how hard recalcitrant cows are to round back up.
Grandparents are great for teaching right from wrong. They aren’t concerned about anything but loving you and making sure that you are safe. There is never a doubt to a child that their grandparent loves them and is not doing this to them to be mean. The distance they have from you is sufficient that it is not the same that is felt when a parent tries to teach you the exact same lesson. The lessons that my grandmother taught me, are to this day indelible in my mind.
Comments
Post a Comment